#i love her and i agree that we should absolutely be heckling this old man more | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lumiolivierlithium · 3 years

Text

The Good Old Days Chapter Seventeen: Party at Vanessa's

A/N: Oh, you guys. I hammered this chapter out yesterday and good gravy, is it about to be a shit storm. I'm actually really happy with how it turned out and I hope you like it, too. Love you. x

ICYMI:

Chapter Sixteen: Perfect

Chapter Fifteen: Say It

It’s weird as hell being on this side of a party like this. I had no shame. I’ve worked these parties before for the sake of a little extra cash. Granted, those days were behind me, but I still felt for these poor sons of bitches that were enduring verbal abuse for the paycheck. I look back on those days that weren’t too distant and internally cringe. I think back to my last day at the restaurant and nearly throw up. I think of my last customer I ever dealt with and thank God the Old Man got me out of there. I’ll make sure to tip nicely. Although, the staff may not be the only ones in need of my sympathy tonight.

I caught a glimpse of the angel on my left. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think Vanessa was about to throw up. This better not end up a fucking repeat of the night I had to get Veronica out of a mess. I gave her a little nudge, just to snap her out of wherever her head was, “Vanessa? You doing ok?”

“Me?” she chirped, “Yeah. Super. But you know what could make it better?”

“What’s that?” I think I had a feeling where this was going.

Vanessa laced her fingers between mine, “Let’s go get a drink.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she snuck in a quick kiss while no one was looking. I think I’ll keep this one around for a while. Just a little while. Once we got to the bar, she wouldn’t even let me order, “Cuba Libre. Two of them. Big ones. Heavy on the lime juice in one.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I already had a fifty crawling its way out of my pocket.

“Frankie, what the hell?” Vanessa wondered, “It’s an open bar.”

“Trust me,” I shuddered, “I know what it’s like being on the other side of this. He needs it.”

“Ok,” she wrapped herself around my arm.

“Are you sure you’re ok?” I worried, lifting her chin up. As if I didn’t already know what plagued her.

“I’m nervous as hell,” Vanessa confessed, “I just hope they give you a chance. I don’t ever ask them for much.”

“I told you, baby,” I hugged her tight, “We got nothing to worry about. It’s not often the Spanish charms ever fail me. We’ll be fine.”

“God, I hope so.”

“Here you are, Miss Scarlotti,” the bartender smiled politely, sliding the glasses across the bar, “The one on the left is the heavy lime.”

“Thank you,” I grabbed the glasses and slipped him the fifty.

“Oh, no…” he gasped, “I can’t take…”

“I know you can’t,” I settled him, “Consider it a gift from a friend.”

“Thank you.” If I didn’t know any better, I’d think the guy was on the verge of tears, “Thank you so much.”

“You know what?” I took the fifty back, “I can’t do that, man.”

“What the fuck?” Vanessa gasped.

“Hold on,” I put the fifty back. I saw the look on this guy’s face when he saw the fifty come out. I couldn’t do that to him. I shook the guy’s hand, making sure he felt the hundred I put in there, “That should do it a little better.”

And there they were. The waterworks that shouldn’t have to happen, but here we are, “Thank you so much.”

“No problem, man,” I knew exactly where he came from. And if I got out of it, I hoped to all things holy he did, too.

“You know, Frankie,” Vanessa smiled as we walked away from the bar, “That was really sweet of you.”

“That shit sucks,” I admitted, “Believe me. Been there. Done that. You should’ve been there my last day of work before I started working for the Old Man. There was a woman that was absolutely insufferable. Drove me fucking insane. Real pretentious type.”

“Um…” she winced, “Frankie…You might want to look around at where we are…Pretentious types are a stone’s throw here.”

“Yeah,” I bit my tongue, “Sorry. But you know as well as I do you’re not the pretentious type.”

“And clearly,” Vanessa awed, “Neither are you.”

“Too humble for that,” I kissed the top of her head, “We don’t need to go to the roof already, do we?”

“No,” she shook her head, “I think we got this handled. Besides, after the first drink, I should be ok again.”

“Are you sure?”

“Promise.”

“Frankie!” There was my familiarity. There was the excitable squeal I needed to hear tonight. Vanessa’s drink would take care of her nerves and that voice would take care of mine.

“Veronica!” I caught her as she decided to jump into my arms, her legs wrapped around me, “Hi, kiddo. How you feeling?”

“Right as rain,” she cuddled into my shoulder, “I’m so glad you’re here. I fucking hate these things.”

“I can’t blame you,” I put her back on the floor.

“Neither can I,” Vanessa kept her voice down, “But we put up with them, don’t we?”

“Somehow,” Veronica scoffed, “Usually, these parties turn into Vanessa and me finding a cozy perch to watch the shitstorm go down and heckle Waldorf and Statler style, but here you are. And I know damn well you’re going to heckle, too.”

“Oh, you know it.” When I’m amongst them, there’s no fucking way I’m going to be able to keep my mouth totally shut tonight. I’d explode.

“Hey, Veronica,” Vanessa asked, “Have you seen Mom and Dad tonight?”

“Not yet,” Veronica shook her head, “I’ve been avoiding our parents like the plague tonight. I got better shit to worry about.”

“I can’t blame you,” Vanessa agreed.

“But you know what?” Veronica thought, “I could use a drink…Right? Ness…? Please?”

“No,” Vanessa shot her down, “Not after last time.”

“What happened last time?” I asked, genuinely curious.

“She gets sloppy when she’s drunk,” Vanessa threw her under the bus, “The last time she got drunk at a party like this, she cut the skirt of her dress off and threatened everyone and anyone with her heels. When we drink, it’s in a much more lowkey setting, so she doesn’t snap and kill us all.”

“One’s not going to kill me, Vanessa,” Veronica grumbled, her eyes rolling into the back of her head, “I can handle myself.”

“And the next morning,” Vanessa added, “She’s a hungover mess and I have to be the one to take care of her. Not to mention, I’m the one that gets the ass chewing for not keeping a better eye on you. So, no. I’m not getting you a drink.”

“You know, Vanessa,” I awed, pulling her into my arms, “You’re a good sister. You remind me a lot of myself with my brothers.”

“It’s exhausting,” she cuddled into my shoulder. While I held my drink behind her back. I shot a quick look toward Veronica and nodded toward my unattended straw. She knew what I was doing and got herself a good, long drink from it.

“I have no doubt,” I gave Veronica a little wink. One little drink won’t kill her. And I know it’s good.

“Hey, Vanessa,” Veronica licked the last little bit from her lips.

“What?” Vanessa pulled herself together while I got my own drink.

“Marry him.”

And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t choking on my drink. But I don’t think Vanessa was too far off either, “Jesus Christ, Veronica. We just started dating! We are leaps and bounds away from even giving marriage a thought.”

“I stand by what I said,” Veronica wasn’t budging. At least I know that if we were to get married, I’d adore my sister-in-law. One of them anyway. I still haven’t met Violet, but I have a feeling I’ll meet her sometime tonight, too.

“I don’t know, Vanessa,” I threw an arm around me, “I’ll keep you if you keep me.”

“You’re alright,” Vanessa scored a quick little kiss, “I guess I’ll keep you.”

“You guess?” I teased.

“Yeah.” Oh, I like this one, “Stay close to me.”

“My pleasure.”

“Vanessa,” a small, angry Young Republican came up to us. She looked like she would call INS on me in a heartbeat. I got my citizenship, kariña, “Mom’s looking for you.”

“Yay,” Vanessa winced, “Where is she?”

“She’s over by the piano,” she looked me over, “Um…Excuse me…Shouldn’t you be working?”

And there it was, “Um…”

“And,” she looked down at the glass in my hand, “You’re drinking on the job?”

“Um…”

“I’m sorry,” she scoffed, “Do you not speak English? Vanessa, you speak three languages. Can you tell him?”

Then, things started to click in my head. And I couldn’t wipe the smirk off my face, “Debes ser Violeta, verdad?”

“Si,” Vanessa stared down at the floor, ready to kill her sister. I knew she wasn’t going to like me. And I knew she was going to be like this. I’m not surprised.

“And who are you?” Violet wondered.

Vanessa let out a heavy, exasperated (and possibly embarrassed) sigh, “Frankie, this is my sister Violet. Violet…This is Frankie.”

“Is he…?” Violet didn’t seem too interested, but at the same time, she had a vein sticking out of her forehead, “Mom’s still looking for you, Vanessa.”

“Oh…” Vanessa grumbled, “Ok.”

“Veronica,” Vanessa ordered, “You stay here.”

“Got it,” Veronica wasn’t moving. Thank God. That’s comforting.

“I’ll be right back,” Vanessa promised. I know she will. I wasn’t worried. Although, something about Violet made me a little twitchy.

Especially when she decided to get uncomfortably close and in my face, “Look. I don’t know what you think you’re doing, sniffing around Vanessa. She’s a blue blood and you’re…Not.”

“Ok.” She wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t know. I know I’m not a blue blood and quite frankly, I didn’t care.

“She’s better off without you dragging her down,” Violet assured me with her undeserved sense of righteousness.

“Hey,” I pointed out, “It’s all good. I’m a trust fund baby, too.”

“EXCUSE ME?!” I thought Veronica was going to have a heart attack, “SINCE FUCKING WHEN?!”

“A while now.” At least I’m pretty sure the Old Man would call me a trust fund baby. My brothers call me a sugar baby, but I think there’s a trust fund involved. Especially when along with that trust fund comes not only a shitload of money coming my way, but the controlling stake of New York. Good times.

“Oh,” Violet still didn’t like me. And I was ok with that. I wasn’t heartbroken. I wasn’t after Violet. I was after her sister. She walked away and left Veronica and me to our devices.

“Isn’t she a charmer?” I teased.

“Oh, yeah,” Veronica confirmed, “She’s like hugging a cactus. Violet is ALL our mother. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she reproduced asexually. Dad wasn’t even there. It’s either that or she threw herself in the dryer that also happened to be linked to human cloning somehow and out came Violet. It makes for an interesting Thanksgiving.”

“I’m sure it does,” I shuddered at the very thought of it, “If it makes you feel any better, Veronica, you’re more than welcome to come to my house for Thanksgiving.”

“I love you, Frankie,” she wrapped herself around my arm, “God, I hope my sister marries you. If she doesn’t, fuck, I will.”

“I thought you said we weren’t on the same team.” I made sure I kept my voice down. I don’t know how many people Veronica was out to yet. I wasn’t going to be that asshole.

“We’re not,” Veronica confirmed, “But I’m just saying.”

“I love you, too, Veronica,” I threw an arm around her shoulders. I could get used to this. A beautiful woman that had my heart. A precious little angel with a crooked halo and a bark the size of her bite. I mean, I could take or leave Violet at this point, but this was alright. And along with that angel with the crooked halo, she was going to need the bad influence big brother, too, “Hey…See the guy at the bar? The one that looks like he just got done crying?”

“Yeah,” Veronica followed me, “What about him?”

“Tell him Mr. Franklin sent you,” I explained, “He’ll know who you’re talking about. He’ll score you a drink.”

“Seriously?” she gasped.

“Don’t get sloppy,” I shoved my finger in her face, “And…Don’t tell Vanessa. I don’t need her pissed off at me.”

Without another thought, Veronica’s arms went around my neck, “Thanks, Frankie.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I DO!” Oh, shit…That didn’t sound good. Speaking of Vanessa, she grabbed my hand, “Come with me.”

“Vanessa,” I stumbled behind her, “What’s wrong?”

“The way the aristocracy is run,” she grumbled, dragging me over to an older woman that…Uh-oh…Oh, Vanessa…Please tell me she’s not who I think she is. Please, for the love of God, tell me she’s not who I think she is.

“YOU!” the woman snapped at me. I didn’t make it a habit to call a woman bitch, but did this bitch deserve it. She knew what she did to me. She knew damn well that Shiraz was the year she asked for. She knew there was no difference. She just wanted to be a massive pain in my ass. But in the end, I couldn’t hate her. Because of her, she was the push I needed to call the Old Man. She was the one to put me in that path. And now, I went from nervous to pissed to delightfully petty all in the span of a couple minutes.

“Me,” I beamed, absolutely loving every second of this, “I’m sorry. Do I know you?”

“Why are you in my house?” she scoffed.

“I was invited,” I told her, leaning over to Vanessa, “Es esta tu madre, mi amor?”

“Si, Francisco…” Vanessa bit her lip. Huh…Vanessa’s never called me Francisco before…Is it weird if I kind of like it? Because I kind of like it, “Ella es.”

“Oh, no…” her eyes started glowing, “No, no, no. Vanessa, I know you said you had a boyfriend, but tell me it’s not…Him.”

“Yes, Mom,” Vanessa admitted, taking my hand. And squeezing the shit out of it. Christ, Vanessa, you need to unclench, “This is Frankie. Frankie, this is my mother, Victoria.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I did my best to kill her with kindness. Because chances are, if I’m nothing but a sweetheart to her, it’ll only piss her off that much more.

“Whatever phase you’re going through, Vanessa,” Victoria growled, glaring a hole through me, “Make it quick. And when you’re ready, I’ll introduce you to someone better. Someone much better.”

“If you say so,” Vanessa grumbled. She grabbed me by my wrist and dragged me behind her yet again, “Ven aca.”

“Vanessa?” I couldn’t keep up with her. Don’t get me wrong. Nothing tickles me more than the bitch from the restaurant having to deal with me after getting the satisfaction of making me quit, but not like this. Not if it puts Vanessa in this kind of position. And she wouldn’t say a word to me. But she did steal a bottle of Cabernet on her way through, “Vanessa? Where are we going?”

“Roof,” she growled. Ok. I see her mother isn’t the only one pissed. Someone set Vanessa off. And if we’re being honest here, I’m a little scared. I’ve never seen Vanessa get this mad before. Upset and damn near in tears? Yeah. I’ve seen that. But this was different. This was downright pissed. And it’s bad enough to where she needs to go to the roof. I thought that would’ve been a me thing, but here we are. After a trek through the house and three flights of stairs, the cool night air hit us both with a panoramic view of the Scarlotti estate. Alright. I can see why Vanessa likes it up here.

“Vanessa…?” I treaded lightly. The last thing I wanted to do was dig her deeper in the hole, “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“I fucking hate when she does this to me,” Vanessa popped the cork on the wine with her teeth. Her being pissed aside, it was kind of hot, “Absolutely fucking hate it.”

“What did she do?” I asked, pulling her down to my lap.

“I can’t be in love,” she took a heavy drink from the bottle. If it’s empty by the time we leave the roof, I won’t be surprised, “I’m not allowed. I’m not allowed to have a little scrap of happiness without her getting her fucking fingers in it. I have to be miserable. Like it’s my goddamn birthright. Do you know what she tried doing?”

“Wha…”

“She tried setting me up, Frankie,” her tirade raged on, “She tried setting me up with some pain in the ass, stuck-up, aristocratic prick and the second I told her I had a boyfriend, she lost her shit. Because she didn’t approve of this. She didn’t heavily screen you or run a background check. She didn’t have any say in it. You were completely and one hundred percent my decision and I couldn’t have been happier with it. Do you know why I decided to spend my trust fund on my education?”

“Because it was yours to spend how you wanted?” I figured, taking a second to appreciate the fact that I was Vanessa’s good decision.

“Because it’s the one fucking thing she can’t take from me,” Vanessa growled, “She tries to take my love life from me, so I’ll be damned if she tries to take knowledge from me, too. She didn’t care where I got in as long as it was ivy league because heaven forbid I’m the stain on the Scarlotti family tapestry.”

“Vanessa,” I wrapped my arms around her, never wanting to let her go, “You are far from the stain on the Scarlotti tapestry. And she can’t take your love life from you either. I won’t let her. And if you think I’d go down without a fight when you’re on the line, your mother is sorely mistaken. Don’t you worry, baby. I will be glad to fight for you if I have to.”

“Thanks, Frankie,” Vanessa laid her head in my shoulder, “I just…I’m so fucking sick of being under someone’s thumb. And under a microscope.”

“I know,” I gave her a gentle kiss, “I know. But your mom seems like a treat.”

“She is,” she rolled her eyes, “I love her. Really, I do. But then, she pulls shit like this and makes it a little more difficult to love her. And in a way, I was kind of blissfully unaware of just how bad she could be until recently.”

“What was recently?” I wondered.

“I met yours,” Vanessa cuddled into me, “I don’t know what it is about your mom, but Sariña is so fucking sweet.”

“Mama’s been through some shit,” I admitted, “But she came out of it on the other side. And that’s what made her so wonderful. I’ve been through some shit, too.”

“And that’s what made you,” she took another hit from the wine bottle, “I know. But damn, that gets hard after a while. I just want to relax for a while. Is that too much to ask for?”

“Well,” I thought it over, “You want to stay up here for the rest of the night?”

“I don’t know…”

But then, in a stroke of genius, I had an idea, “Hold on. Let me go make a quick call. Do you mind if I use your phone?”

“Go ahead.”

“I’ll be right back,” I kissed her forehead and stole a quick drink of her Cabernet. I wasn’t usually the type for wine, but tonight, anything goes. I snuck inside and found the nearest phone I could. It sat in a little nook in the hallway. Come on, you son of a bitch, pick up. I know you’re in the office tonight. Don’t you dare let this go to your answering machine.

“Yeah?” Never in my life have I ever been so relieved to hear his voice.

“Old Man, I need a favor,” I leaned up against the wall, “And a really big one.”

“That’s what I’m here for, kid,” the Old Man assured me, “What’s up?”

“Do we have somewhere nice in Manhattan?” I asked, “Or at least in the near vicinity? Somewhere someone could, say, crash for the night if need be?”

“We got somewhere in Manhattan,” he confirmed, “Why? Not staying with Vanessa tonight?”

“Quite the contrary,” I winced, “Look. Shit with her parents went kind of sideways. She’s pissed off and needs to be away from the house for the rest of the night. I’ll explain everything later. I just need a place where we can lay low for the night.”

“There’s a place on Fifth Street,” the Old Man told me, “It’s a big, beautiful hotel. Drop my name at reception and they’ll treat you well. I’m sorry to hear Vanessa’s parents were assholes.”

“It wasn’t her dad so much,” I didn’t even get to meet her dad, “It’s her mother.”

“Kind of figured,” he cringed, “But let’s not get into that. Go ahead and take your girl somewhere nice for the night.”

“Thanks, Old Man,” I could breathe a hell of a lot easier, “I appreciate it.”

“No problem, Frankie.”

Click.

I like him. He’s alright. And he’s helping me score brownie points with Vanessa. I’m not complaining. I walked back out on the roof and found the Cabernet bottle empty. Along with Vanessa’s legs dangling over the gutters. I made sure to grab her hand, “Jesus Christ, Vanessa. Are you trying to put me in the hospital?”

“No,” Vanessa was perfectly calm about this, “It’s not the first time I’ve done that, Frankie. I’m alright. I promise. What was the phone call all about?”

“Let’s get out of here,” I suggested, “I got a hotel room on Fifth waiting for us.”

Without hesitation, Vanessa bounced onto her feet and threw her arms around my neck. And I knew damn well I was about to have smeared mascara on my jacket, “Thank you, Frankie.”

“You’re welcome,” I held her tight. She didn’t want to be under anyone’s thumb. She didn’t need to be under anyone’s thumb. In a way, we’ve both been held down by what we are. Granted, one of us has a little more affluence than the other, but she couldn’t help that. It’s what she was born into. It’s not like she asked for it. But on our way out, she managed to catch Veronica trying to score another drink.

“Hey, hey!” Vanessa stopped her, slamming the Cuba Libre in her hand, “Who said you could drink tonight, Veronica?”

“Sorry,” Veronica wasn’t going to throw me under the bus. And I loved her for it.

“Hey,” Vanessa fell into me, but not enough to call too much attention, “We’re getting out of here. Do you think you could crash in my room tonight in case someone gets nosy?”

“Of course,” Veronica hugged her sister, “I got you. Go ahead.”

“Thanks, Veronica.” Vanessa melted inside, “We’ll be back by tomorrow morning.”

“Go, Ness,” Veronica demanded, “You need to get the fuck out of here. I get it. Frankie…?”

“I got her, Veronica,” I promised. Whether her mother liked it or not, I’d always have Vanessa. I always got her back.

#the good old days #oc backstory #fan fiction prequel #for the family #switch #mafia au

1 note · View note

justanecessaryevil · 4 years

Text

Hakata Tonkotsu Ramens - Top of the First Inning

Hello, I’m back with the next chapter. Hope you enjoy!

It was a bustling Friday night like any other, and the pub was full of people. This pub was the kind that one might find in any other city throughout Japan, the kind where small-earning salarymen and broke job seekers alike sought solace. It used a horigotatsu style of seating, with each section separated by four gridded latticework walls, which kept up a veil of privacy for the patrons.

Munakata and his posse were led deep within, to a table beside a pair of sour-faced businessmen who were busily gulping down their nth drink of the night. It was loud enough inside that he couldn't hear their voices but, no doubt, they were ranting about their thankless jobs. 'I understand all too well,' Munakata thought, nodding to himself.

“To a long, hard year of work,” he said hoarsely once they’d received their drinks -- three beers and an oolong tea. As the one with the most seniority, it was only right that he initiated the cheers. Raising his mug of beer, he clanked it against each of the three other glasses.

He gulped his drink down to half in one go, and, with his mouth still covered in the white foam from the head of his beer, said, “Ahhh, god that's good. I've been reborn.” It was the kind of line an old man would say. Then again, he really was an old man. He was already forty, with visible wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. He wore a high quality stripe-handled suit and a brand name wristwatch, which peeked out from just under one of his sleeves. If it weren't for the black eyepatch covering his right eye, he'd look like any other well-to-do middle-aged man.

“Mr. Munakata, it's only October,” said Shinohara, who sat in the seat beside his. He was the one drinking oolong tea. “Don't you think you're forgetting the year a little too fast?”

Shinohara was a new-hire. He wore the same kind of suit as Munakata but rather than looking like a businessman, he looked more like a college student going through his rite of adulthood. In actuality, he really was still in college, and sitting next to Munakata, who was far older than him, one would not be remiss to think they might be father and child.

“Whatever,” Munakata said. “Come end of the year, we'll be too busy to do any sort of real end of the year party anyway.”

“Oh, call the waiter over,” said Shinohara. “I want motsunabe.”

“Are you even listening?”

“I'd like some sunazuri, if that's okay,” said Reiko, who was sitting directly in front of Munakata. She had loose-permed brown hair, which she wore up in a clip. Further scrutinizing the menu, she tacked on, “gomasaba is fine, too. So can I order?”

“Why're you asking me?” Munakata asked.

“You're treating, aren't you?”

Munakata wanted to disagree, but he held his tongue. He was the oldest of them. A veteran, if you will. And in tradition-loving Japan, it was customary for the old weed to treat the new sprouts once in a while. How absolutely droll. He mussed back his gelled hair roughly.

“Munakata,” the large half-Russian man named Ivanov murmured from beside Reiko. “I'll pay half.”

“How very generous,” Munakata praised. Ivanov's face was frightening but he was a kind man at heart. “It's fine, don't worry about it. I'll treat everyone, so keep the orders coming,” he said, then mentally slapped himself, worried that he'd just invited the lot of them to order everything on the menu. After all, Ivanov was over two meters tall. But thankfully, the big guy hunched over and stuck with nibbling on the appetizers.

Ivanov wore a suit as well, but he forewent a tie. He had light brown hair cut down into a simple crewcut. His face was covered in scars.

“Shino, what's up with your weak-ass drink choice. Be a man, drink some beer!” Munakata heckled. Shinohara had just turned twenty, after all.

The disgusted face Shinohara made could have slapped someone in its intensity. “That's alcohol harassment, Mr. Munakata.”

“Whatever.”

“Why are you bothering me, anyway?” Shinohara continued, glaring at Ivanov. “He's only drinking beer!”

“Is that bad?” Ivanov asked.

“You should be drinking vodka! Russians drink vodka. What's wrong with you?”

“That's racist,” Munakata said.

“I'm not Russian,” Ivanov muttered, a bad habit of his, and something that was ill-suited for his large size. “I'm from Saitama.”

“Alright, alright. It's about time we focus, guys,” Munakata said. The meat of their orders had finally arrived. There would be no other distractions. “As I’m sure you’re all aware, next month is the big election.”

“Big election?” Shinohara cut in. “What big election?”

“Oh, right, you wouldn't know anything about it, would you new-hire?”

“Every four years, Fukuoka holds an election to choose its next mayor,” Reiko clarified. “The current mayor, our boss, was elected eight years ago. If he's re-elected, it'd be his third term.”

“Campaigning is critical,” Munakata continued. “Between the lectures, the speeches, the assemblies, he's going to be in front of a whole lot of people.”

“Sound like a pain in the ass,” said Shinohara.

“It is,” said Munakata, “and it wouldn't be surprising for a few people with grudges to rally as supporters, just for a chance to take his life. He needs to be protected at all times. Reiko, Shino, that’ll be your job.”

“Man,” Shinohara frowned. “It's exam-hell right now. I'm kinda busy.”

“Suck it up. Ivanov and I can't do it,” Between Ivanov's huge body and scarred up face, and Munakata's notable eyepatch, there was no way they could be seen near the mayor. They'd stand out like suspiciously sore thumbs. “Also, remember, we're not bodyguards, we're hitmen. If someone attacks, you leave the mayor's safety to his muscle. Our number one priority is getting rid of the threat. Understand?”

“Got it,” said Reiko, who was more preoccupied with eating her gomasaba than anything else.

Shinohara didn't look pleased. “My grades are really important, y'know?” He complained.

The motsunabe, set in the center of the table atop a portable burner, began to boil. Lowering the flame, they continued to talk.

“It's not our job to protect the boss,” Munakata reiterated. “Our job is protecting his position. As the election progresses and attention mounts, even the smallest scandal can be fatal. Always keep an eye on the boss' surroundings, eliminate any threats, and snuff out any troublesome gossip before it gets out.”

“As usual.” Shinohara pushed up his glasses.

“As usual,” Munakata agreed. “As for our first target...” He pulled a picture and several documents from his bag. “It seems this guy has been sticking his nose where it doesn't belong.”

“I'll take him out,” Ivanov offered, taking the documents. “Should I strangle him?”

“Strangle him and leave him hanging… There's also the matter of the mayor's son-”

“It sure is a great season for nabe~” Shinohara interrupted, digging into the motsunabe.

“Let me finish!”

Shinohara continued, undaunted. “What should we do with the juice after we’re done?*”

“Noodles,” Reiko said in a tone that refused to accept anything else.

“Ojiya.” Ivanov said stubbornly.

'Does it matter?' Munakata thought with a sigh. “Let's just eat up and talk about work later, then.”

Notes:

*Motsunabe is a kind of hotpot. After the food is consumed, rather than get rid of the leftover juices, it’s common to put either rice or noodles in it and drink it like a soup. When Shino asks what they’re gonna do, he’s essentially asking, “noodles or rice?”

Horigotatsu - this kind of seating is very common in many restaurants. It’s essentially a table over a hole in the floor. Your seat (the floor) is usually tatami, but there are restaurants with hardwood as well. There’s always cushions available. Sunazuri - this is skewered fish underbelly, usually fatty. Gomasaba - sesame mackerel Ojiya - soup with rice I’ve taken some liberties in some sections of this, notably where their drinks are mentioned (I decided to insert it into the text a little more smoothly) and on one of Munakata’s lines after he badgers Shino. Munakata says “uruse,” (lit. Loud, often translated to “shut up” or other variations.) I chose to have Munakata say “Whatever” instead because I felt like it was smoother. It works in Japanese, but it just feels a little weird in English, ya feel? Another example is the whole discussion about the “big election.” I think if someone were to say, “you all know about the big election, right?” the response wouldn’t be, “What’s a big election?” So I changed Shino’s line to, “what big election?”

#Hakata Tonkotsu Ramens #HTR #Translations #Fantranslation #Volume 1 #Assassin Squad

13 notes · View notes

allhailkingrooker51 · 5 years

Text

Take Me Out to the Ball Game

A little backstory about this fic - Rooker was in a Budweiser commercial way back in 1984. You can watch it here. Rookerstash (who unfortunately isn’t on Tumblr anymore) suggested amongst the Rooker Hookers that we needed a smutty scenario about the “Cute Beer Can Hat Guy” (as we affectionately called him)...here’s what I came up with.

And once again thank you to @merlesgirl47 , @celticheart72 and Rookerstash for reading this and giving me the courage to post it.

Warnings - NSFW, Smut

It was a picture-perfect day in Chi-town – the sun hanging high in the clear blue sky, a balmy temperature of 72 degrees, a pleasant whisper of a breeze on the air. It was a beautiful day for baseball. Or at least it would have been if the blind date your bestie had set you up with had actually shown. Your friend had been nagging you for weeks to let her set you up with her new co-worker. “He’s sooooo sweet,” she said. “He’s suuuuch a nice guy. He’s perfect for you!” You finally agreed, a little out of curiosity to meet this so-called wonderful guy and a little to finally get her to shut up.

After waiting for him outside the left field gate of Wrigley Field well into the 1st inning, you soon got the hint.

Well, this is just great, you thought. You know what? I give up. You had made up your mind. There weren't any “nice” guys left in the world.

You thought about heading home and drowning away yet another misfortune in your unlucky love life with a pint of ice cream and a good book. But you had already bought a ticket to the game. It had been ages since you had been to a Cubs game. Plus, it was too pretty of a day to spend moping about inside your cramped apartment. So, you picked your chin up and waltzed into that stadium head held high. You weren’t going to let that guy ruin your day.

You found your seat on the third base side and sat content for a while, enjoying all the sights and sounds that come with a ball game. Around the top of the 3rd inning, you were dying of thirst. You got up and went off in search of a concession stand for an ice-cold soda.

You pushed your way through the mob of fans and got in line at the first concession stand you came to. The line must have been 30 people deep, all crammed together like sardines in a can. Finally, after waiting for what felt like a month of Sundays you made it to the front of the line and ordered your soda. As you walked away, someone in quite a hurry bumped into you, spilling beer all over your arm and shirt.

A little peeved, you were just about to give that someone a stern talking to about watching where they were going. However, that all vanished when you looked up and were met with the most gorgeous set of blue eyes you had ever seen, albeit hidden under the bill of a silly novelty baseball cap with a beer can squashed onto the top.

The eyes belonged to a man around 30 years old you figured, holding a hot dog and a half-filled cup of beer, the other half now soaking into your shirt. He was a little taller than you, a handsome face with a square jaw and chiseled cheekbones, and brown curly hair hidden under that hat. He wore a patterned, green short sleeved button up shirt, the first few buttons undone giving a peek of his nicely toned chest, and his khaki shorts hugged him in all the right places.

Your heart literally skipped a beat, something that had never happened before when it came to men. It was instant chemistry, and from the way he was looking at you, you could tell he felt it, too.

He snapped out of it and immediately began apologizing profusely.

“I'm soooo sorry,” he exclaimed. You quickly took notice that his voice was sexy, too.

He moved his beer to his other hand, trying to juggle both the cup and his hot dog at once, and grabbed for a wad of napkins he had stuck in his back pocket. He handed them to you still apologizing.

“It’s ok. Don’t worry about it,” you assured him. “It's partly my fault, anyway. I should have been paying more attention.” You took the napkins and wiped your arm dry and then started to dab at the wet spot on your shirt.

“I just..just didn’t want to miss any of the game. I guess I wasn’t watchin' where I was going. I really am sorry. Let me make it up to you. Um...” He looked around frantically trying to figure out what on earth he could do to make this better. He pointed to a little vendor cart selling Cubs t-shirts. “I know, let me buy you a new shirt! So you can get out of that wet one.”

“No, it’s fine, I promise. It really is ok.”

“C’mon, there’s gotta be something I can do.” he pleaded.

You had never seen a man as beautiful as the one who currently stood before you. And the fact that he wore that dorky hat made him even more attractive. Something deep inside told you this was fate. Out of all the people in the stadium, he was the one that ran into you. Surely, it wasn’t just a coincidence.

You scanned your eyes across his hands – no wedding ring. But, surely a guy like him was taken. You were about to find out at least. You had an idea how he could repay you, but it would muster all the courage you had.

“What about you letting me watch the rest of the game with you?” you asked timidly, praying he wasn’t at the game with his girlfriend. You were never this forward, but you didn’t want to lose him just yet.

He obviously never expected that answer and fumbled over his words. “Um, y-yeah..I..uh..yeah..absolutely, c’mon. It's just me and my buddy, and you’re more than welcome to join us.” The look of shock on his face faded into a crooked grin as he turned to lead the way. Your heart melted a little more.

You followed him through the crowd, not minding when you got a little separated on the way. It allowed quite the view of his cute butt in those tight shorts.

When you got to his seat, he introduced his friend who also happened to be a co-worker.

“This is Frank. Frank, this is..um..sorry, I didn’t get your name.”

You introduced yourself to Frank just as your new love interest sat down, quickly drawing your eyes back to him. The way his shorts scooted up his thighs a little when he sat down, the fabric tightening over his crotch revealing a nice bulge, you couldn’t turn away. It was suddenly really hot in Wrigley Field.

You made small talk at first, both of you a little nervous but becoming more comfortable as time went by. Soon, you lost all concentration on the game, focusing your full attention on the blue-eyed, curly-haired dream that had accidentally stumbled into your life.

You learned his name was Allen. He was a city bus driver by day, and by night, an up-and-coming actor, the hot new item on the Chicago theater scene. He had been a Cubs fan since moving to Chicago as a teenager, and he made sure to catch at least one game a week during the season, usually with Frank.

Over the next couple of hours, you got to know one another as much as two people could in that brief span of time, and before long, you both seemed like old friends. And Allen actually listened to you when you spoke and was genuinely interested in what you had to say, something that until now the previous men in your life never did.

When Allen talked, you couldn’t take your eyes off of him. You were discovering he was just as beautiful on the inside as out. He was respectful and polite, the perfect mix of sweet and a little shy, humble, charming and funny. And that laugh of his? You hoped you never had to go another day without hearing it.

There was no denying you were falling for him.

Now, there was also no denying the sexual tension between the two of you. Since the moment you first laid eyes on him, you had been trying to brush aside the ever-growing feeling of wanting to know what he looked like under his clothes, to sleep with this man you had just met and barely knew. That feeling was getting harder and harder to ignore.

At some point during the conversation, Allen's bare leg accidentally brushed against yours. You swore you felt a spark, an electric surge tingling through your body from where your skin had touched. He looked down mid-sentence, losing his train of thought for a second, before turning to you and smiling. He felt it, too.

By the 7th inning stretch, the stands began to empty as spectators slowly started trickling out of the stadium. The Cubs were down by 12 runs, and it wasn’t looking good for a late-in-the-game rally.

Frank slapped Allen on the shoulder and stood up to leave.

“Alright, Al, I’m headin’ out. Game’s a bust, and I got an early route in the morning.” Frank extended his hand towards you. “It was really nice meeting you. And, hey, don’t let this clown give ya’ too much trouble, hm?”

You smiled and shook Frank’s hand. “Don’t worry, I won’t.” You looked at Allen and swore you saw a little redness appear on his cheeks.

Thankfully, Allen didn’t give any impression that he was ready to leave. You certainly weren’t.

More and more people left, but, unfortunately not the group of drunk bozos in the seats in front of you. At first, it had been fairly easy to ignore them. But they had been getting gradually louder and more obnoxious with every beer they downed – throwing Crackerjacks, cursing, heckling the visiting team's left fielder. They were a real bunch of charmers.

At the bottom of the 8th, the Cubs third baseman was up to bat. He swung on the first pitch, and a loud crack echoed across the field, the unmistakable sound of the ball coming in contact with the sweet spot of the barrel. You knew that ball was going over the fence somewhere. It was a futile effort, the visiting team having scored three more runs in the top half, but it was a homer nonetheless. And you saw the ball heading straight for your section.

The ball was moving like steel to a magnet straight for you. You and Allen stood up in anticipation, Allen's baseball glove at the ready. You put your old softball skills to work and reached up, the ball landing flawlessly right into your hands.

It was just your luck that the three drunk bozos had also jumped up to try to snag the ball. The guy directly in front of you snatched the ball from your hands as soon as you caught it. His pals hooted and hollered, congratulating him, clapping him on the back like he was the one that had made the catch.

Allen immediately saw red. “Hey, man! That’s hers!”

The drunk guy turned around and glared at Allen. “Yeah? Whatchu gonna do aboudit?” he slurred. “How's about you and your ‘lil bitch just sit the fuck down ‘fore I make ya'.” He pushed Allen hard in the chest, nearly knocking him backward against the seats.

Allen’s Irish blood boiled over. The tendons in his neck tightened and he gritted his teeth. If this fucker wanted a fight, Allen was happy to oblige. He drew back his fist, seconds away from clocking the drunk bastard across the face when you grabbed his arm. You shook your head no. “It’s not worth it. C’mon.” You took his hand and started to lead him away, the trio of drunk guys still hurling insults at your backs.

Allen protested, “But..but..that ball’s yours! You caught it fair and square. And I’m not gonna let that little shit talk about you that way.” He was pissed no doubt. But you had plans to take his mind off being angry. All of your feelings that had been building for Allen the last couple of hours were already at a peak and this incident just sent them exploding over the edge. The way he had just stood up for you, outnumbered and risking getting his ass kicked for a woman he had just met, it was making your panties wet just thinking about it. You wanted him, needed him right then.

You led him out of the stands desperately trying to find the nearest restroom or unlocked utility closet, anywhere that would give the two of you some sort of privacy.

The first available option was a men's bathroom. You barged through the door, Allen in tow. Luckily, attendance had dropped a great deal in the ballpark so the bathroom wasn’t crowded. There was one man, however, washing his hands at the sink. You gave him a glare and he hurried to dry his hands and swiftly shuffled out the door.

Your heart was pounding. You don’t do this. This isn’t you at all. But ecstasy had officially taken over. There was just something about Allen that you couldn’t wait another second to feel his lips on your skin, his hands on your body, caressing places on you begging to be touched.

You yanked him into a stall and slammed the door, locking it behind you. Allen’s mouth hung open. He couldn’t believe this was happening, but from the hardening bulge in his shorts, you could tell he was game.

“Are we really doing this?” he rasped. You pulled off your shirt and draped it over the stall wall. Allen’s eyes grew large. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he gulped.

“That was so fucking hot what you just did.” You grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled him to you, kissing him hard on the mouth and nearly knocking off his stupid beer can hat.

Allen tangled his fingers in your hair, moaning against your kiss as you palmed his bulge and rubbed him over the fabric of his shorts. You quickly broke away from his lips to unbutton his shirt, pushing it back over his broad shoulders. He shuddered as you traced your fingers across his chest down to the lean muscles of his belly. You kept going, undoing the button and zipper of his shorts and tugging them down, his dick springing forward, already dripping from the tip.

He was just as beautiful underneath his clothes.

Everything was happening in a heated frenzy. As much as you wanted this to last, to take your time exploring every inch of Allen’s body, time was of the essence. It was only a matter of time before someone walked in on your little rendezvous.

Allen helped you shimmy out of your shorts along with the lacy red panties you had worn, now soaked with your arousal. He cursed under his breath and pushed his knee between your thighs, using his leg to sweep yours apart. He reached his hand down to your apex, circling your clit with his thumb before gliding one, then two fingers inside the silken curls of your core. You purred beneath his touch, grinding yourself against his expert fingers.

“Allen, I want you so fucking bad,” you begged.

He pulled his hand away and grabbed beneath your thighs with both arms, lifting you up and pressing you against the stall door. You wrapped your legs around him as he pushed inside, molding your body with his.

Allen grunted and buried his face against your neck, sucking and biting on the sensitive skin there as he began to thrust, slow at first but then quickening as he found his rhythm. You tried to be quiet, but you couldn’t hold back the sounds of pleasure as he plunged his hips into you over and over again, withdrawing and sliding home faster and harder each time. It wouldn’t take long for either one of you to get to the grand slam.

Suddenly, you heard the unmistakable sound of door hinges creaking as someone entered the restroom whistling the melody to “Take Me Out to the Ball Game". The tune came to an abrupt end when the man undoubtedly saw a pair of legs with shorts around the ankles and various sex noises coming from the stall. Once again the door hinges squeaked, this time giving away the man's hasty retreat.

Allen looked at you and you both burst into laughter. It was now no secret what was happening in the men’s bathroom by Section 502.

Despite the interruption, neither one of you dared to end things early, and you soon felt the tension down below pooling in your lower belly. You cried out and threw your head back against the door, digging your nails in Allen’s shoulders as the long, slow ride of your climax coursed through your body, your inner walls tightening and fluttering around Allen’s dick.

Seconds after, you could feel Allen throbbing inside you. “Fuck, I'm gonna come,” he whispered against your ear.

He pulled out and set you down, your legs trembling and nearly giving out beneath you. You circled your fingers around his dick, jerking it in your hand. Allen gripped the top of the stall door, breathing heavy. He closed his eyes and with a moan from deep in his chest, he reached his own peak, marking you across your stomach with warm strands of cum.

Barely giving either of you a moment to recover, Allen kissed you, a slow, passionate kiss that nearly made your knees buckle again. He helped you clean up and handed you your clothes. You glanced at Allen as you redressed. He had a devilish grin on his face as he pulled his shorts up and buttoned them. “Hey, uh, the Cubbies are playing again tomorrow. Early afternoon game. Can we maybe do this again?”

His cheeks blushed immediately, realizing how bad that might have sounded. He started talking 90 to nothing trying to recover. “I-I mean not this exactly…I mean don’t get me wrong, this was amazing…but I just want you know I’m not usually this kind of guy, but I'm not gonna lie, the way you caught that ball earlier kinda turned me on, and you’re just so beautiful and all, and I like you a lot…like a lot..like I’m fallin' for you more and more every second and I'd really like to keep getting to know ya'…I-I mean if it's ok with you, of course… fuck, I can’t think straight around you…y-you know what? I'm just gonna stop talking now.” He let out a much-needed deep breath.

You giggled and put your index finger to his lips. He was cute when he was angry but even more so when he was flustered.

“Yes, Allen, I'll watch the game with you tomorrow.”

He chewed on his bottom lip, smiling. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Now let’s get outta here before we’re banned for public indecency.”

*******************************************************

On the way out of the stadium, you passed by the gift shop.

Allen stopped and grabbed your arm, halting you in place. “Hey, wait for me just a sec. I'll be right back.” He disappeared inside.

A few minutes later he came out of the store obviously holding something behind his back. He bit back a smile and handed you what he had been hiding – a souvenir baseball with the Cubs logo on it.

“I mean it's not a home run ball, but…,” his voice shied away.

Now you were blushing. “Thank you, Allen.” You gave him a peck on the cheek, holding the baseball up to your heart. This one meant way more than that stupid home run ball ever would.

Allen walked you all the way to your car, making sure you got there safely.

He opened the driver's side door for you, propping his arms atop the door frame. “So, I'll still see ya' tomorrow? I promise I won’t spill my beer on ya' this time.” He paused. “Well, honestly, I can't really promise that. I can be kind of clumsy sometimes.”

He smiled that lopsided grin again. Man, he was making it so easy to fall harder for him.

Taking his face in your palm, you gently kissed him. “Meet me at the third base gate at noon.”

You got in the car and drove away leaving Allen stunned in the parking lot.

You left Wrigley Field having officially changed your mind.

There was at least one nice guy left in the world and turns out, it was a beautiful day for baseball.

#michael rooker #rooker fan fiction #cute beer can hat guy

34 notes · View notes