So. That little drabble I started yesterday? I felt bad for leaving it hanging... So I wrote a bit more...
The continuation happens after the cut for those who’ve already seen part 1.
I’ve used a few indulgent tropes that I’ve used in my other fic. I’m not sorry ;)
When their solo mission goes awry, Mac challenges Riley about what she said that night at her door.
Riley ploughed through the woods, Mac close on her heels as they sprinted away from the commotion in their wake. For the moment, it didn’t sound like anyone was following but Riley didn’t dare stop to check for even a moment. If anyone so much as saw them they’d be dead.
Branches crackled underfoot as they wove through tree roots and over slick rocks. Riley tried desperately to concentrate on where she was stepping and avoided thinking about how they’d landed in this mess.
Her heel twisted on something slick and she stumbled, almost ramming headfirst into a massive tree. Mac reached out to grab her but she managed to right herself before he could so much as brush his fingers against her jacket. Avoiding his gaze, she pushed on, slowing down only slightly to avoid another tumble.
“So you’re just lying to me now?” Mac shouted from behind her.
She paused for a moment and grabbed onto the nearest tree for support, not daring to look back and face him. This was exactly the conversation she was trying to avoid. It was her fault that the op failed, and he knew it.
The sound of a stream rushed by somewhere to their left and she gazed through the branches towards the water. She drew in a few heavy breaths. “I didn’t lie!” she called out. “I told you I thought that we were being watched and-”
A branch snapped directly behind her as Mac reached the tree and reached out, spinning her around on the spot. She stared at his hand wrapped around her arm.
He stared her down as he breathed, “just like you lied to me the other night.” It wasn’t a question.
All the air left her lungs in a rush of feeling that punched her deep in the gut. Riley froze under his heavy gaze. “What are you talking about?” she whispered. She wanted to deny it forever.
Mac let go of her arm and raked the hand through his hair. “Riles,” he sighed. He looked impossibly sad. “You think that after all these years I don’t know when you’re lying to me?”
She huffed bitterly at the irony. There were a lot of things about her that Mac had failed to notice over the years. But this? Why did he have to notice this?
“Mac-“
“I get it okay. I get why you lied. But Riley, that night I needed you to tell me the truth.”
Riley drew herself to her highest height. “No, Mac. No you didn’t,” she spat. “You needed me to tell you what you wanted to hear. You needed to know that I didn’t feel anything for you.” She shook her head, searching through her pain for the right words. “You needed to know that you were free to go off and marry Desi and be happy without feeling guilty or… or like you could be hurting me because I know you Mac!” her voice quivered. “You just don’t want to hurt anyone and that’s just not how this works!”
“Riley,” Mac grabbed her upper arms and held her there, forcing her to look into his eyes as he said, “what in the hell makes you think that’s what I wanted to hear?”
His brows were knitted together and his eyes were like round pools of light. Riley swam in them as she stood with her mouth open, trying in vain to absorb his words.
A man called out from somewhere behind them. Riley’s vision ripped from Mac‘s heavy gaze and focused on the terrain over his shoulder. There was a tiny flurry of movement behind some brush about two hundred yards away. The militia had found them.
She barely had time to huff in another breath before Mac had her pinned behind the tree, legs entwined, their feet tucked between broad roots and her backpack pressing into her spine. His face was inches from hers, his eyes narrow as he scanned the branches beyond their position for any trace of their pursuers. All Riley could do was stare helplessly up at him. She was barely breathing. All she could hear was the rush of the river and the pounding of her heart in her ears as she strained to listen for more.
All of a sudden, Mac tensed and pressed himself harder against her, as if he could merge them both with the bark itself. The last of Riley’s conscious thought flew from her head as a branch snapped mere yards from them. Adrenaline coursed through her veins and her eyes widened and locked onto Mac’s steely blues. Another snap, this time from slightly further away.
How many? she mouthed.
He blinked three times in quick succession.
Another gruff voice called out and there was a bleep as a walkie connected. Murmuring echoed through the speaker and grew steadily more distant. Crackling footsteps moved away as Riley continued to hold her breath. After what felt like an age, the only noise was the sound of the rushing river and Mac’s heavy breath.
She should’ve let herself relax but she couldn’t. Mac still had her locked in his gaze, an arm on the tree either side of her. She couldn’t move. She didn’t want to move.
Then his lashes fluttered as his eyes became unfocussed and dipped to her lips. It was like an electric jolt pierced her, breaking the spell and cutting swiftly through the moment.
All she could think was, ‘No’. She blinked rapidly and pressed against his body with both hands. He gave way easily and took three generous steps backwards. His chest was rising and falling at a rapid pace. So was hers.
“There could be more.” Riley whispered. She searched the ground at her feet, deftly avoiding the magnetic pull of his eyes. “We can talk about all this when we get the hell out of here,” she added furiously.
He shook his head at her. “No, Riles,” he murmured in gravelly tones. “We’re having this conversation now. It’s killing me.”
“Fine,” she snarled, finally finding the courage to lift her head. “You wanted me to tell you that I still have feelings for you?” There was no use denying it any longer.
“Do you?”
“Of course I do!” she worked hard to keep her voice low as a fissure cracked through her heart. “Because burying feelings never works! Tell, me. How is it working out for you, Mac?” she crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows in challenge.
“What are you talking about?”
“The hurt? The fear? The grief?” she pressed. “Mac, you bury your feelings better than anyone else I’ve ever met!” She huffed. “Except for maybe Desi.”
He took a step back as though she’d slapped him. Riley sighed. She didn’t want to hurt him but the truth was, this conversation was always going to hurt. And he needed to feel it. Maybe they both did.
“Mac,” Riley drew closer to him and he stared into her face like a rabbit in headlights. She stood her ground. “You need to work some things out for yourself. Like, what the hell does it mean that you were ready to propose to you girlfriend one minute and at my door the next?”
He huffed a quiet, sardonic laugh. “Whatever else it means, I’m definitely an idiot.”
“I don’t disagree,” she smirked. He reached gingerly for her hand and she gave it without a second thought.
“Thank you,” he squeezed her fingers.
“For what?”
“Telling me the truth.”
She huffed. “Yeah.” There it was again; the undeniable lure of his gaze. If she weren’t very, very careful, she would find herself one day drowning in his eyes.
Mac stared at her for another moment before releasing her hand. He heaved a breath in and out a few times and raked his hand through his hair. “Ok. We should get the hell out of here…” The shrewd look returned to his face as the wheels turned behind his eyes and he began to plot their continued path through the trees.
“Yeah,” was all she said.
She trailed after him through the woods, one foot at a time, towards exfil and the Phoenix jet, and perhaps some happier times to come. She dared to hope.
Spield’s Notes: Prequel?? Or the first part Drabble 2 of the Drabble 1: HashiSaku Proposal. Just flexing the writing muscles again.
In another life, Bustuma passes over his first son and chooses Tobirama as his heir.
Unlike what many of his clan members and his brothers believed, Hashirama receives this news with a huge sense of relief and quiet sense of resignation. Tilting his face towards the sky, the afternoon sun filtering through the forests around their home, and for the first time in a long time the first-born of the Senju breathes.
Nobody will admit it, but it’s a long time coming. Everybody, including his father, always saw him as a bleeding heart. Too soft, too ready to compromise. His Mokuton and all the possibilities it brings is no match to Hashirama’s tender soul.
As opposed to him, his younger brother is quite the opposite. Analytical, objective, and ruthless when need be. The perfect clan candidate, through and through. Tobi will be fair, Hashirama knows, and he would’ve been too, but if it comes down to it if sacrifice is needed, Tobi’s will will justify the means.
Hashirama can’t do that and so that’s that.
Upon his father’s declaration, changes have been on the move. The re-arrangement of wills, deeds, and other arrangements. Including their betrothals.
“Hashirama.”
Hashirama turns to find his mother by the shoji door, wearing one of her finest kimonos of dark greens and yellows, matching his. The ornaments on her hair have been dust off and taken out of her box, and they glint beautifully against her dark tresses.
“They’re waiting for us.”
The Uzumaki entourage brought with them the grandest display of finery Hashirama has ever seen.
The Senju is powerful, in battle and in their reputation - but not in riches.
Hashirama forces his eyes not to stray, but his younger brothers - Kawarama and Itama - have no such qualms, barely suppressing the awe in their gaze as it falls on the fine colorful silks the men and women of the Uzumaki wear. And the cuts—
One of the female guards sends a wink to his way and the first-born of the Senju pries his eyes from her exposed legs. Neck heating up, Hashirama turns his attention to the entrance of the room.
Yet, he cannot ignore the chakra of the Uzumaki in contrast with the Senju.
While theirs is steady, like the earth, the Uzumaki’s are swirling balls of energy, swimming inside their bodies. They are so… different. It’s almost a wonder his father even agreed to the alliance.
But then again…
Outside, the bleating of sheep and the moaning of cows echo. Flags of all colors fly across the skies, and the accented voices of merchants talk over each other, their wares so new to the newly established settlement.
What the Senju lack in riches, the Uzumaki have in the spades. From what he knows, this is not even a quarter of their treasury.
They did not spare any expense for his brother’s ascension as heir, and of course the re-betrothal of their own heiress.
“Tobi,” Hashirama whispers, “Are you well?”
Tobirama, 10 years old, in his own blue and white hakama, nods stiffly. Already, the weight of being a heir is heavy on his young shoulders. Had it been anyone else Hashirama wouldn’t have noticed but they’re not brothers for nothing.
His brother’s bright red eyes are trained on the entrance and despite his finery, and the funny way they pulled back his hair, Tobirama looks young and uncertain.
Hashirama forces a teasing smile down, “Mito’s nice. You’ll like her.”
Tobirama slides his eyes to his aniki, quiet resignation on his young face.
Continuing the drabble from KCAUWEEK2020. They gave each other advice about relationships all the time! Their relationship was practically founded on it! So, couldn’t sex be on the table, too?
Hey! Sorry for the long delay and for this long absence on Tumblr, life happened unfortunately!
This was supposed to just be a far-off continuation of the first drabble when I originally planned for it during KAUWEEK, but it took a life of its own, so there will be at least one more part to end the story!
I don’t usually like posting trigger warnings since it’s kind of a sort of spoilers but in this chapter there are mentions of rape and quite graphic violence, so be warned!
Hope you enjoy reading it!
PART 1 - PART 3
The arrival at Fort William was not without pain. The deep anguish of knowing they were all dead. Him too. The sorrow of imagining their blood dripping like the usual rain of the Highlands on the blades of grass and soil they fought to their deaths for.
Caroline had been shoved violently on a plow that had been used until then to produce wheat in the yards of the castle, and feed the people that lived in it. People that were no longer.
Her injury made her head delirious just as it left her body a broken and heaving mass.
The journey to the prison was a haze where cries, lamentations, foul odors and an endless gray sky meshed together in her mind.
She woke up an indeterminable amount of time later, still woozy and with pain in every single atom making her.
She allowed herself a few moments (or maybe more than just a few) to take in what just happened, at least on a rational level, and cry tears she hid from the other bodies overcrowding the prison cell they have been shoved in.
Some of them were just sitting there with foggy eyes and heavy limbs, numb from shock and pain.
Some were heaving dry, bellies already emptied on the ground, trying to expel the emotional agony out through physical pain.
Some were quivering messes, overtaken by gut wrenching, harrowing sobs.
Some were having panic attacks, the shortage of oxygen, the lack of rational thoughts and the uncontrolled movements were all clear signs if you knew how to read them, and her own unfortunate experience with them made her an unwilling expert.
Still, she forced herself to gather her wit back. Now wasn’t the time to succumb. When she got out, she told herself, and she will, for she had sworn a death, but not now. Now she couldn’t focus on anything else but getting out. (If she kills him in the meantime, only bonus points!)
The pain in her back and side enticed her to examine the extend of the injuries she suffered.
Her head felt heavy and not as clear as usual. So, concussion most probably. (That bastard!)
Her knees were bruised, certainly caused by the loving care of the soldier she did not kill.
What worried her the most was the deep slice that extended from just under her shoulder blade to her ribs. It was still bleeding even if the edges were starting to scab (how much time did she spend unconscious exactly?), and judging by not only the depth but also the width of the cut, it would probably keep on oozing for quite the time. At this point healing was more of a utopia than a plausible outcome.
Plus the sanitary condition certainly wouldn’t help her heal: people were pressed together, there was a shortage of fresh air, body fluids and excrements could be seen every few feet, and rats were using them as a playground.
Caroline gagged. Uggggh, she missed the 21st century really bad right now.
The blood loss would soon make her weak and sleepy, and with her concussion, sleep could mean death.
Fuck! If she didn’t hurry to get the fuck out of there, she will either die from blood loss of infection. She was so not excited by those prospects.
She needed to get out. Pronto. For that, she needed information: how long they’ve been here and how much time it took to travel, the guards rotations if there had been any since their arrival, etc…
A quick perusal of the room didn’t give her much hope that she’ll get the intel she needed, but, still, she needed to try. So, she turned her head a little to the side, saw one of the young servant girls that from time to time came to assist her at Castle Leoch, her weak blonde hair, usually tied tightly on the back of her neck and hidden by her white hat thingy, was disheveled and some bald patches could be seen.
Her neck was bruised, the shape of a hand distinctly purple and blue on her white throat.
Her clothes were torn and in shambles.
Her legs bent and supporting her entire (trembling) body because she couldn’t sit.
Caroline would have cried for her had she been able to at the moment. Her general state clearly indicated rape, even centuries apart all the signs were the same. Usually, she would have been assaulted already with images and sounds drawn from her memory of the loving care Damon put her through, but she not only was preoccupied by more pressing matters, she also forced herself to numb her emotions down, remain clinical until she got out of this fucking place.
She forced herself to remember the poor girl’s name, and after an embarrassingly long moment she recalled it.
“Fiona?”
Hadn’t the lass been already out of her mind by fear and trauma, and had it been different circumstances, Caroline would have been gentler, maybe she would have even hugged her (if she herself had been able to move of course). As it is, the arms already around herself tightening their grip as if it would save her from further harm, the tears coursing down her cheeks and the frantic movements of her frightened eyes made Caroline feel guilty for startling her and jostling her after what she went through. She knew what that felt like: the loss of power, the vulnerability, the pain, and worse of all the shame. She didn’t want to scare her, nor demand anything of her, Fiona already suffered enough. But, she didn’t have a choice. Not if she wanted her revenge, not if she wanted to live.
So, after what she hoped was a soft and reassuring smile she couldn’t guarantee the poor girl even registered, she addressed her.
“Fiona, may I ask if you know how much time we have spent at the prison?”
Her answer was a choked sob and pained whine that tore a little bit more into Caroline’s already beaten heart. Still, she gathered her resolved and persisted in the endeavor.
“Fiona, please.”
But it was useless, the young woman was barely cognizant, who knew if she even was aware of what was happening around her and who was there.
As she was just about to reiterate her attempt, even if it would prove to be unsuccessful and she had to switch to another prisoner, the door of the corridor leading to the common cell rattled with the sound of keys. A few moments after, three guards, wearing the red coats symbolic of the Majesty’s garrisons, approached the iron door that contained them.
“Move you Scottish shites!” one of them shouted at the same time he shoved the elderly amassed just behind the door when he swung it open forcefully.
One of his companions passed before him, clearing the passage by pushing and kicking away the already squished prisoners. He made his way towards the section where she was and she understood at that moment Lockwood had summoned her for one of his games he loved to play. Physical or emotional, the method didn’t matter to him, only his personal joy at toying with his victims. As long as they suffered, she guessed.
“Miss Forbes. Stand.” the soldier-guard leered disdainfully at her, the way one would look at the lowest of the low.
She did. But it was hard. Her bruised kneecaps protested the strain, dizziness took hold and she could feel how her movements tore up even more her wound.
He grabbed her just as she found a semblance of equilibrium. Her feet almost dragged behind her because of the pace he took.
The steps of the stone staircase were the worst. She had summoned every bit of dignity she had to not appear as weak and rattled as she was, but the damp, slippery and too high steps made it a hard task. Her feet kept sliding as if she was on an ice rink, her already painful knees were hitting the edge of the next step and that fucking guard just continued on his merry way while at the same time stretching the skin of her injured back by pulling on her arm.
Unwillingly, a small, pain filled moan escaped her tightly shut mouth.
Nonetheless, Caroline took notice of the path they took. Every corner, every corridor, every window. She had to situate herself in order to have a plan that would have the slightest chance to work.
Right at that instant, she could have kissed Enzo for bringing her at the prison to visit, even if she had pouted and argued against it for three full days. In the future, the walls and windows weren’t in the state they were in right now (although it was still just as cold and creepy as it seemed in the 21st century…) but still, the layout hadn’t changed through the decades that went past. The walls hadn’t moved and the passages hadn’t disappeared. Caroline could pinpoint approximately where she was in the giant building.
The satisfaction her knowledge brought her helped stand proud even when the other soldiers they passed on their way leered at her, insulted her and mimicked sexual acts they would like to do to her. (Men were pigs in every age it seemed!)
Finally, after quite the long trek, and she strongly suspected they didn’t take the shortest route for whatever reason, they arrived to a shut door. It was just as bare and heavy as every other one she saw on the way. The only detail that signified the room’s importance on it was a small knocker. She guessed there wasn’t really any need for that in the rest of the prison.
The guard that held her since they took her from the common cell knocked on the wood and Caroline took a deep breath, one that hurt her in the state her body was in, but she needed it to ground herself as much as she could before entering the “Wolf’s den” (apparently that was the origin for the entire family’s obsession with the animals since, you know, they had a cool, rich, powerful ancestor that took it as his nickname…Caroline rolled her eyes internally).
The sight that greeted her after the guard shoved her through the passage was one eerily similar to the last time she had been alone in a room with Theodore Lockwood.
Him playing “distractedly” with his letter opener, that seemed way too sharp considering it’s aimed purpose, his filthy boots on the sturdy wood of his polished and gleaming desk, and his eyes sliding up to her that revealed the true emotions he harbored. What a great showman.
Suddenly the image of Tyler doing almost the same thing in his office superposed itself onto the present one. How he insulted her in a passive way while he had onlookers he felt insecure of. How he always did those little productions, just as his ancestor apparently, whenever something didn’t go as he planned or he felt even the slightest bit threatened.
So, when Theodore expected her to cower and instead Caroline threw at him a disdainful smirk Klaus would have been utterly proud of, it wouldn’t be enough to say his previous aura of playfulness disappeared and left the place to open scorn and hate. She was fine with that. At least she knew what she was walking into.
“I had hoped your state of being and the time, however brief, spent in the prison’s most “visited” cell would have made you realize how to behave in front of people far superior to you. It was my mistake, indeed, to expect of a bug to have a brain.”
Caroline truly, truly couldn’t help it, she laughed.
And she was thankful for it, no matter the reasons or consequences of it. It was cathartic. Everything that happened before that had led her to a spiral of pain and sadness hadn’t gone away, per se, but, suddenly it seemed a little bit more bearable. And it had been piling up for so long she couldn’t quite remember the last time she felt so light.
The brief bout of joy it brought her helped her clear her head. And it made her laugh even more because Lockwood was unaware that by insulting her he only strengthened her and the resolve she had to bring him to his end.
She was so enraptured in what would have looked like a bout of insanity to any onlookers, that she didn’t even register him standing up from his chair and quickly coming up to her. Well, she did when he grabbed her arm and almost tore it out of its socket, succeeding in pulling on the wound that sliced her open.
Just as she let out a grunt of pain, he slammed her on the wooden desk. The papers and sparse decorations he harbored on it flew like flies while she trashed around, trying to lessen the strength of his grip on her. She felt panic creep up on her even if she vehemently fought against it.
Her efforts tripled when she felt one of his hands that previously smashed her left hand against the furniture slide down, and once it reached her ankle, went without permission under her garments.
His nails scratched her everywhere, his fingers pressed hard on her tender flesh, so hard it would leave innumerable bruises on her pale skin. He tried to open her legs not only with the hand under her dress but also with one of thighs incessantly pining one of hers down.
Caroline was frantic. She used every little ounce of strength she had left in her mauled body to try to push him off her.
Her hands pushed. Her knees hit flanks. Her boot clad feet kicked. Her head butted. Her teeth bit.
While she was trying to fight him off, wishing that any kind of help would miraculously come to her, she was bombarded with hazy images of Damon raping her after he drugged her at Bonnie’s birthday party. How roughly his hands grabbed her body. How his lips and fingertips left her bruised for weeks. How she bled when he shoved himself into her dry, unprepared, unaroused vagina.
She resisted the tears, even if her eyes begged her to release them, not wanting to appear weak in front of such a joke of a man. A coward that couldn’t bear the slightest bit of resistance. A weakling pushing his authority and throwing tantrums when it didn’t go his way. A wimp taking advantage of her weakened state to take her against her will.
Her anger and rage took hold of her even more like a powerful wave of divine fury crashing into its impertinent subjects.
She raised herself as much as she could and with her teeth, sharp and strong, she tore off his ear, or at least a significant part of it.
Caroline had never known until then how much blood went through those floppy things attached to their heads. It was like a small geyser of red raining on her.
Lockwood cried out and lost his hold of her hand when his went by reflex to what should have been still attached to him. (How much she wished at that moment she could have separated his dick instead of his ear from his body!)
That brief moment was his downfall.
She grabbed the sharp and thin blade that was his letter opener, the one he had played with only seconds ago really, trying to intimidate her with it. And, with a force she wasn’t aware she still had in her, pushed the pointy end into his jugular.
The skin gave easily, she hadn’t expected it. She felt how smoothly it slid into the artery, how it even went further, right into one of the bones of his upper spinal cord.
His eyes slid up to hers, shocked. Aghast with the realization a weak woman killed him. That he failed in asserting his dominance over her.
She could see the knowledge it was the end for him creep into his rapidly fading gaze.
A choked gurgle of a mouth filled with blood escaped him, a last and unnecessary protest at the face of fate.
Caroline had never thought of herself before as a bloodthirsty or even cruel person. But at that moment the only thing she could feel was triumph. Her face was split by a victorious smile, one that would be the last thing Theodore Lockwood would ever see. One that would accompany him into the abysses of Death.
His now soulless carcass was still hunched over her, and with the leg that had been trapped under his she pushed him to the ground like the piece of trash he had been in life.
She took a small moment to breathe, and revel in her accomplishment, no matter how vile and heinous one would think it was, she was proud. And grateful. To her mother, the bad-ass woman that taught her basic anatomy even as she was more enraptured by romantic novels, the one that forced her to learn how to grip anything that could help her in order to have maximum effect.
“Thanks, Mom.” her quiet voice addressed her, hoping that in some bizarre way she was able to see her, a small tear of mourning escaping her eye just as a soft small smile reached her lips. Gone too soon but not without an impact.
It was precisely the thoughts of her mother, and the lessons she had taught her, that pulled her back in the situation she was in. Lockwood had sent away the guards, true, but her small window of opportunity would soon close in on her if she didn’t get the fuck out of the room quickly.
Quickly, she glanced at the entire room and the corpse that previously inhabited it. She saw a platter of food; she grabbed the bannock and hard cheese and put it in the pocket of her dress while munching on the few greens that were there (she needed the vitamins!) and drank all the wine.
Then, she saw the weapon that saved her life, put it in her boot. She also took the pistol with the belt accompanying it that had previously been hanging on the side of the chair.
Finally, she took the blanket that was thrown haphazardly over the hanging rack, probably there for the cold Highlands nights, and she covered her shoulders with it, tying it on her back after crisscrossing it over her chest.
In another life, another time, Caroline Forbes, however practical she was, would most certainly have been grossed out by the idea of taking a man’s, a man she killed, personal belongings and food, but life in this time and the circumstances she was in, taught her that to survive she couldn’t bother herself with such frivolities. So she didn’t.
Just as she was about to get out of this cursed room, she saw a flask peeking from one of his red coat’s pocket, and impulsively, she took it.
She breathed in and out, remembering the mantra (“It’s okay, you can do it, you’re Caroline fucking Forbes, don’t be a wuss!”) she used before every exam, every major hurdle in her life, she even used it before entering the morgue to identify her mother’s corpse, so this was nothing. She steeled herself and took hold of the door’s handle.
Oh my gosh could you please continue the gambling drabble? 👀👀👀
I'll have to see. I'm very in to Brother's Keeper right now and I'm just dipping my feet into the pet whump type things. LOL! But, I'm planning on putting up a poll of my non-Brother's Keeper Merry Whump of May entries to see which one gets the highest votes for me to write a bit more in. So, you should be able to vote for that one. LOL! As soon as I figure out how the hell to set up a poll. LOL
Thank you so much for the ask, anon. :-D
The gambling drabble definitely has potential for more. LOL!
After reading that last drabble I want a continuation of that. Either that or Arthur finding out after he finishes working at Coco Mimi's that Lewis and Vivi get him one of those butler costumes and they want him to wear it a lot. And Arthur becomes extremely embarrassed lol
Alright! I got a request for a continuation of the Café Drabble! I'll be posting a link just before the continuation of the original, so anyone who sees this can read both without having to search around. Do you guys realize how much I love a certain orange boy? How much I love figuring out ways to make him blush? You're fueling my guilty little pleasure here. Please keep it up. I might've done something to make this end differently than you expected, but I think you'll like it.
Arthur brought out the two orders to his friends right away. The Chocolate Bombs, as they were so accurately called, were served in very small bowls. A little bit was enough for anyone though.
Chocolate ice cream, with chocolate syrup, chocolate pieces, and chocolate whip cream on top of it. Lastly, tipped with chocolate sprinkles. Since Arthur knew the customers so well, he adjusted them slightly to be more to their liking.
Vivi disliked sprinkles, so Arthur lightly shaved some chocolate on top instead of adding the sprinkles. He gave her a little extra whipped cream, and went easy on the syrup. She liked more of a balanced taste between two flavors, so putting less of the strong flavored syrup would make it taste better to her.
Lewis liked sprinkles. He added extra on Lewis's plate as such. Arthur didn't adjust the amount of syrup at all, but instead added it into the bowl before adding the ice cream. Lewis also liked it when the dish was arranged in a cute way (thanks to many years of eating little treats made my his little sisters.) So Arthur carefully added the whipped cream into delicate little hearts.
Of course, once he did that he had to go back to Vivi's and use a small amount of whipped cream to do the same thing. She'd get jealous if she didn't receive hearts too.
The little blonde felt his cheeks flush as he returned to his table, his eyes on the little desserts as he set them down onto the table. He hadn't forgotten the fries of course, setting them down in between Vivi and Lewis with a shy smile.
"The fries are deep fried oh course," Arthur said gently. "But the dessert is handmade b-by your loyal butler!" He felt like his cheeks were on fire, a nervous stutter and twitch flickering here and there. Was it worse because it's them he's serving? Arthur wasn't really sure what to think about it.
"Thank you," Vivi said happily, taking out her phone immediately. Arthur quickly shielded himself.
"Please don't take a picture of me!" Arthur squeaked gently. "Th-This is so embarrassing! If Uncle Lance or any of the other mechanics found out, they'd never take me seriously again!"
The blubbering little orange was more than adorable, once again causing the larger man to stare in a daze. Vivi grinned happily, then adjusted her phone and took a picture of the desserts.
"I only wanted a picture of the desserts," She said happily, before picking up a spoon and diving it into the dessert.
"O-Oh..." Arthur said gently, a sheepish smile going across his face. "Thanks V..." He smiled at them sweetly, though the embarrassed flush never left his cheeks. "I get off in about an hour," Arthur informed them with. "You two can hang out here, or just come back and meet me at that time. I'll be happy to drive you home."
Lewis and Vivi exchanged a look, one that shared an entire conversation in seconds. When it came to evil deeds, they were always in sync.
"We're actually going to go clothes shopping," Vivi said with a smile, humming a little as she took another bite of her dessert. It was so delicious!!!
"Is there anything you'd like while we're out?" Lewis asked, his calm restored.
"Well..." Arthur mused gently, tilting his head slightly. "I could use some more t-shirts..."
"You have a million t-shirts Arthur," Vivi said flatly.
"Most of them are stained," Arthur whines gently. "I just want some clean shirts. If I always wear grease stained shirts, people are going to think I'm gross." Vivi tried to keep the mischievous tone out of her voice when she spoke next. She had her mind DEEP in the gutter, don't doubt that for a second, but she had to control herself right now.
"We'll buy you some new shirts," Vivi promised. "Maybe some new pants and a jacket too. You need some more variety." Lewis gave Vivi a knowing smile, deep down wondering how different her life would be if she ever decided to act.
"Thanks!" Arthur exclaimed happily. "That'll be awesome!" Lewis took a quick bite of his dessert, if only to keep himself from cracking up. Oh, if he only knew.
The desserts were finished quickly, the leftover melted ice cream and syrup mix being perfect for dipping French fries into. Arthur brought out their bill just as they were finishing up.
"Just take this to the front counter you saw when you came in, and you can pay there." Arthur looked to both of them, a rather sheepish smile spreading across his face. "Th-Thank you for coming to Coco Mimi!" Arthur drew his hands into the air, before gracefully bowing before them and flashing his best smile yet. "I hope you enjoyed your service, and remember your faithful servant the next time you visit."
Vivi had to shake Lewis again to pull his gaze away from Arthur, and they both got up and got ready to go. Vivi sprung a gentle hug on Arthur, making the smaller man squeak while the larger one chuckled lightly.
"P-Please promise me you won't tell anyone..." Arthur mumbles gently, his cheeks burning brightly.
"You can count on us Arthur..." Vivi assured him. She released him from the hug and smiled. "We'll see you in an hour." Arthur seemed to relax a little, before disappearing back into the kitchen. Lewis put an arm around Vivi, his voice coming out low, almost like a growl.
"I wouldn't tell anyone anyway..." He said slowly. "I don't want anyone else to get ahold of that little secret, besides us."
"I'm kind of jealous of his other customers," Vivi added playfully, before grabbing Lewis by his arm and pulling him away. "Now come on. We don't have much time to do this, and we have to make sure we get one in his size...."
"Just one?" Lewis asked, an eyebrow raised.
"Lew, I like the way you think."
Lewis was carrying a majority of the bags, but Vivi still had her hands full. They approached the van just as Arthur was walking out the backdoor. The instant he set his eyes on them, he rushed forward and opened the back of the van, hastily shifting things back to make room.
"Did you guys buy up an entire store?!" Arthur asked in a mild panic, as he went up to Lewis and took some bags from him.
"There was a really good sale!" Vivi squealed excitedly. "I'm just so happy! It feels like we practically stole from the store and got away with it."
"There was a buy one get one free sale," Lewis added and rolled his eyes a little. "Maybe we went a little overboard, but that's alright. We got something for everyone too. I was kind of surprised they actually sold stuff in my size really. The new store was a gamble, but it turned out to be a jack pot." They got everything else put into the van with little effort, before climbing in.
"What happened to your uniform?" Vivi asked curiously.
"They keep it and wash it overnight," Arthur answered nonchalantly. "They apparently had employees steal uniforms in the past, so it's a preventive measure." Arthur turned the keys in the ignition, smiling softly as he turned to them. "I've gotta take a shower first thing, but maybe we can watch a movie together."
There was another unsaid conversation before they looked to Arthur and answered together.
"Sounds like fun."
The next morning, Arthur crawled out of bed tired and opened up his dresser to find something to wear. In his tired state, he barely noted the absence of most of his clothing aside from his undergarments. He slipped them on and went to the closet, grumbling softly how he must've forgotten to do laundry, when he opened it up.
Every article of clothing, his hung up jeans, jackets, and t-shirts, were all missing. Instead, there were at least ten outfits that looked suspiciously lik-
"You've gotta be kidding me..." Arthur mumbled unhappily, a light flush crossing his cheeks.
Vivi and Lewis were watching T.V. when Arthur entered the room. Wearing a golden butler's suit that made his eyes absolutely pop, Arthur crossed his arms ever so defiantly.
"This is not funny!" He stated bluntly, clearly unamused.
"Of course it's not," Lewis agreed, though a light flush was starting to cross his cheeks.
"It's absolutely adorable," Vivi concluded with a confident grin. Arthur's face turned into one of embarrassment, and he would've ran away if it wasn't for the mission he was on.
"What do I have to do to get my clothing back?" Arthur asked, impatiently tapping his foot.
"One day in that outfit," Lewis answered quickly.
"And we know you don't have work today!" Vivi exclaimed with a sly smile. "We double checked." Arthur pouted gently.
"Am I just wearing this o-"
"You're cosplaying," Vivi cut in. "Lewis and I are the Masters of this house, and you are our loyal and loving Butler. Just like at the café, but it's exclusively for us." Arthur was blushing more than before. How could they want him to do something so embarrassing!?
"A-And you have t-to call us Master too," Lewis added almost shyly. Vivi grinned mischievously as she pat the big ghost's back.
"That too," she agreed while nodding. Arthur let out an exhausted sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. Oh yes, he was going to get revenge for this somehow.
"Alright fine," he agreed. "But I'm not leaving this house wearing this, and we are not having any visitors. Are we clear?"
"Transparently," Vivi agreed and laid back in her seat. "Now, can you go fetch me a parfait from the fridge? I need something healthy this morning to balance out the sugar rush that dessert gave me last night." Arthur turned away and went into the kitchen.
He opened the fridge and grabbed the parfait, turning to return to them when an idea popped into his mind. It was either going to work brilliantly, or he'd be embarrassed again.
Might as well go down swinging.
Arthur reentered the living room with the parfait in a little tray. He stride confidently in front of Vivi and bowed before her, presenting it with the most elegant smile.
"I have brought was you requested," Arthur said smoothly. "You may eat it yourself, have me feed you, or..." Arthur slipped between them on the couch, holding the parfait as he leaned right against her ear and whispered softly, letting his lips brush against it ever so gently. "You can taste something far better."
