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imaginepirates · 4 years ago

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Modern! Beckett

Alrighty, so I know these were requested forever ago (sorry, fml) but here you are with another modern au setting in which Beckett is plunged into today’s world. You live on a peaceful vineyard, so if you need something aesthetically pleasing rn, this is it.

@fablelady @kay-maybe @panagiasikelia

~3200 words

~~~~~~~

Something had gone horribly wrong with the food. Some sort of toxin had made its way into your body. It had to have. Otherwise, you wouldn't be seeing a man standing in your vineyard, wearing an embroidered waistcoat, looking completely and utterly lost.

You'd been walking barefoot through the rows of vines after breakfast, letting your toes curl against the earth. It was a pleasant sensation. A light breeze tugged at your loose hair, and the morning sun warmed your arms and back. Ripe grapes hung from the vineyard’s vines, purplish blue, ready to be harvested and sold to the nearby winery. You looked up, gazing over the endless rows of green and out to the golden fields beyond. Even further was the shimmering lake, the morning sun dappling across its surface, vast and blue and ending hazily at the mountainous opposite shore.

You wandered aimlessly, with no goal in mind, just looking out over the vast stretches of empty land. There was another vineyard in the distance, much the same as yours, and a small road interrupted the natural beauty, but there was little else around. A small city sat beyond the crest of a far off hill. You couldn’t see it from where you lived, but you drove in to get groceries and anything else you needed.

It was as you walked that you found yourself face to face with a small man who had somehow made his way deep within your vineyard. He stared at you with wide eyes and a perplexed expression, and you stared back, equally surprised.

It took a few moments to even comprehend the idea of someone ending up on your property. The section of vines you were in was far from the road, and you likely would have noticed someone coming from the road in any case. He didn’t really look like he’d walked a long way; there was none of the thin layer of dust that a person accumulated while walking long distances. You had no idea where he could have possibly come from.

The second thing that you noticed about the stranger was his manner of dress. A pale blue embroidered waistcoat, breaches, and strange heeled shoes were hardly the normal manner of dress. Not to mention the wig.

It took you another instant to realize that you recognized the man. Which means I must be dreaming, or I must be crazy. He bared an uncanny resemblance to a character from one of your favorite movies. There’s no way this could possibly be him. Lord Cutler Beckett, in my yard.

You must have been staring at him for an uncomfortable amount of time, as he cleared his throat.

You had a hard time forcing words out of your mouth. “Oh,” was all you could manage at first. Then, “Any idea how you got here?”

The man had the decency to look embarrassed. “No, I’m afraid.” He fidgeted with the hem of his loose white shirt. “Where am I, exactly?”

“In the middle of my vineyard, actually.”

“Ah. And that is?”

“A ways from wherever you come from, I think.”

He seemed to agree, assessing your clothes and the area around him.

“Would you like to come inside? We might be able to figure things out better.”

“Thank you.”

You walked back between the rows of grapevines, much more quickly than your earlier aimless meandering. The house was just ahead, a red roof against sandy walls. Cypress trees stood, lining the gravel driveway, at the front of the house. Beckett didn’t seem phased in the least by the outside appearance; you were sure he’d seen things like it before. It was old-fashioned, if not truly that old, in the style of Tuscan vineyards.

Beckett got a shock upon seeing the inside of the house, though. You led him up the stairs to your back porch and through the double doors at the back of the house. If the porch a story off the ground didn’t seem strange enough to him, the modern furniture, lights, decor, and appliances shocked him. You could hear him gasp a little behind you as he entered the house.

You entered into the kitchen. It was a large, open space connected to your living room. Bar seating separated the two spaces. “Water?” You asked. “I know it can get hot out there.”

“Hm? Oh, yes, please.” Somehow, he still managed to keep his manners.

You pulled a glass from the cupboard of the kitchen, filling it with water from the refrigerator. You looked back at Beckett, who stared on quizzically with his mouth slightly open. When you gave him the glass, he eyed it suspiciously before drinking.

“Perhaps ‘where’ am I wasn’t the right question,” he murmured. He drank slowly, eyeing everything around him. You were half tempted to turn on the TV, just to give him a start, but you decided against it.

“I think you’re going to find that everything is different around here. It might take some getting used to.” That was an understatement and you knew it.

“Ah.” He continued to stare. Finally, his eyes snapped back into focus and he looked at you. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to play the part of the host?”

“I have plenty of room.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You live here alone?” “Not anymore, it seems, though I might like to know the name of my guest.” You gave him a smile, and he tentatively smiled back.

“Beckett. Cutler Beckett.” It was your turn to be dazed. “Thank you. I’d rather not make myself more lost by trying to find somewhere else to stay.”

“I understand.” Huh. Cutler Beckett. Right in my kitchen.

You showed him to a guest room. It was fairly minimal, and the decorations were sparse. The room had been painted an ivory color, and you’d complimented it with pale blue decorations. The curtains sported flowering shapes in both colors, whereas the bedspread was slightly patterned in varying shades of blue. An ovular mirror stood to one side of the room. It was charming, in its own way, though you were sure Beckett was used to more lavish accommodations.

He, for his part, didn’t seem to mind. He tapped the bed absentmindedly with a hand, looking around. He furrowed his brows, looking at the nightstand with its lamp. “What’s this?”

“A lamp. It’s a light that you can control from next to your bed.” You then proceeded to show him the lightswitch.

He stared, bewitched. “How does it work?”

“I’m…. not completely sure. It’s so common, I don’t really think about that. I know that it’s a complicated mess of wires, though.”

He continued to stare at the switch. As you left the room, you heard him give it a few experimental clicks. You smiled. It was sort of adorable, the way he was enchanted with everything. Much different from the man from the story. Softer. More human.

“Are you hungry?” You asked. It was getting on towards midday, and you found the idea of lunch to be appealing.

“The thought of food tempts me, I will admit.”

“It’s decided, then. Perhaps we’ll make it a picnic.” You busied yourself in the kitchen, pulling out meats, cheeses, fruits, nuts, and crackers. Snacky foods, but delicious when combined, and perfectly filling.

Beckett seemed a little dubious at the idea of eating outside, but you assured him that he wouldn’t get dirty, nor would he have trouble with bugs.

“And the heat?” he asked.

“Firstly, you can lose the waistcoat. And the wig. They won’t do you any favors. Secondly,” you snatched a floppy sun hat from a peg on the wall, “I have two.”

You might have considered getting him different clothes if you’d been worried about someone seeing you, but you weren’t, so you didn’t bother. You instead put the large sun hat on his now bare head, the hat clashing horribly with everything else.

You put yours firmly in place, picked up the basket in which you’d put your food, and strolled out the back door. Beckett followed right behind you, staring out at everything he could see. “It feels like Greece,” he said, “or Italy.”

“Thank you. I try to keep that feeling, actually.”

“You’re doing beautifully.”

The words took you aback. You could see that he was perfectly serious, but you hadn’t expected such a compliment from him. You’d hardly expected him to say anything nice at all. The story didn’t do him justice, then. You’d always expected him to be a bit of an ass. You supposed he still had the chance, but he’d been nothing but the picture of polite company, if not massively confused polite company.

You walked him down a winding path through the golden fields surrounding the vineyard. It trailed down to the shore of the lake, whose deep blue waters stretched out to a hazy horizon. Mountains rose up far beyond, too far away to see clearly, barely standing out against the sky. A small boat sat on the beach there, on your side, and you had a mind to row it a ways down the bank.

You pushed off from the bank, peacefully rowing through the serene waters. Few boats used the lake, making it ideally scenic. You would have hated for the lake to be crowded. More urban areas got choked with tourists during the summer, but you were far enough away from any big cities that it wasn’t a problem. Besides, the nearest town didn’t have major hotels.

You rowed along, Beckett sitting opposite you in the little boat. He seemed to be enjoying himself, looking out over the scenery. The tension had left his shoulders. He seemed almost peaceful this way, staring out at the hazy mountains, looking over the golden fields and banks of trees.

You arrived at a flat, grassy area shaded by trees. The two of you got out and sat beside the lake, shielded from the blistering sun. You unpacked the basket you’d brought with you. You and Beckett sat in companionable silence, enjoying the meal, enjoying a slight breeze. Beckett looked ridiculous in the sun hat. It seemed too big on him, somehow, and it made him look much less threatening than you were used to his being. Meeting him in person had been a lot different than how he was portrayed, you reflected.

“It’s wonderful here. Much more peaceful than home,” he said. His expression changed when he spoke of his home, like he’d tasted something sour. “I do wonder what’s going on. And how I’m supposed to get back. If I’m supposed to get back. It’s a rather terrifying thought, that I might never go home.” By the look on his face, the thought was just now occurring to him.

“I’m sure we’ll find a way to get you home.”

“Are you sure? I don’t know how I ended up here in the first place. It seems rather like a dream, though I can say with confidence that it isn’t.”

“You had to get here somehow. I don’t think you’re meant to stay here forever.”

He looked out over the lake. “Things are such a mess there, the idea of staying here isn’t so awful, actually.”

“Maybe you just needed time away.”

“I doubt the world would be so kind.”

You steered away from the subject, and the two of you ended up talking about the vineyard. He knew more about viniculture than you might have guessed.

“It really does take me back to some of my lessons in school,” he said. “They had pictures of the Italian countryside in some of my books. It was much like this, though I don’t remember any lakes.”

You smiled. “It’s one of my favorite places. Too many methods of production have taken on more modern approaches; the massive farms growing wheat, or the rows upon rows of corn, interrupted only by giant sprinklers and massive tractors. I like keeping things small. It’s so much more peaceful than those unnerving monocultures.”

“I always wanted to go. To Greece, or Italy, I mean. I loved all the stories, all the history. I wanted to experience it for myself.”

“Never got to go?”

“No. My travels took me elsewhere. Africa, China, India, the New World. I always told myself that I’d make time for it later.”

“Surely the places you did go to proved to be interesting.”

“Very. The cultures of those places were foreign to me; lord knows they weren’t part my education. I found them fascinating. Tell me, have the American colonies expanded? I’m sure they’d have had to, by now.”

“Well, yes.” You didn’t think he’d like where this was going.

Something in your expression must have tipped Beckett off. “They are still under the control of the British?”

“No.”

“The Spanish? God forbid, don’t tell me the French got control. I can’t imagine those frogs doing anything good with the land.”

“Actually, the colonies had a revolution and became their own country.”

“Ah,” he said. “I suppose that’s wont to happen sometimes.”

“Yes, yes it is.” You thought of all the other countries that had broken away from Britain, too.

You packed up, stepping back into the boat. This time, you drifted out towards the center of the lake. “Did you spend much time at sea?” you asked. “You did seem to travel a lot.” You didn’t want to make it look like you knew too much about him, even though you did.

“I spent a fare amount of time at sea, yes, though I typically settled down once I got somewhere.” He let his hand skim the top of the water. “The sea is much different from a lake, though. Calmer.”

You were out on the lake until dusk, talking about this and that; the places you’d been and the things you’d seen, all the questions Beckett had for you about modern technology and travel, and a hundred other things. You figured it was the most relaxed Becektt had ever been. He even laughed from time to time at your jokes. How strange it is, to see him like this. I think he’s growing on me.

You seemed to be growing on him, too. “You’re very easy to get along with, you know that? I haven’t just sat and talked with someone in ages. At least, not without wanting to get something from them.”

“Is there nothing you want to get from me?” you asked innocently.

Beckett looked at you, surprised. A slight blush dusted his features. Then he smiled, a little wickedly, and raised an eyebrow. “Was that flirting?”

It was your turn to blush. “Perhaps a little.”

“Just know that it can go both ways.” A smug look crossed his face as you blushed deeper. “Although I have to admit, I’m rather out of practice. It’s been a long time since anyone’s flirted with me.”

“I can’t see why. You’re such a charming man.”

“Am I? I rather think that my good attitude has everything to do with my company, and nothing to do with my charm.”

You rolled your eyes, rowing back to shore. By the time you got back to the house, it was time for dinner, and you coerced Beckett into helping you make it. He had little idea what he was doing, but managed not to make a complete mess with any of his tasks. It’s cute, you thought, to watch him try doing domestic things.

The two of you enjoyed a pasta dish with chicken and tomatoes, fresh basil and olive oil drizzled over the top. You had an assortment of fruits to enjoy, too. You plucked a pomegranate from the mix.

Beckett eyed you. “I suppose you know the story of Hades and Persephone?”

“I do. How Hades fell in love with Persephone, kidnapped her, and tricked her into eating seeds from the fruit of the underworld. She had to return to him, then, and spend half of each year with him.”

“A man from another world, falling for a goddess of vegetation.” Beckett’s eyes focused on the pomegranate. “Sometimes, mythology is unbelievable. Sometimes, it isn’t.”

You cut the fruit, taking out a large spoonful of the burgundy seeds and eating them. “I like the version where Persephone knows exactly what she’s doing.”

Beckett watched you, eyes never leaving yours. “I don’t think I’ve heard that one before.”

“It’s a little wicked, I must confess. The thought that she was no innocent victim, but a wholly conscious decider of her fate. Perhaps not all women want to pick flowers all day. Some of us might like a taste of power, of having men fear our names.”

“And would you have me fear yours?” He arched a brow. You laughed. “No, no.”

“Would you rather me kidnap you, then?” He didn’t give you time to answer, instead pulling you out of your seat to be flush against him. “Tell me, do you dance?”

“Does the Macarena count?” He gave you a questioning look. “Nevermind,” you said. “The answer is no.”

“Shame. Looks like you need a teacher.” He smirked. “It might be a little hard without music, though.”

“What song?” Beckett looked confused. “Can you get any waltzes?”

“Alexa,” you turned your head towards the small device sitting on your counter. “Play the Second Waltz.” You turned back to Beckett. “It’s a bit more contemporary, but I trust you’ll know how to dace to it.”

The tune, familiar to you, at least, began. Beckett put a hand on your waist and took one of your hands with the other. Your free hand floated just above his shoulder, where you assumed it was supposed to go.

“Don’t be shy,” he urged.

The moment your hand came to rest on his shoulder, he took a step forward, forcing you to step back. He guided you to one side, then forward, and again to the other side. Your movements were clumsy, but you began to get the hang of it as he repeated the steps.

“Not so hard, see?”

You smiled shyly, aware of just how close the two of you were.

“Blushing already?” he teased. He suddenly pulled you flush against his chest. “And to think I hadn’t even given you anything to blush about.”

“You’re cheeky, aren’t you?” You barely managed to get the words out through your embarrassment.

“Perhaps. Though I’m sure I can make you blush harder if I try.”

“Is that a promise?”

Beckett laughed. “You’re not so bad at this yourself, you know. But if I must…” The hand on your waist took a firmer grip, while the one holding yours came to rest on your cheek. His thumb grazed over your lower lip. Softly, he planted a kiss to your lips, staying close even after it was finished. “Perhaps staying here forever isn’t such a bad thought after all,” he whispered. He stepped back. “Though I suppose I have to find a way back at some point.”

“We will,” you said, still a little dizzy from the kiss.

“Together?”

“Together.”

~~~~~~~

If anyone was wondering about the song:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LPG_WUgHbis

#potc #pirates #pirates of the caribbean #becket #lord beckett #cutler beckett #request #modern au #modern #au #drabble #drabbles #writing #fanfic #potc fanfic

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wri0thesley · 5 years ago

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sweetness - yandere!risotto x reader

WARNINGS: sfw. yandere warning - stalking, obsessive behaviour, gaslighting. brief mentions of abuse (reader’s father is implied to be violent towards them). blood and violence. a lot of food descriptions. reader is gender neutral! 10.3k.

Risotto finds himself in a rainstorm one busy evening and ducks into your place of employ for a brief reprieve. Your father’s sweet shop. Risotto is the kind of man who is used to having people be scared of him - nobody ever has the courage to treat him like an ordinary human being. Nobody has ever treated him like someone normal. Not until you. He leaves with a bag full of gifts for the rest of La Squadra, the memory of you smiling, and a crush that grows into an obsession.

It’s a coincidence that Risotto Nero ever saw you in the first place - an assortment of the misfortunes that Risotto has come to accept as commonplace in his life. He had long ago accepted that the Nero family was not one for whom luck ran in the blood - a family who did not particularly care for him, the death of his cousin when he was fourteen, ending up in an organised crime syndicate with a gun in his hand and a list of names in his pocket.

It’s a coincidence he’s glad of.

That, at least, is not something he ever really thinks. Things that happen to him are either annoyances or acceptable; he goes home to a quiet, empty house and he grunts when he sees his neighbours but he does not offer anything more than that. He is perfectly civil to his associates in La Squadra di Esecuzione; they, he knows, think of his stoicism and his silence as strength. They look to him like a leader, because he has had to prove himself such. When he had been given control of his team at twenty one and met Sorbet and Gelato, already over a decade older than him, he had known he had to prove himself.

If he has left some of his humanity behind, what does it matter? Humanity is not an important trait for a killer. Better for him to clog their veins with needles and razor blades instead of worrying about the family they may or may not be leaving behind.

The day his life changed forever, he was on his way back to his mercifully quiet apartment after a day spent giving out orders to his teammates. It had not been a kind day; the pay the hitmen get, for what they are expected to do, is laughable. Risotto is keeping his roof over his head, but it is not without effort on his part - and his subordinates are still not always quite so lucky. The newest recruit, Ghiaccio, had been practically scarlet in the face when he’d been given his share--

Risotto pauses, rubbing the bridge of his nose, a persistent ache in his temples. Ghiaccio is good at what he does - or he would not be a member of Risotto’s team - but Risotto is always left with a headache after speaking to him. The day is already on a southward spiral. The cold nips at his bare skin, the sky grey and cloudy, the pavements crowded with businessmen and women attempting to get home in the rush of the end of the day. Some of them glance twice at Risotto, leaving him a wide berth on the walkway - one or two of them even cross the street to avoid coming too close to him.

His height and his dark eyes and his strange way of dressing put people off - but so does that way he carries himself. That dark, brooding knowledge that seems to follow him - a whisper that says; this man is involved in unpleasant business. And on the streets of Italy, that unpleasant business generally means only one thing.

He feels the cold splash of water droplets on his skin before he realises that it’s begun to rain. He is not usually one who minds the rain - in the right circumstances, he finds walking alone in the rain quite peaceful - but these are not the right circumstances. The pavements are already growing slick as the rain gets heavier, and the people crowding all around him are searching for umbrellas, thrusting them up into the sky--

Risotto is taller than most men, and umbrellas are hardly the most social of accessories. Awkward points bite into his shoulders as people rush by him, their sights blinkered by the canvas above them, no longer concerned by what Risotto might be now that he’s not in their direct field of vision. As yet another umbrella - this one patterned with rainbows - connects with his chin, he’s forced to stop for a moment, his eyes scanning the street beside him to see if there’s somewhere that’s still open he might take shelter in.

Ah. There. A softly lit pale blue shopfront, a hand-lettered sign flipped to “open!” in its window. Risotto grasps the handle and steps in (stooping a little when he realises how low the doorway is), a bell chiming out across the little room to announce that the shop has just received a customer.

He takes a moment to breathe as he catalogues his surroundings.

It is always a good idea for an assassin to know where he is. The moment his gaze flickers around the room, he’s able to put a name to the shop he ducked into for some solace from the rain and the barrage of umbrellas; this is Dolcezza, a little sweet shop that has been on this street for three years. By all accounts, it keeps a steady enough clientele, but it hardly brings in a large amount of money - which Risotto assumes is the only reason that the owner, an older man, has not been badgered or hounded about the protection fees he most certainly is not paying.

It’s a nice place, Risotto thinks grudgingly, looking around. The walls are lined with jars of brightly coloured candies and sweet treats - a glass case at the front of the shop features some more specialised treats out in the open. Fudges and special chocolates and neatly packaged boxes of sweet assortments. There’s an open doorway, beside the cash register, where Risotto can see a large table and some silver specialised equipment and a figure in gloves and an apron bent over, clearly hard at work on the confections. A cash register sits on top of the wooden portion of the glass cabinet, and Risotto’s gaze falls upon that bit of technology, his eyes also meet the girl behind the cash register’s own wide stare.

He is perfectly used to the flash of fear that he sees in her eyes. He sees it constantly in people on the street and sometimes when he is dragged into restaurants with other members of his team and when he goes out to buy his weekly shopping (he does this once a week, at the same store, and buys the same things). It’s to do with the set of his mouth and the ink and blood colour of his eyes - the girl behind the counter falters. She is pretty enough, he supposes, with dark hair and dark eyes and wearing a neat pinstriped dress that he supposes is a uniform of sorts. He doesn't really care about that. What he cares about is how she watches him warily, like a cat about to run if he gets too close or startles with sudden movements--

And he has spent his entire life with people being afraid of him, and sometimes the best way to cope with the knowledge you are feared is to take control of the room. He takes one slow, deliberate step towards the counter - and, like he knew she would, she jumps.

“I-I’m s-so sorry, one moment!” She says in a babble, her voice running into one long continuous noise, and she scrambles through the large, open doorway and out of Risotto’s sight. He’s impressed that she managed to say anything, actually - still, how predictable. The smirk curves his full mouth before he can stop it, and he finishes walking towards the cash register, looking around the little place and amusing himself by imagining what kind of sweets he’d take for the rest of La Squadra.

With any luck, the rain will have stopped before the worker has even had the courage to peek around the corner to see if he’s still there.

Sweet tobacco for Prosciutto, perhaps. The blue and white shark sweets that look like they have the most horrific texture for Pesci. Balls of bubble gum for Melone, who will pop them next to Ghiaccio’s ears to annoy the new recruit. Illuso . . . well, Risotto has never quite managed to get the measure of Illuso, who listens more than he speaks and regurgitates the gossip of other people instead of his own. Perhaps one of the small fudge assortments, to be safe. Gelato has a sweet tooth, and Sorbet indulges Gelato in everything - he’d take a bag of the heart-shaped marshmallows for those two. Apropos on account of them being lovers, which they have never bothered to hide--

He hears a raised voice from the other room, and then a figure stomps out - most certainly not the figure of the girl who had not been able to stomach his presence through her fear. And Risotto . . . well, at first, he does not know that he’s looking at his reason for living. His reward for all of the hardships he has endured. That comes later.

All he knows is that when you look into his eyes, there isn’t a whit of fear reflected in yours, and he feels comforted and known and not like a monster for the first time in a long while.

Elisa comes tearing into the back room, where you’re industriously cutting the fudge into perfect cubes, and looks like she’s seen a ghost. You sigh, raising yourself up - your father had hired Elisa after one of your last workers had gone on maternity leave, and you’d soon realised she was easily flustered and prone to making a drama out of things. You suppose that you’ll have to stay a little later tonight to make sure that the fudge is all finished - you don’t trust Elisa to do it, and at any rate, she’s not paid to do things like that.

“What’s wrong?” You ask her, keeping your temper. Shouting does nothing good, you’ve learnt. Your father might use a raised voice to get what he wants, but that just makes you even less likely to jump straight to righteous anger. “I heard a customer come in, but I didn’t hear one leave.”

She gasps a few times, her big brown eyes wide, until she hisses out;

“I can’t serve him!”

Him? You wonder if perhaps it might be an ex-boyfriend or an awkward crush, but Elisa looks far too rattled for it to be something that simple.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, keeping your voice even. You and her are about the same age, but you know from the few friends you’ve managed to make in your life that people have a tendency to see you as the sensible one. The parental figure in any given situation. The one who keeps the rest of them calm. “Do you need me to go out and serve them?”

“No!” The response is instantaneous. She looks terrified. You wonder if this man has threatened her with a knife or something - this reaction seems over the top, even for someone like Elisa. “You can’t!”

“Elisa,” you say softly, pulling off the gloves that you were wearing for hygiene. “I’m sure he’s perfectly fine and civil. I’ll go speak to him.”

“I think he’s part of the Mafia! Of Passione!” Her words spill out all at once.

You look at her, your forehead creasing in confusion.

“Elisa,” you say, very slowly and carefully. “What business would a mobster have in a sweet shop? Do you think he’s here to assassinate the lemon drops? Slit the throats of our barley twists?”

“You’ll see!” She insists. She’s trembling. “You shouldn’t go out there!”

You sigh softly, and you go out to see what all of the fuss is about.

You understand when the man, stood by the cash register, his hands casually in his pockets, turns to look at you. You understand that perhaps Elisa was a little justified in being afraid of him; he stands well over six foot, his clothes . . . unusual, a scarred and muscled torso very prominently on display. His hair is pale and plastered to his forehead by the rain - but most striking of all are his eyes. Blood red irises and inky dark sclera, boring into your own gaze as you look up at his face (he’s handsome, you realise, and try and curtain the thought) and make sure that none of the brief flash of fear you do feel shows in your expression.

Because even if he looks scary doesn’t mean he is. You know not to judge a book by its cover! And this man, you suppose, spends a lot of time being judged for his stature and his eyes and all of the things he can’t help, and you refuse to be a part of the problem. Part of you, too, wholeheartedly believes that a gangster would have no business in your father’s humble little sweet shop.

You’d known when you’d rented this storefront that it was in an area controlled by Passione; when you’d spoken to your father, he’d assured you there was nothing to worry about - so you assume your father pays the protection dues he’s supposed to. There’s no reason for any member of Passione to step foot in here unless they were hankering for something to satisfy their sweet tooth!

And if they are here to buy, they are a customer and not a gangster, and you intend to treat them simply as the former. Who are you to judge how one earns their bread?

“Get caught in the downpour?” You ask, cheerfully, taking your place behind the counter. “It looked pretty bad out there! I’m glad to be inside!”

You keep eye contact with him. You notice that he seems surprised, and you chalk it up to the fact that people probably don’t look into his eyes - you suppose they are a little unnerving, but the more you look at them the more ordinary they seem. Your smile does not fade a whit.

“O-oh,” he says, and his voice is very deep and pleasant. You watch as the faintest dark flush creeps up his cheeks. “Yes. I dodged in to avoid the rain.”

You look at the clock on the wall.

“Oh dear,” you say, meaning it. You’re sympathetic; getting caught in an unexpected rain shower is bad at the worst of times, but this man appears to be in head to toe leather, and leather is never comfortable when damp. “And at this time, too! The roads are always so horribly busy with everyone getting home from work! I’m sorry you got caught up in that, Signore.”

He pauses before speaking, as if he’s really mulling over his words.

“I kept getting hit with umbrellas,” he grunts out, eventually.

“Well, we never have too many customers around this time anyway,” you say, smiling. “I don’t mind at all if you ducked in for some reprieve from the showers! You’re welcome to stay and look around until it goes - it’s not very big, but my father and I make all of the sweets ourselves and we’re very proud of it!” You smile, and then, you wink at him. It feels like he needs a kindness, after Elisa ran out of here practically screaming. “If you want a sample of anything, just ask!”

He blinks at you, as if he can’t quite believe that you haven’t turned tail and run - and the corner of his mouth twitches.

“I think I frightened the other girl,” he says, eventually - he does not sound exactly ashamed of it, but he does sound sorry. “I’m sorry if I caused any problems for you.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” you say, lightly. “Elisa’s new here. She’s still getting to grips with everything, and I think she just got a little overwhelmed by--”

You hesitate. How do you tell this man that his very presence is intimidating?

A smile breaks his mouth.

“Yes,” he says. “I tend to have that effect.”

There is a smudge of flour - or some other powdery white substance used in baking, he knows it is not the powdery white substance he is most familiar with, at least - across the bridge of your nose, and keeping his eyes off it is proving to be a challenge. He wants to stare at your face for hours. He wants to memorise the shape of your eyes and your lips, covet the colour of your eyes - remember what it feels like to be looked at like a man and nothing more.

He’s not often lost for words, but in front of you, he finds himself faltering. It’s been so long since he has had a conversation that is just simply a conversation - even at the supermarket, the cashier looks up and looks down and scans his items without drawing attention to themselves, too fearful of whatever Risotto might do (even in the well-lit aisles of a public place, apparently) to do much else. You, though - you are before him, smile on your face, eyes directed at him, open warmth and sunniness diffusing everything you do.

He didn’t intend to buy anything. He does not have much of a sweet tooth. He prefers the sour or the salty when it comes to consumables - but somehow, looking at your friendly open face, he cannot bring himself to leave empty-handed. Even though you had openly said you didn’t mind if he’d only come in to shelter from the rain (which he had done, after all), he does not want to disappoint you. There’s nobody else in the shop. How many customers have you had all day?

If he buys something, and says he liked it . . . if he does that, that’s an excuse to come back in and see you again, isn’t it?

It’s not that Risotto has a crush, he thinks - though now that he mentions it, he notices how pleasant he finds your colouring, how your curves and lines fill out your own uniform (pinstripes and aprons) so well, how he likes the way your hair is pulled out of your face - but rather that he wants, just for a few moments, to feel like he is being looked at as another person on the street. Before today, it had been a long time since he’d been allowed to feel normal.

And if the price of feeling ordinary is a few bags of sweets and a lighter wallet, is that so high a price to pay?

And he could always buy things for his teammates!

He might not be planning on enjoying any delicacies himself, but if one of his teammates enjoys the treats . . . he smiles to himself at the sheer genius of his plan.

“May I have some bags made up?” He asks you. “I’m afraid there are a few things I want, I’d rather keep them separate--”

“Of course, Sir!” You say, immediately brightening - even more! He didn’t think it was possible for that glow you had to get any brighter, but he’s proven wrong. “Are you buying some gifts, perhaps?”

“Yes,” he says, watching you reach behind the counter and put on a pair of thin plastic gloves. “Some gifts for my colleagues, we’ve just done rather well on a project.” He can’t stop watching your hands. He wonders how small they would look if he were to put his own beside them. If he were to take ahold of you.

(He does not say that the “project” he refers to is the murder of an influential government official whose demise had been reported this morning as due to a combination of old age and a rare blood disorder nobody had realised he’s had, one that caused a horrible iron deficiency. It’s much better that you don’t know that.)

“Oh!” You say, the smile not leaving your face, your eyes not leaving his. “I’m really happy for you! You must be a considerate boss, to want to buy everyone else presents! How many are you buying for? We have a couple of gift boxes and selections that might fit the bill, if you want to bring in a treat to share--”

“No,” Risotto says quickly, imagining the chaos that might break out if he were to provide a box for his teammates to pick and choose how they pleased. Ghiaccio would certainly accuse someone of having more than their fair share, and Prosciutto would berate Pesci for eating too many, and Gelato would definitely actually eat too many-- “I’ll get them all individual gifts, if you don’t mind.”

Your smile is infectious. Risotto isn’t certain when the last time the curve of his lips held this long.

“That’s more than fine. I’ll make sure they’re all very nicely presented, don’t you worry about that! How many individual bags would you like?”

He pauses, counting in his head, partly not wanting you to move too far away from him and partly hypnotised by the tilt of your head and the colour of your eyes and the way your attention is focused solely on him. He’s used to not being seen - that’s his job description, after all. But you make being noticed seem . . .pleasant. Like it’s not something to be avoided at all costs.

He’s grateful for the little game he played with himself earlier, assigning all of the sweets to members of his team. It means he doesn’t embarrass himself tripping over words and sounding unsure about what he wants, making you feel as though he’s incompetent - he watches as you take scoops out of the big impractical jars and pour them into sweet little striped paper bags, reaching behind you to pull out lengths of ribbon and cut them so they curl beautifully, neat little cards with the name of your shop attached to the shimmering tails--

You move so quickly and neatly and Risotto is duly impressed. He’d find this kind of work horribly dull; you seem to be having a good time, enjoying yourself as you tug on a ribbon that isn’t quite even and straighten the tag of Prosciutto’s sweet tobacco. He feels . . . warm, somehow, that you’re taking such care over the little bags of sweets, though he knows they can hardly be the most expensive things you sell. Risotto cannot afford the most expensive things you sell, he thinks, looking at the price of some of the chocolate assortments in satin boxes behind the glass.

“There!” You say, stepping back and enjoying the neat sight of all eight bags of Risotto’s choice lined up on the counter. Risotto has to admit they look very neat and pretty - whilst he knows Ghiaccio will probably just tear into his bag of pretty pale blue peppermints, he hopes that Prosciutto or Illuso or someone will appreciate the work put into presentation. He knows he is - or perhaps he’s just admiring the one doing the presentation. Aren’t they the same thing, in the end?

You tell him the total and Risotto fumbles for his wallet. It’s been a while since he paid for anything in cold hard cash - he has a fake bank card for things like groceries under a false name, but somehow he wants to ensure things here are more . . . personal. He hands over the money and his breath catches as your fingers brush his--

Did you feel that spark of electricity? That brief zip of excitement?

“Which of them are for you?” You ask him, as if nothing has happened, waiting for your register to print his receipt. You’re thankful for your father’s insistence on pricing things in whole numbers - you’ve never had much of a brain for mathematics, and you’d felt somehow . . . discomfited by the way Risotto’s fingers had felt when they brushed your own. You’re glad to avoid touching him too much.

“Oh.” He looks at you. “None of them are.”

You look at him, profiling him - and then, smiling, you tap your nose. You reach to one of the jars closest to you, filled with dark pinwheels the colour of this man’s scleras - you take a handful of them and pop them into one of the bags your father usually leaves for Halloween-time, black and white striped.

“No charge,” you say, tying it with a neat little black bow. “I think you’ll like the licorice! You don’t strike me as a man who enjoys too much sweetness.” You drop it into the bag with the rest of Risotto’s purchases. “You should always allow yourself to indulge! You deserve a reward just as much as the rest of your team do!”

“I-- thank you, Signorina--”

You wave away his thanks, your cheeks pink, and Risotto decides right then and there he’s going to have to come back here, if only to see your face flush that colour once more. He knows you’re going to haunt his daydreams for days. That someone like you has existed so close to him for so long and he has been unaware. . .

“I hope you and your colleagues enjoy them!” You chirp. You point to the windows. “The rain’s stopped too! I was very glad to meet you, I hope I’ll see you again sometime--”

And you step away from him, turning your body towards the doorway, and Risotto is leaving before he shames himself by grabbing your shoulder and asking you to stay longer and just talk to him for a while. As he opens the door and the bell rings across the shop, he hears your voice:

“Elisa! He was perfectly nice, you were just being silly--”

Nice.

He hasn’t heard that word ascribed to him in a long time.

When Risotto hands Formaggio the prettily packaged parcel of sweets shaped like little cat faces, his subordinate looks up at him with wide eyes, as if trying to gauge whether or not Risotto is being serious about it. For one thing, gifts are not really a done thing among the members of La Squadra - for another, if Formaggio were to be handed confectionary, he would not have expected to be handed it by Risotto. Pesci, perhaps. Gelato, maybe - though he would hesitate eating anything given to him by Gelato. Illuso, maybe, if it were something elegant and not something twee--

But Risotto’s eyes are very focused and serious, so Formaggio takes the bag and drops out a confused thanks, and wonders if this is his capo’s way of poisoning him. He’s always imagined that Risotto would be sneakier than this, but maybe it’s one of those mafia honour things and he’s supposed to just eat it so that Risotto doesn’t kill him in a more painful way? Formaggio screws up his face looking down at it, and then watches as, across the room, Risotto stops Prosciutto.

He picks out another bag of candy. Formaggio’s cat candy is tied with an orange bow; Prosciutto’s candy - Formaggio doesn’t know how to describe it, but it looks kind of like pale, sugary tobacco - is tied with a yellow one. Prosciutto looks down at it, and then back up at Risotto, and gives a halting thanks.

A few hours later, Formaggio has ascertained that every member of La Squadra has been given a not-quite-identical bag.

When Formaggio hesitantly puts forward that perhaps Risotto is going to kill them, Ghiaccio barks out angrily that their Capo would never do anything so stupid--

“I recognise this shop, anyway,” says Illuso, who is chewing a piece of fudge as he talks. Okay, maybe they’re not actually poisoned, then. “It’s down one of the main streets. Quaint little confectioner’s. Only been there a few years but seems to do okay business. I don’t know who owns it, but as far as I know it’s nobody who Passione or Risotto might have in their back pocket.”

Formaggio looks at the bag again, and, sighing, reaches in. His fingers close around one of the brightly coloured sweets, surprised by how hard it feels - he’d expected some kind of gummy sweet. Throwing it into his mouth, the hard candy immediately tastes sweet and warm and pleasant all at once.

He crunches the sugar between his teeth loudly, because that is the kind of man that Formaggio is. Sorbet, across the table from Formaggio, wrinkles his nose and dutifully feeds Gelato another fluffy pink heart-shaped marshmallow.

“Well?” Ghiaccio demands. “Are you going to die?”

Formaggio considers for a moment. Sweet strawberry aftertaste lingers between his teeth. None of the rest of his teammates who have professed they’ve already eaten some of their ‘gifts’ appear to have dropped dead where they stand yet.

“Nah,” he says, eventually. “Don’t think I’m gonna kick the bucket any time soon. These are real good, by the way.”

“Mm,” says Melone, who pops another brightly coloured gumball into his mouth. Formaggio has heard the bubbles popping for most of the night - as Melone does it, a vein in Ghiaccio’s forehead visibly twitches. The blue haired man already looks like he’s teetering on the edge of collapse - Formaggio supposes he did not enjoy the use of the phrase ‘kick the bucket’. Ghiaccio can be a real uptight asshole. “We should ask Risotto to be rewarded like this every time a hit goes well. Really makes us feel like a team, don’t you think? I’ll give you one of mine if you’ll let me try one of yours.”

Formaggio laughs, flicking one of his cat candies across the table and catching Melone’s tossed gumball with grace, sweeping a low bow. There’s a brief hubbub on the table as Formaggio walks away, probably about who’s being allowed to try some of whose candy, and Formaggio is smirking at the chaos he’s caused as he goes to find Risotto.

He really wouldn’t mind some more of these, actually.

He slips it into conversation with Risotto a few days later, expecting to be rebuffed immediately - the whole thing was already so out of character for their quiet, impassable leader - but he’s surprised when Risotto doesn’t tell him to be grateful for what he has. If Formaggio didn’t know Risotto so well, he’d say that the veil that fell over Risotto’s gaze was almost . . . fond. Longing.

After a moment, Risotto speaks.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

The statement is vague, without making any promises - and yet Risotto’s tone sends a shiver down Formaggio’s spine. Formaggio himself has never been the kind of man who makes a plan and sticks to it - if Formaggio gets what he wants, it’s usually because of pure luck. But when Risotto speaks, even to say something so up in the air . . .

Formaggio gets the impression he’ll definitely be getting more of the prettily decorated bags from the confectioner’s down the main street.

And for some reason, that certainty leaves him feeling unsettled.

Risotto is a careful man. He goes into the store that you work at once or twice a week; though he quickly memorises your schedule, he makes sure to pop in every so often when you’re not working. Once, he is served by Elisa, who looks at him with wide eyes and shaking fingers and jumps when the bell rings and another customer walks in. She’s clearly been told by you that Risotto is no threat, and yet she cannot shake that human nature: fear that which you do not think you could outrun or outsmart. Risotto does not smile at her.

Likewise, he does not smile at the older man who is working one Tuesday morning when he enters the candy-scented room to buy himself some more of the licorice. You had been right; he wasn’t a sweet kind of man, but he found himself enjoying the licorice you’d picked out for him immensely. He likes the salt and the chew of the black cables - sometimes, biting into them feels like stress relief.

This man, he assumes, is your father. He does not treat Risotto badly by any means, but Risotto sees the way that your father looks at him distrustfully and sees that he gets much less licorice in the bag than when you (or even Elisa) weigh out the contents.

It’s a pity, he thinks, you had to have a man like that for a father.

When he does get to see you, it feels like all of his troubles are lifted at once.

He had become used to the feeling of carrying all of his burdens around his heart like iron chains. He had accepted that was his lot in his life; he had accepted he was going to feel like he was drowning until he was murdered in a back alley after becoming too cocky with his stand. He hadn’t realised how bad that feeling had gotten until you’d smiled and winked and given him free candy out of the good of your heart and not because you were afraid of him, smudge on your nose and all.

He supposes, surrounded by other men who kill for money, he had not realised that some people were just inherently good.

Well. Perhaps not some people. In his experience, you are the exception that proves the rule.

And that you are reduced to being a confectioner in your father’s business and working behind a cash register, doing mindless things like measuring out grams and tying ribbons makes him ache in the middle of his chest. Someone like you deserves the world. Risotto does not dislike himself - but he does not like himself either. His body is simply the prison that he lives in. Other people whisper behind their hands about what Risotto might do with a face and a body like that, what blood might stain his past, what he might do if he were given an inch of leeway and they were to take their gaze from him for just a moment--

But you do not do that. You smile at him and always put an extra scoop of the sweets into whatever he orders (Prosciutto does not like the sweet tobacco; he asks for one of the beautifully decorated boxes of candy cigarettes, and you put three into his paper bag, telling him nobody ever really buys them anyway). You ask him banal questions about his day like he’s an ordinary man.

Once, angry about the man’s conduct on their last ‘project’, he lets slip Melone’s name. He curses himself in the back of his brain, hating that he’s made himself vulnerable - but when, a few weeks later, you ask about whether Melone has calmed down any yet, any fear he had about you misusing the new information floats away like dust on the wind - you are simply a wonderful person who remembers things that you are told. Who cares about his life, though nobody else ever has.

Risotto sees little things about you. Every day, he learns something new. He learns that you have no particular interest in sweet-making, but your father did not trust easily (this comes as no surprise to Risotto, even with his limited interactions with the man). He learns that you still live at home. You mention that you walk through one of the shittier neighbourhoods to get there, and that is enough for Risotto to draw a brief sketch in his mind of where you might reside--

He learns other things, too. He’s not surprised by your gentle kindnesses, but they still hit him full force in the chest whenever he gets to see one.

It is not just him you give extra portions to, after all. Small children who come in and laboriously count out their money onto the glass, the tap-tap-tap echoing in Risotto’s brain, are rewarded with you exclaiming about how good they are with numbers and a few extra scoops of whatever sweet thing they’re hankering over. A few times, when you and he have been chatting, you’ve slipped him one of the licorice pinwheels from the jar whilst you chewed on your own delicacy of choice.

(“Almost nobody ever buys the licorice!” You tell him, laughing. “You’re doing me a favour by eating some, really!”)

Once, a little girl comes in, sniffling. It transpires she has lost her mother in the hubbub of a busy Friday evening, and you talk to her softly and gently and fetch a chair from out of the backroom for her to sit on. You amuse her by telling her about a time you got separated from your father when you were a small child, and you give her one of the brightly coloured lollipops decorated with rainbow swirls from your display cabinet.

When her mother eventually flies into the shop in a tizzy, she is grateful to you - and more, she’s grateful to Risotto, her eyes not once straying to his peculiar clothes or his strange eyes. To him, she is just one of the two people in this little confectioners who helped keep the light of her life safe, and her eyes are full of happy tears when she gives him a quick hug--

He doesn’t remember the last time somebody hugged him.

Just another example of your bright sunshine rubbing off on him. When somebody is by you, he thinks, they cease to be just themselves - they are lent some of your warmth and sweetness and are made all the better for it. A little voice in the back of his brain, gnawing viciously at the knot in his chest that forms whenever you smile at him, whispers that nobody else deserves this. You are too good for this world. You must be protected and kept safe and guided away from the evils of the universe--

You give a little boy and his even younger sister who come in to browse - and admit shyly, sadness in their eyes, that they have no money, and just enjoy the colours and the smells and being surrounded by delicious things so they can imagine how they might taste - a bag made up of two sweets from every jar in the shop.

“Don’t you lose money?” He can’t resist asking you, after the children have exchanged wide eyed looks as if they cannot believe their fortune and ran out of the door, babbling impassioned thanks. “Giving things out for free like that?”

You meet Risotto’s eyes - and in them, you see that worry that the extra sweets and the free things you slip into this man’s orders have been a burden on you - and you shake your head.

“You never lose money on kindness,” you tell him, and Risotto remembers that for days afterwards. No.The world doesn’t deserve you. Somebody is going to take advantage of you. That voice - the one he has never been good at ignoring, the one that leads him to splattering brains on the pavement with a handgun before he turned twenty - whispers that the only place you will be safe is with him. Risotto believes it.

He believes it even more when one night he has dropped in to buy Formaggio some of his cat candy, and you and your father are arguing in hushed whispers in the back room. You see him, and go to greet him and ask him what he wants tonight--

And your father reaches out, hands encircling your wrist, dragging you to face him too close and hissing something that, if Risotto were not intimately acquainted with listening to conversations he is not supposed to, he would have missed.

“You’re going to bankrupt us--”

“It’s just a few sweets--”

“They’re my sweets. You’re fucking lucky you have a job at all, you ungrateful little--”

Risotto steps forward, and your father - like the coward he is - falls silent. He looks up at the imposing six foot something man with muscles the size of his head and cannot think of anything to say. Risotto’s voice is low, like the rumbling purr of a motorcycle engine when he speaks;

“Is there a problem here?”

Your father blinks up, and you look at Risotto like he has saved you from a very dark fate - and Risotto cannot help but love that look of relief and adoration on your face.

“No problem,” your father mumbles, and scurries away back into the other room, tail tucked firmly between his legs.

Risotto turns his gaze on you.

“Are you alright?” He asks, sensing that you’re about to cry or do something worse. He looks at the way you cradle your wrist protectively in one gloved hand and wonders if it’s the first time your father has ever laid his hands on you - for your father’s sake, Risotto hopes it is. He cannot describe what he would do to anyone who would hurt you more than this.

He wants to take you away then, as you right yourself and wipe at your eyes and summon a smile for him - ever the sunny one, even when your world is raining. He envies and loves that about you. But he cannot. Not yet.

He must plan slowly. He must earn your trust. Risotto does not rush into things.

Risotto has his responsibilities. He longs to be able to devote every moment of every day to you; he wants to watch you wake up and see sunlight dapple your beautiful face, wants to see you sleep-tousled and soft in the morning. He wants to walk beside you on your way to work. He wants to cook you dinner. He wants to hold you in his arms and never let go. He wants to lock you up so that soft prettiness you have and that sweet sunshine can only be gazed upon by him and people he thinks deserves you. He wants to chain you up and keep you safe so that you might never have to interact with people who do not deserve you ever again.

But he can’t. Not yet.

For now, he tries to keep his longing sated by dropping into the sweet shop whenever he can. He prefers early mornings and late evenings - when you are more likely to be alone, and the shop is most likely to be quiet. He’s walked you home from your shift once, when you’d sighed that it was raining and you hadn’t brought an umbrella--

(“I owe you for the first time,” Risotto had grunted - and you, who have come to be fond of this over-protective huge man in the way one is fond of an awkward older brother, allow it. You know about your basic stranger safety - but Risotto has been so loyal in the past few months, and he’d stopped your father from shouting, and he’s never been weird or creepy towards you. You can’t help but think the man is just lonely - so you accept the proposal, although you don’t let him walk you any further than the top of your street.)

Sometimes, he lets Metallica out, and he blends into the walls behind him, and he watches you go home. He follows you and watches you go into your shitty little house that you’d tried so hard to keep a secret from him - he thinks you must be ashamed of it. The front door looks as though it’s been kicked in once or twice. The flower garden out front has gone wild. The windows are grimy, and one is smashed. The sweet shop cannot be doing so well, then.

It’s alright, he thinks to himself. When you and he have your future together, he’ll make sure the house is perfect. You will not have to worry about vandals or criminals. You won’t walk down a street to get home that is lined with used needles and empty bottles.

He finds out, coincidentally, it is not the first time your father has laid hands on you, and he aches for justice. That anyone would have the nerve to hurt you! That anyone could try and dull that sparkle or rain on that sunshine!

Risotto knows he is not a good man - but he knows you are good, good, gooder than any person has a right to be. If you are his, perhaps some of your goodness will rub off on him - and if it does not, at least he will be able to ensure that you never lose it.

It’s enraging.

And though he promised himself he would wait . . . well. Patient men who can control themselves do not end up the capo of La Squadra. They do not end up in Passione’s employ. They do not develop stands that are suited for nothing so much as death--

And he thinks about how your father does not pay Passione’s protection fees. He thinks about how your father clearly thinks he is too good for that - thinks he is too good for you, though Risotto knows that is the opposite of the truth. His stomach and his brain and his bloodlust roar with anger, for the world to be set to rights, for your father to pay for his transgressions.

And Risotto Nero, capo of La Squadra di Esecuzione, fool who has fallen irrevocably in love - he sets the cogs turning, and his plan in motion.

It’s early Tuesday morning and you’re opening the shop today. Your father stayed late last night - when you’d woken up, he was still not in, and you assume he’s spent all night working. He does, sometimes, when he’s concocting some new flavour or messing around with some new way of doing things when the old ways have sufficed perfectly well for hundreds of years.

You do not share your father’s passion for the art of confectionery. You’re only working this job because he hadn’t been able to find anyone else he trusted with the machines and the shop - though you do not want to spend the rest of your life here, he always guilt trips you when you mention moving away, and you’ve accepted you’re going to be stuck here for eternity. Your feet are dragging on the ground, putting off the inexorable boredom of working something you do not care about, when you hear a voice behind you.

“You’re late today.”

It’s faintly amused - low and deep, and you turn and see Risotto.

(You’d laughed at his name and he’d laughed too at your reaction. It’s one of the few times you’ve heard him laugh, and you wish he did it more. He always seems so serious. You feel awfully sorry for him.)

“Just putting off the daily grind,” you tell him, slowing down so he can fall into step beside you. You trust Risotto, insomuch as one can trust a customer. “Are you stopping by for something?”

“Ah,” Risotto says. “Melone has ran out of those cinnamon candies shaped like women’s mouths.”

You nod. Melone is one of Risotto’s colleagues; one of the ones he mentions a lot. You think that Melone is a ladies man, a flirt, and someone who evidently does not take his job half as seriously as Risotto himself.

“Well,” you say, smiling still. It’s nice to talk to him. “You’re welcome to come in and wait whilst I get the shop ready, as long as you promise not to nab any of our licorice whilst my father is watching! He never came home last night, so I can only assume he’s been at the table in the back like a mad scientist.”

Risotto holds up his hand - you can’t help but notice how big they are. Sometimes, little flashes like that remind you of why Elisa was scared of him. He hasn’t eased up on showing off the skin or the black leather or the intense eyes - still, you know not to judge a book by its cover. You’re glad that you hadn’t, when it came to Risotto. You look forward to him coming in. He feels like a friend.

“On my honour,” he says, and you laugh - and then, abruptly, the laugh dies in your throat.

The glass door is smashed. Your neatly written sign lays on the floor, “Closed” side up. Your lip wobbles as you look down, and Risotto breathes in sharply as he sees what’s given you pause.

“Be careful,” he intones, lowly. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

“My dad--”

You step up into the building, eyes flying around the room. The jars of candies are in disarray. The bonbons are on the floor, where they must have rolled when their jar came crashing down - all around you are shards of both glass and of brightly coloured hard sugars.

The devastation of the main floor of the shop is not what worries you, though.

Not even the cash register, emptied onto the floor, the drawer a little way away from the body of the thing with what is clearly absolutely no money in it, makes you worry as much as the red substance that is smeared across the tiles beneath you.

“Oh, dio mio--” you whisper, your heart beating double time in your chest.

You turn to see that Risotto has followed you into the shop, his eyes taking in the scene around him, his shoulders hunched. He sees you looking.

“Do you want me to wait outside?” He asks, and you feel a pang in your chest. “I’ll stay, if you need me--”

If whoever did this is still here, you think, you might find yourself glad of the offer. You nod at him, trying to force past the lump in your throat to produce anything that comes close to being intelligible.

“Please,” you whisper, and Risotto nods and comes to stand behind you. Together, you two advance past the chaos of the shop, through the scattered sweets and the glass jars and the ribbons and bags that have been disturbed during whatever tussle took place here. You two creep through the doorway - and when you see it, your breath catches in your throat and you think for a moment you’re going to scream.

Your father is on the floor. His chest is moving, but its faint - your eyes are drawn to the blood around his head, haloing him like he’s an angel. You have often disliked your father, hated him even - but seeing him like this still makes you feel like bile is rising in your throat.

“Wh-who would do this?” You whisper, your hands shaking. Risotto moves slowly and carefully, inching past you (you don’t notice how warm his body is or how hard it is in your grief, though Risotto notices how soft you feel against him). He picks something up from the big wooden-and-metal table you use for rolling out hot sugar and cutting fudges and all of those things.

(You won’t be using it for those for a while, you think. It’s horribly unsanitary now! The very thought makes manic laughter bubble to your lips, though when it comes out it just sounds like great gulps of air).

“Passione,” Risotto says, his voice flat. He hands you whatever it is he’s holding; with shaking hands, you take the matte black calling card. There is no name on it; just a fancy design, etched in the cardstock so that you can only see it when you tip it to the light. “This is . . . their symbol.”

You know about Passione. Of course you know about Passione!

“B-but--”

“I can only assume he didn’t pay protection fees,” Risotto says. You’re grateful for the monotone way he’s speaking to you, the slow enunciation - you’re not sure if you could take emotion right now. Not when your heart is beating so frightened against your ribcage. Not when you can’t breathe. Not . . . not now.

“I--”

“Do you need me to call someone?”

Risotto’s voice sounds very far away.

He repeats your name.

“There must be someone,” he says.

Someone.

Your father’s unconscious body.

An ambulance, perhaps.

But if it’s Passione related. . .

You speak, and just like Risotto’s voice, your own sounds very far away.

“My fiancé,” you manage to say. “He’ll know what to do.”

Oh.

You don’t know that saying this is a mistake.

You don’t know that Risotto’s heart feels like it’s turning upside down.

You don’t know what’s about to happen.

Poor you.

If only you had.

Risotto has followed you and watched you and dreamt about you, tossing and turning in his sheets, wishing you were there to hold onto. He has seen your home, seen your family, seen you walk to and from work and talked to you more than he’s ever talked to anybody he wasn’t supposed to either work with or kill. And he’s never come across even the slightest mention of a fiancé. You’ve never implied that there was anyone in your life!

His heart is vibrating. His throat is dry. His fingers twitch idly. You look up at him, eyes wide, lip trembling--

There’s a cut on your hand. You must have brushed against one of the cracked or broken jars. Risotto’s eyes fixate on the bead of dark red--

Nobody but you has ever seen him as anything but a monster.

Nobody has ever seen past the dark storm clouds in his heart - nobody has ever even tried! You’d walked into his life, all sweetness and sweet foods and laughter and treating and touching him like he was just another human, no thoughts as to whether he was involved in shady business or whether he’d ever been at the other end of a gun. He’d seen your smiles and your laughter and the light in your eyes and thought he was getting somewhere!

Something in him snaps.

If you’ve never mentioned a fiancé before, perhaps it’s not something you want. Perhaps it’s someone you’ve felt indebted to, like working for your father - oh, Risotto can see that easily. You’re such a bleeding heart. Too gentle and too kind for your own good, never the kind to want to upset someone.

If that’s it, he thinks, he’s doing you a favour - and he thinks of his car, parked one block away. He thinks of the tinted windows. He thinks of his house, on the outskirts of the city.

Doing you a favour. Taking you away from all of this. Keeping your light safe and bright and making sure nothing ever dims it.

He crooks a finger, and you blink, woozy on your feet suddenly. The little faces of his Metallica peek out from the cut on your hand, and he imagines them in your bloodstream even now. He imagines them melding together, taking the iron flowing through you (even your blood is pretty, he thinks, as you make a distressed noise and reach out for him and he steps towards you) - and he visualises the iron disk blocking your windpipe. Your hands clutch uselessly at your throat, eyes widening and closing, a horrific noise falling from your lips--

(Oh, he’s glad he’ll only have to hear that once. You should never be in pain.)

And your eyes flutter closed, your body falling heavy into Risotto’s arms.

Risotto is more than strong enough to carry you out of the door. A passerby sees him and you - Risotto calls out to her, and she ducks her head, not wanting to attract attention. Risotto is used to that. Risotto is used to being hurried past. Risotto has never considered it a right for people to treat him as they treat other human beings.

“I’m going to the hospital,” he calls out, even though the woman clearly does not want to know. “Passed out.”

She hurries past, and Risotto carries your body to his car. It’s still early in the morning. Nobody but that lady is around to watch the man take your body and bundle it into the back seat.

He eases the disk away, but continues to pull iron from your bloodstream. Better for you to be dizzy and unconscious and unaware whilst he takes you away. He doesn’t want you pounding on the doors of his car and attracting attention - or worse, realising where you two are going well enough to find your way back.

Somebody else will deal with the mess in Dolcezza. You - beautiful, wonderful, lovely you - will never have to worry about cleaning up after your father again.

He drives. He thinks about how safe you will be in his home. He thinks about coming home to you after a hard mission - he thinks about how your hands will feel on his shoulders, how your smile will warm his cold heart. He thinks about the brush of your lips on his - he wonders if you taste as sweet as the things you make. He thinks about your skin hot against his whilst he’s asleep, your head on his chest.

Risotto has never entertained thoughts of a domestic life before - he’s never thought he’d ever find anyone to share it with. He’s been thrown his fair share of admiring looks, of course, but he’s seen the darkest parts of the world. Most people disgust him.

But not you.

You stir, groaning, and Risotto uses Metallica to draw more iron from you until your breathing evens out.

Nearly home, he thinks - he feels almost giddy when the thought flickers in his brain. He has always thought of it as his house. It has never been a home - but with you there, in his bed, in his arms, in the kitchen or the living room or anywhere at all . . . with you there, it is certainly a home.

One of his neighbours is out, a hosepipe in his hands. Risotto takes a moment to remember his name. Clemente. He is old and infirm - even now, he stoops, watering his garden.

Risotto does not need to think twice. He parks his car neatly and goes to the back door, opening it to scoop you out - and Clemente looks at the man he has lived next to but never spoken to because he is too afraid, and puts the pieces together.

Before he can scream, there are razor-blades in his throat and knives in his wrists and needles in the vital arteries pumping blood to his heart. Risotto is strong enough to drag the body to his door with one hand and support you with his other arm.

It is not exactly a spur of the moment decision, really. Risotto thinks as he locks the door to his house behind him and carries you up the stairs, leaving the still gasping but far too weakened to move Clemente in the hallway to bleed out.

It makes sense, Risotto tells himself, that you might be afraid at first. You do not know Risotto Nero that well. You have only ever known your life with your father. You are leaving behind all of those other people who ate at your time and basked in the glow of you that they did not deserve. He expects an acclimatisation period.

And with fear, he knows, comes a desire to escape. He is not so selfish as to think you will not try. Risotto is a smart man. He drops you on the bed carefully, making sure your head is cushioned by soft pillows. He goes down the stairs to fetch Clemente - with the man’s body, he is far less careful, his fetching a drag.

Clemente’s blood bubbles from his mouth, but that is unimportant. Risotto will dispose of the corpse later.

The iron in Clemente’s body does well for forming the shutters over the window - it blocks out the natural light, but Risotto has lamps - and the light of your smile and your laugh and your voice will be enough for him. In time, perhaps you’ll win the light back. But for now, the windows are too much of a risk.

He uses more iron to make the caged bars that come down outside and inside of the door - inside first, and a key. There is just enough left in Clemente to make the outside cage - and then Risotto is left with a shrivelled corpse. He’ll deal with that at a different time, by cover of night - he knows all of the best places in the city for such things. He has used them plenty of times. If worst comes to worst, he will take the corpse in his car to the rest of his gang and ask Illuso to toss him in a river in the mirror world. It will hardly be the first time the other man has dealt with clean-up detail.

Iron shutters. Two locks. The bars too strong and thick to bend.

Yes.

He knows this will be the best for you.

You will be away from the life that you never wanted. You will be with him - you’ll love him, Risotto is sure of it.

No.

You already love him! For if you do not love him, how could you bear to look into his eyes? Why would you laugh like a silvery bell when he tries to tell a joke? Why would you trail your fingers across his hand just so when you hand him his goods and his change? Why would you talk to him and not run from the blackness and the evil and the rot inside him?

You must love him. You’ll realise you love him.

His teammates will miss the sweets, of course. Risotto will miss his licorice.

But that’s a small price to pay for the sweetness of your body and your mind and you, every day to come home to for the rest of your life.

Click. Clank. Click. Clank. Click. Clank.

He is alone in the room with you, the doors secured, no light creeping in through the iron shutters on the windows. He approaches the bed - and brave now that you and he are finally alone, he leans down and smoothes a kiss over your forehead. He lets the iron drain slowly back into your body.

Any minute now, you will come back around.

Any minute now, Risotto will be able to introduce you to your new life. Show you your new room. Whisper to you about the future he has already built in his head for the two of you - a rose-tinted future he’d never have been able to even imagine had you not smiled at him and given him those free licorice pinwheels. Had you not had sparkling eyes and a smudge on your nose and the sweetest laugh he had ever heard--

Oh.

He can hardly wait.

#spooky collection #risotto nero #writing #sfw #gender neutral reader #yandere for ts #blood for ts #abuse for ts #violence for ts #risotto x reader #jjba

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menswearmusings · 4 years ago

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Refined Style or Simply Farce? Refining Your Style While Broadening Your Base

I joked to a friend who leans socialist that his new circular, metal glasses made him look like Lenin. He quipped, “We all devolve into farce as we get older, so why not embrace it?”

Spend a decade being interested in any subject or hobby and if it still holds a grip on you, that interest goes one of two ways: 1. You expand your horizons ever broader seeking the novel, reinventing your interest, or 2. You double down on the parts that excite you the most, whittling away the extraneous as you try to find its pure core. In other words, you either get into weird proportions and cropped pleated drop crotch pants, or you buy 7 pairs of identical shoes so you can wear one every day of the week.

I’ve never understood the guys who completely change lanes and get into wildly different clothes (no condemnation, I just don’t understand it). You won’t catch me dressing in hype sneakers and cargo pants or whatever for 2-3 years before switching again completely. Maybe I’m just slower and more risk-averse than others, so trying out totally different styles is off the table for me. I’m more the hone-in type of guy.

However, there is a balance between the two paths, and that is the different modes of life we all live in. As an example, I’m a tailoring guy through and through, and that’s my default mode of dressing for normal adult life. But as life has changed for me, it’s forced me to address those new circumstances in my wardrobe. In 2015, my wife and I took a trip to Italy, and I wore a blazer every single day. Then in 2019 when we returned, we had a 1-year-old in tow and we had a good deal of walking/hiking on the itinerary. I carried him in a backpack on those hikes. So instead of blazers everyday I had a lightweight M65 style jacket from Corridor, light sweaters, polo shirts, etc. Everything I wore was still within the realm of “my style,” but just more in tune with the activities we were doing and the reality of a small child.

I’ll admit it took me a long time to land on that Corridor M65. I’ve spent so long pursuing the Neapolitan + modern Ivy tailored look I love so much that I had trouble finding a lightweight, casual outer layer that I liked and would be functional. I tried chore coats, looked at weird skater kimonos from 18 East, considered Filson at one point; nothing was doing it for me. I found that M65 and was so thankful for it.

So how do you broaden your horizons for the different modes of life while still staying true to your style? Here are some ideas.

1. Broaden the list of inspirational, stylish people you follow

I have a fairly focused Instagram feed because my tolerance for crappy-looking menswear is very low. So I follow lots of tailoring houses and style-focused accounts, not many of whom post many fits outside that range. That means it’s hard to find inspiration for other modes of dressing. So break out of your rut and look for new accounts, blogs and YouTube videos to follow. Instagram’s Discover tab can help a certain amount (though boy oh boy do they really want you to watch their TikToks—I mean Reels). Following some hashtags can work, too, though again those can lead to crappy menswear photos so choose wisely. You can also just do it manually and look at the “following” list of other menswear accounts you follow to see if you like any that are different from the ones you already follow.

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A post shared by Peter Zottolo (@urbancomposition)

2. Don’t be afraid to experiment and possibly fail, publicly if you’re comfortable

Try that bomber with the tailored trouser look. See if the hiking boots look cool with the denim and blazer. Order that weird kimono thing and try it on to see if it’s as cool as you think. If you post online somewhere (like Styleforum, the Reddit male fashion advice place, or Instagram), don’t be afraid to put it up and ask for honest input. Outside opinions can really be helpful, and sometimes failing provides for a better teachable moment than posting something fine or safe.

3. Write down certain situations and specific types of clothing you’re looking for to guide you down the path

It’s kind of overwhelming to think about expanding your wardrobe to new clothes for new circumstances. It can seem like you’ll need a whole new wardrobe. So my suggestion is simply to focus on the individual pieces you keep thinking to yourself “Ah, I wish I had something like ___ right now” and look just for that. That Corridor M65 I mentioned earlier was actually a jacket type I had been looking for for months and months: a lightweight outer layer with easily accessible pockets that I could put random stuff in when having bonfires or doing house projects, that I wouldn’t worry about getting dirty and which could be washed easily, but which was also designed to be a little dressier so that it wouldn’t look so out of place with a button-up shirt. The Corridor jacket’s hidden buttons, navy fabric and contemporary fit all make it fit those criteria well.

As life changes for you personally (and collectively in how we work and travel due to the pandemic), allow the changes to explore new facets of your style, whittling away the extraneous in each mode of life to be the most well rounded, stylish and on-target guy you know. In the end, we all devolve into farce as we get older, so why not embrace it?

Just bury me in navy on top and white jeans with suede shoes. That’s the pure core of my style.

(Help support this site! If you buy stuff through my links, your clicks and purchases earn me a commission from many of the retailers I feature, and it helps me sustain this site—as well as my menswear habit ;-) Thanks!)

If you’re just getting into tailored menswear and want a single helpful guide to building a trend-proof wardrobe, buy my eBook. It’s only $5 and covers wardrobe essentials for any guy who wants to look cool, feel cool and make a good impression. Formatted for your phone or computer/iPad so it’s not annoying to read, and it’s full of pretty pictures, not just boring prose. Buy it here.

Read more at Menswear Musings

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lukatheselkie · 4 years ago

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HMC - Candle in the dark (2/2)

@hetaliamondaychallenge

Pairing: Possible future South Italy x OC Alrik; Fika

Warnings: Fighting drowning, attempted suicide, serious conversation about attempt, characterized depression, brief mention of a previous death

Lovino feels like he’s drowning. Maybe he is. It wouldn’t be a surprise to him, honestly. It’s been a weird few days. Weeks. Months. Years. Life. He sighs, letting out as much air as he can into the water on purpose. The people in his life would be better off without him. Of course they would. He only ever gets in the way. But there’s a tiny voice in the back of his head that tells him maybe, just maybe, someone cares about him. But that’s preposterous. ...Isn’t it? Whether he believes it or not, his mind catches on the words. Maybe somebody cares about you. It’s enough to get him to start fighting.

First, he needs to get as many clothes off himself as he can. He can feel them dragging down on his body harshly. He kicks off his shoes, pulling his shirt over his head at the same time. His pants are going to have to stay, but he thinks he can toe off his socks. He struggles with that as he searches for the surface with his hands. One pops out for just a moment, but it’s enough to give him a goal. He stops trying to remove his socks since it’s not working well anyway, and focuses on struggling toward the surface. Toward air he can breathe.

Both his hands are out now, but for some reason he can’t lift his head out. Just as he’s about to rest his flailing arms, his hand scrapes against something large and solid. That gives him a small energy boost, and he grabs hold of the thing. He tries pulling himself out using the solid object, but the waves around it are particularly choppy. He bangs his head into it quite a few times, but does eventually manage to drag himself up it. He pants heavily as he splays himself across the somewhat flat top. It occurs to him that he’s laying on a boulder somewhere at sea before his vision goes dark.

Blinding white. That’s the first thing he sees when he opens his eyes. Within a second, two familiar faces pop into his vision as well; his brother and his crush. “Oh thank goodness! You’re finally awake! We’ve been so worried! I told you to be careful around the cliffs!” Cliffs? ...Oh. That’s right. He jumped off a cliff into the ocean as a sucide attempt. Why had he changed his mind? He closes his eyes tightly. “Did you trip on a rock or something?” His stomach twists painfully. He doesn’t want to tell them the truth. “Ah, it doesn’t matter! What matters now is that you’re awake.” Feli hugs him tightly. It’s almost crushing. It’s oddly reassuring. Someone squeezes his hand, and he opens his eyes to see which one of them it is. It’s Alrik, and his heart leaps into his throat at the sight and sensation. His eyes are filled with sorrow. Lovino wants to touch him, reassure him, maybe even say something. But when he opens his mouth to speak, nothing comes out.

“Please don’t strain yourself.” His voice lacks its usual energy. He grips his hand tighter. “You’ve been in a coma for two months. Don’t try speaking yet. Let the doctors check that everything is alright.” He releases his hands, and shrinks into a corner. Lovino longs for the warmth of his hand back. He closes his eyes and lets out a sigh. Now he knows why he stayed. It’s such a selfish reason. Seeing Alrik for even a second is worth all the pain of existing. All the pain of being overshadowed by his younger brother, who seems worried to death about him. He doesn’t deserve a dead brother, especially since he’s not overshadowing him on purpose. It’s just something that happens. He nods, focuses on the sounds of the room, and eventually the sound of the doctors checking on him.

When they finally leave, he moves the bed into a sitting position. Most of his injuries healed during the coma, but he got a concussion that’s still affecting him. “Lovi.” Feliciano pulls him into a gentle, loving hug. “I was so worried!” He crawls onto the bed with him. “We were worried.” He motions at Alrik, who’s still tucked into the corner. The Swede nods, then looks away. He’s acting strange. Why? “Does your head hurt? Do you need a drink? Maybe more medicine?” He nods, pauses, nods again, then shakes his head. Feli practically launches himself out of the room in an effort to get him water as soon as possible. Lovino looks over at Alrik.

“Tack for not dying,” he mumbles, wrapping his arms around himself. There’s tears on his cheeks.

“Are you okay?” His throat is a bit scratchy, and his voice comes out mostly hoarse. Alrik nods solemnly. “Come here. Please.” He scoots over a bit, so the man has a place to sit if he wants to be that close. He doesn’t, as he drags a chair to his side. “Can I wipe away your tears?”

“I’d rather you not.” Alrik bristles slightly. Lovino sighs heavily.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing I want to talk about.” He wipes at the tears on his face hard enough to agitate the skin. An awkward silence falls between them. A few minutes pass before Alrik lets out a groan. “Fine! If you want me to talk, Feli, I’ll talk! And I know you’re out there, listening! Go away. Please. I only want Lovi to hear this.” He presses his forehead into the bed, and lowers his voice to a whisper. “I’ve lost someone important to me before. I thought I did again.” He lets out a bitter, shaky laugh. “Opposite elements,” he mumbles. This leads Lovino to believe that maybe there was fire involved in the last one, and it breaks his heart a bit.

“I’m alive. I promise.” He lifts up his hand. “Can I run my fingers through your hair?” When he doesn’t get a response, he slowly lowers his hand into Alrik’s hair. He plays with his hair a bit, trying to be soothing. His breathing evens out after a few minutes, and he chuckles. “Feli, you can come in.” Feliciano pokes his head in, then walks over with a cup of water in his hand. He holds it out to Lovino, who gratefully downs it. “Thank you. That feels much better.”

“Sounds better, too. You’re welcome.” He looks down at Alrik. “Is he asleep?” A nod. “Then I have something to tell you.” He doesn’t like the sound of that. “I know you love him.” Lovino stiffens immediately. “Relax. Please. There’s much more to be tense about.” Of course there is. He forces himself to relax, though he doesn’t want to. “I think he’s in love with me.” He feels his heart drop. “However, he spoke with me about growing feelings for you.” His head snaps up to look at his little brother. “When you were found, he mentioned that he would have thrown himself after you had he been there to see it. He would have tried his hardest to keep you from those injuries, and from the coma. Even if it meant putting himself through it. He seemed to surprise himself with those words. He told me he’s only ever felt like that two other times. One with a human lover, and another with one of us. Since the one of us is much more recent, he compared that to what he’s feeling for you. He’s the protective type. He couldn’t look at me anytime he was speaking about this mystery person, so I feel like it must be me. He loves us both. He didn’t realize his feelings for you until you went into a coma.”

“Of course he loves you, Feli. Everyone loves you.” Lovino sighs.

“Not everyone. But that wasn’t my point. He cares about you too.”

“And he’s going to choose you. Go ahead and ask him out.” Feliciano shakes his head.

“I’m not interested in him. I realize now I may have been leading him on, but I never meant to. Besides, the two of you fit together better. I want you both happy.” Silence. It’s so thick it almost seems to dull the sounds of the hospital. It stretches out for a few minutes before he can’t take it anymore. “I know this was a suicide attempt, Lovi. Someone saw you jump off. Why did you change your mind? Why did you do it to begin with?”

“Sometimes it’s hard, living in your shadow. And I always seem to mess everything up. I just thought… Maybe without me, things would be more smooth.” He blinks rapidly, forcing the tears back. Felciano wraps his arms around him tightly.

“Please don’t think that. I love you. You’re my brother. You’re so so so important to me! And our people! And others. So many care about you. I’m sorry I never noticed your distress.” Lovino takes a deep breath.

“I’m sorry for not realizing the support and love I have. Or for seeking out help. I know it’s uncommon for us to…”

“You don’t have to say it. I know what you mean. And I promise, we’re going to get help. For both of us. I didn’t know you felt overshadowed. There’s probably more to that. So much more. But we can tackle that another day. Was he the reason you started fighting the waves?” He shakes his head slowly.

“Not entirely. I thought that maybe someone cares even a small amount about me, and it gave me enough hope to fight. I wasn’t thinking about anyone in particular. But he’s been the reason I’ve gone out before. Just seeing him for a second lights up my day.”

“I’m happy for you. Not everyone finds their light.”

“Their light?”

“You’re at a dark point, right? But he, and I suppose to a lesser extent I, are lit candles in that darkness. There will be others. We may light them, or others might come to. It doesn’t matter either way. The most important part is that more and more candles are being lit, until you can’t see the darkness anymore. If you think he’s going to light more of those candles, I think it would benefit both of you to date. At least consider speaking with him about it when you’re released.” He smiles reassuringly. “I love you. So much. Try not to forget that. I’ll say it as often as I have to. Believe it or not, I love you.” He buries his face in the crook of his neck. “Others do, too.” Lovino rubs a bit of Alrik’s hair between his fingers thoughtfully. Maybe Feli’s right. He should at least give it a chance.

#hetaliamondaychallenge #hetalia #hetalia south italy #hetalia italy #hetalia OC #Alrik Johansson

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dammitadolfnomorecake · 4 years ago

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Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt.22

Channeling his outer age instead of his inner, Lance let his manners go out the window somewhere after his third glass of wine. Each glass was technically two glasses, so now he had a nice pleasant buzz going on as he sat on his kitchen counter with Blue. He’d totally been a “Debby Downer”, and if he wasn’t kind of still having a slightly premature midlife crisis, he would have invited Hunk over to hang with him and Keith... Right. Like he could do that. What was he supposed to tell Hunk if he suddenly like sneezed and turned into a bat? God... What if he couldn’t jerk off anymore and what if he turned into a bat when he tried? Wait... when was the last time he tried to jerk off? Fuck... He couldn’t remember.

“Laaaaance? Are you even fucking listening?”

Keith looked grumpy, glaring at the pizza base before him. Keith wasn’t quite ready for the whole pizza from scratch experience, so Lance had grabbed a few bases much to the disgust of Hunk

“Sorry. I completely zoned out. What’s up?”

“I asked you what the hell I’m supposed to do with this thing?”

Keith had barely spread the sauce across the base. Trying to get the woodfired oven on had been the easiest part of the whole ordeal. Keith really loved setting shit on fire. Shiro was now in even deeper shit over the things he hadn’t taught his brother, and for apparently raising an anger loaf that was also a pyromaniac

“You want to put about twice the amount of sauce on the base. Then you put the cheese on. You gotta put the cheese on the bottom because it’s like the glue that sticks your toppings down”

Keith reached out, plucking the wine glass out of Lance’s hand

“No more until you’ve had dinner”

“But...”

“Nope. If I have to cook, you have to tell me what the fuck I’m doing”

Ugh. Stupid Keith. He was ruining Lance’s budding buzz. Scooching Blue away, Lance slid himself off the counter, to move behind Keith

“Now what are you doing?”

Rolling his eyes at the hunter, Lance grabbed the squeezie bottle of pizza sauce around him

“I told you. You need more sauce. Here, I’ll squeeze and you spread”

“Don’t day that again?”

“What? Squeeze and spread?”

Keith huffed at him in annoyance. This was probably the closest they’d been in their human forms. Keith was between his arms, his heart was racing, as Lance teased him by standing right behind him

“That. You’re supposed to be the mature one here”

“Ah, young grasshopper. I’m slightly, a bit, maybe, tipsy. And I may also sound like a douche right now, but Shiro should have taught you how to make pizza. How do you live in Rome, and not know how to make a damn pizza? I feel like someone in Italy just died”

“Do you ever shut up?”

“Yep. But you asked what to do. Spread he sauce across the base, then add the cheese”

Squeezing the bottle too hard, the lid popped off, sauce going pretty much everywhere in the immediate radius

“You did that on purpose?! Can’t you just be normal?!”

Keith saw red, Lance stepping out of his personal space with his hands up in surrender

“I swear that wasn’t on purpose. Take your shirt off, I’ll put it in to soak”

“There’s washing machine...”

That there was. But Lance hadn’t said to strip and chuck his shirt in the wash

“I know that. That’s why I said I’d put it in to soak”

“I know how to soak a shirt. Whatever. This is pointless.. You can’t even take this seriously”

Lance’s mood began to fall. He hadn’t meant to piss Keith off. He’d honestly squeezed too hard by accident... Now he felt like a dick. Drunk Lance was a tad obnoxious

“You’re right. I can’t even control how hard I squeeze a plastic bottle, how am I supposed to teach you anything when I’m like this? Go put your shirt in to soak, I’ll clean this up”

“What... but...”

“You don’t have to pretend Keith. It’s fine. For the foreseeable future it’s your home too. You don’t have to go along with the things I say. I thought it might be fun, but I messed it up. I’ll be in my office for the rest of the night. Make sure you eat. Don’t worry about the mess... I’ll deal with it when I’ve calmed down”

Whatever that was, Keith was kind of sure he’d been the one who’d messed up. He’d thought Lance was genuinely mocking him when he stood behind all weirdly, and popped the bottle of pizza sauce everywhere. He’d made pizzas with Shiro before, but those had the sauce and cheese already on the base, and he wasn’t actually that keen on pizzas that seemed to swim in sauce. He wasn’t even really that mad about his shirt, considering it was black. They’d kind of had a moment where he thought things might be okay. He’d noticed Lance frowning at his wine glass, and thought dragging him out of his thoughts was the right thing to do. Now he’s gone and fucked up. Lance had fled from him.

Staring at the sauce, Keith nodded to himself. Lance might think he hated him, and he didn’t want that... not that he liked Lance, but they were stuck together and the man seemed pretty high strung, despite the way he was acting. He could totally make pizza for dinner... Alone. Unsupervised. He wasn’t some kid who knew nothing. The toaster had totally eaten his toast and was to blame went it went up in flames. He could do this. He was going to do this and Lance was going to eat pizza because fuck him and his overdramatic arse.

Scraping the sauce onto another base, Keith left a trail of mess as he figured things out. He didn’t know what herbs went on pizza, yet he didn’t have to when the herb jars came labelled and one conveniently said “Pizza Herbs”. Herbs were spilt, Blue leapt up to eat the cheese and diced ham that went the same way as the herbs. He didn’t know how Lance felt about garlic, but a few cloves wound up on both their pizzas all the same. Yeah. He could totally do this. His skill left much to be desired, but Keith was quietly proud as he slid both pizzas into the oven... both way too loaded, with toppings that’d slid into the middle as he moved them.

Waiting until it looked done, Keith had nothing else to do but play with Blue. She was cute, and she didn’t seem to have the same attitude as her owner. Licking sauce off her paw, her little tongue poked out as Keith interrupted her grooming by wiping his hand over the crumbs on the bench, knocking some onto the floor in his attempt to “clean up”. Maybe he should get a pet? Something to wait for him when he got home... He wouldn’t mind a cat like Blue, secretly feeling black cats were the best despite what people might say with their silly superstitions. Distracted by Blue and the crumbs, Keith swore as he smelt something burning, Blue jumping off the counter and running out the kitchen as if he’d insulted everything she’d held dear by semi-yelling “fuck!”.

The pizzas weren’t cremated. Slightly black around the edges, with the cheese in the middle kind of weirdly unmelted but golden enough to pass as done. He didn’t need Lance to tell him what to do. He’d done it all by himself, like the 26 year old man he was. Now all he had to do was plate up... after he reclaimed his pizzas from the oven. Shiro always did them in a normal oven, pulling the pizza out by the side of the crust, having pushed them further back, Keith didn’t fancy getting burned on the flat metal trays built into the wood oven. His go to were tongs... succeeding in ripping the crust, meaning he had to try pull them out by hand... burning his fingertips as he did. That didn’t matter. He’d proved Lance wrong by creating two edible pizzas and he was pretty damn proud. Keith wanted to try out his new camera to photograph his kitchen triumph, but he also wanted to wait until after dinner when he could crash out on the lounge and explore its features properly...

Keith came to a stop, realising what he’d been thinking. He was... first he called this place “home”, now he was making plans to spend the evening binging horror movies as he played with his camera... He was far too comfortable here... What would Lance think if he made himself at home? Would be happy? Or would he be interrupting Lance’s night by taking over the TV? Lance wasn’t in a great place... Crap. What if he’d turned back into a bat? Would he be mad if Keith ate his pizza? Maybe if he cut them up and served them on two plates in the living room, it wouldn’t be weird for Keith to eat Lance’s share? If he was a bat, he could sit on the coffee table and nibble around the edges... Shit... The hunter’s hand itched to grab his phone out so he could call Shiro for help... Buuuuut... Shiro would be cranky if he called him over the best way to casually rub Lance’s face in the fact he’d made dinner. His brother might not even believe he’d been the one who cooked... Fuck. Okay. He could do this. It was pizza night with Shiro, only Lance was Shiro, and he wasn’t that great of a stand in... but the principle of the night was the same. Beer, pizza, horror movies...

Setting up things in the living room, Keith pulled up Netflix, leaving the remote conveniently close. He’d moved Lance’s glass of red wine and blood next to one of the pizzas, and uncapped his beer beside his own. Trying to cut through the slices with the pizza cutter hadn’t worked, just like those stupid wheels never worked the other hundred times he’d tried. Running his fingers through his hair, he felt king of nervous. He wanted to do a nice thing, kind of... Plus he hadn’t destroyed Lance’s kitchen in the process, so that definitely earned him extra brownie points. Now he just had to disturb Lance and hope he wasn’t about to be attacked for doing so.

Knocking on Lance’s office door, the vampire didn’t even acknowledge his presence. Slightly miffed that Lance was being so petty, he threw it open and succeeding in scare the crap out of him. Leaning back in his chair, Lance had some weird green goo covering his face, his ears covered with headphones... or rather, that’d been the way it’d been before he’d scared Lance badly enough he’d fallen out of his chair

“Jesus! What the hell, man?!”

Stifling a laugh, Keith sucked in his lips, Lance collecting himself up as he slid his headphones down. It was time to drop that bomb

“I made dinner”

Lance pursed his lips, brow wrinkled as he paused pushing himself up

“You should come grab something to eat. We’re having dinner in front of the TV”

Lance tilted his head to the left. The position he was in didn’t look comfortable

“You made dinner?”

“You don’t need to sound so shocked”

“But I messed things up”

“Not everything revolves around your actions. Whatever. You don’t have to eat if you don’t want to”

“What? No. Dude. I mean... I didn’t think... You cooked?”

Lance didn’t seem as impressed as Keith had hoped, he seemed more dubious over the quality of the food. Now Keith felt kind of annoyed he’d mentally made a big deal of it

“Pizza, beer, and movies... Shiro and I tried to do it when we could”

“You and Shiro cooked?”

Keith wished he had something he could throw at Lance. He didn’t need to sound so damn shocked. Cross his arms, the hunter’s voice held the strong tone of a pout

“We’re not useless. It’s not that hard to put some stuff on a pizza and bake it. If you’re going to keep making a deal of it, then you can make your own dinner”

“I didn’t say you were useless. I’m surprised seeing I was a total dick”

“You weren’t a dick. I thought you were making fun of me until I remembered that you can’t actually control your strength that well at the moment, not that the wine helped. I’m heading back to the living room, you do whatever you want”

“Dude, I’m totally there. Give me a tick to wash this stuff off, then I’ll be all good to go”

That right there was why he couldn’t keep up with Lance. That sudden change in upward mood wasn’t something he was used to. Most hunters had seen too much shit to be that happy, ever. Now his whole damn face was lit up, like Keith had given him some great gift. Fucked if Keith knew what it was meant to be, and fucked if he was going to waste brain power figuring it out.

Heading back to the living room, Keith flopped down on the sofa with a satisfied groan. Blue watching it his every move judgmentally from her spot on the tv cabinet as Keith forced himself up to retrieve his pizza and his beer, slumping back then noticing the remote laying on the table, the bastard out of reach. Keith rubbed at his face with his right hand, before leaning forward again to snag the remote. There wasn’t anything in particular he had in mind, more after background noise so fill in the gaps when Lance clammed up. Keith could see it now. He’d ask, Lance would say “after dinner”, then the chance to talk would slip away. Sliding out a piece of ham, Blue came flying, straight up into Keith’s lap with both paws on his leg as she craned upwards for the tasty treat

“Don’t tell you father”

“Don’t tell me what? Blue, are you conning food out again?”

Blue was on her third tiny square of ham as Lance shuffled in, he’d changed into his pyjamas, slippers scuffing on the wooden floor

“What was that?”

“I heard you telling her not to tell”

“Oh. She’s allowed ham, isn’t she?”

Keith couldn’t remember if it was cats or dogs who weren’t supposed to have ham

“Just a little bit. Wow, it looks good”

Keith went with the topic change, it was best to let Lance think he had his guard down

“Of course it does, I made it myself”

“You must have had a great teacher. What are we watching?”

“I was thinking something horror. Shiro and I like to point out everything they got wrong”

“Now you sound like Pidge. We only watch the b-grade stuff because Hunk gets scared”

Lance sidestepped his way between Keith and the coffee table, Keith realising he hadn’t put much space between them as he’d given his new camera a whole cushion space to itself

“Does Hunk gets scared often?”

“He has a healthy fear of everything that he needs to. He’s the biggest ball of warm feels in existence”

Lance sat himself down carefully, avoiding dropping down and causing Keith’s pizza to slide

“No one can be that nice”

“Hunk is. He would have come home tonight with me if I’d let him. He’s like chronically stuck in care bear mode. No one can be mad at Hunk, it’s like physically impossible”

Keith didn’t buy it. Everyone had that point they reached when all that was left was anger

“There had to be a time he got mad...”

Lance nodded as he leaned forward to grab his plate of pizza and what was left of his wine

“Yeah. But never without good reason, and he always faces his fears. He’s not too bad with spooky movies, but when you get into in the TV shows, he gets jumpy. Out of respect, we don’t watch a lot of squeamish things, you know, those movies they make filled with bloody scenes purely to have bloody scenes. I have so much respect for him”

Lance truly loved his friends. Keith could hear it in his words as plainly as he could see it on his face

“And Pidge?”

“She’d set the world on fire with a smile if you messed with her or anyone she loved. She’s fierce, but amazing. She’s like a super hacker, and she’s never met a piece of tech she hasn’t been able to make her bitch”

It must be nice to have friends like that. Friends that had your back for no reason other than the fact you were friends. Keith couldn’t say he knew that feeling, always feeling on the outside as everyone else moved on without him. He’d worked with other hunters, and had classes and training with other hunters, yet still felt insignificant. It scared him to think about what they’d say about him.

Lance settled back, elbowing him playfully as he did

“This really does look good. I didn’t mean to get sauce everywhere. I kind of lost it for a bit when I got back to my office. Now, if we’re watching some bad horror movie, please don’t pick anything with vampires. They always get it wrong”

“You’re not bloodsucking monsters that turn to ash in the sun?”

“Nope. Some of us are. I don’t”

Keith raised an eyebrow

“You don’t, what?”

“Turn into ash. I can see my reflection. I think maybe a stake to heart might kill me off, but I’m not 100 percent sure”

“You can walk around in the sun?”

“I can sun bake and everything. Plus, no sparkles bitches”

God’s love was found in the light. Vampires were supposed to be turn to dust because God had turned his back on them. Keith was a little dubious over the whole thing, but exorcists did exist, so there had to be something there

“I thought you’d love to be all sparkly”

“Nah. It’d draw too much attention. Younger me, maybe. Current me, not so much”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m old and cranky. I want to live as normally as possible. I don’t want to turn into a damn disco ball when all I want to do is enjoy a little bit of sun”

This guy had to be an idiot. Keith forcing himself not to gape. He wanted information on vampires, and now Lance had turned off his filter completely

“What else did they get wrong?”

“I firmly believed the whole “bat thing” was wrong until I went and turned into one. Garlic doesn’t really do much. I can eat human foods, but after about half an hour I need to use the bathroom. Blood... bags are good. I mean, I prefer them over anything fresh. As far as I know we don’t survive being burned to death, I know there’s a myth about turning into a bat and grave soil, but I’ve never tried it. Wounds we give ourselves sometimes take much longer to heal than something like being stabbed. Being immortal sucks arse. They got the rage and ego bit right. Silver’s not terrible. I show up on camera... I have super human senses, and can move faster than you’d think... I don’t know. I don’t think I want to know either”

Keith did. He wanted to know everything when it came to a human who’d been turned. He wanted to understand what Adam had been through in his final hours

“I do”

Lance raised his eyebrow at him, Keith wondering he’d been sprung for pushing him to talk

“I think you’d know more about being a vampire than I would. I was never one for clans and covens. I’ve met other vampires and honestly, they scared me. The first time I saw a vampire feed on a human pet, I threw up. The way they treated people... I couldn’t do it. Vampires have egos. Feeding that ego is a dangerous game. I know I’m probably not the only one who’s trying to live as normally as possible, but it makes it hard to reach out to anyone when they’re mostly douches. Werewolves are kind of the same, except it’s all about how strong they are. There’s pack leaders, but that’s only because that’s a human concept. There’s no alpha leader, instead there’s a pack leader. Some dick that always thinks they’re the greatest thing since the invention of the wheel. It’s fucked up and enough to drive you mad if you spend too long in that world”

Krolia had spent years in that world. Keith hadn’t even known what a legacy was when Shiro showed up in his life. He’d been a burden all his life since the death of his father. Shiro had opened a whole new world to him, had given him a home and a purpose to exist. They might not be biological brothers, but being biologically related to someone didn’t necessarily make them family. Family was something you built, sometimes from absolutely nothing at all. He didn’t know how to talk to his mother any more than he knew how to talk to Lance. For Krolia her duty always came first...

“Can I ask you something?”

“I thought we were past that”

“How did you get turned?”

Lance sighed heavily

“That’s not a great topic of conversation”

“I imagine it’s not... but...”

“You want to understand what happened to Adam. What he went through. I can’t tell you that. Only that he’s in a better place”

“He’s dead”

Nothing happened why you died... Keith couldn’t say he was convinced over this heaven and hell stuff...

“I’d rather be dead than risking the lives of those I love. Turning... it brings up a lot of memories that won’t leave me alone. Some humans take the turn willingly and I can’t for the life of me think why. Maybe if they had a kind sire, and you know, they had like absolutely no choice and I don’t know... but... it’s hard to talk about. Ten out of Ten would not recommend. I guess that makes me like that 1 dentist that never recommends shit”

Keith groaned deeply, dropping his head back and staring at Lance

“Why do you always do that? Deflect like that to humour?”

“Because some things are so fucked up thay if you don’t laugh you’re gonna fucking cry. It’s my unhealthy coping mechanism, like some people have smoking”

“It’s annoying. It makes it hard to like you”

Lance beamed at him, Keith had the feeling he was being mocked again

“Aw man, you like me!”

“Go fuck yourself”

“Eh, too much like effort. Who needs sex when you’ve got pizza. Thanks for this. I think I needed it”

“You’re welcome, but you can still go fuck yourself”

Lance had the nerve to wink at him

“Only if you go first”

Keith blushed red, spluttering some kind of loud squeak before promptly shutting up. Lance could suck his metaphorical dick.

#once bitten twice stupid #oncebittentwicestupid #ashratherose

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qionow · 4 years ago

Text

Status Quo

They had one rule: don’t offend anyone.

Political get-togethers could easily ruin a nation’s reputation if they expressed an opinion too controversial in the eyes of those attending. Especially if said eyes held a more conservative view of the world.

So naturally, Italy and Romana decide to bring their girlfriends along with them.

(also happy pride y’all, enjoy some wlw content in the form of “don’t talk to me or my bottom ever again”: the fic)

There were certainly worse ways to spend a Friday night, but being forced to attend a formal party filled with old politicians and exhausted diplomats wasn’t exactly the best thing in the world for Italy either.

If it were up to her, then she would have slept right through the evening and let the political disaster that started at seven play out on its own without her. But unfortunately, this was something she didn’t have a choice in, so Italy relegated herself to looking around for any signs of free food and smiling at whoever’s eye she happened to catch as she made her way through the crowd.

“Are you sure we should be doing this?”

Italy paused when she caught Germany’s muttered question, glancing up to see a pair of pale blue eyes scanning the room with no hidden amount of apprehension.

“Mhm!” Italy replied breezily, squeezing their interlocked hands lightly. “Don’t worry about it!”

However, Germany did have a fair reason to look so concerned.

Italy really didn’t draw much attention to herself compared to the rest of the people at the party. Someone like her bouncing around in a dress and heels wasn’t exactly the most threatening thing in the world, after all.

But a tall German woman in a full suit was about as far on the opposite side of the spectrum you could get from that image.

“I thought your boss specifically said to be more conservative this time around,” Germany muttered, briefly ducking her head when they passed a small group whose conversation notably silenced as soon as she was within hearing distance.

Still, Italy waved her off with her free hand for that, her relentlessly sunny attitude in full swing. “That’s what he told me to do! You can do whatever you want!”

She made to start her brisk pace again, but her smile slowly dropped when she caught the persistent hesitation on Germany’s face. Easing Germany’s anxiety was a much more strenuous task compared to tackling her own worries, but there was no way Italy was going to let this loom over her lover’s shoulders for the rest of the night.

That thought was all she needed to change their course in order to usher them both into one of the less populated corners of the room, pulling Germany along with her until they were tucked away from the bulk of the crowd.

“What’s wrong, cara?”

Even when Italy tried to catch her gaze, Germany’s eyes still wandered over to the rest of the room every so often with clear caution.

“I’m just worried about you,” she finally answered, voice hushed and nearly drowned out in the chatter of the room.

Italy paused.

That wasn’t what she had thought would be the problem.

“Me?” She pointed back to herself and received a small nod in confirmation, which did absolutely nothing to explain the situation to her. “Germany, why on earth would you be worried about me?”

She could tell it was getting harder for Germany to fully verbalize her thoughts as she pursed her lips, visibly tensing up the longer the silence dragged on.

“Well,” she started slowly, pressing her lips together once before she managed to continue. “You’re here with me. And this isn’t a very welcoming crowd.”

When Italy only stared back at her though, Germany let out a frustrated sigh and crossed her arms.

“I don’t want someone to try and go after you because of me.”

The exasperation in her voice was evident, but Italy still caught the undertone of worry that laced that simple sentence together.

“Monika.” Italy reached out to pull at Germany’s arm, forcing them to uncross enough for her to take her hand and intertwine their fingers together. “That’s not going to happen.”

“But-”

“I mean it.”

Italy made sure to cut off that train of thought as soon as Germany opened her mouth, squeezing her hand in a silent request to let her continue.

“You’re scary enough already. Nobody’s going to bother you or me,” she went on. “And if they do, then you can just beat them up!”

Germany sighed, but Italy could have sworn she saw a flicker of amusement in her eyes and she knew she was going in the right direction as soon as she did.

“Marzia, I can’t do that here.”

“That’s ok!” Italy channeled all of the enthusiastic determination she was known for so she could beam up at Germany with the confidence she hoped to instill in her. “I’ll just beat them up for you!”

Germany only stared at her at first, total shock written all over her face before she dropped her head. It was hard to pick up, but Italy still managed to catch the faint chuckle she let out.

When Germany finally looked up at her, a small smile tugged the corner of her lips up and that sight alone was enough to make Italy melt on the spot.

“That’s what you’re going to do?” she mused, a teasing curl to her words that Italy rarely heard from her.

Italy’s cheeks hurt with the force of her grin as she nodded her head fast enough to nearly whip herself in the face with her ponytail.

“Yup! That’s why you don’t have to worry about what you’re wearing!” Italy was sure that her relief was clear as day, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to care at the moment. “Besides, you look good!”

She took a moment to eye the way the sharp lines of Germany’s dark black suit jacket framed her broad shoulders ever so nicely, tight sleeves clinging to a set of very strong arms.

“Really good.”

Germany shook her head, but she was still much more relaxed than when the night first started and Italy was nothing short of thrilled for that accomplishment.

“Oh, it’s a pleasure to see you two here!”

And that relaxed state was gone in a flash as a man Italy had never seen before clapped a hand on both of their shoulders. “I’m sure it was hard to make it, with all your work nowadays!”

Italy was quick to smile back in an attempt to draw his attention to her when Germany visibly tensed up under his grip. It would be safe to assume that he was some politician looking to widen his social network and Germany’s less-than-warm response would undoubtedly send the wrong message if that was the case.

“It’s no problem!” she replied cheerfully. “We’re just glad we get to come!”

That was certainly the right move when the man let out a loud laugh, briefly shaking them both before he finally let go. “That’s what I like to hear!”

He reached over to nudge Germany, a friendly curve to his grin as he beamed her with obvious delight despite her stiff posture.

“It’s good to see you out and about too, Ludwig! I’m sure our little Italy here had a hand in that though!”

Italy's smile dropped.

When she looked over to Germany, she caught the silent question she was asking her when her eyes flickered over to the politician before they met hers again. Italy didn’t even have to think before she gave her a nod in return.

She had never been so happy to let Germany take the lead before when she saw the way Germany drew herself back into a familiar stoic expression that was much more composed and much more intimidating.

“My name is Monika.”

Italy vaguely registered the fact that the man’s smile dropped in record time, especially when there were more pressing issues to concern herself with.

Germany on her own already had a commanding enough presence with her sharp blue eyes and broad stature, about as close to the embodiment of military power that one could get in a person. But now, that power was on full display as she clasped her hands behind her back and glared down at the man in front of her, practically radiating strength from every inch of her body.

And Italy was absolutely smitten with her.

The politician who was currently facing Germany’s silent wrath didn’t seem to share the same opinion though.

“Ah, of course.” He cleared his throat, glancing off to the side when Germany had yet to break eye contact with him. “Right. I mean-I heard that you would be coming, but I thought you would just look a little more, you know-”

He waved a hand towards Germany, although that hand quickly retracted itself when Germany’s expression didn’t change.

“I don’t.” Germany said slowly, voice lowering dangerously into a tone that was more suitable for addressing a soldier than a guest at a party. “Would you like to elaborate?”

That was as clear of a challenge as Italy had ever heard from her, which the politician certainly caught onto as well if the way his face paled had anything to say about it.

“Oh no, no, I’ve taken up enough of your time already,” he fumbled out, shaking his head with a faltering attempt at a polite smile. “I’ll just, um, be on my way.”

He was quick to excuse himself with an awkward attempt at a wave before he retreated back into the safety of the crowd, vanishing from sight in an impressively short amount of time.

But even after he left, it took a while for the cold look on Germany’s face to completely melt away as she let out a tense sigh, closing her eyes in order to bring a hand up to her temples.

“Do I really look like Ludwig?”

Italy couldn’t stop the bubbling laughter from escaping her chest at that point, clutching onto Germany’s arm for dear life so she could keep herself steady.

“What?”

“It’s nothing, it’s nothing!”

Germany raised an eyebrow at her giggling fit, which only served to send Italy right back into a barely comprehensible mess.

“Italy.”

“I’m sorry!” Italy wheezed out. “It’s just-you were so worried about us getting hurt! Us!”

Germany let out a quiet exhale as Italy slowly managed to pull herself back together, the last of her hiccuping laughter forced away to leave behind a broad grin. “I suppose you were right then.”

“See?” The smile on Italy’s face was probably the most genuine one she had done all night. “There’s nothing to worry about!”

Germany let out a hum, although it wasn’t quite in full agreement.

Luckily for her, Italy knew exactly how to change that.

“Hey.”

Once she had Germany’s attention, Italy pushed herself up onto the balls of her feet in order to press a kiss to her cheek, rocking back down with the hope that all of the fondness in her chest was properly translated. “You’re still my Monika, ok?”

And oh, she knew that message was sent loud and clear when Germany’s face burst into a fiery red, quickly ducking her head in a hopeless attempt to hide her blush.

Italy’s smile widened as she reached down to interlace their hands together once more, tugging Germany back through the crowd with pure delight.

After all, the night would only last so long and she still had a very lovely German sweetheart to show off to the rest of the guests.

Romana didn’t even know why she was here.

Italy was more than capable of handling social events on her own, so the reason why her boss decided to loop her into this was a complete mystery to her.

Maybe it had something to do with the fact that she had cursed him out in his own office a few days ago. Maybe it didn’t.

Like she said, a complete mystery.

“I think that’s another one for ‘close friends.’”

Romana promptly found herself snapped out of her thoughts, glancing over at Spain, who was currently typing away at her phone. “Why the hell are you keeping track?”

“I just thought it would be funny!” Spain replied easily, shooting a broad grin down at Romana. “Do you want to see what we got so far?”

“No.”

Spain’s smile never faltered despite Romana’s curt answer, leaning down to hold her phone out. “Are you sure?”

Romana's gaze flickered down once, then twice before she snatched Spain’s phone out of her hands with a few muttered insults. She chose to ignore Spain’s light laughter in favor of studying the messy notes on the screen in front of her instead.

According to the data, three people had mistaken them for waitresses, four people had asked where their husbands were, one poor bastard thought they were sisters, and a whole twelve guests had somehow gotten the impression that they were “close friends.”

Although, given the fact that Spain was currently decked in a dark crimson dress and a full face of makeup compared to the walking manifestation of butch fashion that was Germany, Romana really couldn’t blame them.

That didn’t mean that Spain was completely modest with her choice of fashion though.

“Excuse me, but would you two happen to be Spain and Romana, by any chance?”

Romana glanced up from Spain’s phone to meet the service-ready smile of some woman in front of them, likely an underpaid and overworked secretary if she had to place her bets.

“That’s us!” Spain chirped back, plucking her phone from Romana in one fluid motion. “Is there something you needed?”

“Oh no, I just wanted to drop by and say hi.” The woman’s smile softened into something more genuine. “You two look wonderful tonight.”

Spain’s bubbly enthusiasm riled itself back up in full force at that.

“Thank you!” she replied easily. “You look great too! I love your dress!”

When the secretary looked over to her, Romana jerked her head in a quick nod of agreement, which thankfully seemed to be enough to avoid coming off as a complete brat.

“It’s not anything special, just something I picked up a while ago,” the woman laughed, waving her off with polite modesty. However, once her eyes trailed down to Spain’s right hand, her smile quickly morphed into a concerned frown. “Oh! Um, I think you broke your nails there.”

“Hmm?” Spain peered down at her hand with faux curiosity and Romana had to physically resist the urge to groan when she held her fingers up. “Do you mean these?”

Romana didn’t know when Spain had gotten her nails done or who had even agreed to do them for her with the stunt she pulled off because really, having your index and middle fingers painted and clipped strikingly short compared to the length of the rest of your nails was a bold move for a formal party.

It was stupid and it was embarassing and it was exactly the kind of thing that Spain would try to get away with.

“Don’t worry, these were on purpose! They do come in pretty handy after all!”

The woman tilted her head to the side with obvious confusion and Romana was tempted to beg for her to leave before the full force of Spain’s dramatics could be unveiled.

“On purpose?” she repeated, the connection obviously miles away from being formed in her head at that point. “What would you need them that short for?”

Spain only flipped her hand over so her palm was to the ceiling, curling her index and middle fingers towards her in a come hither motion with a completely innocent and wildly inappropriate smile.

Romana had seen a wide variety of reactions that night ranging from complete obliviousness to awkward discomfort and some kind of emotion within that range was what she was expecting, especially with how nice the secretary had been thus far.

But seeing her face twist with pure disgust was the one reaction that Romana had yet to see and that was where she was going to draw the line.

“You got a fucking problem with that?” Romana snapped, crossing her arms with a scowl.

“Do I-” The woman quickly met Romana’s glare with a disapproving frown that made Romana’s blood boil. “Of course not! There’s just no reason for you two to be putting this in everyone’s face is all.”

Romana would swear to this day that her temper had never jumped up so quickly before in her life.

“The hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I mean that this is a formal event and there are certain rules to abide by,” she replied firmly, passive hostility dripping from every word that came out of her mouth. “I assumed you would have a little more modesty. It does bring up questions about your integrity as a nation.”

The secretary’s critical gaze drifted down to where the hem of Romana’s dress rested against her thighs.

“And as a woman.”

Oh, did Romana have some thoughts about that little comment.

“You fucking-”

The only thing that stopped Romana from reaching over and strangling the woman herself was the fact that Spain had shot her arm out to stop her from stepping forward, the friendly look on her face looking decidedly more strained than before.

“Roma, why don’t you go look around for a minute?” Spain’s tone seemed to offer less of an offer and more of a command at that point. “I’ll come find you later.”

She really just wanted to argue and have at the secretary herself, but her mouth snapped itself shut once she caught the hard glint in Spain’s eyes.

“Fine,” she spat out, glaring at the woman who seemed to be under the impression that she had somehow won here.

Romana didn’t say a word to correct her as she marched right back off into the crowd, glancing back just in time to see Spain’s smile drop into a cold glare.

Sure, she wanted to chew that excuse of a guest out herself, but she knew that Spain would have that handled without her and that was enough of a victory in her opinion.

Romana turned when she heard the faint clicking of heels against the floor, looking up just in time to see Spain heading right towards her with a bright smile.

“I’m back!” Spain called out cheerfully, leaning down to press a messy kiss to the top of her head. “Sorry that took a while!”

“Whatever.” Romana rolled her eyes when Spain wrapped an arm around her waist. “I can handle that shit on my own, you know.”

“I know, I know,” Spain cooed back. “I just got a little carried away. She shouldn’t have said that about you.”

“Right.” Romana’s attention was already fixed on the hand that was currently pressing her body right next to Spain’s. “Are you going to do this for the rest of the night?”

“Yup!”

Romana glanced up, ready to find the familiar sight of a teasing grin on Spain’s face only to find complete determination.

She let out a groan, slapping her hands up to cover her face. Of course, she had forgotten exactly how hard it was to shake Spain’s protective mood off once she really got into it. “No.”

Spain frowned, mouth already open to protest. “But-”

“No.”

“How about ten minutes?” she finally bartered, already quirking her lip out in a rather impressive attempt at looking like a kicked puppy. “Please?”

Romana’s first instinct was to give her a hard no, but now that she thought about it, it really wasn’t so bad, being this close to Spain. With her mood, she would definitely be more than safe from anyone else who decided to make a scene. And while she would never admit it out loud, it did feel nice to have Spain dote on her so much.

But Spain didn’t need to know that.

“Fine.”

The speed with which Spain brightened up as soon as Romana muttered that word was honestly astonishing to see in person.

“Yes! Thank you!” Spain chirped, leaning down again to press a messy kiss to her cheek, even if she was grinning too widely in order to do it properly.

Despite the less than ideal attempt, Romana still didn’t move to push Spain’s head away. “Shut up.”

But now that the hectic moment had died down, Romana found that she still had a question that had remained unanswered.

“What the hell did you even say?”

Spain paused, glancing at Romana quizzically. “To her?”

When Romana nodded, Spain laughed, but she still caught a glimpse of that lingering irritation behind her smile as her grip tightened ever so slightly.

“You don’t need to worry about that, Roma.”

#gerita #nyo gerita #spamano #nyo spamano #my writing #also not going on ao3 bc this kinda sucks and i don't feel like editing lmao

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daylight-imagines · 5 years ago

Text

Miss Me? Part 4

Pairing: Kol Mikaelson x Reader Warning(s): N/A Word Count: 3230

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

You were woken up by the sunlight streaming in through the windows. You let out a sigh burying your face in Kol’s chest. He pressed a kiss to your forehead while his fingers traced down your spine.

“Good morning, darling.”

You smiled, propping your chin on your arm that was resting on his chest. “Good morning.”

Your smile turned to a groan when you saw the clock. Kol laughed as you closed your eyes and laid your head back down.

“Somewhere you need to be?”

“I have to meet a witch who probably won’t even be able to tell me anything useful.”

You rolled to the side and stood from the bed. Kol smirked as you stretched, causing the shirt you were wearing, his shirt, to rise. He watched you move through the room and couldn’t fight the small smile that made its way onto his face. He’d been intrigued by you the moment he saw you and had taken every opportunity to be around you- both before his death and after he was brought back. The universe had given him something good when you showed up in New Orleans. It was something he would always be thankful for, and he wasn’t going to waste his chance with you this time.

He stood up and followed you to the bathroom where you were turning the shower on. He leaned against the doorway, watching you adjust the temperature the way you liked it.

“I can come with you.”

You stood up and walked over to him. “You don’t have anything better to do?”

He wrapped his arms around your waist and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“I would much rather be with you than plotting against my brother’s current enemies.”

“His social skills still haven't improved?”

“Now that would be a sight.”

You laughed as he pressed a quick kiss on your lips.

“We’re going to be late,” he said.

“Then I guess we’ll have to save time.” You smirked, pulling him with you towards the shower.

“This will in no way save time.”

...

You let out a groan as you walked through the Bayou. A few months had passed since you came to New Orleans, and you were quickly learning it was not one of your favorite places. It was too crowded in the city, and the bayou was worse. But you weren’t there for fun. It seemed like you had an endless amount of meetings with witches, and none of them had given you the answers you needed. It was a never-ending cycle. But New Orleans was different than the other places you’d visited. There, you weren’t alone. Kol had stayed by your side.

You glanced over to where he was walking beside you and smiled, tightening your hold on his hand. He was always holding you in some way. Whether he was holding your hand or had an arm around your waist. Sometimes, it was like he thought you’d disappear if he let go. With the rate people around you die, those thoughts weren’t so irrational.

You came to a stop when you saw the small shack the witch you were meeting lived in. By looking at it, you would have assumed it was empty, but you could hear a heartbeat inside. Your grip on Kol’s hand tightened as you continued to the shack. Over the past few weeks, some of the witches had used your meetings as an opportunity to kill you. Your opinion of witches had lessened greatly since you started looking for answers.

The door opened the moment you stepped onto the small porch. The witch stayed inside the boundary of her home, watching every move you made.

“I’m guessing we’re not invited in,” Kol said.

“I’m not an idiot Mr. Mikaelson. I’ve been alive long enough to learn not to trust your family.”

“I could say the same about witches.”

She moved her attention back to you.

“Hello, Ms. Y/L/N. You can come in, but he stays out here.”

Normally, you would have turned and left no matter what information she could have given you. But something about this witch was different. She put you at ease and made you want to trust her.

Kol opened his mouth to argue, but you placed a hand on his chest, silencing him.

“It’s ok.” You kissed him before following her inside.

She sat down at a small table and gestured for you to sit across from her.

“Now, what exactly is it you’d like to know?”

“What do you know about the Gemini Coven?”

The witch laughed. “Well, a lot since I used to be in it.”

Your mouth fell open. You hadn’t known that when you contacted her.

“Do you want to hear the whole coven history or do you have specific questions for me?”

“I need to know about the Merge,” you said after a moment.

“Ah, one of the reasons I left.”

“Is there a way out of it?”

“I’ve never heard of it happening.”

You sighed. “Please, there has to be a way for both twins to survive.”

She paused before answering. “Well, there is one option. But if it were me, it’d be the last option.”

“What?”

“Turn one of them, or both, into a vampire. Then their link to the coven would be broken. They wouldn’t have to do the merge.”

“That’s the only way?”

“It’s the only one I know.”

You sighed and nodded.

“I have something for you.”

She stood and walked over to a shelf and pulled down a book. She handed it to you. The History of the Gemini Coven.

“Maybe with that you’ll find more answers.”

“Thank you.” You turned to leave, but when you reached the door, she called your name.

“I want to warn you. Something bad is going to happen to the man you love.”

“I-”

“Don’t try and deny it. I may be an old woman, but I’m not blind.”

“What’s going to happen?”

“That I can’t tell you. Ask him about the prophecy.”

“What-”

“I don’t have any more answers. The rest you will have to figure out on your own.”

You walked out of the shack and saw Kol waiting with a smile on his face. He wrapped an arm around your waist as you walked down the steps and back into the bayou.

“So, the man you love?”

You looked down a faint blush on your cheeks.

“Is it really a surprise?”

He stopped and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer. You opened your mouth to ask again when his hands moved to cup your face as he pressed his lips to yours.

“I love you, darling,” he said. “I’ve known that for a long time.”

The smile on your face was brighter than he’d ever seen it. Kol would give anything to make you smile like that all the time.

“I love you too.”

His lips were on yours again, and you couldn’t help smiling. You hadn’t been this happy since before your father's death. Kol made you happy, and he made you feel safe. You didn’t know you could love like this.

Even though you were so happy, you couldn’t help the thoughts at the back of your mind. You couldn’t forget the witch’s words. They made you worry that you wouldn’t be happy for long.

…

Back at your apartment, you were laying with Kol on the couch. He was holding you against his cheat, and his hands rubbed up and down your arms. A show was playing on the tv, but you weren’t paying any attention.

Your mind was focused on the witch and the warning she gave you. The thought of losing him terrified you. He already died once, and your feelings were much stronger than they were back then. Losing him now was something you weren't sure you’d make it through.

Your thoughts were interrupted when Kol spoke.

“We should leave New Orleans.”

“What?”

“We should go. You’re only here to talk to witches, and there are much better witches elsewhere.”

You sat up, removing yourself from his arms. You looked at him, but he wouldn’t meet your gaze.

“Kol, I would go anywhere with you. But don’t lie to me and tell me it’s to find better witches,” you said. “Tell me what’s going on.”

He sighed. “My brother has once again managed to make his enemies wish him dead, and I fear this time it may not be something we can avoid.”

“Does this have something to do with the prophecy the witch told me to ask you about?”

He nodded.

“What’s the prophecy?”

“It tells the downfall of my family.”

You took his hand in yours, and he turned his head to look at you.

“I know you Kol. You’d never abandon them.”

He sighed and brought your hand to his lips.

“It’s nice to imagine.”

You smiled before moving back to your previous position laying against his chest.

“So where would we go? I’ve never been anywhere outside the states, so I’d have to trust your judgment.”

“I know you want to go to Italy.” He kissed the top of your head.

“How do you remember that?”

“I love you.”

You smiled and were going to answer when there was a knock on the door.

“I love you.” You kissed him before standing and walking to the door.

You froze the moment you opened it. The one person you wanted to avoid was standing outside where you were living.

“Hello love,” Klaus smirked at the way you froze.

Before he had a chance to speak anymore, Kol was in front of you. You were blocked from Klaus’s view, and Kol’s presence helped you steady yourself. You pressed your hand to his back, both to keep him calm and make yourself feel better.

“Hello, brother. I’ve wondered where you’ve been running off to.”

“What are you doing here, Nik?”

“Well, I heard one of my hybrids was in New Orleans and hadn’t bothered visiting. I had to make sure all was well.”

You moved out from behind Kol.

“I’m not one of your hybrids.”

“Just because you’re not sired to me doesn’t change the fact that I’m your creator.”

“What do you really want?”

“The last time a hybrid came to town, it was to plot against me. I want to know why you’re here.”

“It has nothing to do with you.”

“That didn’t answer my question.” He moved to step inside, but Kol pushed him back.

“Stay back.”

Klaus held his hands up and turned his gaze back to you.

“I’m here for Caroline.”

His entire demeanor changed. All it took was saying her name. His gaze was no longer a glare, and he couldn’t fight a small smile off his face.

“And what does Caroline need?”

“Why do you care?”

“If it interests me, I may be willing to help you.”

You smirked. He would help with what Caroline needed- whether it interested him or not.

“It’s a long explanation.”

You stepped inside, pulling a reluctant Kol with you. You sat at the kitchen table with Kol beside you. Klaus followed after a moment and sat down.

You told him about Jo’s pregnancy being transferred to Caroline and the twins being siphoners. You left out the part about the merge, not ready to tell him everything yet. Then you told him you were in New Orleans to find information about it all.

“Were there any witches who refused to speak with you?”

“Most of them.”

“Bring me a list. I’ll make sure they reach out to you.”

You went to your room and pulled the list of witches out of a folder. When you handed it to him, he glanced over it and nodded. He went to leave without another word but stopped when you called after him.

“Thank you.”

When he was gone, you turned to Kol.

“That was one of the strangest encounters I’ve ever had.”

“Darling, I believe my brother is wrapped around your sister's finger.”

You laughed as he pressed a kiss to your forehead and went to the bedroom.

“Are you shocked? We’re sisters?”

“Are you insinuating you have me wrapped around your finger?”

He smirked when you shrugged and moved towards you. You let out a squeal when he threw you over his shoulder. He moved into the bedroom. You laughed as he dropped you onto the bed. He pressed a kiss to your lips and pulled away.

“You’re right.”

You laughed, and he moved his lips back to yours.

...

Every part of your body was tense as you walked down the street with Kol. Your grip on his hand would have a human yelling in pain. Kol wanted you to meet his family so they would know you as more than the girl from Mystic Falls.

But being around Klaus still terrified you. This time was worse because you would be in his home around people loyal to him. The closer you got to The Abattoir, the more you wanted to run. If it wasn’t for Kol, you would have. It didn’t help your nerves that you were exhausted. For the last few days, all you wanted to do was sleep. Kol constantly told you you were putting too much pressure on yourself, and now, you were starting to agree with him.

“Darling, you need to breathe.”

“I’m fine.”

He stopped and turned toward you.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

“Yes, we do. I’m overreacting.”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “You’re not. You have every reason to hate Nik.”

“But I love you. I have to learn to deal with him.”

You started walking again, pulling him with you.

“If you want to leave, we will.”

You smiled as he led you to the door of the house. The door was opened by a woman with blonde hair.

“Freya this is Y/n.” He looked back at you. “This is my sister Freya.”

You smiled and shook her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Y/n. Please come in.”

You followed her inside, taking a deep breath to calm your nerves. She led you into a living room where the rest of the Mikaelsons were and took over introductions.

Elijah stepped forward first and shook your hand. You’d never met him back in Mystic Falls, but you heard plenty from your friends and Kol.

“I’m glad you were able to join us this evening, Y/n.”

“Thank you for having me.”

Rebekah walked over next. “I wanted to apologize for our previous encounter. I was being paranoid.”

“I understand Rebekah. You had every right to be suspicious.”

Freya introduced you to Hayley and Hope then turned to Klaus, who hadn’t moved from his seat.

“Don’t worry sister. We’ve met.”

She gave him a look before turning back to you.

“Ignore him.”

You all made your way into the dining room where you sat between Kol and Freya.

The dinner had been going well. They were all polite and asked you questions about your life- except for Klaus who remained silent. You should have known things would go south.

“Do you work Y/n?” Elijah asked.

“I own my father’s business. He left it to me when he died.”

“Did he pass recently?

“About three years ago.”

You saw both Rebekah and Elijah pause, putting the pieces together.

“I’m so sorry,” Freya said. “Do you mind if I ask how it happened?”

You couldn’t help glancing toward Klaus, who was avoiding eye contact with everyone in the room. But you didn't answer. It felt like your throat was closing in. Freya noticed where your gaze had fallen, and her eyes widened. You noticed Elijah and Rebekah looked shocked as well. Apparently, they hadn’t been told about your past with Kalus.

“My brother killed him.”

You nodded. Under the table, your grip on Kol’s hand was getting tighter each second. Knowing you were upset made anger run through his veins- all of it directed at his brother.

“That’s not the worst part is it Nik?”

“Kol-”

“They’ll hear about it at some point, why not tonight?”

You sighed. “ My father was one of his first hybrids. Klaus killed my father and then he turned me.”

You noticed Hayley look down at the mention of the hybrids and made a note to ask about it later.

“Is that true, Niklaus?” Elijah asked.

“I’m afraid so, and she’s making it sound more pleasant than it was.” He slammed his glass onto the table, making you jump. “You see, Y/n left out the part when I came to her home, dragged her through the woods, and ripped out her father's heart while she watched.”

You looked down and tried to keep tears from falling. The memory of your father’s death was one you avoided at all costs. You didn't think you'd ever be able to think of it without feeling like there was a giant hole in your chest.

“Then I forced my blood down her throat and snapped her neck before leaving her in the woods for someone else to find.”

The yelling came from every direction, and it was all directed at Klaus. You sighed and rubbed your temple. For the first time since your transition, you were getting a headache. You ignored the argument until Kol’s hand left yours and looked up in time to see him slam Kalus into the wall. Elijah pushed his brothers away from each other, and you grabbed Kol’s arm pulling him from the room.

“Kol, calm down. Look at me.” You placed your hand on both sides of his face. “It’s ok. I’m ok.”

“He was trying to hurt you.”

“That’s his problem. We both know Klaus’s mind is dark and twisted, but he’s your brother.”

He sighed, pulling you closer. You moved your arms to wrap around his neck, and he held you close. You both looked up when Freya walked into the room.

“I’m sorry about Klaus.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you said. “But I think we’re going to head home.”

“I understand.” She walked the two of you to the door. “It was nice to meet you Y/n. And please come around more. We’ll keep my brother under control, I promise.”

“I will.” Kol wrapped his arm around your waist, and you headed out the door. After walking for a minute, he spoke.

“So what do you think?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, they were all nice. I like Freya. But you never told me you had another sister.”

“We thought she was dead until recently. She was supposed to have died before I was ever born.”

“So how is she alive? She’s not a vampire.”

“Now that story is interesting.”

He sent the rest of the walk home telling you about Dahlia and Freya. He finished the story as you walked into your apartment.

“Your family history is insane,” you said walking into your bedroom. You changed into one of his shirts and laid in bed.

“Trust me, I know.”

He laid down beside you and wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you back again your chest. You smiled and linked your hands together. As you started to drift off, you realized leaving New Orleans was going to be impossible without Kol by your side.

___

Tag list: @poisvns @booksandwonderlands @amarachoren @shootingstarsaretearsofheaven

#kol mikaelson #kol mikaelson imagine #kol mikaelson x reader #kol mikaelson imagines #the vampire diaries #tvd #the vampire diaries imagines #tvd imagines #tvd imagine #the vampire diaries imagine #tvd x reader #the vampire diaries x reader #tvd fanfiction #kol mikaelson fanfiction

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badwolfwrites-sometimes · 4 years ago

Text

Drawn Together: Chapter 21

"You know, I was really looking forward to eating some homemade German cooking." Feliciano said. They were currently sitting in a small restaurant not far away from the house. Although Feliciano invited his grandpa to join, he stayed at the house to work through some papers, leaving Ludwig and Feliciano to enjoy stuffing themselves with food alone. "Like you making me something."

Ludwig looked at Feliciano from behind the menu he held. "I am not a good cook. That was always Gilbert's job. I only bake."

"Speaking of, where does Gilbert work? He never showed me."

"Here."

Feliciano blinked in confusion. "Here as in right here? As in this restaurant?"

"Yes. He is this restaurant's chef."

"That's amazing!"

"He is good at his job, but I am not sure if he likes it or not."

"What do you mean?"

"He gets into fights with other cooks easily."

"Oh... But it's nothing bad, right?"

"Nothing physical at least." Ludwig wanted to say more, but they were interrupted by the waiter. Feliciano stared at Ludwig, puzzled as he tried to make sense of what Ludwig was saying. He really should polish his German.

"I ordered us a Gilbert's special." Ludwig read right through Feliciano.

"I'm that obvious?" Feliciano asked, shocked but laughing.

"In a way."

They talked some more until their food arrived, a large piece of meat covered in gravy with side potatoes and sausages. Feliciano looked at Ludwig, unsure of what to name this dish. "What is this, Ludwig?"

"We call this The Gilbert's Special. It is actually Rinderroulade-," he pointed with his fork at the meat-,"with mashed potatoes and Knockwurst. It isn't a single dish, but more of a combination of dishes."

"It looks too delicious." Feliciano said before cutting up a large piece from the meat and stuffing himself with it. Ludwig watched him with amusement. "Wait, is this beef?"

"It is. Do you not like it?" Ludwig asked, cutting up his own piece.

"I love it. I haven't had proper beef like this in years."

"What do you mean by proper?"

"Not straight out of a package." Feliciano was struggling to speak and eat at the same time, devouring the meat in a matter of seconds, like it was going to grow legs and run away from his plate. "We used to eat proper meat back in Tuscany."

"Tuscany? Aren't you from Venice?" Ludwig asked, puzzled.

"I am, but my grandparents from my dad's side are from Florence. I haven't been there since Romeo was small."

"I see." Ludwig answered, continuing to eat his meal.

Feliciano and Ludwig shared a few small words here and there as they ate, mostly preferring to stay in each other's silence. They were, of course, unaware of Gilbert who was sneaking glances at them from the kitchen and giggling.

"I'm so full... Ludwig, can we cancel everything for today?" Feliciano asked when he was finished, sprawled on the chair like a shirt worn once.

"Only if you plan on exercising double the usual amount tomorrow." Ludwig answered, faint smirk visible on his face.

Feliciano's eyes widened before he stood up, too sudden for his brain as he had to sit down immediately from the dizziness. Ludwig offered him a glass of water. "I was joking, are you alright?" He asked.

"Yeah, yeah. I am. This happens sometimes." Feliciano laughed awkwardly, massaging the back and sides of his head until the pain passed. When it did, he stood up again, slowly this time. "Should we split the bill?"

"No, I will pay."

"Oh absolutely not. I won't have you paying for my meal as well. No!"

"Feliciano, you are a guest at my house. I can pay our food."

"Over my dead body will you be the only one paying!"

As they argued, they failed to notice Gilbert approaching them, trying his hardest not to laugh at the exchange. Only when he coughed to get their attention did they notice him. "Children, it's all on me and already paid. Now get out." He said before walking back to the kitchen, allowing neither of them to protest.

"So it isn't okay if I offer to pay, but if Gilbert does, it is alright?" Ludwig asked as they walked out.

"Well, he didn't let me argue with him. I'll pay him back when we get home." Feliciano answered.

"I doubt he will accept it."

"I'll make him accept it. I can be very convincing when I want to be."

"I would like to see you try."

Feliciano suddenly got serious as he stared Ludwig right in his blue eyes. He noted Ludwig's eyes looked the best when it was cloudy outside, bringing the bright blue sky in the dark moments.

Normally, Ludwig would start to grow anxious about being stared at so hard by someone. But this wasn't just 'someone', this is Feliciano. He didn't know why but the way Feliciano's irises would soften and expand when he looked at him, eased Ludwig's mind. He could look at Feliciano all day.

"I'm gay." Feliciano finally spoke, dead serious look on his face.

Ludwig blinked in confusion. That came out of nowhere. "What?" He asked.

"I'm gay." Feliciano repeated himself.

It didn't shock Ludwig any less, but... "That was a bit sudden, but I respect you. Thank you for telling me." He managed out. Ludwig really did respect Feliciano, even if his assumption of Feliciano's sexuality was incorrect. As long as they are friends, Ludwig could care less who Feliciano loved.

That's what he was telling himself at least, but deep down, he did care. They were already separated enough by their countries, Ludwig didn't need another person waltzing into Feliciano's life and stealing him away. Even if he knew Feliciano would make time for him when time itself was scarce.

Feliciano smirked at him, turning his head away so Ludwig could be left longing for his calming eyes. "See, you believed me?" He said.

What?

"I don't understand." Ludwig raised his hand as if he was asking the teacher to explain something.

"I told you I'm very convincing. I'm not actually gay, Ludwig."

Ludwig was once again left confused. What just happened?

"Well, I don't have anything against gay people and I don't think dating men would be too bad. Maybe it would in Italy, but my brother is more of an expert on that field. I don't think it matters what's between your legs or what you identify as, as long as you love each other-" Feliciano rambled on, Ludwig half listening, half tuning out.

"So you said you were gay just to prove your point to me? Is that correct?" Ludwig asked.

Feliciano stopped his rambling, nodding. "Yeah."

Ludwig sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Feliciano, I am not all too familiar with LGBT+ issues and jokes, but that was a bad one. Coming out to someone and then saying you were kidding is making fun of their struggles."

Feliciano paused, his brain remembering what happened during that dinner a couple of months ago with their grandpa. In his attempts to prove something to Ludwig, he hurt his own brother, without either of them even knowing it. "Oh." Was all he could manage.

They walked to the park in silence, Feliciano still thinking about what Ludwig said. When they sat in front of a pond to watch ducks, he finally spoke. "Thank you."

"Hm?" Ludwig questioned.

"If you hadn't told me it was bad, I would have probably continued to use that as a joke. You aren't exactly taught this in Italy, where being gay is an insult on its own."

"I can't speak for them, I just know that coming out is very important to them. For that reason, I believe, we should all respect it."

"I never understood it really well. I would just read Tumblr posts about it, but the ones I found were always vague for me."

"From what I know, it is having a secret you can barely tell yourself and sharing it with your family or the world."

"Like being sad when you're smiling and everyone thinks you're happy and you should be happy, but you aren't?"

"That sounds... close." Now Ludwig was worried about Feliciano.

"I've been there." Now Ludwig was very worried about Feliciano.

"Are you alright?" Ludwig asked.

Feliciano smiled. "Yeah. I learned something new today. Learning new things makes me happy."

Ludwig sighed in relief, turning his eyes back to the ducks in front of them.

"And being here, in Germany, with you. It makes me so happy, I could fly."

Ludwig smiled. It made sense for Feliciano to say something like that.

The two of them sat in front of the pond for what felt like hours, talking and commenting ducks. Feliciano occasionally mentioned pigeons to get a laugh out of Ludwig, who never forgot how his drunk brother screamed he was a pigeon for days after the conversation with Feliciano. When they were ready to go home, Feliciano felt something soft rub at the side of his leg. Turning around, he noticed a black cat nuzzling up to him. It was dark, but Feliciano could still see those beautiful, piercing blue eyes staring at him. He let his hand move on its own as he pet the cat, who moved its head into Feliciano's hand. It was a perfect fit and Feliciano was instantly in love.

But it was time to go, so he couldn't pet it longer. And it broke Feliciano's heart really bad. He bid the cat farewell and left with Ludwig. But the cat had other plans, following both of them home. Feliciano wasn't the only one who was in love.

"Ludwig, look at it!" Feliciano squeeled when they arrived home and the cat was right behind them.

"It seems to really like you, Feliciano." Ludwig smiled.

"Ah, I wish I could keep you." Feliciano pet the cat once again, motioning for Ludwig to join in. It didn't seem to like Ludwig as much as Feliciano, but it gladly accepted pets.

"If my dogs get along with it, maybe it could stay here. It looks like a mouser cat, we could use one here."

"There's a lot of mice?"

"They sometimes run around and my dogs are scared of them. Gilbert wanted to suggest we get a snake, but they are scared of them too."

"I'm scared of snakes too, I completely understand." Feliciano shivered at the thought. "Can you go get the doggies so we can see if they like it?"

"You are that intent on keeping this cat? Alright, I will be back soon." Ludwig said, standing up and unlocking the door to the house. Immediately, three dogs raced out of the house and almost tackled Ludwig down. He gave each of them their hello kisses and some dog treats he keeps in his pocket, just in case there is a cute dog outside.

Feliciano picked the cat up, it was really obedient as long as Feliciano kept petting it, and walked to the mess of fur and Ludwig. "Hello!" He greeted the dogs, who went to licking his free hand as a greeting. "We brought a friend with us. Please get along well, pretty please."

The dogs sniffed around the cat as Feliciano placed it down. Neither the cat nor the dogs seemed to mind each other that much, to dogs, it was a new playmate and to the cat, it was a new family. Feliciano was overjoyed and, seeing him like that, Ludwig was too.

"All of you need a bath, though." Feliciano commented as he went to pet Aster, before Berlitz protested and jumped into Feliciano's lap for hugs and pets.

To Ludwig's surprise, the cat, it was actually deep gray and male, was much easier to wash than his dogs. Even Feliciano, who was washing Berlitz and Blackie, seemed surprised by that. His cats would rather die than be touched by water and shampoo, this one was very calm and serious. It reminded Feliciano of Ludwig. "Germouser." He said.

"Hm?" Ludwig asked, rinsing the cat out.

"You said he was a mouser cat. And seeing he's from Germany, his name will be Germouser." Feliciano explained. "Do you like it?" He asked the cat.

The cat meowed at him and Feliciano all but melted right then and there.

By the time Gilbert arrived home from work, the six of them were cuddling on the couch, watching some movies on the TV. Berlitz and Germouser were glued to Feliciano while Ludwig took Blackie and Aster to himself. Gilbert was about to protest having a cat in the house, but the look of happiness on Feliciano's face silenced him. "Just don't let it eat Gilbird." Was all he said before going to his room and passing out.

"Berlitz doesn't usually like new people." Ludwig said at one point.

"Really? He's very cuddly with me." Feliciano asked, petting the sleeping dog's head.

"Yes, he is very shy. Before he came to us, he was in an abusive household and it took him 5 months to warm up to us. And he was still a puppy back then."

Feliciano felt his heart break at the poor dog's past, hoping that whoever abused this lovely dog got what they deserved. "You poor baby. How dare anyone do that to you?"

"Apparently, she got a life sentence in jail. Not only did she abuse animals but she also killed her ex husband for talking to the cashier lady, I believe. It was in newspaper a couple of years ago."

"I hate women like that. If you're certain he loves you, if you married him because you know he loves you, then acting jealous like that is just irrational."

"It is all in the past now, but Berlitz is still recovering. I am glad he gets along with you so well."

Feliciano smiled, his previous anger at the unknown abuser woman now gone. "This is the first time in a while. I'm not much of a dog person."

Ludwig's face fell, but not enough for Feliciano to notice. "You aren't?"

"I was in the past, but not so much since then."

"I see." It still wasn't enough to cheer Ludwig up.

"I had this dog, well, he was actually my grandma's dog and she would bring him when she came for a visit." Feliciano looked at the TV and, for the first time, Ludwig saw distance in his eyes. "I have so many good memories of him. He was a friend unlike any other, better than anyone ever was to me."

Feliciano looked back at Ludwig, but the distance never went away. It was only clouded by glossy glass. Feliciano looked ready to cry. "You kinda remind me of him. The way you follow me into my dumb ideas, even if you know they are going to fail. And you stay."

Feliciano swallowed whatever saliva he had in this mouth and turned his head away. "He was like that and we played all the time, but then... then..." At this point, Feliciano couldn't choke back the tears. He hadn't thought about his friend in years, even if he was always in his heart, and telling Ludwig about him opened up old wounds.

He felt Ludwig wrap his arm around his shoulder, bringing him closer into a hug. "I got you, Feliciano. You don't have to tell me the rest."

Feliciano cried into Ludwig's shoulder for a couple of minutes, telling him how his grandma wrote to him how his dog got eaten by a wolf, even if that was probably untrue. Ludwig said nothing the entire time, knowing how hard it is to lose such a precious friend. It probably hurt Feliciano enough for him to distance himself from dogs. Ludwig understood it all.

"What was his name?" Ludwig simply asked.

"Tsuki." Feliciano managed through tears and sobs.

"Like the Moon." Ludwig said.

"What?"

"Tsuki is a Japanese word for Moon."

Feliciano laughed. How ironic. "I don't know what species he was but he was white and had large black dots on his body. There was one that went from his ear to his eye so I guess he kind of looked like the Moon."

"He sounds adorable, I wish I could see him."

"I have a framed picture at home with us. For my 4th birthday, my grandma brought him and me and Lovi dressed him up in Romeo's clothes. He looked so cute and funny." It seemed like Feliciano stopped crying.

"You have to show it to me when you get home."

"I will. I'll show you all of the pictures with us, but I have to warn you, I was a really cute kid. So don't go falling in love with me because that would be illegal."

Ludwig laughed and Feliciano joined in, waking up the dogs who moved to their beds and the sofa to sleep, taking their new friend along as well. "We should go to bed as well. Tomorrow, I won't be back until 8 p.m." Ludwig said.

"Oh." Feliciano's face fell. "Right, you have work."

"Yes, but we can have fun after that. Just promise me you won't skip your training tomorrow."

"I'll sleep the day off until your return, Captain." Feliciano saluted to Ludwig, with his left hand.

"I will let Gilbert know then." Ludwig said. "And you salute with your right." Feliciano quickly corrected himself.

"Can I at least sleep with you tonight?"

Ludwig was about to decline, knowing he probably won't get enough sleep for the day ahead of him if Feliciano 'slept' next to him, but seeing how Feliciano just finished crying, he couldn't refuse. Feliciano probably needed it too. "Alright."

"Yes!" Feliciano leaned in to kiss Ludwig's cheek, a thing Ludwig would have to get used to. "Thank you! Let's go then."

They turned off all the lights and the TV and, unlike the previous nights when he would sneak in to sleep with Ludwig, Feliciano didn't go to the guest room at all. Instead, he made himself comfortable next to Ludwig, even if it was a single bed and not his double sized one. "Ludwig?" He called.

Of course Ludwig would get less sleep that night. "Hm?"

"I'm really glad I met you." Feliciano said, smiling before he turned around so his back faced Ludwig.

Ludwig felt his cheeks warm up, still not believing that the two of them actually met and are lying in bed together like this. He wrapped his arm around Feliciano's waist to properly tuck him in. Nights in Germany were cold and Feliciano probably isn't used to that. That's what he told himself to justify his action. Turning around so their backs faced each other, Ludwig whispered. "Me too, Feliciano." And just like that, the two of them drifted into the world of dreams.

#GerIta #Germany x Italy #APH Germany #hetalia GerIta #gerita fanfic #aph gerita #hws germany #APH Italy #APH #hws #hetalia #hetalia axis powers #hetalia world stars #drawn together story

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lukeysgirl · 5 years ago

Text

swallow me whole | c.t.h pt. 1

synopsis: nasty calum hood smut w a decent storyline?

word count: 10k+ (i got carried away but like)

authors note: i know this is so long and intimidating bt its a good read (i think) and youll like it (maybe) !!

PART ONE I N V I T A T I O N

“Y/N! Work better, not faster!”

Your heart beats just a bit faster as you straighten your back and link eyes with your manager. That taunting demeanor never seems to ease up, causing you to gulp as you glue your arms to your sides. “I’m sorry-- I didn’t realize how fast I was being.”

The witch who hired me gestured behind me, “then you should start noticing more, Ms. Y/L/N.” You slowly turn your body while listening to your managers heels clink away from the aisle you were working in. You emit an annoyed sigh when you see the cans (that you swore to have stacked perfectly) sprawled about the recently-mopped floor.

You bring your fingers to your ears, using your indexes to see if you had your earbuds in. But you didn’t, causing you to frown. How did I not hear them fall behind me? You asked yourself in your head as you shake your head and reluctantly went back to re-stack them.

XXX

“You should just quit already.”

You glared over at your gorgeous friend beside you, “ah yes, and would you like to pay my bills until I finish my degree and get a better job?” The model could only roll her eyes and smile, knowing that you were a realist and she, in many aspects, was not.

Merigold Leigh is one of the kindest souls that walks the earth. Although she is a Victoria Secret model, she couldn’t give less of a damn about it. ‘It pays the bills and keeps me healthy,’ she claims as she eats her least favorite vegetables. She listens and holds you whenever you’re at the very brink of tears. She comes around every single time you need her, and whenever she can’t, she calls and gives you every free second she has.

“I mean, I always tell you to move in with me,” Meri begins with a shrug. She looks all around her lavish apartment and smiles. “You can ravish in my luxuries without worry so you can focus on your studies.”

You smiled but shook your head. You hated to decline her, seeing as her apartment had way more than enough space to house the both of them. It was a large New York City penthouse, with everything you’d expect a millionaire to have. Paintings imported from Paris, wine bottles imported from Italy. Her entire home was furnished with the most expensive (yet simple) things. It was like walking into a small IKEA. She kept from placing photos of herself or the awards she has won all over the apartment, as she isn’t too bothered to flaunt about her worth.

You pulled the shared quilt to cover your body more, “if only I didn’t have so much pride.” Meri giggles while taking another spoonful of Fage yogurt into her mouth. The two of you were very comfortable on her gray couch, with both pairs of legs up and both bodies curled up into balls. “Besides, all the excitement of sleeping over would be taken away if I moved in with you.”

Meri rolls her eyes, “your first mistake was assuming that I could become boring.” You giggle, tossing a few pieces of popcorn at her before taking another bite. “You love taunting me with your ability to eat whatever your heart desires.”

“Is’not on purpose,” you struggle to say through a full mouth. Chewing it down and swallowing, you glance over at her kitchen, “you don’t have food for regular humans here.” She rolls her eyes once again and threatens to catapult a bit of yogurt in your face.

She begins to scrape the corners of the container, “I still think you should quit. That supermarket will be the death of you.” You shrug, staring distantly. It wasn’t a bad gig but you can certainly do with a better manager, better hours, and a better uniform. “Green doesn’t suit you well.”

“But who else will get you discounts at Whole Foods?” You question slyly. Meri could only push some of her natural red locks off of her tanned shoulder. She places the empty container of yogurt on her coffee table and licks off any residue from her lips.

“Forget the discount; I want you to be happy,” she insists warmly. Your smirk dissolves and you begin to grow distant again. She notices and quickly takes your hands into hers, forcing your attention to return to her. “Working and studying at the same time is bringing you stress and that is something I don’t want.”

“But I need to work for money so I can pay for my apartment,” you begin somberly, “and I need to study so I can work a better job for more money to get the hell out of here.”

“That’s so cruel, Y/N,” Meri pouts. “You’re in the city of dreams-- the city that never sleeps! Everyone would kill to live where you live.”

“Yes, but will they kill for how I live?” You scoff at her words. “I pay almost $700 for a studio apartment that if I literally laid down on the floor and stretched all my limbs, I’d occupy the entire place.”

Meri gently brings her hand up and flicks the very top of your forehead. “Your apartment is literally a block away from mine and we literally live next to Times Square.” You roll your eyes, still not persuaded. “And you’re studying at NYU-- that’s a dream that only so many people could live.” You still shrugged her words away.

You didn’t feel special. There’s thousands of students studying at NYU, who live in an apartment similar to yours and have done the same amount of exploring as you have. You have walked around all the boroughs, have tried almost all the cuisines more than once and know the MTA system well. Those are not experiences or skills unique to you as this is one of the biggest cities in the world.

“You know what you need?” Meri tugs your hands, bringing you back to earth quickly. You listen attentively, assuming she would be spewing wise words. “Some dick.”

Immediately, you retract your hands, your sudden movement causing your bowl of popcorn to fall on the floor. You quickly get on the floor to clean up your mess, Meri following your motions. “I’m so sorry, Meri. I didn’t mean to make a mess.”

“It’s all good, sis, don’t fret so much,” the sweet ginger insists as you both pick up the pieces of popcorn and place them back into the bowl. Once the mess was done, you rose from the ground and headed straight to the kitchen to dispose of the fallen food. Meri tails after you, with full intention to continue entertaining the subject. “But am I wrong?”

You open the silver trashcan and slowly dig out the popcorn from the bowl and into the mint-scented Glad bag. “Meri, I really don’t think dick is what I need.”

“Okay, maybe I was a bit rash,” she hums behind you, taking a seat on her quartz kitchen island. “But I think you should finally go out with me and live a little bit.” Here she goes again…

Every weekend since the day you met her, Meri has asked you to go out with her. Whether it be to Victoria Secret shows, bars, celebrity parties, or a random trip to Europe. She encourages the careless for you, even though she knows very well that you have many responsibilities that keep you strapped in. Although you definitely knew that your social life was in desperate need of some flavor, you could not just spontaneously add some flavor to it. You have school to attend to, homework to get done, and bread to get. It wasn’t your fault that you have to be an adult and Meri got to live her best life.

“Maybe I can get another boyfriend to ruin my life again,” you began sarcastically. “Distract me from my studies and force me to call off days from work. Make me poor again and slack in my courses-- what a joy that would be.”

Meri huffs, clearly irritated by your words. “You won’t meet another Chris, I pinky swear.”

The very name she emitted made you want to vomit. Knowing alone that he existed erupted discomfort all over your body. There are days where you could be fine being reminded of him, but other days absolutely defeat you. Socializing would just lead to another Chris and although that’s very narrow-minded of you, you were just too afraid to risk it.

“Even so,” you begin as you bring the empty bowl towards the kitchen sink. Turning the faucet on, you take the initiative and start washing the buttery dish. “Partying is your thing. I don’t necessarily fit in the party scene.”

“That’s because you refuse to go to parties,” Meri pointed out a fact. You could feel her right behind her, her warm breath right on the back of your neck. She clung her hands on your shoulders and squeezed them gently. “Just one night and I’ll never ask you again.”

...One night really couldn’t hurt, could it? Wait, no, stop. Meri was good at being persuasive but when it came to parties, you are extremely adamant. You didn’t favor being in the position of being surrounded by many drunk people, potentially being touched by them and then sweating out buckets due to the summer heat and the cramped space. That idea did not appeal in any way.

“But Meri-eeeeee!” Whining was a very good tactic for you, as it typically worked. But Meri was not having it this time around. As soon as you finished washing your hands and shutting off the faucet, she turns you around and forces you to face her.

“You’re sleeping over this weekend, right?” Merigold begins with facts. You nod, unsure as to where she was going with this. “That means you finished all your homework due for the coming week, yes?” You nod again. “That also means you don’t work this weekend?” Another nod. “Perfect. We’re going the fuck out, bitch.”

You accidentally nod from the pattern but completely shake your head when realizing it had actually been broken. “I-- wait, Meri, no. I’m not going out--” but she had shut you up with a finger pressed against your lips.

“It’s Friday night and there's a party happening at one of my favorite bars,” Meri begins to fill you in. “It’s been booked for the night for the event so there won’t be anybody I don’t know. You’re going to let me doll you up like the Barbie doll you’re supposed to be.”

“I’m not plastic, Meri,” you grumble in annoyance. But her face glistened from the triumph. She easily defeated you and there was nothing more you could do. Plus, seeing her so excited made you feel somewhat better about going out with her.

She rubs her hands down your arms to weave her fingers between yours, “you’re much too beautiful for plastic, Y/N. I just want to dress you up and make you believe how gorgeous you really are. Live that fairy tale story just for one night.”

Her green eyes were full of hope and excitement, with a hint of puppy eyes and begging. She knew you already lost, but this had to be the cherry on top. You weren’t going to deny her, seeing as she was so excited to finally go out with her best friend. And maybe it really was time to embrace just how attractive you were and show off.

You let out a shaky sigh before nodding and giving her a small smile, “alright then; dress me up.” Meri widened her eyes and squealed so loudly, you had to look around to see if she broke any glass.

XXX

Merigold might have gone a little overboard with the consent you gave her.

She wanted you to look bold yet classy, bombastic yet very well put together. So she decided to flatten your hair with a steam-powered flat iron (to prevent damaging your hair, of course.) She parts your hair in half so each side of your head has enough hair to cover. Using the front parts of your hair, Meri pushes it behind your ears while pulling the rest of your hair a little forward to create that clean and nicely done hairdo.

For your face, she didn’t want to do too much. She only wanted to highlight your features (which is everything about your face, according to her.) She lightly applies foundation and contour on your face, with a bit of concealer here and there to help with your stress marks. She fills in your eyebrows nicely and does a red/brown ombre eye shadow that isn’t too much but states its existence on its own. With small wings and a bit of mascara, Meri finishes with a cherry lip gloss on your cleaned and lip-scrubbed lips.

Then, it was your outfit. And you didn’t keep yourself from vocalizing your opinion this time.

“Meri, this is a bit much, isn’t it?” You quietly question, looking down at your outfit. Meri was body-deep into her shoe closet, sifting through for a pair of heels that you know you’re going to have some trouble walking in. You haven��t worn heels since your high school graduation. “Meri?”

“Y/N, you look bitchin’,” Meri insisted while tossing shoes around. You looked over to see her frantically look through boxes of name brand shoes you’d never afford. “These shoes will make it come together.”

Goosebumps crawled all around your body as your self-consciousness finally decided to scream at you. A lot of your skin had been showing and you were barely wearing much clothing to cover the others worth concealing. Much cleavage had been showing, as the skimpy dress stopped right above your knees. Your chest as pressed a bit, having the top of your breasts protrude. You instinctively hugged your body, attempting to cover as much as you can in the completely white walk-in closet.

“Here they are!” Meri cheers in success as she returns to you and offers you these fairly low wedges. You took them hesitantly, taking a seat on one of her leather stools and easing in the golden-strapped shoes around your feet. “Are you cold?” Her warm hand begins to rub your upper arm. “Should I put the temperature up in here?”

You shake your head as you finish up strapping the wedges. “I’m not cold-- just a little nervous…” Meri bent down before you, holding your chin between her fingers while giving you an encouraging smile.

“You actually haven’t looked at yourself yet, have you?” You shook your head, knowing that Meri wanted to complete the outfit before surprising you. She stands up straight once again and offers her hands. You take them and allow her to guide you over to her tall body mirror. It reached from the floor to the ceiling. But before you could stand in front of it, she gives you a good look and a squeeze. “You actually have no idea just how beautiful you are.”

She pulls you gently while you sheepishly let her present yourself in front of the mirror. You look straight into your own eyes before allowing them to look at yourself up and down. This can’t be me, can it? You looked down at your forearms, seeing the golden accessories hang from your wrists, neck, and ears.

“That’s… me?” You whisper to Merigold as you continued to scan yourself in the mirror. Your fingers trailed around your body, your skin glistening with gold sparkles ornate all over from all the luxurious products Meri let you use. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not,” Meri confirmed. She joined you in the mirror, still in her pajamas and unready but nonetheless beautiful. Meeting shoulders, she smiles widely and nudges you lightly. “Aren’t you a tall glass of water?”

You were swallowed up by a completely crimson dress, which did wonders complimenting your body as well as your makeup. There were no words to say for it-- you weren’t Y/N anymore. Tonight, you were the woman you’ve been wondering about all your life but never let her out.

“Wow,” you breathed out, unsure as to how to really react. You then turn over to her and begin to fret. “Wait, you have to get ready too! Is there enough time before the party?”

“Girl, don’t you worry ‘bout a thing,” Meri hums quietly. “It’s only 6 and I’ve invited my favorite nail salonists so we can get mani-pedis.” You raised your eyebrows at her unnecessary amount of spending and she could only raise her hands shyly. “You’re finally letting me spoil you-- let me have my moment.”

“Yeah, yeah…” you rolled your eyes while flattening any wrinkle on the dress. But the dresses fabric on the outside didn’t exactly wrinkle so you were all set. “Hey, I have a question,” you started, with Meri staring at you in fascination. “When did you get my outfit that’s exactly my size?”

“I’ve been waiting for this moment, Y/N,” Meri stares at you wistfully. “Finally, my time has come and my purpose will soon be fulfilled.”

“You’re so annoying,” you shove her playfully before the two of you go back downstairs to prepare for the nail salonists. Meri failed to mentioned that she also invited her hair stylist and makeup artist so everything could get done at the time. All you could do was shake her head as she begins to explain her outfit to you.

XXX

“Can I back out now?”

“Absolutely not.”

You bite down on your bottom trembling lip as you looked through the shaded window of Meri’s SUV. The flashing lights of the city night wasn’t foreign but could definitely burn your eyes. Lines were piled with people who clearly weren’t allowed in with an army of guards protecting not only the door of the bar, but the surrounding blocks. Paparazzi swarmed the area as well, and quickly had taken notice of Meri’s car.

“Meri,” you begin quietly, “what other celebrities will be here?”

She looks down and thinks for a moment before nodding, “other models, artists, producers, actors. You know, a typical party.” Your eyes widened, unsure if you heard her correctly. “It’s no biggie, Y/N. You’ll meet them and it’ll be like you’re talking to normal people.”

“Ah yes,” you spat, “normal people with millions of fans and millions of dollars. Their faces are on the TV I watch and the magazines I barely read.” Meri shoves you lightly and pouts. “I’m just a little nervous, okay?”

Meri smiles. Her hands carefully hold up the bottom of your head and meets with your eyes. “I promise you shouldn’t be nervous. They’re really just like us; super chill and just looking for a good time.”

You swallowed harshly, letting out several sighs while keeping yourself calm. You begin to shake your hands, feeling your palms get clammy from the anxious sweating. “Do I look okay? Am I presentable?”

Meri shakes her head, “you’re beautiful, okay?” She then straights up your back and pushes your chin up. “Be confident, okay? You’re going to shoot arrows directly into everyone's hearts, I promise you that.”

You take her word and release a majority of the nerves. This was your moment after all. Why should you be nervous when you look like a million dollars? Tapping on the glass, Meri’s security opens the door for you and offer a hand to assist you out.

Taking the hand, you were immediately blinded by camera flashes. They were deafening, with the added spouts and shouts of the paparazzi and fans stood on the side. You raise a hand above your eyes to protect them as you turned and waiting for Meri to come out. And she does, with a smile touching ear to ear.

“Merigold Leigh! Look over here!” Desperate calls for her to look over sounded as Meri gave them looks and smiles. She looked beautiful, with her ginger hair in waves and blue makeup done very subtly. Her caramel body was hugged nicely with a cerulean blue dress, flaunting every inch of her curves.

“Y/N, let me go first,” Meri suggested. You listened while letting her lead, but she offers her hand for you to hold so you don’t part from her. She didn’t see, but you were smiling so warmly from how sweet your best friend was. She’s really one in a million, and you weren’t willing to exchange for anybody else. “Pardon me, my best friend and I are coming through!”

The two of you made the cement below you sound as paparazzi continue to call her name. But Merigold was focused on getting the both of you in as you and her stood before the bouncers. The bouncer looks down, clearly recognizing Meri but glancing curiously at you. “She’s my plus one, love.” The bouncer nods, not needing any explanation as another bouncer opens the door and allows the both of you in.

Though getting through was difficult with several fans touching you guys, Meri managed to pull you two in with a fair amount of ease. The bass of ‘bad guy’ quickly coursed through your veins as Meri held your hand tightly while squeezing you through the crowd. You kept your eyes down, knowing that the people surrounding you were famous and owned a net worth higher than yours will ever be.

Where are we going? You thought to yourself as Meri seemed to have known where she was dragging you. With each step you took, you could feel yourself get more embarrassed. Your legs were completely out and bare, as you felt your thighs rub gently against each other with every step you took. Thankfully, Meri had a solution to the chafing but the embarrassment had none. You just had to deal with the fact that you’re flaunting.

“Ashley!” You were suddenly halted and lost hold of your best friends hand as you looked up and watched her hug another woman. You looked to see that it was a fellow model; Ashley Graham. Meri told you what you were to expect, but that didn’t stop your heart from running.

“Meri, how are you?” The brunette model hums excitedly. You listened to the ‘duh’ of the song before the beat gently dropped. You watched their happy reunion as fellow models you were familiar with had joined in and exchanged hugs. But Meri made the exchange quick so she could pull you in and introduce you.

“Ladies, this is my bestest friend, Y/N,” Meri begins while putting her arm around you. You smile shyly, recognizes the few faces you’ve met several times due to Meri’s work. But you respected Ashley Graham a lot and put out your hand.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” you started as Ashley got closer to hear you more properly. “You look gorgeous tonight.” White pearls gleam as she returns the handshake.

“Awh, thank you,” Ashley kindly takes the compliment and eyes you up and down. “You look just as beautiful-- I mean, look at you! Are you not a model as well?” You cheeks went hot as you waved your hands and shook your head. Meri shook her head to confirm it and Ashley remained wide-eyed. “That’s shocking. You’d be an amazing model.”

You shook your head, “I think Meri should be the model between us. I’m too busy studying in NYU anyways.” Meri grinned, squeezing you a little closer as you listened to the next verse of the tune come in.

“She’s my study bug.” Meri smiles warmly at you, “she tends to study a little too much but I love her all the same.”

Everyone chimed in with giggles as you rolled your eyes. Words are flung all through the conversation until you and Meri divide. She went ahead to talk to her fellow models (likely about their work) as you decided to take a seat beside Ashley. The wedges, though comfortable, were finally starting to bother you.

Ashley quickly spews a drink to the bartender and gives you a look while she waits. “Did you not bring a purse with you, Y/N?”

You looked down at your crossed legs, placing your hand down where your phone is, “Meri told me I wouldn’t need to bring my wallet or anything so I only brought my phone with me.” She looks down to see where your hand was. “But my ID and credit card are in my case.”

“Do you have it strapped against your thigh?” You nod. “Y/N, you’re absolutely clever.” You laugh while doing a small bow. She joins in the laughter and you exchange a few more words until Meri comes and interrupts.

“I feel terrible to cut this short, but Ash we’ve gotta go,” Meri informs. She gives her a puzzled face, “our managers are looking for us. Y/N, you stay here.” You nod, following through with your given instructions as you watch the beautiful women wave at you before being dissolved into the crowd of people.

Subconsciously, your eyes began to scan the crowd and felt your eyebrows rise. The Jonas Brothers are here? What kind of event was this exactly? Feeling the intimidation from being surrounded by so many known people, you decide to turn back to face the bartenders. But as you did, you met eyes with the bartender that had finished making Ashley’s drink.

“Oh, she had to go do something,” you explained as you began to reach for your phone, “how much is the drink? I’ll pay for her.” The bartender smiled warmly at you and waved his hand. He began walking away, having you assume it was on the house.

You bring the small glass cup close to you, having you look down to see several cubes of eyes and a small amount of a transparent substance. You gave it a whiff before concluding it was vodka. Bringing it up to see the bottom, you squint your eyes to notice there were some sort of flakes in it. What in the world…

“It's a shot of Gold Flakes Supreme,” the bartender returned with a rag and a small glass in his hands. You met with his azure eyes, nodding at the information before putting the drink down and pushing it slightly away from you. “You don’t want it?”

“It wasn’t meant for me,” you reply simply, “plus, I don’t drink much.” The bartender nodded but gave the small glass a push. “Uh…?”

“I wouldn’t want it to go to waste,” he begins with a smirk. “A beautiful girl like you deserves at least one expensive drink tonight.” You blush, looking down at the polished dark oak bar as he pushes it into your peripheral vision. With your elbows leaned against it, you support your head with your hands and wistfully stared down at the drink. “Though, you must be used to drinking such luxurious drinks like this one.”

You kept blushing as you met his eyes again and shook your head, “o-oh no, I’m not famous!” His eyes widen but you laugh it off, “my best friend is a model and wanted me to come with.” The bartender comprehends and smiles a little cheekier.

“That explains how kind you are,” the bartender begins, “many celebrities are more stuck up.” You shrugged.

“I take it you’ve met many celebrities,” you put out. Right at your last word, someone calls for the bartender and he glances back. He winks at you before turning away to serve another customer.

You felt your cheeks warm. No! You began to scold yourself. Cupping your cheeks, you tried cooling yourself off with your cold hands. For the sake of your career, you were not going to immediately fall for a man so easily. You didn’t even catch his name.

While you were working away your thoughts, you felt an abrupt and harsh thud beside you. Turning slowly, you were met with a large man who seemed to be absolutely fuming. Your eyes scanned this man up and down, the sound of Eastside and his grown fusing together. And the man was very quick to notice your staring as he snapped his neck towards you, his brown orbs full of intimidation. “Can I help you?”

You found yourself distracted by how attractive this man was. Though the strobe lights made it difficult to tell, his skin was clearly sun-kissed. His jawline was sharp and obvious, but those chubby cheeks of his made them slightly less daunting. His nose was fairly big with facial hair randomly ornate about his face-- but he was handsome. Dark circles sat under his eyes, but those brown orbs were absorbing you completely.

“Hey!” A deep and strained voice brought you back to reality. You blink a few times before looking at the buzzed-cut man glaring down at you. “The fuck you lookin’ at?” Attitude.

You quickly look away and mutter a small “nothing.” He nods and turns back towards the bar, snapping a bartender his way. You glanced over, noticing that this man was completely in black. A black dress shirt tucked into what seemed like a shinier (and darker) pair of black pants. You let your eyes wander away once again, your nerves collecting up and down your spine.

A different bartender comes his way, in which he scoffs, “fucking finally. Can I have 8 shots of absinthe?” The bartender looked like her soul was just kicked out of her body. She nods anxiously before dissolving into the large wall of alcoholic drinks.

You decide to put your focus on the bit of vodka meant for Ashley. The ice was watering up the drink, making you feel awful for wasting such an expensive drink. Then, like you had spoken your thoughts, the man beside you asked, “are you going to drink that?” His voice was deep, nasally, and sounded like a warfare between two accents.

You meet with his eyes again and shake your head, “it isn’t mine.” He frowns.

“Then whose is it?”

Does it really matter? “Clearly not yours.” The man raised his eyebrows in shock. You, too, were shocked by the sass that left your tongue. You watched as he clicked his tongue against his bottom teeth.

“Do I know you?” He asked condescendingly.

You shook your head. “Do I know you?” The bartender returned to the man with the 8 shots he requested. The shots were full of this dark green liquid that made your liver already want to hurt. He nods away the bartender before returning to you with a smirk.

“You’re not famous, are you?” You shake your head. “A plus one?” You nod. He nods slowly before preparing to pick up one of the shots he ordered.

“I take it you aren’t a plus one?” He follows you and shakes his head. “Makes sense. I’m pretty sure I’m the only person without a net worth here.” You watched his plump, soft lips hold onto part of the shots rim and downs the shot with ease. He grimaces from the taste and shrugs.

“And you don’t know who I am?” He asks while recuperating from the shot of poison he just drank.

You shrug, “I’m sorry, am I supposed to?” The man chuckles and shakes his head. “Are you an actor, artist, producer-- model?”

He emits a raspy chuckle, “do I look attractive enough to be a model?” You could feel your cheeks tint pink. He smiles at this, having you notice that he has a very sweet smile. It makes him much more appealing compared to the angry expression he held when he first came over. “I’m in a band. I play bass.”

“Oh, cool.” You were genuinely impressed. Though you have no other celebrity to compare to aside from Meri, this man must have talent if he’s at this bar right now. “I’m sorry if I was rude earlier.”

“Ah no, it’s my fault,” the man admits as he waves off your apology. “I’ve been crabby all night and decided I wanted a drink.”

“That’s not the best coping mechanism, you know,” you commented as he took another shot. He grimaces yet again and slams the empty shot glass on the table. The man suddenly got closer to you, causing you to back off slightly. “H-hey--”

“I’m sorry,” he speaks a little louder, “I can’t hear you too well over the music.” Eastside was blaring pretty loudly, you had to admit. You eased up and nodded. “I know I shouldn’t drink, but my life feels like it's falling apart.”

“Are you stressed out?” You asked politely, your voice much softer and kinder. “I can imagine being famous isn’t easy.” The man shrugged.

“That’s always going to stress me out, you know?” You nodded. “But I’ve recently received some shitty news, which only brought shittier news.” You frowned. You felt his words completely. “I’m just kinda stuck between a rock and a hard place.”

Aren’t we all? You felt kind of bad. Even though he’s famous and could have everything, he’s still human and has the potential of losing things, too. And drinking doesn’t seem like his best friend either. He must be having a pretty hard time. And you weren’t sure why, but you decided to take the shot of watering vodka and forced it down your throat. The man beside you sat and watched as you coughed from the disgusting and very warm drink.

“My best friend brought me out here so I can try to get a better social life,” you admitted sheepishly, clinking the empty glass with your acrylic nails. “But I’m not famous so I don’t know what she expects from me.”

The man keeps quiet for a moment before slowly sliding one of his shots to you, “you’re doing pretty good right now.” You look down at the shot and smile curtly. He seemed kind, even though his aura is pretty off-putting. “Have a shot with me.”

“I shouldn’t…” you murmur as you bring the shot glass between your hands.

He holds up a shot near you and smiles, “I insist. You’re the only person I want to drink with right now.” You shook your head but he placed his hand on yours. You flushed up, feeling the hard and dry calluses ornate on his large hand. “Please.”

His voice emanated pure defeat, like he had nobody else but you. There was a touch of beg, and there was only so much you could do to resist such an irresistible man. With a shaky sigh, you pick up the shot and meet his eyes. “Fuck it.”

An hour passes, and each of you were full of shots and giggles. You two bounces off of each other from conversation with ease, like a perfectly made algorithm. He explained his broken accent, as he’s originally from Australia but had unfortunately been Americanized from fame. He told you of all the lovely experiences he’s had traveling all around Asian and Europe with his band mates who also happened to be his best friends. Listening to how content he was telling you these stories made you glad for his mood change.

Even if the two of you were a bit too tipsy.

“You know, you’re a really good listener,” Calum began seriously. He was a very chill drunk, extremely collected with very few slurred words. “Thank you for lending me your ears.”

You nodded, feeling your head heavy from the motion, “I get that a lot.” You felt a little sluggish, your eyes barely keeping up with his. He notices this and quickly whistles over a bartender. Your eyes wandered to see that it was the male bartender from early. He asked for a water bottle and the bartender eyes you worriedly before fetching his request.

“Let’s sober you up a bit,” the man insists as he takes the water bottle from the bartender and opens it up for you. You feel fingers lift your chin up as you felt the bottle gently sit between your lips. Cold water slowly entered your mouth as you swallowed a good amount. It was refreshing, and tasted so much better than the vodka and absinthe you drank. He pulls away the bottle after you wave it away and lets you go, “how you feeling?”

“Mmm,” you nod, “better.” The man smiles warmly at you. He then squints a bit before he brings his hand up to your face. You backed off a bit but he stuck out his thumb and began to dab your bottom lip. You could only blink as he gently dabbed away the loose water that remained on your glossed lips.

“Good girl,” he breathed, putting his hand down slowly. His brown eyes were captivating; you couldn’t find yourself looking away. And hearing him call you a good girl made you feel a bit weird. A little bit hot. He seemed entranced, too, as his face gradually came closer to yours. “Hey stranger, can I ask for your name?”

“I’m Y/N.” You stuck your hand out to him.

“Calum.” His large hand shakes yours. But he holds onto it, your eyes still locked with his. You smiled goofy. Calum.

“I like your name,” you slur out.

“I like your lips,” Calum murmurs quietly. His hot breath tickled your lips, having you realize just how close he was to you. “Hey Y/N… can I kiss you?”

It was a shot in the dark. But it was only one shot and it’s either a complete hit or a complete miss. Although you weren’t completely in your right mind and should probably be looking for Meri, you really wanted to seize this opportunity. After all, when would a very attractive man such as him come around again?

You nodded and closed your eyes, bracing yourself for the interlocking. And, without wasting a second, the man by the name of Calum, pressed his lips firmly against yours. They were warm and soft and plump-- exactly what you expected. You felt the way his warm tongue dragged along your bottom lip, savoring the saccharine goodness of it. His teeth would gently graze along your bottom lip while calming it with his tongue.

His hands quickly worked their way to your face, cupping your cheeks gently with his fingers fairly spread out. His thumbs were lightly denting your face while the other fingers had been gently massaging the back of your head and neck. Calum wanted more and more of you, as if you two weren’t locking lips, noses touching. Your hands found their way to his thighs, keeping you up as you two tried getting closer to one another.

Calum smelled good. He smelled of clean clothes and cologne, but he wasn’t drowned in it. It made the taste of booze easier to bare from his lips. Your pussy kept clenching, your hormones clearly desiring this man. Subconsciously, your hands crawled over to find that his crotch was protruding and twitching desperately. He groaned into your mouth from your touch.

“Fuck,” he growled against your lips. Your anxiety quickly rose as you pulled away. “Hey--”

“N-no, we shouldn’t be kissing here,” you mumbled nervously, looking around the bar. “Others could be taking photos, or paparazzi--”

“Y/N,” Calum spoke over you. “Paparazzi isn’t allowed in here and celebrities mind their own business among other celebrities.” You blinked a few times, still pretty drunk and attempting to understand his words. “Just like them, I want my privacy. So don’t stress, okay?”

You nod shyly, causing Calum to smile widely again. “Okay but um…” You pressed your thighs closer together, feeling a bit wet between them. “Can we… change scenery?”

Calum’s brown eyes glowed, offering his hands to you, “I was just about to ask the same thing. Come on.” He looks around before muttering an ‘um.’ You watch as he untucks his dress shirt and proceeds to unbutton it.

“Calum?”

Without answering you, Calum removes his dress shirt and begins to cover your head. Confused, you held the shirt down so it didn’t slide off. You were going to ask but Calum was quick to answer, “I don’t want the paparazzi taking photos of you when we step out.” Protecting my identity, you thought. Sick.

Calum checked his pockets to make sure he had everything before standing up and offering his hand. You slowly rose from the stool, using Calum’s forearms to help you up. As you did, you glanced back to see the bartender watching you from afar while making a drink for another customer. You look back at Calum and allow him to guide you out the bar.

“Cover as much of your face as you can, okay?” Calum instructs as he begins to lead you out of the bar. You take in your instructions as you slip through celebrities. You felt like you were going to get stuck with how crowded it was, but Calum had a very firm grip on you. “Excuse me!”

In seconds, you felt fresh air coat you all over. Your lungs were celebrating from the warm yet refreshing air. But you couldn’t bask in the excitement of being outside as you two were quickly met with flashing lights and shouts. You heard the paparazzi scream ‘Calum Hood,’ allowing you to safely assume that that was the man's full name.

“Miss!” Several of them then began beckoning to you, feeling hands attempting to reach you and reveal yourself. And they were close, but you had a pretty firm grip on the shirt. His smell was intoxicating and you looked like a nun covering your face with the shirt. But one more grab finally sparked some initiative from Calum.

He pulled you into his arms, your body firmly against his built torso, “stop fucking touching her!” He spat at the paparazzi, who only ate this up and resumed taking more photos and videos. You noticed from the little hole you had to see that security quickly came and pushed them back. This gave you and Calum enough time to get to his car and escape. “In here, beautiful.” He opens the door to his black SUV.

You struggle with your wedges but you get inside the car. As he closes the door, he rushes over to the driver's seat and joins you in the car. “You can take that off now.” Removing the shirt, you look around in paranoia. But his windows were shaded so nobody would be able to see the inside. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

You fold the shirt and hand it over to Calum, “I’m fine, don’t worry.” He smiles while taking the shirt and gently placing it in the back of the car. He looks straight again and presses the button to start his car, watching as everything turns on and lights up. His radio immediately blasted Slow Motion by Trey Songz and you giggled.

“Shit, I’m so sorry--” Calum begins to apologize as his fingers try to lower the volume. But you loved this song and couldn’t help but jam out.

“Baby, when I saw ya walking out the door,” you sung, your hands reaching up to touch the roof of the car. “I jus knew you needed somethin’ more.”

Calum watched you in fascination as you sway your body to the sensual song. His boner had been getting worse and worse as you dragged your fingers down your collarbone and towards your chest. You notice that the car had been running but not moving. You look over at Calum.

“Shouldn’t you be driving?”

“Shit, yeah.”

With that, Calum pulls away from the curb and begins to drive to his apartment. You watched him drive, noticing how muscular his arms were. They were bigger than your face. Your eyes guide down to his collarbone, noticing one of the two tattoos that sit just below it. You bring your hand to touch it, causing Calum to flinch. But his tension dissolves as you slowly trace the lines.

“Like it?” He hummed quietly.

“It’s fitting,” you reply with a nod. You begin to drag your fingers towards his shoulder and down his muscular arm. They barely grazed his skin, but it had done just enough to make goosebumps rise. “Does my touch make you nervous?”

“Nah,” he replies unconvincingly. He quickly blasts the A/C and chuckles, “I’m just cold.” You giggle, continuing your adventure down his side. Your fingers reach his pants, causing you to bite your bottom lip. Your hand swiftly finds itself right on top of his boner, getting a “fuck!” out of him.

“You seem to have a problem down there,” you mumbled quietly. Calum chuckled.

“Amazing observation, Y/N,” Calum compliments sarcastically. You roll your eyes as you look up to see car lights glisten against Calum’s face. You look over to notice why he began sucking his teeth and sighing. “Fucking traffic,” Calum grumbles as he begins ot honk. “Fucking go!”

You laugh at his rage before returning your focus down on his crotch. Gently, you rub his boner, feeling his limb gradually get larger. Calum lets go of the wheel as he’s taken his defeat in the traffic and begins to pay attention to your actions. You look up to see his brown eyes study your hand and his bottom lip firmly stuck between his pearly whites.

You toy with the zipper of his pants before you halt and pout, “is this okay?”

Calum nods, “it's way more than okay.”

You resumed, pulling down the zipper slowly while Calum helped in pulled the pants down slightly. His black Calvin Klein's couldn’t do much as Calum’s boner immediately shot up. The tightness from the pants had been restricting his cock for too long as you heard Calum emit a relieving sigh. Your hands cling onto the waist of the boxers before pulling it completely down. You noticed that he was cleanly shaved before your eyes were on his bare cock. It immediately slapped against Calum’s stomach.

Without any more delays, you move closer to the drivers while using Calum’s thigh to hold you up. Using your free hand, you hold the 7-inch limb to keep it from slapping his stomach. Veins danced up and down his cock, his tip a light hue of pink. You let out a nervous sigh before bringing your lips to his tip. A throaty moan escapes Calum’s lips as your lips wrap around the top of his cock.

“Fuck,” Calum dragged, throwing his head back as you licked the man’s cock up and down. His dick was shiny from your saliva, making it easier for your hand to stroke it up and down while your mouth did the rest of the work. “That feels so fuckin good…”

His large hand takes up your flattened hair, keeping it from distracting you as you slowly took in more of his cock. His dick slid in with ease, through his tip was somewhat rough on your throat. More moans ensued from the man’s mouth as you take him as deeply as you could. He began to thrust up, desperate to put his dick as far into your throat as he could.

“Shit, Y/N,” Calum growled as he moved the car inches in the slow moving traffic. “Can I?” You felt his hand weave through your hair and massage the back of your scalp. He wanted to face fuck you. You used both hands to hold onto his thigh as a way to give consent. He bites down on his bottom lip harshly as he brought his other hand to hold your head. Slowly, he started to move your head up and down his cock. Your warm tongue swirled around his cock as he shoved it in and out your mouth.

Your panties became wetter from being face fucked. Although your eyes were tearing up and likely ruining your makeup, you wanted Calum to use your body more. “Your mouth feels so fucking good, Princess.” Your new nickname made you hotter as you gagged uncontrollably around Calum’s cock. You swallowed down the piling up saliva in your mouth, and that made Calum high. “F-fuck, your throat is so tight…”

He began to go a bit faster, tears quickly running down your cheeks. Your fingers and nails dent into his thigh, holding on tighter as Calum used your mouth the way he wished. A string of moans escape his lips-- he wants to cum soon. “I’m gonna cum right into your pretty little throat, okay Princess?” He informs you, his speed not relenting for a second as you felt his cock get bigger in your mouth. The tip of his cock hit the back of your throat so many times a minute that you knew it’ll be sore later.

Calum loved the sound of your saliva all over his cock, going in and out your mouth. “Y/N, I’m cumming--” even though you were warned, your widened your eyes when you felt a warm liquid getting forced down your throat. Immediately, you shot up and released his cock with a pop! Sound. You began to cough, relieving your mouth of being stuffed. With that, a bit of his cum still sat on your tongue and dripped down your bottom lip. It was bitter and salty, but you licked the remaining bit into your mouth. You looked up at Calum, whose eyes were suddenly filled with rage.

“Princess,” Calum begins darkly, pinching your chin with his fingers. His brown eyes were dim and haunting, causing goosebumps to rush all over your skin. “You let some of my cum drip into my car.”

You gulped. “I’m sorry…”

“Oh, I know,” Calum murmured quietly. “I’m gonna make you regret it anyways, Princess.” He then reverted back to driving mode as both hands clasped onto the wheel. You sat back into the passenger's seat properly, shifting uncomfortably from your juices leaking out of your pussy. Calum brought his hand to your thigh and kept it there, ensuing silence in the car as you mentally prepared for whatever the unpredictable Calum had in store for you.

XXX

You looked out the window when Calum pulled up in front of an extremely fancy and expensive apartment building. You watch Calum turn off the car and exiting it. Walking around it, Calum opens your door and offers you a hand. You looked around curiously, “are you sure I can show my face?”

Calum nodded, “the paparazzi hasn’t figured out where my city apartment is.” You take his hand and allow him to help you out as he shuts the door behind you and clicks a button to lock the car. Several security guards stood right before you as Calum tossed his ‘car key’ to one of them. You glanced back as one of them gets into the car and drives away to park it.

Calum’s warm hand holds yours into the beautiful and expensive building. The intensity of the bright lights was blinding as you kept your head down and followed Calum. But when you were looking down, you noticed the inner legs glistening due to how horny you were. And you still weren’t quite that sober so you squeezed Calum’s hand tighter in desperation.

He chuckles at you, “what’s wrong, Princess?” He glances back at you to see your face as red as a tomato. You bit your bottom lip and shook your head, too embarrassed to tell him your situation. Snickering, Calum guides you to an elevator and presses one of the buttons. You looked up slightly to see that they were going to the 48th floor.

“C-Calum,” you stuttered, looking up at him. He looked of a sadist right then, knowing that you were wet beyond belief and that you were desperately seeking relief. “I need you.”

“You need me?” Calum repeats. You nod your head slowly and Calum was in a short fit of chuckles. “Alright, c’mere.” He pulls you into his body and holds you tightly at your waist. Your cheeks were burning, and you watched Calum dip down to kiss your lips once again.

You clung onto his black tank top desperately, feeling his large hands slowly crawl down to your ass. Calum rubbed, grabbed, and spanked your ass as you two kissed through the floors. You listened to the sound of the elevator skipping each floor as Calum’s tongue breached into your mouth. It was clear he was the dominant, his tongue swirling around yours and eventually pressing it down before returning its focus to your upper lip. The gloss that was once on your lips were completely licked away by Calum.

You felt Calum pull your dress up to tease his middle finger from between your cheeks down towards your pussy. You twitched a bit as Calum’s finger began rubbing between your labias through your panties. “Y/N,” Calum parts his lips from yours, “when did you get so wet?”

You brought your hands up to his face and pulled it down to kiss him again. Calum’s finger pushed into your pussy, bringing your soaked panties along while rubbing the rim of it. You began clenching inside, desperate for this man to stick his finger completely inside. But before he could, the elevator had finally reached the 48th floor.

“Let’s go.” Calum pulls your dress down and holds your hand once more to guide you to his apartment. You followed him through the lavish halls of the floor, taking a look out the window to see the mesmerizing sight that was New York City at night.

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered. Calum looked over and nodded. You heard him fish out keys from his pocket with his free hand. He forced the key in to his apartment and opened it with ease. Calum lets you go as soon as you two enter, closing the door behind you two while you just begin to wander in. “Princess.”

“Mm?”

Suddenly, two large (and now familiar) hands grab your hips and pull you back. Calum turns you and presses your back against the door. He grabs your wrists and hold them against the door as well, his large body surrounding you. “Finally,” Calum murmurs before he dips into the crook of your neck and drags his tongue on your neck. You let a moan slip, feeling Calum’s teeth begin to tug and tease your flesh with his tongue sliding on to ease the bit of pain.

“C-Calum…” you force out. Calum’s tongue teased up your neck, his plump lips nibbling your ears. You clench your hands into fists, wiggling in his hold as his teeth grazed along your skin. But he halts to bring his lips to your ear.

“Tonight,” Calum growls, “I’m Daddy.” Your eyes widen as he tugs your earlobe with his lips. “Do you understand, Princess?”

You nod, “yes, Daddy.” Calum backs up a bit and holds your chin in his fingers. Although you two were in pitch black darkness, you knew he was smirking at you. He releases your wrists but takes your hand again to guide you through his apartment. You follow obediently, your heart pumping quickly from the rush. You weren’t foreign to one night stands, but this one feels different. This one was more exciting, with a thrill you haven’t felt in a long while.

He brings you into a bedroom. That was clear as one of his walls were entirely of glass and allowed tonight's light to shine in. You notice a king sized bed with a bedside table and a few drawers. Any other detail was hard to tell from your gradual sobering as well as still being in a fair amount of darkness. He turns around and holds you gently by your neck.

“Get on the bed,” Calum instructed. “I’m hungry.”

Gulping, you quickly walk to the end of the bed and take a seat. Calum walks over and swallows you in his shadow, looking down at you as he grinned. He tells you to lay down, in which you listen and try to calm yourself down. You thanked yourself a million times for shaving before you went to Meri’s house tonight. As you tried slowing down your heart, you felt Calum unstrapping your shoes from your feet.

“Mm?” You wiggled your toes to catch his attention. You heard him chuckle from the end of the bed as he frees your feet from your wedges.

“I just wanted you to be more comfortable.” You knew that you two were supposed to be fucking, but his gesture was really endearing. You felt your heart warm up from how considerate he was to you. But that sweet moment quickly dissolves when Calum starts pulling your dress up and your panties down. “Spread your legs, Princess.”

Obediently listening, you spread your legs apart. You cover your face with your hands, completely embarrassed by the situation. Calum’s breath tickled your inner thighs as he completely removed the panties from your body. The tip of his tongue first touches your clit lightly and you were already in shambles.

“C-Calum…” you moaned. This made Calum stop to glare at you.

“What’s my name?” He growled.

“D-Daddy, it’s Daddy,” you pleaded with him. “I’m sorry, Daddy.” Calum nods in satisfaction after your apology and dips back into your pussy. You feel his tongue swirling around your clit, stimulating it. You felt waves of pleasure surge through your body, your hands returning to the bed to desperately grab the sheets. His large hands had to hold down your thighs to make you squirm less, his tongue rimming around the entrance of your pussy.

But he quickly found that dull and brought one hand to your flower. Calum forces his middle finger in first, having you arch your back in pure bliss. Moans drip out from your lips as you hear the sipping and slurping sounds of Calum eating you out with his plump lips. He thumbed aggressively against your clit, beads of sweat began to collect on your forehead and neck.

“Y-you’re going so f-fast,” you stutter, “it's t-too much…”

Completely ignoring your breathless warnings, Calum laps his tongue around your clit. He digs two fingers into you, sending sparks all around. You pull at the sheets desperately, your breathing completely off tempo. He thrusts his long fingers in and out slowly, spraying some of your cum out onto the bed. “I’ll be the judge of that,” Calum’s hoarse voice speaks against your flower.

Eventually, Calum bends his fingers at your g-spot right behind your clit and you writhe in pure euphoria. He smirks at your reaction and keeps doing it while circling around your clit (which had been gradually becoming swollen by his constant touch.) Your climax was closing in on you as Calum start leaving wet kisses all over your thighs, fingers still inside you. He slips his index finger in and you curl your toes. “S-so close…” you moan, thrusting a little bit to get his fingers deeper inside.

He keeps going but immediately notices the thigh strap with your phone stuck in it. Carefully, he pulls it out of your thigh and puts it beside you on the bed. He’s intrigued by this and keeps it in his head while he continued to pleasure you. “D-Daddy, please,” you shrieked, your nails threatening to poke holes through his sheets. Then, seconds before reaching your climax, your euphoric state comes to a halt.

Calum retracts all of his fingers and rises from the floor. You glance over to look at him, watching as he rids the tank top on his torso. Though it was still fairly dark, you could his flesh dent kindly to form his wondrous set of abs. You hear a soft snort before hands are offered before you. “Here’s your punishment.”

Following his lead, he gets you on your feet and holds your face. Your toes adjust to the flatness of the ground as Calum purposely wipes away his lips drenched with your juices with his tongue. He continues to lick his fingers as well, stirring your insides just a painful bit more. This man isn’t human, you thought. He couldn’t be. “Get on your knees,” he murmurs. You widen your eyes, complaints already filing in your head.

“But you didn’t finish--”

“Are you denying my order, Princess?” Calum growls. He pinches your chin and forces you to lock eyes with him. Goosebumps spread like wildfire as you shake your head. He smiles, “good. Now do as I told you.”

Nodding, you slide down to the floor, your hands gliding down from his thighs. Your knees dug into the carpet, knowing that it’ll leave rug burns and bruises on them. Calum’s eagerness shows; his thick bulge was right before your very eyes. Your hands carefully undo the zipper like earlier, and your hands quickly pulled down the waist of both his pants and boxers.

His cock hits his stomach and you could only bask in its largeness. Before you could indulge though, Calum pokes your forehead and reaches for something on the bed. You eye to notice your phone in his hands. “What are you…”

Calum slides into camera mode and begins to take what you guessed was a video. As he smirked mischievously into the camera, his hand held the back of your head and encouraged you to begin. Both of your hands quickly wrap around his cock to help it into your mouth. A rough moan escapes his lips before switching the camera to record you sucking him off. You were somewhat anxious about it but the video was in your phone so nobody but you could access it. Plus it was dark, so how much could one really see?

Calum watches wistfully at you as you suck him off the way you did in the car. But Calum was much rougher since he could dedicate his attention entirely to you. With his one hand, he forced his cock deep down your throat and sped up the tempo to his liking. Deja vu. Tears ensued once again, your hands holding onto his thighs so he could face fuck you with ease.

You could feel his cock twitch inside your mouth, your eyes looking up at the camera above you. Calum had been smiling the entire time, knowing that his climax would be coming soon. Eating you out made his throb cock so hard for you and he wants nothing more but to fuck you. But he had to teach you a lesson.

Precum slid down your throat, making you swallow around the tip of his cock. He stopped recording and tossed the phone back on the bad. He rested a hand on his forehead, euphoria completely taking him over. But he suddenly pulled you off his cock.

“Mm.” A string of saliva kept your lips and his cock connected. You clear your throat, easing your throat from the face fucking. Calum grabs your hands and turns you around. With one hand holding the back of your neck and the other right above your ass, he bends you over the bed.

“Do I have to use a condom?” He presses his body against your back to speak these words into your ear.

“No, Daddy,” you reply. You were on the pill so there were no worries. Calum nipped at your ear happily before standing up straight. His large hands hold onto your hips, his fingers denting a bit for a good hold. He rubs his cock against your soaked pussy, his tip teasing your entrance dreadfully. “Fuck, please!”

“Please what, Princess?” He’s a sadist.

“Please Daddy.”

You couldn’t see, but you knew for a fact he had a smirk painted across his lips. Without wasting another second, Calum thrusts right into your pussy. You hold onto the sheets, pushing them close together as you dig your face into them. His cock was stretching you harshly, but you wanted him deeper. Your insides clench around, hugging his cock happily to feel his length fuck you harder.

“Fuck Princess,” Calum mutters. “I love the way your pussy wraps around my cock.” His waist slapped your ass, his hands instinctively going to give it a few spanks. It was too much-- you were seconds from cumming. Your squeals gave you away as Calum starts thrusting faster. “I’m gonna ruin you.”

Your breathing couldn’t be controlled as you felt an exultant climax finally come. Your release coated Calum’s cock, but his cum was also filling you up. You moaned into the bed, trickles of sweat dripping down the both of you. The combined orgasms poured onto the bed and seeped into the sheets. Calum gave you every drop before pulling out.

Exhaustion slowly began taking you over while you listened to Calum walk over to his bedside table. Your squinted eyes watch him retrieve two items from the drawer before walking over to the wall of glass. The last thing you saw was a cigarette being placed between his lips before you fell into a deep slumber.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

part 2 here

this is long as fuck but this is only the beginning. please let me know if it was any good or bad here and ill see yall in the next part

- gabby xo

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the-observant-frisbeetarian · 5 years ago

Text

Chapter 5

Bésame Mucho by George deValier

Winter, 1943 A village in Italy

"You are back in town, Spaniard."

Antonio felt a wave of sick, cold fear roll through his gut. He glanced up sharply, then let out a short sigh of relief. The Turk stared down at him reflectively, that familiar smirk on his lips, that customary red fez perched on his head. He looked pointedly at the chair opposite, and Antonio gave a quick nod.

"So." The Turk sat heavily, leaning back easily in the chair. "We're gonna make this quick. Not a good idea for me to be seen here, you know."

Antonio nodded and took a long sip of wine to calm his nerves. This constant anxiety was starting to wear on him. The unfamiliar feeling was far too common these days, now that too many people in this small village knew his face. "I understand. Though you realise it is far more dangerous for me to be seen at the Cantina Rosso, my friend." Antonio replaced his wine on the table then offered to pour a glass for the Turk, who, as always, shook his head.

"Why else would I trudge to this side of town?" The Turk glanced disdainfully around the nearly empty front room of the Cantina Verde. "I always did prefer red to green."

Antonio raised an eyebrow. "Really? And here I thought your favourite was gold." He tossed a small, rattling bag on the table. The Turk quickly inspected the contents before putting the bag in his pocket.

"You see, this is why I like working with you, Spaniard." The Turk grinned. "You understand the absurdity of paper notes."

Antonio laughed softly. It was so easy to work with people whose only loyalty was to money. Easy but dangerous, considering the amount the Germans were willing to pay to get their hands on Antonio. "The lira is worthless right now. I'd never insult you with it." He leant forward slightly, a tiny, shrewd smile on his lips. "Don't forget that."

The Turk seemed to understand. "I'd be a fool to turn you over to the Germans. Why work for one side when you can work for both?" He shrugged, as though to suggest the absurdity of the suggestion. "But, to business. With the nearby German airbase, it was only a matter of time before the Americans joined our little party. Here." The Turk pulled a thick bundle of string-tied paper from his jacket, placed it on the table, and pushed it towards Antonio. "Transcripts of orders from top American Air Force personnel and maps of projected landing sites. The Americans are going to want to cause as much damage as possible while they have the element of surprise."

"Of course," muttered Antonio, briefly flicking through the papers. "This is what I've been trying to obtain information on..." An American air fighter unit currently based in London, a projected landing south at Anzio… yes, this was just the material he needed to pass on to Roma. Antonio had worked tirelessly on this one mission for weeks - after all, he needed a reason to return to this village. "Now, we know the Americans are landing soon, but we need a way for them to destroy the German airbase and its most dangerous personnel in one swoop."

"Leave that to me, my friend." Antonio glanced up from the papers and the Turk grinned deviously. "I'll find something out. And the moment I do, I'll inform you."

Antonio narrowed his eyes in a brief moment of suspicion. "You wouldn't give the Germans this information, would you?"

The Turk leant back and laughed wildly. "And lose your regular gold donations? Did I not just say that would be foolish? No, Spaniard, you would do well to forget such suspicions. I do suggest, however, that you send someone other than yourself to meet me next time. Someone… innocent looking. You are far too recognisable in these parts nowadays." A calculating gleam appeared in his eyes. "I have to wonder why you return insistently to this one little village when the danger is so great for you."

Antonio shrugged nonchalantly. "I am recognised in many places. My work is as important here as anywhere." But the Turk was right. It was too dangerous for Antonio to be in this village, he knew that. And yet the longer this war drew on and the greater the danger became, the more Antonio felt himself drawn here. To the one place and the one person that mattered.

The Turk did not look convinced. "Some would say you are needed more in the south these days. Roma Vargas runs the resistance in this town as though it were an army unit. He does not require your constant assistance."

"Roma is always grateful for my assistance," said Antonio curtly, eager to drop this line of conversation. He folded the papers and placed them in his bag. "And I am sure he will be grateful for this information."

The Turk nodded, though there remained a knowing, faintly amused look in his eye. "Be careful on your way out of town. There are German patrols on the roads lately."

Antonio did not worry about that. He knew the back roads by now – he knew his way to Lovino's farmhouse. "I will be in town until the landings. I doubt, however, we will meet again." He stood quickly, excitement building in his chest when he finally allowed himself to think of where he was heading. There was no point denying it. Lovino was the real reason Antonio was here; Lovino was the reason he was risking everything. As he headed quickly for the door, Antonio barely heard the Turk speak behind him.

"Good luck, Spaniard."

Lovino slammed the bag of flour onto the kitchen bench and spun around to face Feliciano. His silly brother let out a tiny squeak and took a step backwards. Lovino scowled. "What is that irritating tune you've been humming all afternoon?"

Feliciano just scratched his head with that dim, blank look of his. "Huh? Oh." He shrugged. "It's not irritating, it's pretty." Then he continued humming it as he cheerfully filled the fruit bowl with tomatoes.

Lovino nearly growled in annoyance. Feliciano had arrived late to the Resistenza meeting at the cantina, bounced in and waved like a fool, then simply sat at the back of the room playing with the wireless radio. It was unacceptable. When would Feliciano realise the seriousness of this situation? When would he stop acting like a silly little child and getting away with it? And when would he stop humming that ridiculous song? "It's stupid," said Lovino. "Stop it. Stop it now."

Feliciano pouted and whined, "But Lovino…"

"You need to take things a little more seriously, Feliciano." Lovino could not keep the frustration from his voice. He knew he was probably overreacting, but he hadn't been able to control his frustrated emotions lately. It was now almost a month since he had last seen Antonio. One month since the infuriatingly wonderful Spaniard had held Lovino close as they danced, since he had touched Lovino's tears and said he would wait forever. One lingering, unchanging month that had felt like an eternity and passed like a lifetime. Lovino still felt unworthy, still felt confused. He felt lost in the resistance, always kept from doing anything worthwhile for the cause. But above all, Lovino felt painfully lonely, and painfully sad. So now, he couldn't help feeling irrationally angry that Feliciano could act so damn happy and carefree. "You can't just spend important meetings like that sitting and singing along to the radio. This isn't a game. You need to be serious, like me and Grandpa." Lovino suddenly jumped when a hand landed heavily on his shoulder.

"What's all this I hear about being serious?" Grandpa Roma placed a bag of oranges on the bench, that same dopey grin on his face that Feliciano always wore. Lovino gritted his teeth and glared. Just what he needed - his grandfather acting stupidly cheerful as well. "Don't listen to your brother, Feliciano, he's far too serious for his own good. And you have a beautiful voice, just like your Grandpa!" Lovino tried to respond angrily, but Roma raised a hand. "Try this one…" And then the bastard started singing. Feliciano laughed, clapped joyfully, and of course, joined in. Lovino immediately put his hands over his ears.

*"La donna è mobile, Qual piuma al vento, Muta d'accento - e di pensiero."

"Grandpa, don't be ridiculous!" Lovino silently cursed Verdi, backed away from his embarrassing family, and prepared to flee. Sometimes he honestly wondered if he was related to these people… "I mean it!"

Feliciano giggled, Roma kept that stupid smile on his face, and they both raised their voices as they advanced menacingly on Lovino.

"Sempre un amabile, Leggiadro viso, In pianto o in riso, - è menzognero."

"STOP!" Seriously, did they even know how absurd they looked? Lovino looked around desperately for an escape, only to be impeded as Roma stepped in front of him and placed a cooking pot on his head. Of all things… but Lovino was not going to laugh, damn it. This was not funny, this was childish and ridiculous and… "Go away! Stop it! Leave me alone! You're both crazy and I'm leaving this family!"

"La donna è mobil'. Qual piuma al vento, muta d'accento - e di pensier!"

Lovino finally managed his getaway. He dodged around his childish brother and preposterous grandpa, charging across the kitchen as they gave chase still singing that infuriating canzone. Fighting the laughter rising in his chest, Lovino threw open the kitchen door, ran into the front room, and immediately froze. An icy hot shudder ran down his spine. The blood drained from his face, his breath stopped short, and his heart stuttered a wild, frantic convulsion in his chest. Antonio just smiled back at him from the front doorway. His green eyes sparkled in amusement; his lips held back a burst of laughter. Lovino's cheeks burned with embarrassment. He pulled the pot from his head and scowled angrily. "What are you looking at, bastard?"

"Antonio!" Roma rushed across the room, smiling joyfully, and threw his arms around Antonio warmly. "Ah, thank the good Lord! I was hoping to see you soon!"

"Greetings, Roma!" said Antonio happily. "It's good to see you!" Despite himself, Lovino felt his heart tug at his chest when he realised how tired Antonio looked. He must have been travelling far, and working hard. Lovino suddenly wondered what it would be like if he could walk over to Antonio and take the pack from his shoulder, lead him to the couch, sit beside him, hold him and kiss him and laugh with him… Lovino shook the startling, intruding image away. And he'd thought he was getting so good at ignoring his feelings.

"Antonio!" cried Feliciano, running across the room and jumping excitedly. "Did you bring me a present? Huh, huh, did you?" Antonio laughed and ruffled Feliciano's hair. Lovino folded his arms and scowled, irritated and strangely jealous.

"Of course I did, Feli! This time I have…" Antonio left a dramatic pause before reaching into the large bag slung over his shoulder and pulling out a soccer ball. Feliciano gasped loudly and snatched it from Antonio's hands.

"Yes! Perfect! I lost my last one, actually Lovino lost it, and it's been impossible to find a new one and I've actually been wanting one of these lately because…" Roma slapped Feliciano over the back of the head. "I mean, uh, thank you, Antonio!"

"You're welcome, Feliciano! And I have something special for Lovino!"

Lovino felt his bones freeze. Antonio smiled across the room brightly, enticingly, so warm and kind and good, his messy brown curls slightly too long and his deep green eyes so intense and…

"Lovino, my dear boy!" Roma's words shook Lovino from his transfixed stupor. "Stop being a rude little bastard and get over here."

Lovino remembered himself and plastered a scowl on his face, walking slowly across the room with his arms still folded. He stopped just before Antonio, so close he could touch him, so close he could smell him… Antonio reached into his bag and pulled out a small red object. He tossed it into the air, caught it, and held it out with a flourish, his eyes sparkling with that bright, familiar mischief. Lovino stared curiously at the round object in Antonio's hand.

A tomato. A tomato? The bastard had given Feliciano a soccer ball, and all he had for Lovino was a piece of fruit! After all these weeks, after everything… "A fucking tomato?" Lovino winced as Grandpa Roma smacked him over the back of the head.

"Watch your manners, young man."

Lovino almost forgot the blasted tomato. First he was caught with a pot on his head, now his grandpa chastised him like he was eight years old. Could this situation possibly get any more humiliating? Lovino rubbed his head and glared at Roma angrily. "Why would I want a stupid tomato, Feliciano bought a bag of them today."

"Don't be impolite, and take the tomato."

"I don't want the tomato!"

"Take the fucking tomato, Lovino!"

Lovino snarled and snatched the stupid tomato. However, instead of the soft fruit he expected, the small object in his hand was actually hard and smooth. Lovino felt his brow wrinkle in confusion, then glanced up quizzically at Antonio. The bastard simply winked.

Roma spread his hands apologetically. "Antonio, a thousand apologies. I love my grandsons to death but they can be such rude little shits."

Lovino's neck flushed angrily, but Antonio just laughed and clapped Roma on the back. "Please, Roma, there is nothing to apologise for. It is I who should be apologising for the delay in my arrival. The travel routes have become so difficult in the last few months."

Lovino felt apprehensive at the words. It was just as Roma had been saying in meetings lately – that the military presence around the village had been increasing, that times were growing more perilous. Again, Lovino was reminded of just how dangerous Antonio's work was. Feliciano barely seemed to notice the conversation, gazing at his soccer ball with some silly, far-off look in his eyes. Roma just waved a hand dismissively. "Of course, of course, I understand this. I expect you have information for me?"

Antonio nodded. He and Roma made their way to the large central table, spreading pages of documents from Antonio's bag across the surface. Feliciano bounced over to the couch by the staircase, tossing his ball from hand to hand, but Lovino stayed where he was. Familiar, unpleasant anxiety rolled in his stomach, rose in his chest. He had to know what this information was; had to know just how much Antonio was risking.

"Finally, I've been given information directly from the Americans," said Antonio. He passed a small pile of papers to Roma, who immediately began rifling through them.

"Landing positions," muttered Roma. "I knew that German airbase would bring trouble."

Antonio shrugged. "Of course it was only a matter of time before the Americans wanted this village. What we need now is a plan for them to bring down a large chunk of the occupying military before the inevitable battle. The Germans are spread too thin throughout Italy – they do not have the resources to send immediate support."

"Have you any plan?"

Antonio ran a hand wearily through his hair. "I have someone working on it. But Roma, more than anything else, this is vital." Antonio placed his hand over the papers and fixed Roma's eyes in an intense, solemn stare. "This information must be kept from the Germans. They absolutely must not know about the landing."

Lovino let out a long, silent breath, anxious and uneasy. He went and sat heavily on the couch beside Feliciano, turning the smooth, solid tomato over in his hands. Feliciano reached for it immediately, and Lovino snatched it out of the way.

"Lovino!" Feliciano whined childishly. "Let me see, what is it? It's not actually a tomato, is it?"

"No." Lovino carefully inspected the strange gift from Antonio. "It's hard, like it's made of glass or something." He shook it and it rattled slightly. There seemed to be something inside. Just what did Antonio mean by giving him some sort of glass puzzle? "I think you can open it, but I can't work out how."

"Oooh." Feliciano sounded fascinated. "Why did Antonio give you something terrific like that?"

Lovino scoffed. "Terrific? I don't even know what it is!" Lovino held the object to his ear and shook it again. Yes, there was definitely something inside. He burned to know what it was. Antonio and his stupid little games… didn't he know how much Lovino hated to be kept in the dark? "Stupid Spaniard. This is going to drive me crazy."

Feliciano shrugged, quickly losing interest, and focused again on his soccer ball. Lovino ran his hands gently over the glass tomato, occasionally glancing over at where Roma and Antonio poured over the table of documents. It was obvious how dangerous things were becoming for Antonio. If the Germans discovered his presence in the village, he would be captured, tortured for information… killed. It was becoming so hard for Lovino to reconcile these warring emotions. As hard as he tried, he simply could not deny how drawn he was to Antonio. He could not ignore how much he missed Antonio when he was away, how desperate he was to be with the Spaniard when he returned. Just watching the man now across the room - his face handsome and intent as he talked, his body strong and graceful as he moved - Lovino's chest ached with desire simply to touch him.

But he was still scared. He was scared, because as the months drew on, the more Antonio travelled and learnt and involved himself in confidential military matters. The more the danger against him increased; the more wanted and hunted he became. While at the same time, the more Lovino felt these walls around his heart start to crumble. And the more likely it became that he would be hurt.

It took Lovino a moment to realise he was staring at Antonio, and a further moment to realise that he was staring back. Lovino's heart flipped into his throat. But before he could think how to react, Antonio gave him a tiny smile, and winked. Lovino nearly choked. What did the stupid Spaniard think he was doing? Grandpa Roma was right there! Lovino tried to look unimpressed, rolling his eyes as he looked away. He was not going to smile. He was not going to acknowledge this warm, bright glow that swelled in his chest and tingled down his neck. He was not going to smile, damn it!

Lovino almost sighed with relief when Roma and Antonio stood from the table and traded a few more documents, their short conversation over. Lovino and Feliciano stood immediately to join them. "I will be in town for a few weeks, Roma, so I will keep you informed," said Antonio, thrusting a handful of papers messily into his bag.

Lovino's stomach jumped. A few weeks… He was both terrified and overjoyed at the thought.

Roma smiled as he answered, "Yes, yes. Please come around whenever you are free. Our home is your home, my friend."

At those words, Lovino's stomach turned in circles. Come around whenever you are free… He swallowed heavily. That would be terrible, that would be wonderful, that would be…

"Of course I will!" Antonio smiled brightly and it lit up his eyes, his face, the entire room... Lovino raised his eyes to the ceiling and let out a very long breath. Oh, he didn't think he could do this much longer. His chest ached jealously when Antonio pulled Feliciano into a hug. "Stay safe, Feli."

"Visit soon, Antonio!"

Antonio nodded, turned, and despite every desperate, aching ounce of desire in his body, Lovino took a step backwards. His heart started pounding. Not here… not now… he could not let Antonio put his arms around him, he couldn't handle this, why was Antonio leaning towards him, what was he… Lovino's pounding heart stopped when he felt Antonio's breath warm against his ear. "Still waiting, mi corazón."

Lovino fought back the breathless gasp that rose in his chest. His eyes widened and his face burned bright red. Antonio pulled back, his gaze still on Lovino, a small, delighted smile on his lips and an intense, burning look in his eyes. Their eyes remained locked until Roma quickly grabbed Antonio by the arm, steered him forcefully towards the door, and kissed his cheeks almost violently in farewell. "Until next time! Oh, and Antonio, tell me. Can you sing?"

Antonio smiled a little dazedly, his expression slightly confused. "Sing? Why?"

Roma narrowed his eyes. "Because if you look at my grandson like that again, I will castrate you."

Lovino could not believe it. He felt his face contort in pure shock. How much did Roma know? And how dare he say that to Antonio? "Grandpa!" cried Lovino, absolutely mortified. What must Antonio be thinking?

Antonio's expression turned blank until Roma burst into raucous laughter. Antonio let out a relieved sigh and laughed along.

"No, no," laughed Roma, clapping Antonio heavily on the shoulder. "But Antonio, really…" Roma immediately broke off laughing and caught Antonio's eyes in a dark glare. "I'm deadly serious."

Lovino clapped his hand to his forehead. He was caught between wanting to die of embarrassment and wanting to smash something against the wall. Feliciano just seemed to find it amusing. Antonio backed up to the door, still attempting a valiant smile. "We'll… uh. We'll speak soon, Roma."

"We will!" Roma smiled cheerfully, giving Antonio a happy wave. When Antonio's eyes met his, Lovino did not know whether to look away or try somehow to apologise. Roma, however, made a distinct slicing motion below the waist, so Antonio simply gave Lovino one last smile before rushing out the door. Lovino wondered briefly if it was actually possible to die of embarrassment. Roma just clapped his hands, spun around, and grinned widely. "So," he said merrily. "Who wants pasta for dinner?"

"Ooh, ooh!" Feliciano jumped and raced back into the kitchen.

Lovino growled in his throat as he dragged himself behind. "I'm leaving this family."

Lovino could not sleep. How could he possibly sleep tonight? His head spun with constant, infuriating thoughts of Antonio, with fear and excitement for the coming morning. It was the first time Lovino would be involved in a mission with Antonio. True, Grandpa Roma would be there also, but Lovino still could not control the jumpy, clawing, almost painful nervousness that coiled in his stomach. Since the crippling embarrassment of the previous evening, Lovino had not had the chance to speak with Antonio alone. Now that Grandpa Roma seemed to be growing suspicious, Lovino was starting to wonder if there would ever be a chance – and more importantly, if he even wanted one.

Lovino had done his best to keep Antonio from his mind in the recent weeks. He had done as he always had when trying to forget. He had focused on the resistance, trying to prove he was worthy. It even seemed to be working - Grandpa Roma had finally given Lovino his own pistol. He had thrown himself into organising, thrown himself into celebrating. He had gotten thoroughly drunk a few days earlier at an unplanned celebration in the farmhouse, only to wake the next day with a dry mouth, a pounding head, and the fuzzy, horrifying memory of dancing and singing and playing his guitar on the table. And yet still, always, constantly, Lovino thought of Antonio. Dreamt of him. Waited for him. It was impossible to forget Antonio while he was away, let alone now he was here in the village, a mere walk away. Of course Lovino could not sleep.

And so Lovino lay silently, staring at the wall, unable to hear Feliciano's breathing in the bed across the room. Feliciano had been strangely eager to head to the market today, yet he had come home with nothing but an inexplicable bar of chocolate. Lovino barely had time to consider where he got such a thing. Instead his mind was preoccupied with the memories of Antonio at the cantina today. The Resistenza members had been so happy to see him – but of course, everyone was always happy to see Antonio. Lovino had just sat on a table at the back of the room, watching as they shook Antonio's hand, as they chatted brightly, smiled happily, laughed cheerfully. Everyone liked Antonio. But how could they possibly not? And again, Lovino could not help but wonder: how could someone so damned friendly and popular as Antonio love him?

"Lovino?" Apparently, Feliciano could not sleep either.

"Hmm?"

Feliciano's voice cut straight through Lovino's scattered thoughts. "What do you think of Antonio?"

Lovino almost choked. He gasped, then immediately coughed in an attempt to hide it. He had to remind himself that Feliciano could not read his mind. Feliciano could not know Lovino's feelings for Antonio… surely… "Why on earth would you ask me that?"

"Well, don't you like him?"

Lovino snorted and tried to sound offended. "Like him? That Spanish bastard? Why the hell would I like him?"

"Well, I like him, and Grandpa does, and I just sort of thought that you did. Maybe. A little more than we do."

Lovino's pulse sped up and a tight knot of fear settled in his stomach. But no, Feliciano couldn't possibly know. Lovino had hidden his feelings too well, too completely. How could silly little Feliciano possibly see through that? "Well, I don't."

"Oh." Feliciano sounded surprised. "All right then."

Lovino waited a few moments before breathing a cautious sigh of relief. He did not know what had possessed Feliciano to start asking about this, but Lovino was going to have to be a little more careful from now on. It was bad enough that Grandpa Roma was beginning to have suspicions, but Feliciano… God, Lovino must be more obvious in his emotions than he realised!

"Lovino?"

Lovino gritted his teeth. "What?"

"Have you ever thought of telling Antonio that you… don't like him?"

Lovino's mind went blank. Feliciano knew… The blankets felt suddenly stifling as sweat rose on his neck.

"Lovino?"

"Go to sleep, Feliciano." Lovino hoped Feliciano could not hear the desperation in his voice. He breathed deeply and tried to sort out the frantic thoughts running through his head. If everyone seemed to know Lovino's feelings, what was even the point of trying to hide them anymore? After all, they weren't going away. But he knew the answer; knew the reason. Because he was still so scared of being hurt.

"Lovino?"

Lovino almost jumped. "For God's sake, Feliciano, what do you want?"

Feliciano sounded more certain this time. "You do like Antonio, and you do want to tell him, but you are worried about what might happen when you do. Not that I really blame you, because Grandpa Roma did threaten to castrate him and all, but maybe… maybe if you just explained…"

"Feliciano." Lovino spoke quietly, almost breathlessly. He thought for a moment about how to explain his emotions, his reasons. When he finally spoke, it was almost to himself. Feliciano would probably not even understand. "Sometimes we have feelings which we will never be able to express. Sometimes we have secrets that should stay that way. Sometimes…" Lovino stopped, seeing Antonio's smiling face in the darkness, and realised that he wasn't even sure he believed what he was saying. "Sometimes there are things that are just not worth the risk."

Even as he said it, Lovino knew he was lying to himself. Antonio was all that mattered; Antonio was everything. He took away Lovino's uncertainty, took away his loneliness. There was a void in Lovino that only Antonio could fill, and it was frightening just how empty Lovino was without him. Antonio reached into Lovino, into a place he didn't even know existed, and filled him with a happiness and a belonging and a brilliant joy that went beyond anything he had ever thought possible to experience. When Antonio was away, Lovino existed. It was only when he was with Antonio that Lovino actually lived.

And that was what Lovino risked. That joy, that bliss, that completion. It was what he was so scared to feel, and what he fought so hard against. Because it was what he was scared to lose. Lovino knew if he accepted it, believed it, felt it, and if he then lost it, that he could not survive.

But then he remembered that perfect feeling in Antonio's arms; the brush of Antonio's warm hand on his cheek. Remembered the hope and love in Antonio's eyes, the joy and beauty in his smile. Lovino was drawn to Antonio with every single part of his being.

It was a hard thing to realise. But if Antonio wasn't worth the risk, then nothing was.

The 'mission' was a joke. Four hours traipsing the back roads to a remote mountain posting of fighting partisans, fifteen minutes getting their news of German patrols in the area, and now Lovino trudged the road home bitterly behind Antonio and Grandpa Roma with the distinct feeling they had only brought him along to humour him. He kicked a rock on the dirt track before him, hands in his pockets, scowling to himself. He felt like a fool. What was even the point of Roma giving him a pistol if he was never going to have the chance to use it? Lovino wanted to prove himself worthy. He wanted to show everyone that, despite what they thought, he could be an important member of this resistance too. He could fight for the country he loved. And watching Antonio amble along the road before him, his curly brown hair flying in the wind and his tuneless whistle carrying on the breeze, Lovino could not deny that, more than anything, he wanted to impress this man. He wanted the brave, handsome, infuriatingly cheerful Spaniard to know that he could be brave, also. Lovino wanted to prove himself worthy of Antonio's unfathomable affections.

Lovino kicked the rock forcefully along the trail, quickly growing bored of the unchanging landscape around him. A tall, steep hill loomed over the wide country road and a gently sloping rise led down to green fields and valleys below. Lovino raised his eyes and watched as distant storm clouds massed beyond the mountains. The day had been unseasonably warm, but it was fast growing cooler as the sky began to darken. The wind was also starting to pick up, gusting briskly through the trees that bordered the road. It looked like this pleasant, sunny weather would not last much longer; perhaps there would even be a storm to break the strangely warm winter days.

Lovino grumbled to himself, wiping the sweat from his brow. This boring, pointless walk refused to end, and it felt like they'd been marching forever. When the hell would they stop? Taking a deep breath, Lovino was just about to demand a break, when a loud, sharp bang interrupted him. Lovino's heart leapt to his throat as Antonio and Roma turned quickly at the sound, both reaching for their weapons. Hurriedly, unthinking, Lovino attempted to do the same, only to catch his foot on the unsteady path and stumble. Sharp, burning pain shot through his ankle, and he cried out as he fell.

"LOVINO!" Grandpa Roma's shout was harsh with panic. But it was Antonio who reached him first, falling to his knees before Lovino could even comprehend what was happening. Antonio ran his hands over Lovino's jacket, swift and searching and confusing.

"Lovino, are you hit? Lovino? Roma, scout the direction. Lovino, answer me!"

His chest pounding and his head spinning, Lovino pushed himself upright and batted Antonio's hands away. "Will you stop it, what is your problem, it's just my…" Lovino broke off and gasped, pain searing up his leg in a sudden agonising wave. "…ANKLE, SHIT, OH SHIT!"

Antonio breathed out in relief. "Ah. Gracias a Dios."

Lovino tried to glare, though he had to blink back tears from the pain. "Thank God? It's fucking killing me you bastard, what are you oh shit no don't touch it ARGH!" Lovino felt Grandpa Roma's hand cover his mouth to cut off his scream.

"Lovino. You are all right. Let Antonio check your ankle. It looks like the sound was a snapping tree branch, but there are German patrols along this road sometimes, so you still have to be quiet. And watch your damn mouth."

Lovino scowled angrily. Roma was probably only saying that to shut him up. Surely they would not be walking this road so openly if there was any real chance of a German patrol. Regardless, Lovino nodded, and Roma removed his hand. At the same time, Antonio pulled off his boot, and Lovino had to slam his own hand over his mouth to keep from screaming. He fought to stop himself from kicking Antonio as he ran his hands gently over the tender flesh.

"It's just a sprain," said Antonio, his voice relieved. He smiled brightly at Lovino. "Nothing's broken. You can't put any weight on it, though – we'll have to go slowly."

Roma breathed out heavily. "Ah, good. But we're already running late, and after Feliciano's meeting with the informant today…"

"You can go ahead, Roma." Antonio spoke far too quickly. "I can help Lovino home."

Lovino's eyebrows shot up, his heartbeat racing into his throat. Roma looked from Antonio to Lovino and then out across the valley. He nodded reluctantly. "You know how panicked Feli can get. I had better hurry." Roma headed off immediately down the road, shouting back as he went. "Be as fast as you can, and be careful."

Antonio gave him a small wave. "Always, Roma."

Lovino almost forgot his twisted ankle. Grandpa Roma had left them alone. Lovino was alone with Antonio. Alone for the first time since that mind-spinning dance in the cantina, since that wonderful, terrible, overwhelming conversation in the alley. Lovino did not know how to handle this situation. Antonio smiled at him, bright and joyful and stunning. Lovino glared back. "I don't need your help. I can walk on my own."

Antonio looked doubtful. "If you put any pressure on that ankle it is going to swell up like an overripe tomato."

The mention of tomatoes sent Lovino's thoughts flying directly to the glass tomato sitting in his top drawer at home. His heart beat even faster, sending his heated blood directly to his cheeks. It had only been two days, but Lovino was frustrated as hell that he couldn't figure out how to open the stupid thing. What was with Antonio and these silly little games? "Well then, I'll hop."

Antonio's doubtful expression twisted in amusement. "All the way home?"

Lovino answered defiantly. "Yes."

"I can carry you." Antonio grinned widely and wagged his eyebrows.

Lovino's eyes widened in alarm. "Oh, no. No you bloody well can't." He forced himself to his feet, took a determined step forward, and immediately stumbled as a wave of tearing agony shot up his leg. Antonio caught him securely by the arms.

"Oh, Lovino, you are so stubborn. For heaven's sake, let me help you." But Antonio smiled as he said it, helping Lovino hobble to a large rock by the nearby cliff face.

"Don't need your help," Lovino mumbled again, refusing to acknowledge the way Antonio's firm grip stopped the breath in his lungs and sent that familiar shiver up his spine.

"Well, you do need someone to bandage this ankle. Now sit down and just try to relax, will you? No seas tonto."

Lovino sat heavily, glaring as Antonio shoved the boot in his bag and pulled a bandage out. "Don't call me that."

Antonio giggled as he knelt and reached for Lovino's foot. "Okay. No seas tan adorable."

Lovino burned red. "Don't call me that, either!" He shifted on the hard stone, feeling an uncomfortable lump digging into his thigh. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his pointless pistol and placed it on the rock beside him.

Antonio stared at the gun, starkly black against the pale grey rock. "Did your grandpa not tell you? Never take your weapon from your side unless you intend to use it."

Lovino rolled his eyes. Did Antonio think Lovino knew nothing unless Grandpa Roma told him? "I know that! But it's only for a moment, I'll put it right back."

Antonio raised his eyebrows. "Don't forget," he said warningly.

"I'm not stupid," grumbled Lovino. Then he sighed and resigned himself to the painful, embarrassing, gentle feeling of Antonio's warm hands on his tender ankle. Lovino swallowed heavily as Antonio wrapped the long, white bandage carefully around the swelling limb. He searched for something to say, rather than just sit silently staring at Antonio's strong, tanned hands. "Today was not really a dangerous mission, was it?"

Antonio looked up with bright, green eyes though dark, wild curls. "Every mission is dangerous."

Lovino's heart thumped unevenly, so he looked away from those eyes and towards the darkening horizon. "You sound like Grandpa."

Antonio laughed, focusing again on wrapping the white cloth around Lovino's ankle. "But it is true, Lovino."

"He still won't let me go on a real mission. I wish he would stop protecting me."

Antonio shrugged. "Well, that's what you do when you love someone."

That warm touch of Antonio's fingers sent tiny, tingling shocks through Lovino's entire body. He had to admit, grudgingly, that at least it took his mind off the pain. "I can look after myself. I can handle danger."

"I know you can."

Lovino was surprised by his strong elation at Antonio's words, followed by his disappointment when Antonio pinned the bandage and dropped his hands. He very gently patted Lovino's leg to indicate he'd finished, but did not yet move to stand. Lovino peered down at him thoughtfully. "Would you choose me for one of your missions?"

Antonio leant forward slightly, his wind-blown hair falling in his eyes. "Your grandpa would kill me if I went behind his back." Lovino scoffed, but Antonio quickly continued. "But I could always use loyal help - so perhaps I will bring it up with Roma. Besides, you would always be safe with me."

Lovino's mouth practically dropped. He blinked a few times, silent and stunned. Antonio would actually suggest him for a real mission? For something important? "You're serious?" Antonio nodded. Lovino's heart seemed to soar in his chest, the pain in his ankle completely forgotten. Antonio trusted him. Antonio believed he was worthy. The feeling was oddly exhilarating. But more than that… "Why would I be safe with you?"

Antonio winked. "Because I would protect you, with my life."

Lovino reflexively tried to kick Antonio with his uninjured foot, even as his stomach flipped joyfully. "You say the most stupid things, dramatic Spaniard!"

Antonio just giggled. "But I require a promise from you, first."

Lovino folded his arms and glared. Always these stupid little games… "A promise?"

"That if we are ever in danger, you will do exactly as I say."

Lovino regarded Antonio carefully through narrowed eyes. He had made that promise once before. "Fine," he mumbled.

Antonio turned his head slightly, putting his hand to his ear. "What was that?"

"Fine!" Lovino grunted it through gritted teeth.

"I'm sorry?" Antonio leant closer, his grin widening - the bastard was obviously having far too much fun. Lovino rolled his eyes.

"Oh for God's sake… I promise."

Antonio laughed and leant back on his heels. "There now, was that so hard?"

Lovino's lips pulled into a small, traitorous smile. "You really do say such stupid, melodramatic things, though."

Antonio threw his bag over his shoulder and grinned. "Ah, but if they can get you to smile like that, how can I resist?"

Lovino's heart fluttered annoyingly. "Oh, just stop it already, do you really think…"

"Ssh." Antonio abruptly raised a hand and turned his head, his smile falling and his eyes hardening. Lovino immediately fell silent, his stomach turning cold at Antonio's startling change of demeanour. He listened carefully, unable to hear anything but the wind, even as an awful anxiety grew horribly in his gut. Antonio did not move. Lovino started to ask what was wrong, when a low rumble sounded softly in the short distance. It grew slowly closer and clearer, until, with a flush of fearful heat, Lovino recognised the sound as a car engine. Antonio's wide, darkened eyes met his, just as Grandpa Roma's words rang in his head - There are German patrols along this road, sometimes... The moment seemed to stretch, hazy and distorted and lasting far too long. It broke when Antonio climbed frantically to his feet, grabbed Lovino by the arm, and dragged him from the dirt track towards the low, sloping rise.

Lovino barely felt the pain in his ankle. He had no time to think or feel anything before Antonio pulled him hurriedly into an embankment beside the road - one of the many trenches that had long been built throughout the Italian countryside. They fell heavily to the ground against the dug out hollow, unseen and sheltered from the road. Lovino's head spun almost painfully. "What are we going to..."

"Ssh, Lovino." Antonio spoke in a firm whisper, his eyes stern and steady, his body almost touching Lovino's in the small, cramped space. "Exactly as I say, remember? Stay silent, and stay completely still. They will drive straight by."

Lovino gulped and nodded, his shock turning quickly to fear. Everything was happening too fast. He tried to breathe evenly through the rising dread, waiting and praying for that sickening rumble of the car engine to pass them by. The sound grew steadily louder and closer, until it blasted down from the road above and Lovino forgot to pray; forgot to breathe. Then it quieted, stuttered, and stopped completely. Lovino felt his heart stop with it. Why were they turning off the engine? Why was the car stopping? Lovino looked at Antonio curiously, desperately, as though he could somehow hear and answer Lovino's silent questions. But Antonio simply looked confused until, with a sudden flash of almost fearful comprehension, his lips parted slightly and his eyes grew wide. And then Lovino realised. His pistol was still sitting conspicuously on that rock beside the road.

Lovino's stomach plunged to his feet. He shook his head in angry denial, icy sweat rising on his skin, burning tears gathering in his eyes. How could he have done something so stupid? Antonio told him not to put the weapon down! He knew not to put the weapon down! "I'm sorry," Lovino whispered, his hand flying to his mouth. Car doors opened and slammed shut above them; heavy, unmistakable German voices drowned out the wind. Fear and shame flooded Lovino's freezing veins. His voice cracked as he whispered again. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm…"

Antonio shook his head and touched his fingers to Lovino's lips. "Ssh. No," he mouthed silently. Then quickly, strongly, he reached an arm around Lovino's waist and pulled him close. Beyond pride, beyond thought, beyond reason, Lovino fell desperately against him. The rough tread of military boots pounded on the road above, punctuated by shouts and orders and those deep, loud, paralysing German voices. Lovino simply clung to Antonio. He couldn't hold back his tears, couldn't think to feel ashamed. He could only hide his face in Antonio's neck and wait.

Breathing rapidly against Antonio's skin, Lovino's heart thumped wildly as his fear mixed with something else. Antonio was so close. Holding Lovino tight, stroking his back and smoothing his hair, touching his cheek and wiping his tears. Antonio calmed him and reassured him and comforted him without saying a word. Lovino closed his eyes. He did not deserve this. He did not deserve Antonio. Because of Lovino, all that now kept Antonio from torture and death was this tiny, shallow trench. If these German soldiers caught him now, if would be Lovino's fault.

Hot, heavy tears refused to stop falling. Lovino did not even care that he was shaking uncontrollably; he could only think about Antonio being captured, being killed, all because of his own stupid mistake... He looked up suddenly, needing somehow to apologise, but stopped short at the look in Antonio's strangely gentle, reassuringly calm, brilliantly green eyes. He did not look angry. He did not look scared. Antonio just looked like the most wonderful, kind, beautiful, important person in Lovino's entire world.

But those harsh German voices kept shouting. Those heavy, pounding boots kept moving, drawing closer, faster, until they were directly above the trench. Lovino realised they weren't stopping. The soldiers were checking the roadside. Panic clawed at Lovino's chest, sickening and overwhelming, too hot and too wrong. He fought back a sob, shaking and sweating, even as Antonio stroked his hair and stared calmly into his eyes. This wasn't real, he couldn't do this, he couldn't breathe…

A deep voice shouted roughly from above. Antonio went rigid. His hand moved to his hip, and Lovino realised with a horrifying wave of dizziness that he was reaching for his gun. Lovino's mind froze with terror. His blood thrummed with it, his throat choked with pounding, clawing fear. He had never felt such terror in his life. Antonio just squeezed him tight, touched his lips to Lovino's ear, and whispered so quietly that Lovino could not be sure he heard it. "With my life."

A shudder ran though Lovino's body as his breath left him. It was almost painful how deeply the realisation struck: Antonio meant those words. Antonio really would die for him. Lovino's chest ached as Antonio rested his forehead against Lovino's own, as their breath mingled and their hearts beat rapidly between them. In these moments that might be their last, all Lovino wanted was to be with Antonio; to hold him, to feel him, to accept what Lovino had never allowed himself to accept before. He closed his eyes and felt the unspoken words pulse through every part of him. I love you.

But then the footsteps stomped back to the road. The shouting voices drifted further away. Lovino held his breath, unable to move, his eyes still clamped shut. Scared to hope; scared to breathe. After what felt like an eternity, the car engine stuttered to life. It revved loudly, screeched deafeningly, and finally the tearing sound took off and disappeared into the distance. Lovino's eyes flew open and he could not hold back a sob of relief, though he again slammed his hand to his mouth immediately. Antonio breathed out heavily and put his pistol away. They stayed lying close for a few moments more, silent, waiting, until Antonio finally looked up and started to move. Lovino panicked immediately. What if it was a trick? What if they were still there? "No, no, no," Lovino whispered, shaking his head, gripping Antonio's arm and trying to stop him.

Antonio smiled reassuringly and took Lovino's hand, squeezing it gently. Then he looked over the top of the dug out embankment. "They're gone."

Lovino shuddered with an overwhelming relief, a cold sweat breaking over his skin. His terrified tears turned into gasping breaths of exhaling release. "Oh, God, Antonio!" he sighed, putting a hand to his heaving chest as though it could help him breathe. And then, suddenly, it hit him. How he'd acted, what he'd done, what he'd said… Lovino had never felt more embarrassed in his life. He snatched his hand from Antonio's, pushed himself upright, and shrunk away. The encompassing shame only made his disgraceful tears worse.

"Lovino?" Antonio sounded concerned.

"No!" Lovino tried instinctively to hide his face. "No, no, I'm an idiot! I made such a stupid mistake! It could have cost everything, and…" Lovino had to gulp for air. "And I'm such a coward!"

Antonio sighed gently, breathily, and laid his hand on Lovino's shoulder. "No, Lovino…"

"Stop!" Lovino flinched from Antonio's touch, angry and confused and humiliated. "Don't be nice to me, stop always being so nice to me! I am just a coward because when something like this happens I fall apart! No wonder Grandpa doesn't let me go on serious missions, because look at me! I'm so afraid! I'm afraid of something happening to you, or to Grandpa, or Feliciano; I'm scared of being captured and tortured and killed, I'm scared of what I feel for you…" Lovino broke off and slammed a hand over his mouth. Oh crap, he'd said that. He had really just said that. "Shit, shit, damn it!" Lovino pulled himself to his feet, having completely forgotten his wounded ankle. He took a single step and fell to the ground. No, no, no… "SHIT!"

Lovino utterly burned with embarrassment. He wanted to disappear; he wanted to die. He wanted a huge gap to open in the ground and swallow him whole. Lovino settled for drawing his knees up, placing his arms around them, and putting his head on his arms. Maybe this was a dream. Maybe he would wake up if he just wished hard enough. Maybe…

"It is okay, Lovino." Lovino felt Antonio sit close beside him, but could not bring himself to look. The air around them grew colder by the second, the cool breeze turning Lovino's sweat icy against his skin. The calm silence of the early evening seemed so much deeper after the earlier harsh and raucous events. They sat in silence for a few moments before Antonio spoke again. "Oh, mi corazón. Everything is okay now."

"No," Lovino mumbled. "It's not."

Antonio paused a moment. "Lovino, you would not be human if you did not get scared."

Lovino scoffed into his arms. "That's easy for you to say. You're not scared of anything. You're the bravest man I know, you don't understand…"

"You think I don't get scared?" Antonio interrupted, then laughed gently, humourlessly. "Lovino, that was terrifying. Of course I was scared. And I am afraid of all those things you mentioned. Of something happening to Roma, to Feli - God forbid, to you. Of being captured…" Antonio sighed wearily. "Of what the Gestapo would do to me."

Lovino shook his head forcefully. "Don't." He could not speak of that. He could not even think of that.

Antonio took a few moments to continue. "I'm afraid of the same things as you, Lovino."

Lovino turned his head on his arms, finally meeting Antonio's gaze. His smile was too understanding, his eyes too kind, his handsome face framed by his falling curls and the darkening sky. Lovino's heart skipped and swelled at the sight. He almost forgot to feel embarrassed.

"Lovino, we all feel fear. But some things are worth pushing through that fear for. Some things are more important." Antonio brushed a lock of hair behind Lovino's ear, a familiar breathtaking gesture that brought with it a flood of memory and emotion. "Some things are worth it."

Lovino could not answer. He could only close his eyes and turn his head away. He did not even know why he did it. It was uncontrollable, an instinct he had nurtured for so long and buried so deep that he had no choice. Denying his feelings for Antonio had become some strange part of him now. Lovino knew he was no longer saving himself from pain – he was only causing it, and yet, he did not know how to stop. He still tried to tell himself that loving Antonio was not worth the pain. Lovino carefully wiped the corner of his eye before another tear could fall.

"Come, Lovino." Antonio reached for Lovino's hand and squeezed it lightly, reassuringly. "It is getting dark. Lean against me, and I will help you."

Lovino nodded silently. He allowed Antonio to help him to his feet, allowed him to place an arm around his waist and help him walk. But he could not look at Antonio. He could not stand to see that hidden disappointment in those kind green eyes.

Antonio chattered aimlessly as they walked. He spoke of the usual topics: places he had been, people he had met. He laughed and joked and even sang occasionally, unfamiliar Spanish tunes and verses that Lovino could not translate. He held Lovino firmly, steadily, keeping the pressure off his ankle and preventing him from falling. The earlier horrifying, humiliating incident faded with the afternoon light, drifted away on the gusting breeze. Lovino remained silent, listening to Antonio's words, keenly aware of that steady arm around his waist and that firm hand holding his. Leaning into his warmth, breathing in his scent, accepting the old comfort and relief of his presence. Feeling like he belonged.

There was something else between them now. A quiet knowledge, an unspoken understanding that this something else was leading somewhere. Every stolen glance, every unchecked thought, every spoken word was building it, uncontrollably, and no matter how scared Lovino might be, nothing could stop it.

And as they walked slowly, brokenly, gradually along the unsteady path beside the main road, Lovino felt a sudden realisation flood through his veins and burst in his mind.

It would not be much longer until he gave in.

Next Chapter

Disclaimer: This story belongs to George deValier. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. I own nothing.

#Besame Mucho chapter 5

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s-j-ace · 5 years ago

Text

The Same Question

Chapter Six

Characters: Shuichi Saihara, Ouma Kokichi

Words: 14290

Summary:

After Detective Shuichi Saihara encounters mysterious thief Kokichi Ouma for the first time, a game of cat and mouse ensues as both men ask themselves the same question. Why exactly does the elusive phantom thief do what he does?

This is Chapter Six, Here are Chapters One, Two, Three, Four, and Five

Read on AO3

[Log of Text Messages from Maki Harukawa’s Cellular Device]

From: Me

Did you touch down at Haneda yet?

From: Principal Emo

Yeah

A while ago actually

I’m actually on the train home right now

Which I guess is a little silly considering I’m coming right back over tomorrow

But also I definitely need to sleep in my own bed at least once before meeting people Kaito works with

From: Me

Ugh

Meeting people

From: Principal Emo

Yeah

Especially meeting people with Kaito “What’s your favorite blood type?” Momota

From: Me

Hey that’s my boyfriend you’re talking about

And your description is completely accurate, continue

From: Principal Emo

Ugh sorry that was mean

I’m mean today and I don’t like it

I need coffee :(

From: Me

Or, you know

A decent night’s sleep

From: Principal Emo

Too hard

From: Me

Oh, you’re right, taking care of yourself is too hard

Back to relentlessly roasting Kaito it is

From: Principal Emo

What no

I’m not roasting him

I’m just

Trying not to be mad at him because the only reason I have to be mad at him is that I’m going to miss him while he’s on his mission and I don’t understand why he didn’t tell me he was going on the mission soon enough that I had time to ease into missing him and if I’m just angry at him about that then I’ll be missing him when he’s here so I should try and not be angry at him so that I don’t let time with him go to waste while he’s not in space yet

That makes sense right?

From: Me

I mean feel about it how you wanna feel

But I’d just be mad at him if I were you

From: Principal Emo

From: Me

*>:(

From: Principal Emo

*<:(

From: Me

What is that

A party hat?

From: Principal Emo

No its like

Concerned eyebrows

From: Me

What are you concerned about?

From: Principal Emo

Right now? Or in general?

Because right now I’m worried that people on the train are giving me weird looks because my suitcase is taking up too much space

But like in general I fear that I am somehow secretly inadequate according to an unclear set of standards that only exist in my own mind

From: Me

Cool

Well not cool actually

You want me to give you a ride to the open house so that you don’t have to take the train again tomorrow

From: Principal Emo

I would actually very much appreciate that

I know that the lines under the Towa bridges have the newest trains and the most up to date security and all

But also there’s just a lot of people on trains and places to hide knives one would use for a train stabbing and even thought that’s super unreasonable maybe it’s not that unreasonable because we have a lot of stabbings in proportion to other countries but also we have a low homicide rate

From: Me

Ah so you don’t just want to carpool for my charming company

From: Principal Emo

If you’re trying to be sarcastic let me just say your company is genuinely more charming than the motley crew of characters one would expect on the Towa to Tanegashima line at ten in the morning

From: Me

Even though my car has the same amount of places to hide knives?

From: Principal Emo

Yeah but those knives are for your purposes and not train stabbings

From: Me

My purposes?

From: Principal Emo

You know what I mean

From: Me

Yeah I do

Also

While I do not want to validate your fear of train stabbings via the association of an abrupt subject change

I’ve been meaning to say for a while that I am sorry that I don’t trust your detective work more often

Well I don’t know about more often

What I mean is

I think that you are a good detective

Even when you say stuff that obviously sounds stupid

And if I implied a different stance through my words or actions

Then I regret those words and/or actions

From: Principal Emo

What?

Oh are you talking about what you told me before I went to Paris

From: Me

Yeah

I mean I don’t think I’m in the wrong when I say clowns stealing toilets from the louvre is a stupid premise for a crime

But I guess criminals are stupider than popular media and common sense would lead me to believe

And I think I should have believed in you more

But also I think I was right that you need a vacation and you haven’t taken one yet and I think that’s not great for you either

From: Principal Emo

Oh um

I guess not?

From: Me

And Kaito told me you’re not allowed to chase the clowns anymore

So maybe you should take a break now

From: Principal Emo

Well

I feel like in a way following the DICE case was a break?

Because I essentially didn’t get any cases done the whole time I was working it

Which means I’ll have catching up to do when I get back to the office

From: Me

Not if I kill you first

From: Principal Emo

Sorry, we’ll have to fit that in later

If you kill me then I’ll be even more behind

From: Me

Your eyeballs better be behind your eyelids at 8pm today or else I’m taking them

From: Principal Emo

Taking what?

From: Me

Your eyeballs

From: Principal Emo

No I need those

From: Me

Then hide them because I’m coming for you

From: Principal Emo

Okay, maybe I’ll sleep a little tonight

From: Me

You better still be sleeping when I get to your house

I’ll be there 8:30

From: Principal Emo

Maki if you want me to sleep at 8pm then that means you want me to sleep for 12 and a half hours

From: Me

Did I fucking stutter

From: Principal Emo

<:( --- Kokichi Ouma's flight from the Malpensa Airport in Milan, Italy to the Narita Airport in Tokyo, Japan was the first time he had ever been on a plane by himself. He had done that on purpose when organizing the flight groups yesterday. Ace and King had suggested that groups be made up of twos and threes to avoid "unnecessary danger," which Kokichi heard as avoiding "letting our boss eat paper and be in vents." Naturally Kokichi responded that it was a positively splendid suggestion, considering he had come up with it already, and he had obliged by it, organizing them into four groups with Kokichi's own group including Queen and Jack. Except somehow they had booked tickets for the wrong flight. Oooh noooo, how could that be? And Queen had been the one to book the tickets too…

Kokichi supposed that he hadn't quite thought this whole being on a plane alone thing all the way through when he was hacking into the airline's online ticket system last night. It seemed now, in the daylight of sitting in the window seat of aisle 22 watching the clouds stroll listlessly across the sky so that he wouldn't have to look at the lady next to him paint her toenails, that there was nothing overtly beneficial about the lack of a familiar audience to his exploits. Sure, it was nice that he could have his blue eyes white dragon on the plane with him in his pocket instead of hidden within the checked bags, but what was the point of it if there was no one to duel with?

Basically he was bored.

But also weirdly not motivated to do anything to end the boredom. Which seemed counterintuitive, because not being bored was his whole deal. Then again maybe having a whole deal was counterintuitive to his supposedly liquid personality. If he wanted to stir things up maybe he should indulge this part of himself that wanted to be boring because then that would vary from his constant need to not be boring, which in excess could be viewed as boring. Then again, changing things about his personality just to avoid an arbitrary standard of boring-ness would also be pretty boring, wouldn’t it?

He tried to think of what the Kokichi who didn't want to be bored with all of his being would do right now. Maybe he would turn around and just start picking apart the insecurities of miss "my toes need to be pink for the beach!" over here until she started crying and jumped out of the plane. Then again, he didn't trust his brain not to imprint onto the next person who had long eyelashes and who he thought might fuck up his whole deal if he let it wander free into the dangerous world of airplane small talk. Sure, he could steal something or break something or just cause some sort of problem on purpose, but, very concerningly, it didn't seem like he wanted to.

It just... seemed like a hassle right now, to think about things and scheme. If he was the maitre d' of mischief then what was the point of it if there wasn’t someone important's perceptions to attend to?

So his brain was left here, grasping at straws, rewatching episodes of Detective Conan in his head, and wondering where he went wrong with the whole dashing phantom thief thing.

It also felt like there was something he was supposed to be doing that he was forgetting to do but he didn't have a lot of time to think about it, what with the recently discovered antique fabregé egg being stolen from the Suzuki Modern Art Museum in Osaka and all. How did Kaitou Kid do it?

Oh, wait, Kokichi knew what this feeling reminded him of. It felt something like being twelve again. Back when DICE was just around a year old and they were still living in that apartment in Hokkaido. They were barely scraping by at that point. Spades and Clubs were in junior high, still seriously considering going back to the old home. All the other teens were still in highschool, except for King, who was just starting nursing school, and Ace still had their first job with that phony resume Kokichi made them. Wait, they hadn't even come up with their code names yet had they? Yeah, they still called him Ouma-sama back then.

That seemed kind of silly, looking back on it. While everyone was at school or work, Kokichi would stay in that little apartment and watch anime for hours, sometimes making nasty little bills disappear through some light, white collar crime. Well, it wasn't always anime he watched while committing tax fraud. Sometimes he would watch game shows or browse the internet while sending emails that would topple companies in just the right way so that rice cakes would be on sale the next week. He memorized a lot of different security detail layouts while lazing around and rerouting rubber horse mask deliveries to the CEO of the Towa corporation because their stupid TVs were too expensive. He also played a lot of video games. Like… a lot a lot. Most of his time was spent playing video games now that he thought of it...

Recalling those times now felt like looking down at half of a person. Or more like looking back at someone who didn't know he was a person yet.

Except now he was a person and he knew that he was one and he was on a plane by himself because he wanted to sulk defiantly. Wait sulk? Sulking? Was that what he was doing?

Well yeah, maybe he was a bit bummed about Saihara. He hadn't been able to think about that earlier because if he thought about the pit of disappointment sapping in the back of his head it might suck the rest of him in too and then he'd be no use to anyone. But now he was alone and it didn't matter how he felt about anybody and somehow he was still confused by it.

Maybe Saihara just wasn't the hot shit Kokichi thought he was. Actually, Kokichi was probably just being dumb for expecting more. Or, on the other hand, Saihara might just be doing things the right way. Tracking an internationally traveling thief through flight records was logical, but somehow knowing how the trick was done made it lose a little bit of magic. Or all of it, seeing as magic isn't real and all. Maybe Kokichi had just been excited by the possibility that Saihara had presented, and thus blew his minor deductive talent out of proportion.

Obviously whatever had made Saihara so interesting to him was of no consequence now, because the detective wouldn't be able to find them with his little method this time, what with DICE staggering out the ticket buying and all. He wasn't even going to leave a note to Interpol this time around. And so the semi-epic story of Shuichi v. Kokichi would end here.

Then Kokichi could just keep leading DICE in heists. Forever. He guessed. He didn't know, actually, what the long term plan was vis a vis their ever escalating chain of petty thefts. Bishop had said they made ¥2,000,000 this month. Kokichi didn't even know how much they had saved up in out of country bank accounts. It seemed like too much.

What was he supposed to say about that to DICE though? Ok guys, we’re making too much money actually, time to slow it down a bit and face the fact that we've wasted our young lives on being only mildly disruptive to but somehow somewhat supportive of the institution of capitalism.

Then what would happen after that?

When he started planning these heists, Kokichi had never really thought of an “after” to becoming an internationally wanted thief. He had seen it as the end goal. The destiny career.

How do you end that?

Maybe he should just pull a Ryo from GX except instead of a heart condition killing him he could just jump off a-

“Ladies and gentlemen,” The crackling voice of the Captain over the plane intercom interrupted the train of thought Kokichi was having as well as where he was in his mental Detective Conan Kaito Kid best hits Marathon, “As we start our descent, please make sure your seat backs and tray tables are in their full upright position. Make sure your seat belt is securely fastened and all carry-on luggage is stowed underneath the seat in front of you or in the overhead bins. Thank you.”

Uh. What? This was a twelve hour flight and that sounded an awful lot like a landing announcement. Was the Captain on crack or someth-

Kokichi realized that the sky outside the window he had been spacing the fuck out through was dark now. Even more telling of the passage of time, though, was the fact that he was on episode 703 now, the train one where Kaitou Kid disguises himself as a maid.

In order to function like a real living person who experienced the passage of time, Kokichi banished anime from his brain.

Okay, not thinking about anime anymore… thinking instead about what to do when not on the plane….

Right, he was supposed to wait at the baggage claim until Rook, King, Queen and Jack’s flights came in. Then they would drive to the rendezvous in central Tokyo where they would meet the members who landed at Haneda instead of Narita. Then they would head to the JAXA launch site on one of the islands in the Kagoshima prefecture and Kokichi would lay out the heist plan he came up with on... the…. plane….

Oh... he forgot to do that, didn’t he?

…

See, who needed a nemesis when Kokichi had self foiling down to a science? --- Shuichi Saihara really meant to sleep last night. He really did. He went through the whole thing too, brushing his teeth, putting on a sleep t-shirt, and lying down in the bed. Yet somehow his brain never got the message that it was time to shut down.

Instead, it compulsively lit up with anxiety, which began dueling it out with the half hearted self reassurances he postulated to pretend he was coping.

The afternoon before, Shuichi had returned to the small building which served as his dual purpose home/office to find a slew of missed phone calls and letters. He spent three, gut-wrenchingly guilt-ridden hours sorting through everything from distress calls from potential clients, some well wishes from clients he had been following up with, and worst of all extremely distressed calls from clients he had failed to follow up with in wake of the DICE case.

He felt like the stupidest, most pathetic excuse for a detective on the face of the earth. He knew that he shouldn’t feel that way, but how could he not come to that conclusion with all the evidence that lay before him? Every call and letter was from a person that Shuichi had failed to help because he had somehow decided vainly pursuing international thieves was something only he could do. Maybe early on it had seemed like the logical step to pursue the thieves where interpol couldn’t. Shuichi had just come off of a big bust in the organized crime sector of Towa City, tracing back a series of revenge killings at the behest of a secretive swordswoman, and had been passively keeping up with the DICE case on the side. When he had managed to get his hands on one of the encoded letters sent to Interpol, he was certain DICE was going to hit the Smithsonian, so he and Kaito had gotten on a plane to America. And then they didn’t catch the thief and obviously that was Shuichi’s fault because the evidence was all in his hands if he had only been fast enough… So he got the next letter and pursued the thieves to Paris and he got even closer and when he failed it was even more obviously his fault because he should’ve been smart enough to notice an internationally wanted thief sitting literally right next to him. And then some how he had decided that? Stealing plane records was the next logical step? How did he even get there? It was so obviously over the line… But would he really have been satisfied, then, if he had just given up on the truth? Was he really satisfied now? He couldn’t possibly-

It didn’t matter whether he was satisfied or not. Not everything was about him. He had his own job to do here in Towa City and he had forgotten that for about a month and a half to chase after a group of essentially harmless thieves. There had been four murders in Towa City since then! And Shuichi knew that because four people had called him to investigate them! And Shuichi was aware that people would be calling him about violent crime! And he had seen the evidence that the thieves had a zero casualty count! And yet somehow he still had to have Agent Ishimaru spell it out for him that he should’ve just stayed home!

Okay he was freaking out a bit, things were fine. Interpol was going to take care of DICE now. It wasn't Shuichi's case. He needed to calm down. Stop trying to convince himself there was more to the case. Why would he think he knew the case best when he worked on it for less than half a hear? Interpol had been tracking criminal activity suspected of the organization for nearly a decade now. Then again maybe that was a point against interpol. What if they were in-

Stop! No! Not his case! Stop being suspicious!

Shuichi had other things to focus on now. He had managed to get into contact with most of the people who had left him messages, and to make up for lost time he had decided to try and take up a few cases at a time. Except contrary to his own self-conceited beliefs there were more detectives in Towa City than just him, and everyone who had called him about a case had managed to hire someone else already.

He tried to convince himself this was a good thing, as he lay awake at night. Everything was fine. He wasn’t failing anyone. There were so many other capable detectives in Towa city. No reason to be concerned.

Yeah, nobody needed him, the pathetic detective he was anyway. He hadn’t even managed to get close to catching DICE’s leader, let alone the nine other members of the group…

Well maybe he had gotten pretty close. He remembered grappling with the thief in Taipei and Milan. The close contact with the pilferer of his pursuit only made Shuichi’s own incompetence more frustrating, his mistakes made more obvious in the light of hindsight.

He really wanted to know why-

Not his case. God what an idiot. What had Dr. Iruma diagnosed him with after the thief escaped? Ah that’s right, shit for brains.

… That reminded him, he should follow up with the Idabashi labs people. He had gotten so caught up in making sure he stayed on DICE’s tail that he forgot to even perform the most basic courtesy in his practice as a detective. Being able to check up with clients, bystanders, and victims without risking a witness tampering charge was one of the main benefits of being a private detective versus being a police detective. When he had started his private practice Shuichi had promised himself that now that he could put the people involved in a case before the case itself he would do so to the best of his ability. He usually took much better care to address concerns of breaking and entering victims, what had he been thinking leaving the labs immediately to pursue DICE? Dr. Iruma had still been uncertain if her friend would recover from being shut down right in front of her! Shuichi was shocked at his own behavior. It was the kind of awful thing he would have pulled as a reckless teen detective, pursuing the truth without regard for who he accused or lied to along the way. The resurfacing of this behavior seemed appalling to him now.

He should call Idabashi labs right away to apologize.

It was this thought that finally stirred him from his half-awake stupor at 4 AM. At realizing the time, the part of Shuichi’s brain that was still capable of higher reasoning decided that calling would be rather rude at the hour, but he was too anxious he’d forget to call at all if he postponed now to abandon the idea altogether. In compromise, he took out his laptop and began drafting a letter to Dr. Iruma instead, expressing his regrets and apologies of every little thing he could think of. The broken windows, the used bomb, the cup of coffee he had made in her kitchen without asking…

He was typing and retyping the sign off at the end of the letter (Sincerely was a good stand bye but not very personal? Concernedly? Too personal. Thank you for your time? Ugh not the right tone) when he heard the knock at the door.

Shuichi blinked, breaking the trance-like state that he now realized had led him to write a four page letter. He looked at the grandfather clock on his mantle. It read 10:31 AM. Which meant it was actually 8:27 AM because that clock was 2 hours and 4 minutes fast and Shuichi was too afraid he might break it to try and fix it.

Maki had promised to pick him up at 8:30 so by process of logical deduction Shuichi could safely assume that it was her outside, coming to bully him for being sleep deprived.

Sure enough, the sound of the spare key he’d given her and Kaito could be heard jiggling in the door knob. Maki opened the door.

The desk Shuichi was working at was in his client reception area, which was unfortunately immediately in view of anyone opening the door. Maki locked eyes with him almost instantly, and the look in hers was that of disappointment.

“And here I was thinking you might actually be asleep.”

“Uh. Sorry.” Shuichi said, closing his laptop. Then he opened it again. “Hey if you were apologizing to someone for not catching a burglar in their home/place of work and then leaving while their friend was sick so that you could chase said crook to another continent, would you sign the letter ‘sincerely’ or with something more like ‘once more expressing deepest apologies...”

Maki frowned, coming in and closing the door. “I’m not good at apologies. Those both sound polite but, knowing you, you probably didn't do something you would actually need that level of politeness to apologize for.”

“Um.” Shuichi went with ‘deepest apologies, -Shuichi Saihara.’ “Better safe than sorry?” He hit print. The printer his laptop was connected to was upstairs in the office where he kept his case files, so he had to run up the stairs to grab the printed letter.

Maki, seeming to sense he was going to need a second to put his four page letter in an envelope, sighed and came into the building from the entryway. She took off her shoes, heading towards the kitchen in the next room over.

When Shuichi got back down stairs with his four page apology letter safely tucked away in an envelope with a nice international stamp on it, he came into the kitchen to find Maki unplugging his coffee maker.

Both took a moment to register what one another was holding in their hands. Then they both frowned disapprovingly.

“Maki come on…” Shuichi protested weakly. “I don’t want to fall asleep at the JAXA open house.”

“Shuichi you’re at ten-page-apology-letter crazy right now and you think caffeine is going to help you?”

“Yes.” Uh. Wait. Was that healthy? “Maybe.” Probably not. “It’s only four pages.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. Okay Shuichi was not on the winning side of logic here that much was clear. But still…

“Okay you win.” Shuichi relented, moving toward the kitchen counter as if to set down the envelope in his hands.

The second he dropped it, he made a mad lunge for the coffee maker cord. Maki effortlessly pulled it out of the way and grabbed his wrist, twisting him into a lock and then bringing him to a pin on the ground.

“What was the plan there?” She asked. Was it just him or did she sound bemused? He couldn’t really look at her face to garner her expression because his own face was currently smashed against the tile of his own kitchen.

“No plan.” Shuichi admitted through a mouthful of the floor. “Only caffeine withdrawal.”

“Okay.” Shuichi felt his center of gravity flip once more, “You’re sleeping in the car.” Shuichi realized that Maki had scooped him up into a princess carry too late to actually do anything about it.

“Hey!” Shuichi protested, a little indignant.

Being close friends with Maki Harukawa came with the knowledge that you were going to be treated like you weighed less than a ragdoll from time to time. She had a tendency to muscle her way through social interactions if at all possible. Her significant other just gave her a compliment she didn’t know how to deal with? Punch him. That guy at work wouldn’t stop talking to her about his fucking car? Walk through a door and close it in his face if he tries to follow. Her best friend wants to make a series of regrettable decisions? Physically prevent him from doing so because he is easier to lift than a handful of grapes.

Shuichi had been friends with Maki for about seven years now, and he knew this all well enough, but that didn’t mean he had to go down without a fight. “Maki I have to get my letter to the-”

“Shuichi when you get back to that letter tomorrow morning you’ll be embarrassed you even wrote it.”

Okay, maybe Shuichi would go down without a fight. Maki made a good point, Shuichi was very often embarrassed by things he himself did while off his daily recommended prescription of z’s and or caffeine.

“Okay! I give! You’re right.”

“I know.” Maki had gotten to the front door and seemed to be puzzling out how to open it with her elbow.

“Here I can walk by myself.” Shuichi made a move to roll out of Maki’s arms, but she was still gripping his shoulder in place.

“Walk to the car by yourself or walk to your kitchen and feed your caffeine addiction?” She looked down at him with a stern expression that implied only one correct answer.

“The car.” Shuichi relented.

“Alright then.”

Maki set him down and opened the door while he grabbed his coat from the closet.

She gave him another look.

“What is it?” Shuichi thought she was scrutinizing his appearance, so he mentally did the same. “Oh! I forgot to do my eyes-” Today his morning routine had been: get out of bed, go to computer, write apology letter, whereas usually it went: get out of bed, apply eyeliner, worry about inadequacies, drink coffee, feel marginally better. Shuichi had skipped the second step, and he was about to rush to the bathroom to correct it, but Maki grabbed his arm.

“Shuichi we’re going to Tanegashima in August. It’s 30 degrees there. Your eyes are going to melt. Along with the rest of you.”

Shuichi took a moment to realize that Maki herself was wearing shorts and a loose aloha shirt. Meanwhile he was standing here in his baggy sleep t-shirt, skinny jeans, and black trenchcoat.

“Uh.” Shuichi took off his coat and tied it around his waist. “Better?”

“Hmph.” Maki grumbled, walking out onto the sidewalk. “If you die of heatstroke on the way there, I’m not going to your funeral.”

“Not even if Kaito went?” Shuichi followed, locking the door behind him.

“Especially not if Kaito went.” Maki pulled out her keys and unlocked her car, which was parallel parked on the street by Shuichi’s office. “He’d cry like a baby. It would be insufferable.”

Maki’s car was an old black honda that always smelled a little like burnt sugar. With Maki, Shuichi couldn't be sure if the smell came from a baking mishap or the trace of nitroglycerin from a recently fired gun. It was probably both. On hot days the air inside was unbearably warm until the AC was turned on for at least a minute, because the seats were made of a dark, greasy pleather sort of thing that made it its mission to absorb as much heat as possible. Shuichi had a distinct memory of pressing his face against the material to avoid being shot from behind. In fact he sort of had a slideshow of bad memories associated with riding in this car on various high stake chases or on the approach of even more stressful social situations. Yet despite all that, the second Shuichi settled into the passenger seat and pulled the seat belt over himself, he felt more at home than he had pulling up the covers when he’d been trying to sleep last night.

What happened next was embarrassingly predictable. From Shuichi’s point of view it seemed like Maki started the car, he closed his eyes, and then when he opened them his face was pressed against the window and he could see the Towa Bridge Expressway zooming past him.

The road was on the upper side of one of the bridges Towa Corp had built about a decade ago connecting Islands like Tanegashima, Yakushima, and Towa City to the mainland. On the underside of the bridges were bullet trains that ran underwater between the islands.

Regardless of this, all roads feel the same under the wheels of a car you forget falling asleep in.

“Hghh.” Shuichi was half aware that his throat was the thing that just made that noise.

“Wow you got a whole REM cycle in there.” Maki seemed to hear his rooster cry of wakefulness despite the interference of some sort of j-pop song coming out of the car speakers. As Shuichi’s eyes adjusted to the pale daylight stinging his retinas, he could make out that his friend had her eyes fixed on the road. “That must be a new record.”

“If you’re gonna-” Shuichi realized his speech was muffled and that it was because his face was still against the window. He made an effort to sit up straight and started his sentence again, unobstructed. “If you’re going to make fun of me for sleeping the same as not sleeping then why should I even bother?”

“Because your health is your health and that isn’t beholden to my judgement.”

“Everything about me is beholden to judgement.” Shuichi muttered, still thinking miserably about his poor uncle’s good name, which he was most certainly running into the ground by having the office closed for another day. He was working a sum total of NO cases right now. Maybe he should write his uncle an apology letter too. Then again he wouldn’t want to bother him in his retirement… Who would want to have their nice day interrupted by their whining nephew? No one.

“Yeah, you should fix that.” Apparently driving for an hour and a half hadn’t changed Maki’s stance. She still had biting comments about his poor self esteem at the ready.

“Hghk.” Shuichi replied eloquently.

“Yeah, tell me about it.” Maki muttered in reply.

"What does that mean?"

"Nothing." Maki replied a little too quickly. She was chewing her lip. After a moment of thought she went on. "Well I guess it means something. But I'm still trying to wrap my head around it and I don't want to tell you until I have it phrased right in my mind."

"Hm. Okay."

Shuichi tried to regain faculty over his higher social functions in an attempt to discern what Maki was upset about and to make sure it wasn’t anything that he did. But while he was performing this heroic feat he closed his eyes on accident and then when he opened them again Maki was parking, presumably on the campus of the Tanegashima Space Center.

Shuichi groaned, now finding himself leaned in the opposite direction of the window. “Why does it feel like the part of my brain that produces melatonin is always waiting to get me by surprise?”

“Because you keep trying to drown it in caffeine,” Maki replied readily, seeming to have lost her contemplative mood after another hour of driving, “it’s fighting for it’s life, of course it’s going to use guerilla tactics.”

Shuichi shook the feeling back into his legs as Maki pulled into a spot. He remembered when he used to drive a lot more. When he was on the force he had access to a police cruiser, but nowadays Shuichi had trouble driving a car while he was on his own. He kept having intrusive thoughts about accidentally hitting pedestrians. A lot of grisly murders happened like that. Even now he could picture that guy whose head had been crushed under the wheel of a yakuza boss’s car…

“Come on, we haven’t got all day.” Maki tapped him in the arm with her fist, then got out of the car. Shuichi was going to follow suit, but he paused to check himself for eye crusties in the pull down mirror. He had just regained the mental capacity to remember he didn’t put on his eyeliner and now it was time to be anxious about his appearance again. Well, at least this would probably go better than the last time he encountered a social situation without doing his eyes. He really thought he’d be safe going to ask Keebo about the wi-fi, but he had managed to stumble into a robbery in process, which had then turned into a hostage situation, which had then turned into an all night police investigation and journalists tried to talk to him again and then Dr. Iruma was doing robot surgery and he got chewed out by Ishimaru again and-

“Shuichi?” Maki had ducked her head back into the car. “Are you coming?”

Shuichi startled out his internal anxiety tirade. “Y-yeah! Sorry.” He shut the mirror and opened the door of the car. It took a second to untangle his coat from the seatbelt, but he managed to get out and retie it around his waist.

“Hey…” Maki had locked the car and come around to his side. Her eyebrows were furrowed. “Are you alright?”

“What?” Shuichi blinked. Did he really look that bad? “No, yeah, I’m fine.” It only occurred to him he was kind of lying for no reason after he said it. “I mean, well. I’m just like. Embarrassed about not being able to see that case I was doing through all the way to the end. Like, I’m thinking about all the ways I messed it up, you know?”

Maki nodded. “Yeah. I feel that way too. About my own stuff. Sometimes. A lot of times. Actually.” Her fingers tangled into a strand of her hair. “But… Well, you know what he would say about it already, don’t you?”

Oh yeah. “Probably something like… the past is the past. What really matters is what you do now.” Just thinking about what Kaito would say made him feel better... He shook his head. “I really should just get ‘what would Kaito do’ tattooed on my brain…”

“Yeah, as long as you’re not in a haunted house.” Maki pointed out.

Shuichi laughed. “Yeah… I guess so…”

Maki looked down at her feet, still carding her hands through her hair.

“I’m… Going to miss him.” She confessed.

Shuichi suddenly felt extremely guilty. Here Maki was trying to keep his anxiety from preventing the performance of his every day functions and he had totally neglected to consider she was going through a lot right now too. Shuichi knew that Kaito had been a lifeline for Maki for a long time, and even though she was in a much better place now Shuichi would be much less of an awful friend if he had realized how much harder Kaito’s absence would hit her.

“What’s with that expression?” She muttered. Shuichi realized he was making a very fretful face. “Ugh. Nevermind, talking about this is pointless anyway…”

“It’s not pointless!” Shuichi rebutted quickly. “Of course you’ll miss Kaito. Talking about your feelings is an important step in processing them… And you know I want to be here for you if you ever need that. I’m your friend.”

“Yeah.” She pushed her hair back from her face. “I know.” She was chewing her lip again. “Uh. Thanks. Sorry if I’ve been kind of… mother henning you today. It’s just. I don’t want to be… Alone again.”

Now Shuichi really felt like a bad friend. “Oh, Maki-”

Shuichi was interrupted by the 2012 song ‘Space Unicorn’ blasting from Maki’s phone. Whenever Shuichi heard that song, it reminded him of udon noodle soup, because that’s what he’d been eating in the college cafeteria when Kaito set it as his ringtone in Maki’s phone.

“Ugh. I hate that song.” Maki took the phone out of her pocket. “We’ll talk later.” She told Shuichi, before answering the call.

“What is it.” Shuichi overheard Maki’s side of the conversation. “We just parked… Yeah… Where?... That’s troublesome… I’m kidding… Ok, see you there… Gross.”

She hung up.

“He says he’s waiting for us by the bus terminal at the museum. Which is on the other side of the campus.”

Oh, Kaito… “It’s like he’s making us run laps again…”

“I’ll try not to leave you behind.” Maki offered, kindly.

“Hey, maybe I’ll be able to keep pace…” Shuichi postulated. “I’ve been in a lot of chases recently.”

“You won’t be.” Maki said, already jogging in place.

“I’ll try my best…” Shuichi promised. --- Kokichi Ouma found himself wondering where exactly that big old brain of his had wandered off to. He knew that by all accounts he was very good at coming up with plans on the fly. Yet for some reason the performance of the actual organ that processed his mental functions was lacking at the moment. Like it didn’t know it was supposed to be the brain of an internationally wanted criminal today. Spontaneity was supposed to mean fun for him, but for some reason this whole build a plane plan seemed more like a point of stress than anything else. Which was weird because Kokichi didn’t usually get stressed. There was just something about this heist that he wasn’t looking forward to and he couldn’t identify what exactly it was or how exactly he was supposed to get around it.

Kokichi was still trying to halfass his way to a half decent plan when DICE reunited in Tokyo. And on the drive down to the Kagoshima prefecture he had more than enough time to think about a plan. In fact he had another 15 hours. And he just… Didn’t. He just didn’t think of a plan. He just sat around pretending to be sociable and analyzing the rest of the group’s conversations and sleeping habits. He thought that maybe he was anxious about them scheming behind his back again, but realizing that he was anxious should have made the being anxious go away, so he decided that it wasn’t that.

So when they finally did arrive at the Tanegashima Space Center in their stolen Space Center Tour bus the next morning and everyone huddled in the backmost rows of seats to hear what exactly the plan was, Kokichi had to pause for a second.

Uh. Okay. Plan time.

“You may not have noticed,” Kokichi started off after compiling some observations in his head, “But there’s an open house happening at this facility for JAXA employees and family members right now. We’re going to capitalize on that for our fakeout heist, which will be centered around the museum’s gift shop.” Right because the open house wouldn’t let them have access to the non-touristy shit. “Rook, King, Bishop, you’re going to be on that.” Ugh that wasn’t very detailed. “The fake mark is…” Fuck think of something stupid. “As many of those freeze-dried ice cream things as you can carry.” Okay that left him with 7 pieces for the real heist. “Jack, Clubs, Spades you’re on floor duty, make sure to call in suspicious personnel, we have the map of the space center in the heist planning chat.” He had remembered to do that much at least. “So spread out as much as you can.” Four pieces. “Queen, you know what you need. Get Ace to handle transport.” Should he really be delegating that much power to Queen after his little upstart? Or did it just show insecurity to not trust him? Too late to contemplate. “When you get back to the bus, text us and then take off ASAP.” The jet engine would take up most of the tour bus, so they had to get an alternative means of escape. “Hearts, you and I are going to disable security systems and get the secondary escape car.” That was something he knew how to do at least. “Any questions.”

Kokichi would usually expect a hearty “No sir!” to that concluding statement, but instead he observed a smattering of queer looks from the car full of clowns.

Hearts was the first to pipe up. “Uh, boss, your plan for disabling the security system wouldn’t happen to involve getting into the vents, would it?”

“Yeah.” There wasn’t really a better way to covertly sneak around a facility like this when their identities may be compromised. “What about it?”

Kokichi really didn’t have time for Hearts’s whole ‘I don’t like getting vent dust on my white uniform’ thing. He would just pretend like the whole group misheard him and he assigned her to ground duty in the first place if she said she wanted to swap-

“No, I just think maybe I could handle the security system myself.” Oh. That was a new one. “There’s not really a need for you to... You know, risk yourself.”

Kokichi was suddenly made aware of the bandage that was still wrapped around his forehead. He consciously resisted the urge to graze his hand over it. He didn’t want to play into the whole damaged goods bullshit that was going on right now in terms of how his subordinates were viewing him. Then again maybe that’s exactly what he should do…

“Believe me, I’ve considered the consequences,” Kokichi compelled himself to shed a single tear, clenching his fist like a shounen anime protagonist. “And though I may be suffering great pain and personal injury… I’ll risk it if it means not letting my friends down…”

Queen rolled his eyes, seeming to buy Kokichi’s bit, but Hearts still looked concerned, and now King was getting ready to add his two cents.

“Uh, Boss.” Ugh him and his stupid Nurse’s license, “It’s really fine if you wanna stay back…” Maybe if Kokichi cried he could derail this? “Your head is still healing and if, you know, an accident happens, you could re-open it and then we might have to suture...”

No, crying would just make him look worse now. The power dynamic would make it look like he was trying to convince King to let him go on the heist, which didn’t make sense at all. Maybe he could slot himself into a different group? No, most elements of this plan involved being in civilian wear and that’d just remind his crew about that time he just casually let a detective get a police sketch done of him like one of his french girls. Besides, he didn’t strictly need to participate in every step of this heist anyway. Kokichi’s real goal here was to maintain the idea in his subordinates’ minds that he was not a twerp trying to find the most unreliable time to bleed out. Hmm, okay, let’s go with this then.

Kokichi flashed an incredulous grin before smothering it into an exaggerated damsel expression. “Oh,,, I hate to admit it, but you’re so right, King.” He leaned over dramatically, “Every second is torture in this frail body of mine, it’s taking all my strength just to stand here before you!” He wasn’t standing but that was probably the easiest thing he was lying about right now, “I guess I’ll just have to.. Stay here, and.. Regain my strength… While you guys do all the work.” He pulled out the handkerchief he just remembered he had and was going to blow his nose into it before he remembered at the last second it wasn’t his handkerchief. He settled for a grotesque imitation of blowing his nose instead. He lay down across the back seat in a faint. “Ohh, alas, I fear I am not long for this world…”

“I vote we leave him here to die.” Jack bought in, rolling her eyes.

“I second the motion.” That was Queen, and yeah, Kokichi had expected that much.

“Hey, since when is this a democracy?” Kokichi sat up, adjusting the fluidity of his motions to reflect perfect health once more.

“Since our boss died,” Jack wiped away a fake tear with her finger. “I miss him every day… Sometimes I even hear his voice…”

Kokichi tossed aside the handkerchief and took a bag of chips out from the seat in front of him where he had seen Bishop stash them earlier. He poured the chips into his own lap and then crumbled up the bag into a ball before throwing it at Jack’s face.

Jack, in turn, batted it away, and it hit Spades, who caught it and threw it back at Jack, who dodged, which led the bag to hit Rook instead. Rook picked it up and got ready to throw it again, but Hearts took it out of their hands, leading to Rook just throwing air at Clubs, who squealed despite nothing actually hitting him and jumped out of his seat.

Okay, success. Concern about Kokichi’s injuries had all but dissipated as Club’s reaction got a smattering of giggles.

“Wow,” He remarked to Hearts, who was still holding the crumpled chip bag. “I’m sure a dove of peace such as yourself can handle the security system all on your lonesome.” He gestured to his lap, which was still covered in chips. “As you see I have other business to attend to.” He picked up one of the chips and put it in his mouth, chewing slowly. When he finished the first chip he issued his final direction. “You guys better get started on your assignments. I’ll be here when you need to hijack the second getaway car.”

“Yes, Boss!” Most of his crew said the words more for their ritualistic purpose of ending the team huddle rather than out of genuine enthusiasm. They collected their gear, mostly stored in beach bags and casual purses, and filtered out of the van one by one. Everyone was still in their civilian clothing, so they’d blend right in with the crowds of tourists and open-house-goers.

And then Kokichi was alone again. Except instead of a plane he was on a tour bus. Eating chips off his lap. He got through them in about four minutes, which he estimated was about how long it would take DICE to get out of sight’s distance from the bus. When that time had passed, he licked the remaining salt and grease of his fingers and then stood up, brushing chip crumbs off his lap. Once he was clean, he picked up the handkerchief he had thrown aside earlier. He folded it up along the crease lines into a square, and put it in his pocket again. He convinced himself it was just because he wanted something to do.

He went up to the driver’s seat, sitting down. He didn’t have his license to drive a normal car, let alone a bus, but it didn’t really matter because the bus’s windows were reflective from the outside. They had parked the tour bus close to the entrance in the bus lane, so Kokichi had a good view of the people coming and going from the space center. If he had put any effort into this plan at all, he might’ve stationed Club or Spade here as a look out. Well, he guessed he was the look out now. Hah. Great.

….

BORED. He was bored again. Hgghghgfffkk.

He considered hitting his head against the horn of the car just to do something and by “considered” he meant he tried to actually do it but missed and almost hit his head on the dashboard before stopping and realizing that was a bad idea. For one, honking the horn would just make the vehicle look conspicuous, which was not ideal for a getaway car. And then there was also the fact that his plan had needlessly included bashing his head again which could open his cut and just cause a big hassle when King got back with his whole ‘I’m a licensed practical nurse’ thing he had going on.

So, okay. No horn honking. Right.

Kokichi took out his phone and checked Discord. The channel for heists had no new notifications. He put his phone away again.

God he was going to die in here. Wow, needy much? Shut up brain. Um.

Kokichi leaned over, smushing his chin against the dashboard, and occupied himself by looking at the passersby and picking out random details to build conspiracies about them. That guy’s shirt was untucked, untucked had eight letters in it, magic eight balls could see the future, eight balls were round, you know what else is round? An eyeball. Illuminati, natch. Next. That woman’s achilles tendon was chapped even though she was wearing sandals, which meant she wore heels a lot. Heel was something you said to train a dog. Who was trying to train the human race like dogs? The Illuminati. Next. That guy had really ugly hair. Looked like he used a lot of gel. Gel has three- wait, what?

Kokichi recognized that dumb hair style. It was almost like… No, it couldn’t be. The guy who had been with Saihara at the Smithsonian. What?

Kokichi didn’t let himself get excited until he spotted the slightly less dumb and slightly more familiar haircut on the guy standing next to him.

There was Shuichi Saihara, who was, apparently, the best detective in the world. Also, he was wearing a T-shirt, which was hilarious because he usually wore business casual button ups under his dark trench coat. Kokichi could see his arms, which were-

Wait, no, forget about his arms. How did any part of him even get here? How did he know? There wasn’t any way- Did he lie? HE LIED TO INTERPOL.

Wow, Saihara had more balls than Kokichi had originally anticipated. He should get out there and tickle them a little.

Kokichi started reformulating everything he had originally thought about this heist. If Saihara was going to buy into the phony heist he would have to get into the mix himself. How much would the detective have learned from their last bout in Milan? He knew about Kokichi’s head injury, surely. Kokichi stood up and headed for the door out of the bus. He would have to make his approach subtly, but the buffoon probably wouldn’t be much trouble to deal with. If anything he might make Saihara easier to trick. They were on the move, Kokichi would have to catch up. Was that woman in the hawaiian button up with them too? Yeah, it seemed like it. When she paused to look around, they paused too, looking back, presumably to see what was keeping her. Her eyes were scanning the crowd like she was some kind of terminator bot or something-

Every part of Kokichi froze when that gaze slipped past his.

He saw her face in that moment. Blunt brunette bangs. A dark birthmark. Blood red eyes.

For one shallow breath, a metallic tang poisoned the air in his lungs.

The eyes glanced unnotably over the JAXA tour bus. And then the red woman just... turned and walked away.

Saihara followed her into the building.

Kokichi sat back down.

…

What the fuck was she doing here. --- Shuichi Saihara’s best, it turned out, was most certainly not enough to keep pace with Maki Harukawa in a run across the Tanegashima Space Center’s beautiful green campus. Shuichi had plenty of time to admire that beautiful green color the grass had as he stood doubled over trying to catch his breath in front of the center’s main entrance.

Maki was standing by Kaito, breathing perfectly fine with only a modest sheen on her forehead as evidence of the run. Meanwhile, Shuichi was over here sweating through his t-shirt and trying not to let his lungs burst.

“Is he okay?” Kaito not so quietly whispered to Maki.

“He will be.” Maki replied, “He’s just an idiot who decided black skinny jeans were the way to go even though it’s the middle of the sunny season…”

“In my… Defense…” Shuichi panted out between gulps of air. “I didn’t… know… I’d be… running… today…”

“Hey man, sweat’s just another word for hard work.” Kaito claimed, coming over to pat Shuichi on the back. “Awesome effort, sidekick.”

“Thanks… Kaito…” Shuichi was still trying to suppress his aching lungs into a normal pattern of breathing.

“Hold your hands over your head.” Maki advised, “It’ll open up your chest.”

Oh right, right. Shuichi should know that by now. He moved up from his hands-on-knees-to-make-sure-he-didn’t-fall-over position to one where his arms were up with his hands on his head. Immediately he found breathing easier, although the air was just as hot and stifling as before.

“You know,” Maki was looking at Kaito now. “We wouldn’t have had to run if you had been more specific before I paid for the parking permit… You said you wanted to show us the launch spectation sites, so our car is parked all the way out there...”

“Well, yeah, I did say that…” Kaito was characteristically unflustered by the accusation, “but, then I realized it would be better to show you guys the museum building first! This way we can take our time looking at the launch viewing sites without having to worry if the museum will be open or not later...”

Shuichi wondered if that was just an excuse for Kaito changing his mind about hiking when he realized how hot it was today. Kaito had a tendency to be a little unreliable when it came to making plans with friends, but then again Shuichi also had a tendency to forgive him for that.

Maki usually did not. So when Maki just sighed and shook her head, Shuichi took that as a signal to let Kaito off the hook on this one.

…

It was so strange to think that in just another week, Shuichi wouldn’t be able to make any plans with Kaito at all…

Ugh. He shouldn’t think about that right now.

“Hey, what’s with the sour looks, you two?” Kaito’s words made Shuichi aware of his own conflicted expression, “Come on, I know what’ll cheer you up!” Kaito turned, walking towards the entrance and gesturing for them to follow him with a sweeping arm movement.

Shichi complied, but stopped when he noticed Maki wasn’t moving with them.

Instead, she was scanning the parking lot behind them with a dangerous look in her eyes…

“... Maki?” Shuichi asked hesitantly.

She didn’t seem to register him, but Kaito did, turning back around.

“Is something the matter, Maki Roll?” He called.

That seemed to snap her out of it. “It’s nothing.” She shook her head and started walking into the building. “Let’s go inside.”

“Hey, what’d I say about secrets?” Kaito confronted her, but he followed her through the doors anyway, Shuichi not far behind him.

“I never agreed to that…” Maki muttered, still walking. “But it really isn’t anything. I just felt like someone was watching us out there…”

Shuichi felt a chill go down his spine. He had also felt something off, but he thought it was just a him thing. He had been seeing the faces of DICE in random passerby ever since he touched down in Tokyo and it was setting him on edge even though he knew his suspicions were completely unsubstantiated. In fact there had been that big tour group of 9 or 8 people that passed them by while they were at the entrance... Could-

“Oh well, they probably were,” Kaito shrugged, “You know, I’m a famous astronaut and all.”

Oh. Yeah. Duh. Maybe the chill Shuichi had felt was just the museum’s AC …

“That isn’t…” Maki cut herself off, seeming to think better of whatever she had been about to say. “You’re probably right. Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

“Alrighty, whatever you say, Maki Roll.” Kaito moved forward as if the issue was entirely settled and had maybe never been unsettled in the first place. “Now come on! I want to show you something!”

What Kaito had wanted to show them turned out to be a series of star maps that were up for display as a promotion for the upcoming launch. Included were larger infographics about which lights in the sky were actually satellites, but those weren’t what Kaito was interested in.

“Look!” He exclaimed, pointing at a section of one of the maps, “Right here! What do you see?”

“Stars?” Maki asked, looking mildly amused by her boyfriend’s enthusiasm.

“Well, yes but…”

“Oh!” Shuichi exclaimed, now pointing as well. “I recognize this one! It’s the beard of despair!”

He was pointing to a circle of stars that he and Maki had named after the cheek to cheek beard Kaito came back from his winter break with in their last year at Towa Community College.

“Hey, that’s right!” Maki exclaimed.

“Why is that the only one you guys remember…” Kaito grumbled.

Come to think about it, a lot of the stars looked familiar… “Are these the stars that appear over TCC?”

“Well, it varies depending on the season, but yeah that’s what we were looking at most of the time!”

Shuichi was overcome with a wave of nostalgia. He first met Maki and Kaito when he had been doing the mandatory two years of training it took to become a Towa City police officer after he had passed the national exam. He had been disillusioned with a future in his uncle’s practice because the idea of getting paid to dig up dirt had skeezed him out, not to mention that he still had huge doubts about his own ability as a detective to earn a living off of it. A police detective had seemed like a more secure, if more restricting, job than private detective work.

Well, maybe it was more accurate to say that Kaito had met Maki and Shuichi and then decided they were all going to be friends because he said so. He used to make them meet him in the school court yard every night after dark to do exercises of various kinds. Sometimes they put aside exercise in lieu of star gazing when Kaito was in the mood.

“Hey, do you remember when Kaito told us which planets he thought were most like us?” Maki asked Shuichi, probably remembering the same times he was, “And when we asked him what planet he was, he said the sun?”

Shuichi squinted. “Oh yeah… I think I remember…” he vaguely recalled thinking that the planet Kaito assigned him was weird, but he didn’t remember why or which planet it was.

“Well, now that I know more about space and stuff, I think he was right.”

“Aww… Maki Roll.”

She smiled a little. “Yeah… The sun is a big ball of gas, just like him.”

“Hey!” Kaito smacked his chest, acting as if taken aback, but Shuichi was pretty sure he was secretly delighted that Maki admitted to knowing more about space now.

Maki laughed, “This is what you get for talking about astronomy every night…”

Shuichi remarked to himself how long it had taken for Maki’s laugh to seem commonplace in a conversation. She was really a lot more open then she had been when they spent those first few nights under the stars. It was understandable, though, considering…

“Which planets did you say we were again?” Shuichi found himself asking.

“Hm?” Kaito paused, squinting for a second in thought. “Uh… I’m pretty sure it was…”

“You said I was Mars,” Maki supplied, “And I think Shuichi was Venus.”

“Oh yeah!” Kaito made a sort of ‘That’s it!’ gesture with his palm and fist, “Maki was Mars because she tried to seem dry and uninhabitable, but there was definitely a frozen ocean in there somewhere, and Shuichi, you were Venus, because even though you thought you tried to blend in with the stars all the time, sometimes you could appear in the day as a second sun!”

Huh. That was pretty nice to say, but Shuichi wasn’t sure it was what he remembered…

“Oh, wait.” Maki interjected, “Didn’t you say something else last time?”

“Hm?” Kaito put on his ‘I’m remembering something’ face again. “Did I say… Oh yeah!” He laughed. “I said Venus suited Shuichi because Venus is the goddess of love and Shuichi’s clients keep falling in love with him!”

Shuichi suddenly remembered exactly why he had been so offended by Kaito’s characterization of him all those years ago.

Maki gave him a bemused look, “Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s the face you made last time too...”

“Yeah, that’s because it’s a really weird thing to say about my clients Kaito…”

“Oh yeah?” Kaito grinned now that he wasn’t the one being teased, “You can’t say I’m really wrong though, bro…”

Shuichi shook his head, “A detective can’t think that way about his clients! It’s exploitative!”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t stop them from thinking that way about you…” Maki pointed out.

“I- What- Maki-” Shuichi did not want to talk about this actually, he turned to Kaito hoping for some kind of escape, but his so-called friend just shook his head.

“You gotta face facts some time, Shuichi. You’re a heart-throb!”

“I don’t know what you mean…” Shuichi was finding that there was nowhere to hide his face and he cursed himself for letting Kaede talk him out of wearing his hat again.

“What about that girl who gave you chocolates?”

Oh, why had he told Maki that story?

“They were just for gratitude-”

“What about the guy who invited you on his yacht?”

Maybe asking his friends to help him out on cases all these years had been a mistake…

“That was to set up a trap for the-”

“The person who asked you out for dinner?”

Hghk.

“That was only to meet another contact-” “But then the contact didn’t show up and it was just the two of you.”

“They got in a car accident!”

What about the guy who pretended to be your husband on a plane? His own brain supplied rather unhelpfully.

*Bweeeeoop* *Bweeeeoop* *Bweeeeoop*

Shuichi had never been so grateful to hear an alarm sound off in his entire life.

Maki and Kaito stopped railing into him, looking around as if to see where the noise was coming from.

“I didn’t even know we had one of those…” Kaito muttered, barely audible over the continuing beep of the alarm. “I’m going to go ask someone what’s going on.” He declared, before storming off into a door marked ‘employees only.’

Maki, seemingly unperturbed by the sign, was about to follow him, but Shuichi grabbed her arm.

“Wait,” He said, retracing his own memory, “Come with me, please.”

“What?” She looked at him like he was crazy. “Where are you going?”

“Somewhere I’m more likely to get in a fight than Kaito…” Under scrutiny, Shuichi found that he didn’t recall seeing that group of suspicious tourists among the exhibits… They disappeared at the entrance, which was by the...

Shuichi started making a beeline for the gift shop, untying his coat and wrestling it onto his shoulders as he went.

“You two are so high maintenance…” Maki grumbled, following him nonetheless.

Sure, Shuichi had thought his gift shop theory was pretty on point, but when he got to the doorway of said gift shop the cartoonishly big mallet coming down over his head took him by surprise.

Maki grabbed him, pulling him back just in time. “Watch where you’re going, idiot.” She scolded him before grabbing the hammer and pulling it out of the hands holding it, which were the gloved hands of, you guessed it, a clown with a checkered scarf, standing over the doorway and poised to pounce.

This wasn’t one of the DICE members Shuichi recognized, but it seemed that they recognized him.

“What the hell is this guy doing here?” They called back into the shop, where Shuichi realized two other DICE members were shoving freeze dried ice cream into a bag, before diving down and trying to sweep Maki’s feet from under her. Maki jumped up and tried to use the gravity of her dodge to kick the clown in the head, but the clown rolled away, hopping back up, where Maki was waiting to meet them with their own mallet in the face.

Shuichi heard a sickening crack and the clown crumpled to the floor.

“Rook!” The leaner looking of the two members grabbing ice cream dropped his bag and ran up to help his friend.

“Maki!” Shuichi exclaimed, rather horrified at this level of violence, “They’re just thieves!”

“What?” Maki asked, unshaken. When she saw Shuichi’s expression, she blinked as if genuinely confused. Then she straightened up in a gesture that Shuichi recognized as sheepish even though her tone remained flat as she clarified, “That wasn’t the clown’s skull, it was the hammer.” She raised the big mallet to show him the end of it, which had popped off, “This is just a toy.”

“Yeah! That don’t mean it don’t smart, lady!” The one on the floor, ‘Rook’ if their friend was to be believed, waved off the other DICE member, rubbing their face under their mask.

“Was I talking to you?” Maki fixed the clown with her patented death glare, taking the stick of the broken mallet and twirling it into a fighting ready position like a bo staff.

“Where’s your boss?” Shuichi muttered aloud. “And the rest of you for that matter…” Maybe the gift shop was a distraction, it didn’t seem like the most attention had been given to it. Then again if there were something happening further inside the facilities then Kaito’s people were probably wise to it by now, so there might not be any point in wondering...

“I dunno, ask your mom!” The bearded DICE member standing next to ‘Rook’ threw something at him.

Maki acted quickly, hitting the object dead-on with the broken mallet handle before it could smack him in the face. It burst open, and by the time Shuichi realized it was a smoke bomb his eyes were already stinging from exposure.

“Gah!” He exclaimed, hiding his face in his arm to prevent himself from inhaling the smoke.

Maki, however, ignored the smoke, pressing forward into the gift shop.

Shuichi stayed back, blocking the doorway and tried to remember if he had seen an external entrance to the gift shop. The question was dismissed from his mind as he heard the clattering of shattering glass and remembered that these thieves had no qualms about making their own exits. When the smoke cleared, Shuichi saw that Maki was now holding the bag stuffed with freeze dried ice cream. She dropped it and started walking towards the wall of windows opposite to the entrance. She pulled back her hair and grabbed the side of the window like she was going to try and climb out the hole at the top, which the clowns seemed to have escaped out of.

Except… As Shuichi came up the steps from the entrance he didn’t see any clowns beyond the window. Remembering DICE’s knack for misdirection, Shuichi did a quick glance around the room and… There!

“Maki!” He called as he moved forward, “There’s a sliding door back by the register!”

It was open just a jar, and as Shuichi got closer he spotted the last DICE member vaulting over the balcony just outside.

Maki beat him to the door, sliding it open and hopping on the balcony. She paused for a second, then turned back to look at him. “Stay here.” She ordered, as if it had crossed her mind Shuichi might try to scale down the wall as well.

He would have found it weird that Maki would take the time to tell him something so obvious as ‘you would fall if you tried this,’ but Shuichi remembered what Maki had said to him before, about not wanting to be alone again. He nodded in an effort to reassure her. “Right, I’ll call the police.”

She seemed satisfied with this, turning around and shifting off the balcony to climb down the wall. Shuichi, in the meantime, pulled out his phone and called 110. The operator put him through to the Kukinaga substation, which was the Tanegashima police station only four minutes away from the space center. Shuichi reported what had happened, and the substation representative asked him to stay put to give a report to the officers when they arrived. He voiced acquiescence and thanked the representative before hanging up.

And then Shuichi was standing alone in a gift shop with broken glass and a bag full of freeze dried ice cream on the ground. He noticed some things he hadn’t before. For instance, it looked like the gift shop was partially divided into a sort of cafe, with a freezer full of purchasable food and tables by the windows to sit and eat. For some reason, he decided that sitting alone in a gift shop with broken glass and a bag full of freeze dried ice cream on the ground would be marginally better, so he pulled out one of the chairs, sitting at the table.

…

It was weird how much time Shuichi sat around, waiting for things to happen. Well, maybe less weird and more just plain old pathetic… He wasn’t really the action type like Maki and Kaito were. A lot of his work as a detective was done in the aftermath of events. He was usually only trying to figure out what had already happened. This whole DICE thing was a bit of a change of pace, requiring him to be able to predict the next course of events and perhaps even stop potential crimes. Except, well, maybe he wasn’t so good at that part of it… Today was pretty clear evidence of that. This gift shop robbery was obviously a ruse covering up some sort of bigger crime. Something similar had happened in Egypt, where in order to keep one room’s artifacts secure, Shuichi had to alert the actual museum security to take care of things. Except, had that really been the right choice? The entire museum besides the room Shuichi was in were rugless because he refused to take action. Shuichi knew that staying in this gift shop would prevent it from being robbed, but he had to weigh that against the great uncertainty of what was happening elsewhere right now. It just felt shitty, knowing he could do nothing right now but wait. It had been part of the reason being a detective had yucked him out when he was a teen. For a while he had been solving exclusively murder cases, which were the worst way to be reminded his job was usually only useful after the horrible things happen… Maybe working on the DICE case had felt good because so much of the work was preventative. Predicting where DICE would strike next always gave him the hope that the next time would be the last and it would all be thanks to him… How stupid…

A memory flashed through his head

“You’re really something else, Shuichi.” A face very close to his had said.

Maybe that was something else about the case that felt good. Chasing DICE’s leader had been light and exciting. A mystery less pursued out of a sense of requirement or needed justice, but rather because the mystery itself was genuinely intriguing. Shuichi had started out fearing that DICE may have had some sort of tie to organized crime or some sort of international conspiracy, but… After investigating into such ties and looking at all past robberies attributed to them, Shuichi had turned up nothing. It was almost comical how good these clowns were at going about their globetrotting crime-spree untraced. And it was weird that Shuichi kept crossing paths with them by almost complete happenstance. Sure, he had predicted their movements in DC, Paris, Reno, and Milan, but Egypt, Taipei, and now… Yeah, completely by chance. Unless… DICE weren’t following him, were they? No, there really would be no point to that at all… Hah, Shuichi was starting to see why Interpol suspected that he had ties with-

Oh, fuck. Interpol.

For about four minutes, Shuichi had forgotten how much trouble he was going to be in. --- [Log of Text Messages from Kaito Momota’s Cellular Device]

From: Me

Hey where are you guys?

I can’t find you anywhere?

From: My Sidekick

Sorry I’m talking to the police right now

From: Me

What??

Bro

I’m gonna need like

A follow up on that

From: Maki Roll

Did you not know the police were here?

From: Me

Uh no

Should I have?

Oh I get it

They’re here about the alarm right?

Well you can tell them it's nothing to worry about

We figured out that a sleeping security guard tripped it on accident...

From: Maki Roll

The museum got robbed

From: Me

What??

From: Maki Roll

Well Shuichi thinks something was stolen

I’m pretty sure I chased the clowns away though

From: Me

Wait the clowns are here?

From: My Sidekick

Sorry Kaito! I’m back

Maki is being questioned now

The alarm going off was probably staged as part of the distraction

Did you check the other exhibits to see if anything was stolen?

From: Me

Yeah everythings fine we did a whole check

From: My Sidekick

What about other buildings on the campus?

Anything missing?

From: Me

Nope everything is where it should be

From: My Sidekick

Well I guess that’s somewhat of a relief

Although that does open up a lot of questions about what exactly happened here…

From: Me

Shuichi I need you to come down to the Space center building

The one with the rocketship

Like right now

From: My Sidekick

What?

What happened?

Kaito?

From: Maki Roll

Where are you guys?

The police are gone and you’re not by the space center

From: Me

We’re chilling in the museum gift shop

From: Maki Roll

What?

It’s not closed?

Isn’t it a crime scene right now?

From: Me

Nah nothing was really stolen

So me and Shuichi were fixing the window

But now we are c h i l l i n g

From: Maki Roll

Huh

I thought you might be investigating still

From: Me

Nah

Shuichi needed to do something with his hands

From: Maki Roll

Oh so you mean Shuichi was fixing the window and you were watching

From: Me

I was moral support!

From: Maki Roll

You know you won’t be able to get other people to do your chores when you’re in space…

From: My Sidekick

He wasn’t making me do it

It was something I needed to do

To like

Avoid freaking out

From: Maki Roll

Are you okay?

From: My Sidekick

Yes

I just uh

Lost an entire space engine and i can’t do anything about it

From: Maki Roll

What?

From: Me

He did NOT lose a space engine

He was interrupted while doing an investigation on our STOLEN rocket engine

From: Maki Roll

What????

The engine in your shuttle was stolen???

Are you not concerned about that? You can’t fly without one of those right?

From: Me

Hey we’ll find it!

Or maybe we’ll build a new one

It doesn’t matter I’m going to space no matter what!

From: Maki Roll

Wait and you’re not out looking for it right now?

From: Me

Well Shuichi was having a moment here

And hey when it comes to looking after your ride or looking after your sidekick your sidekick has gotta come first

From: Maki Roll

A moment?

From: My Sidekick

Found out I’m on red notice

From: Maki Roll

What’s that

From: My Sidekick

It like

Means that

Interpol thinks I should be arrested

But Interpol doesn’t actually have the power to arrest me

So they’ve basically told every recognized country in the world to arrest me if I’m spotted

So maybe Japan will try to arrest me if they find that they agree with interpol that I should be arrested

From: Maki Roll

What??

Did you do something???

From: Me

No! He didn’t!

Get this

Some asshole in a green coat just came up

And told Shuichi that his boss thinks Shuichi is too good of a detective to be doing things legally

But it's like

No actually he really is just that good

From: My Sidekick

Hhhhghhhghghhghg

That was Agent Sakakura

Them sending him means they really want me dead…

From: Maki Roll

That’s so stupid

You’re just doing your damn job

Hey do you want me to kill that guy for you?

Because it sounds like he sucks and I will totally kill him for you

From: Me

No you won’t because killing is not good

But your anger is valid I am also very angry about this

From: My Sidekick

Hghfgfhhghhhgggggggggg

From: Me

Hmmm Maki roll Shuichi needs to vent some more so we’ll stop texting

From: Maki Roll

I’m bringing the car over

Tell me if you want me to kill someone for you Shuichi

From: My Sidekick

No thank you

But I appreciate the sentiment --- [Log of Messages sent via Discord to “#boss-where-he-shouldnt-be” from ???’s Cellular Device]

Ace: Hey, I know this is like a meme chat

Ace: But it's like the only one boss doesn’t have access to

Ace: And I wanted to know if anyone has noticed anything up with him?

Ace: Because I feel like he’s been kinda weird since we got the rocket

Queen: It’s not a rocket its an engine

Queen: In fact it’s actually only about 2/3s of an engine

King: What do you mean weird?

Queen: Rocket engines are built with mechanisms of fuel oxidization that won’t be strictly necessary for an aircraft that isn’t designed to operate in 0 ppm oxygen environments

Queen: So we’ll have to substitute it with an intake mechanism

Queen: Although the pre-existing combustion mechanism is EXQUISITE

Rook: No one cares queen

Queen: Its an important distinction

Hearts: Queen we have a channel for infodumping

Hearts: rn this channel is for gossiping about boss

Ace: He’s been quiet

Ace: Idk ive been worrying about it

King: Do you think it has to do with his injury?

Ace: Naw like

Ace: I feel like he was actin weird because of that before the space station

Ace: But now he’s actin weird a different way

Ace: Like before he seemed a little terse

Ace: And now he’s like catatonic in conversation

Queen: wym

Queen: I literally talked to him five seconds ago

Rook: no wait that is suspicious

Rook: if I were him I wouldn’tve just sat there and let you yap

Queen: oh shut up

Rook: MAKE ME

Ace: honestly i don’t know

Ace: but like you guys saw that detective guy there right

Ace: Do you think something happened with them that we didn’t see

King: What??

Jack: Oh you mean how boss definitely has a crush on him

King: What?????

Jack: Literally in Paris he dropped his entire 100 page plan just to go bully that guy

Jack: He’s like a middle schooler pulling pig tails

Hearts: Hmm… Hate to bring it down but pulling pigtails is a misogynistic notion that reinforces the normalization of violence against women...

Jack: It's true tho

Jack: My pigtails got pulled all the time because as you all know I am extremely attractive

Hearts: Maybe they were just bullying you darling

Spades: Yeah I can see that /s

Spades: Hey you know who really normalizes violence against women?

Spades: That detective guy

Spades: He flipped me in Milan!

Spades: Guy knows fucking aikido or some shit

Spades: And boss isn’t really a fan of violence

Rook: No wait

Queen: What? I thought he really liked yamikawaii shit

Rook: Even though that guy’s friend literally gave me a black eye

Spades: No I’m pretty sure he hates it

Rook: I see what Jack is saying

Rook: Boss totally has a thing for him

Rook: Like literally you can see the hearts pop into his eyes when he spots that guy

Rook: He dropped a display case on my foot when you told him the detective was in Cairo

Ace: Okay well thats not what I meant though

Jack: What you mean you don’t think he got his heart broken by aged up kid conan

Clubs: Conan’s name in his adult form is Shinichi Kudo.

Clubs: Also I think that talking behind Boss’s back is kind of not cool guys. :(

Spades: If you snitch I’m firing you from being my brother

Clubs: :(

Ace: I just meant like maybe he embarrassed himself platonically

Ace: Or I guess adversarially? Idk whatever word you would use for that

Queen: kismesissitude

Ace: What?

Spades: I will swiftly execute you

King: I mean i guess i could see him getting bent out of shape about that

King: But we were kinda onto the detective the whole time

King: I don’t think they would’ve had time to interact at all

Jack: Maybe he’s just sad he missed him

Ace: Ok sorry I don’t know if he’s sad

Ace: Just maybe in a weird mood

Ace: We haven't been in japan for a while and we haven't stuck around a place for more than a week in an even longer while

Ace: It’s putting me in a weird mood too so maybe that’s it

Hearts: Yeah he always likes to be on the move maybe he’s just antsy

King: Or maybe he feels bad cuz Rook got kinda beat up today?

King: I mean I feel bad about that

Rook: I’m okay <3

King: I know <3

Queen: Gross

Queen: You two are literally sitting right next to each other get a room

Bishop: He seems fine to me

Spades: Oh wow Bishop stopped scarfing for a second to weigh in...

Bishop: And by fine I mean terrible because he just dipped his pork dumpling in his panta right in front of me

Bishop: Also you guys know he can see you texting each other right

Bishop: We’re literally all eating at the same table rn

Queen: Oh yeah

Spades: Oops

#shuichi x kokichi #shuichi saihara #shuichi danganronpa #kokichi ouma #kokichi danganronpa #oumasai #saiouma #fanfiction #Phantom Thief AU #danganronpa v3 #drv3 #danganronpa v3 killing harmony #danganronpa #writing #whooeee this is a whole big thing innit #read on ao3 if you need warnings #i also have an update on my update schedule over there

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