#Piccadilly press

[onepageofmisery]

Prompts from the past…

I remember buying this writing prompts book from a dollar-brand store about four years ago. I barely have written in it. Today though, this will change. Writing prompts are so far helping me keep my writing juices flowing and my writing skills sharp. And with handwritten writing prompts, my perfectionism has diminished a ton. 400 Writing Prompts is produced by Piccadilly Inc., and they also…

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#Auctor Trevel #One Page of Misery #Piccadilly Press #WIP #work in progress #writing prompts

[moondirti]

sorry, this was born out of a need to indulge myself featuring: gaz, ballerina!reader, stalking, intrusive thoughts, delusion, mentioned SA and kidnapping

Kyle first spots you on the Piccadilly line in London's underground.

He's usually wary of public transport – would really rather walk the hour from Knightsbridge to Hammersmith than risk the inevitable unsavoury interaction bound to happen in an overcrowded tube – but it was late at night, he'd just spent his day sitting in a hotel lobby gathering intel for Price, and the idea of ducking down narrow streets in the blistering cold was the last thing he wanted coming to fruition. That's how he ended up in a (thankfully empty) train car anyway; hoodie up and hands stuffed deep into his pockets, thumb brushing over the handle of a switchblade.

He's focused on the shady character stretched across three seats adjacent to him when you happen to prance in. Perhaps prance isn't that accurate an account either, but it's hard to attribute much else to you when you're dressed like a character from one of his sister's childhood storybooks. Angelina ballerina, or something of the sorts – mismatched leg warmers, knitted bolero sleeving a black camisole, basketball shorts over nude-coloured tights, and dance booties that look like little puffer coats for your feet.

The duffel bag slung over your shoulder concerns him briefly – it's hard to look at carryalls the same after serving the military, he finds – but the tired look on your face pacifies any suspicions he might have of your intentions. Wouldn't be wise to execute an offensive when one of your operatives is weary, especially given they're the only agent in sight. Regardless, he's hit with a distinct trepidation that takes a while to name.

You slide past the figure he'd been observing early, hop over Kyle's boots as well, fingers clasped over your behind as if to protect yourself from any wandering hands. The feeling rippling in his chest worsens, yet it's only as you slot yourself onto a far-away seat is he able to recognise it.

You shouldn't be here this late. This isn't the place for you.

With your hair neatly pulled away from your face, he's given full reign to ogle at your darling features. Round cheeks. Hydrated lips. Pretty thing. His molars grind against each other. There are no doubt men on this train that'd want to take advantage of that. Press your mouth open with a thumb on your tongue, rub themselves raw just to see cum decorate your lashes and drip over your brow. Barrack talk, the type of shit he hears floating between his comrades-in-arms when missions drag a little too long. Perversion brought on by desperation.

The intercom dings, and the lady with the soothing voice announces their arrival to Hammersmith. His stop, yet the thought of getting off and abandoning you is enough to keep him stuck to his seat. His stomach upturns as possibilities occur to him like frames in a technicolor film; none pleasant, all ending with you tied up in the trunk of some random van. Some part of him recognises his paranoia, the ridiculousness in his attachment to a perfect stranger (which chides him in a voice eerily similar to Price's, all gruff vowels and whispered consonants), but it does not change the fact that when the doors open to his station, he does not move.

Yeah. He stays on so long as you do – which fortunately is not an extensive length of time. You collect your stuff one stop later, standing to wait at the door once the lady announces Acton Town. He doesn't get up until you're a few seconds out though, slipping through the closing panels of the entryway to follow a few paces behind your heel. Up the escalator and down the block.

The night air nips at his nose, chilling his knuckles so they creak if he curls them. Are your nipples knotted under your layers? Or would they need the help of his fingers to perk up? His throat stiffens. He shakes the thought from his head.

You make a turn. Kyle stops for a second, breathes in, before veering left behind you. Heading towards the west part of town, now. It's a good place to live, all things considered. Still, he wonders if you deadbolt your doors, if you keep yourself safe online. You seem smart, but there are people who won't rest until they get their way. People like the one's he deals with at work – amoral men with biceps that could crush your head. Rotten, horrible men who are only rotten and horrible to cope with the tasks assigned to them. Depraved enemies, depraved friends. Only difference between the two being which flag they fight for.

You throw a look over your shoulder, shoulders shrinking as you wrap your arms tighter across your chest. He looks around, seeking the threat you seem to be so put off by. Nothing but brick-and-mortar storefronts and flattened cigarette butts.

He's compelled by the urge to shush you, to scratch your back as he tells you that there's no need to worry. He'll walk you all the way home. Make sure you get nice and situated, listen for the tell-tale lock of your deadbolt, watch for the dimming of your light. He'll stay until you fall asleep, then walk back to where he came from, take the returning line to Hammersmith – so when he flops back down into his own bed, he'll be reassured by the knowledge that you're safe a mere 4 miles away.

Might take a shower before then, though. Your arse looks great when you're speed-walking like this, pronounced even behind the loose material of your basketball shorts. He hopes the image remains as vivid when he's attending to the heavy mass between his legs later.

Kyle halts right in his tracks.

What is he doing?

You're nearly running now, shrinking away from him at an exponential rate, and duck another corner when you look back to see that he's no longer in pursuit. Completely out of sight.

His Captain’s voice comes to life once more, echoing in the part of his brain he has yet to compartmentalise.

You draw the line wherever you need it, Sergeant.

#unedited and probably bad #tbh this is a character study poorly disguised as a fic #lmk if yall want a part 2 tho #kyle 'gaz' garrick x reader #gaz x reader #kyle 'gaz' garrick #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #gaz #x reader #x afab reader #call of duty #cod

[toomuchracket]

bonfires (flatmate!matty x reader fluff)

day 22 of promptober, and the first full fic i've ever written where these little shits are actually bf and gf. it's bonfire night and you're going to matty's mum's. have fun <3

"it's weird doing this with you."

matty looks up from his phone, brows knitted together. "what d'you mean?"

"i mean," you swivel to face him, moving your feet from the seat beside you onto the floor and resting your head on your hand. "i used to get the train from manchester to wilmslow all the time. but it was always to see you, never with you. and now… here you are."

your boyfriend (!!) smiles, taking your hand; your heart flutters when you realise he's tracing little lovehearts on the back of it. "it's a good kind of weird, though, yeah?"

"'course it is," you kiss his hand. "i don't have to imagine you and get excited now - i can look at you and do it instead."

matty's cheeks go pink. god, you love it when that happens. "you really used to do that?"

you nod. every time, without fail, you would resolve to focus on the view from the train window as you travelled south, trying to be in the moment and enjoy the peace of the journey, willing the shift from city to town to instil some sort of calm within you as it does for so many other people. but knowing who you were going to see… it always became impossible to stop your thoughts drifting to your best friend, and how in love with him you were - are - and how excited you were to see him. staying calm was never an option when it came to matty. 

it still isn't; the way he looks at you gives you goosebumps, and sends your heart into a frenzy. when matty looks at you, you feel like you're the only two people in the world.

right now, you are. well, you're the only two people in the train carriage, which is basically the same thing, and therefore you're a bit more inclined towards pda with your boyfriend (even thinking about matty with that title makes you giddy) than you would normally be. smiling, you lean across the table and pout your lips; matty presses his own to them immediately, hand coming up to hold your face as he kisses you sweetly. he sighs against your lips. you smile against his. it's perfect.

matty kisses your forehead when he pulls away. "how long have we got left to go, d'you think, sweetheart?"

you reluctantly tear your eyes away from his face long enough to glance out the window, returning to gazing lovingly at him as soon as you register your location. "ten, fifteen minutes?"

"i'd have been at the station by now, waiting for your train to get in," matty smiles fondly at the memory, resting his elbow on the table and his head on his hand. "pacing, outside in the car park. actually, i'd have been there ten minutes before that, and all."

"really? you were there that early?"

"yeah. i'd leave the house as soon as you'd text to tell me you were walking into piccadilly, pretty much."

you giggle. "but why, baby?"

matty shrugs, stroking your cheek with his index finger and smiling when you kiss it. "wanted to be waiting in case you got in early, or something. no fucking way was i going to miss a single second of spending time with you, darlin'."

jesus. you're thankful you're sitting down, because that statement would've damn well swiped the legs from under you - the thought of matty being so sweetly eager to see you, as eager as you were to see him, is heart-breakingly cute.

it's also, however, quite funny. "i can't believe you ever thought a northern train would be early," you laugh, twirling one of your boyfriend's curls around your finger as he rolls his eyes. "but that's really sweet, angel. and, to be honest," you get a bit bashful. "i used to stand at the train door for a full five minutes before we got to wilmslow, just so i could get off as quickly as possible and see you. used to be my favourite sight in the world, you standing waiting for me in that car park."

"oh, sweetheart," matty kisses you again. it's like a reflex for both of you, at this point, smooching whenever you reveal something sweet about all the years you spent (well, wasted) pining over each other; you hope it never stops. he grins cheekily afterwards. "and what's your favourite sight now?"

narcissist. but you love him for it. "this one's pretty good, actually, sitting on a train going home with you. feels like a homecoming for me, too."

"that's fucking adorable, sweetheart, but you cannot say that in front of my mum. she won't let us leave if she hears it."

you smile. "she really misses you, doesn't she?"

"nah, babe, she misses you," matty shakes his head. "that weekend i came up here without you, because you had that exam and couldn't leave london? she was distraught. think she'd rather i'd have stayed in the flat and you came up alone, to be honest."

"bless her. well, we're a package deal now," you kiss your boyfriend's head. "you jump, i jump, jack."

"i'd argue i'm more jess than logan, babe, but yeah."

"oh, you wish," you smirk. "but whatever. the point still stands."

"where you lead, i will follow," matty smiles softly, and you grumble about missing the arguably more obvious gilmore girls reference. "although mum won't complain about that at all - can't believe she fucking cried tears of joy when i told her we were together. she's wanted it for years, apparently."

"so have we, to be fair."

"no, absolutely, but mum's on a completely different level. it's like all her christmases have come at once," matty sighs. "thank christ we're walking to the house. gives us time to prepare for her fawning over us."

"true," you kiss your boyfriend again. "and it'll be nice. like old times, but better."

that assessment of yours proves to be correct from the second you leave the train and wilmslow station. at 2pm on a wednesday, the car park is quiet, and matty uses that as an opportunity to run slightly ahead of you with a "wait there, babe!" - you do as he asks, smiling when he reaches a specific lampost and turns round. you can see his grin from three parking spaces' width away. "alright, my girl, you can come over now."

the déja vu practically sucker-punches you as you oblige. it's impossible to even comprehend how many times you've done this exact walk to this exact lampost to meet the exact same boy, smiling the exact same smile he always has upon seeing you.

(fuck, you were so oblivious to his feelings for you. you fucking idiot.)

"hi," you wink as you near matty. "that was a cute little exercise in nostalgia, baby."

"i'm glad you think so, darlin'," matty pulls you into a hug - again, the same as he always did. your body reacts the way it always has, too, muscles relaxing and nerves reducing and serotonin levels skyrocketing; you're convinced your face must be gormless in contentment when it ends. "but now i'd like to do something new, if you don't mind. although i s'pose it's nostalgic for me, given that i thought about it every time i met you here."

"ooh, ok. what?"

matty smiles. "this."

his hands gently meet your jaw, and your lips meet a beat later. the kiss doesn't last long, but it's long enough for your hands to make their way onto matty's waist and his tongue to slip inside your mouth, and long enough for you to be able to tell how much he loves you just from the way he kisses you. although, it would be impossible for you not to know that fact already - he only tells you upwards of twenty times a day.

it's such a good kiss that you're actually woozy when it ends, blinking rapidly in an attempt to stop your head spinning. "wow."

"that good?" comes the response, accompanied - naturally - by a smirk.

you glare at your boyfriend, who only laughs and takes your hand. "m'sorry, baby, couldn't resist. thank you for letting me be self-indulgent. shall we?"

he holds out his hand. you take it, and after a quick kiss to your temple, the two of you begin the familiar walk to matty's old house. like him being on the train with you, it initially feels weird to have matty hold your hand as you go, but the feeling doesn't last long - by the time you're halfway there, joyfully pointing out places you went together and houses of his classmates you crashed parties in, his hand in yours feels like the most natural thing in the world. it's only been a month since the two of you finally got together, but you've both taken to the romantic, couple-y side of life together with relish and ease; despite your respective reservations about getting together and potentially ruining your friendship, it's all been so smooth that you think both you and matty would say that it almost feels like your relationship was predestined, fated, meant to be.

others would and will say the same, including matty's own mother, who throws the front door open so hard when she sees you walking hand-in-hand up the path that the handle chips the brickwork on the wall. she winces at the scraping sound it makes. "oh, bugger."

matty snorts. "nice one, mum. excited to see us?"

"less of the lip, matthew. hi, darling!" denise hugs you, before embracing her son. she steps back, smiling as widely as you've ever seen her, taking in the sight of you and matty and his arm slung sweetly around your waist. "oh, it really is lovely to see the two of you like this. together at last! i always said you'd be a perfect couple, didn't i, matty? anyway, come in and get settled "

you turn to your boyfriend, whose cheeks have rose-tinted at his mother's words. smiling, you kiss one of said rosy cheeks, and follow denise inside. she's still talking, about guests "already starting to come over for tonight, so i'll leave the two of you to your own devices for now. i imagine you'll be a bit tired from the travel - and from studying, for you, darling, i assume? i'm very proud of you, though, smart girl. you know, i've been going around telling everyone 'oh, my daughter in law is training as a solicitor', she's very accomplished, and they're all so-"

"mum," matty interjects, not unkindly. "we really are a bit tired. talk later, yeah?"

"oh, of course. sorry, sorry," denise waves you off. "looking forward to a good girlie catchup later, darling!"

"me too!" you shout, as matty pulls you down the hall, up the stairs, and into his old bedroom. he face plants onto his bed with an "ughhhhhhh", and you giggle. "happy to be home?"

"mixed emotions, actually," matty rolls over to look at you. "because, on one hand, mum's stressing me out already, calling you her daughter in law…"

"i thought that was quite sweet, baby."

"...but, on the other hand," he opens his arms out, and you climb onto the bed and into them without a second thought. matty's hands find your hips almost immediately. "i've got you on my lap in my old bed. nothing could be better."

an idea pops into your head - it's twisted of you, you know it, but you can't resist. grabbing the hem of your jumper, you pull it over your head and throw the fabric to the floor, leaving your top half bare save the dark red bra you know is your boyfriend's favourite. his breath catches in his throat, and you smile, saccharine. "slight improvement?"

"you-" matty lies down and covers his face with his hands, breathing heavily. when he looks back up at you, though, he's smiling (albeit slightly defeatedly). "you knew that would get me, you minx."

"i suspected, yes."

"oh, she's cheeky," matty smacks your still-covered bum, sitting up quickly to kiss you and muffle the moan that escapes your lips when his hand makes contact. "i'll have to do something about that."

sheer glee overcomes you. "now?"

matty softens, tenderly tucking a stray hair behind your ear. "no, sweetheart. i want to take my time with you, and that's time we don't have tonight. but," his lips kiss up your neck, and hover over your ear. "i'm going to fuck you in this bed before we go back to london at the weekend, i promise. sound good?"

"very," you nod, kissing matty's forehead. "do we still have time to kiss for a bit now, though?"

your boyfriend checks the alarm clock on the bedside table, a digital radio thing that used to blast system of a down in lieu of an actual alarm. "one really long one."

"fine by me," you say, hooking a finger under matty's chin and pulling him to you. he rolls the two of you over so you're under him, bringing his hands to hold your face as he kisses you.

the pda from earlier was nice, but you far prefer these private making out sessions; the kisses are far more passionate, sloppier and dirtier and desperate. matty tangles his hands in your hair, and kisses like he's trying to devour you. quite frankly, you'd let him.

actually, the way he looks when he pulls away from your lips (your foreheads stay touching, a tender contrast to the passion of the kiss), beautiful eyes wide and staring adoringly at you, cheeks flushed, lips kissed and bitten cherry-red? you'd let him do anything to you.

god, you still can't believe he's yours.

and he's quite set on showing that you're his, it seems; after exchanging "i love you"s, matty peels himself off both you and the bed to rifle through the wardrobe, uttering a quiet but excited "fuck yeah" when he comes across something. 

he turns, and you see he's holding a familiar blue hoodie with a yellow design. "d'you wanna wear this tonight? it's quite cosy."

"are you serious?" you gawk at him, remembering several occasions of having to coax matty out of actually hitting people should they dare even touch that hoodie. "that's, like, your most prized possession. you didn't even want to bring it to the flat in case something happened to it in the move."

"yeah."

"and you're giving it to me? to wear? to a bonfire?"

"yeah," matty grins. "wanna try it on?"

you nod, taking the hoodie and carefully pulling it over your head. he's right. it is cosy. "how do i look?"

"oh my god," matty's jaw drops as he takes you in; it lifts back into a smile as he smoothes your hair and kisses your nose. "perfect. my perfect girl. i love you."

"i love you too," you rake a hand through matty's curls, gently massaging his scalp. "i'm excited for tonight. more so now that i'm wearing this."

your boyfriend laughs. "me too, darlin'. it'll be sweet."

he's right. it's one of the colder november 5ths you remember experiencing, weather-wise, but matty never gives you the chance to get cold; his hands are either holding your own or on your waist as you chat to his family (who all share the same sentiment that "it's so nice to finally see the two of you all loved-up. we knew it would happen!"), keeping you ensconced in a cocoon of literal warmth and love-induced glow. the only time he lets go of you is to get you a drink or a baked potato or another s'more, and even then his less-than-a-minute-long departures are bookended by little kisses - the same sort of cute, giggly ones he gives you to get rid of the chocolate from the s'mores lingering on your lips.

as you wait for the fireworks display, the main event of the night, matty settles on a camping chair and tugs you onto his lap, covering you both in an old tartan blanket. he kisses your temple. "you having fun, darlin'?"

"mhmm. a lot of fun," you snuggle into him, taking a sip of your tea and holding the flask towards him. "want some?"

he takes a sip, wincing as the brew hits his tongue. "christ, sweetheart. i don't know how you can drink that. s'far too strong."

"well, i'm sweet enough already."

another kiss. "yeah, you are," matty murmurs against your lips. "sweet girl. my sweet girl."

you restart the kiss at the exact moment the fireworks start to shoot into the sky and burst into colour - naturally, it doesn't last long at all, because you and your boyfriend both start laughing at the unintentionally perfect timing.

matty kisses your nose instead. "you know, as heavy-handed as it was, i'm glad that just happened. i always feel like there's fireworks going off in my brain when you kiss me. and that nat king cole song, too."

"which song?"

"you know," matty bobs his head, presumably to the music playing in it. "l! is for the way you look at me!"

giggling, you kiss his cheek. "so… like the opening scene in the parent trap, yeah?"

matty's brow furrows, and he opens his mouth as if to argue; he closes it after about half a second and sighs. "yeah, exactly like that. without the divorce, though."

"i would hope so," you snuggle further into him. "wouldn't mind if you bought a vineyard in napa, though. i could get used to that."

matty smiles against your neck. "well, i'll see what i can do after the second album releases."

"thanks, baby."

#mads muses #mads does writing #flatmate!matty #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy fanfic #matty healy fic #matty healy fluff #matty healy x reader #matty x reader #promptober75

[sidekick-hero]

to the rhythm of eternity

(steddie | explicit | 16.8k | tags: Modern Setting, Meet-Cute, Established Relationship, Long-Distance Relationship, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Smut, Christmas Fluff)

This was written for the STuad server gift exchange as a gift for @scarcrossdlvrs 💜 I hope I did your 'Long Distance' prompt justice, Bee!

December 2023

"I can't wait for you to get here, Stevie."

Eddie's voice sounds muffled through the headset, almost too quiet with all the noise around him. The video quality is shitty too, because while it's not even noon for Steve in Chicago, the sun has already set in London and Eddie is walking to the Phoenix Theater to start setting up the sound for the evening show. Steve can see the streetlights in the background casting shadows across Eddie's face. It's a busy street Eddie's walking down and people keep bumping into him, the chatter around him mixing with the sound of passing cars. From the looks of it, it must be Piccadilly, which means Eddie is almost at his current place of employment.

"Me too. God, I miss seeing your stupidly pretty face outside of a tiny screen with a shitty solution." Steve's sigh is tinged with longing instead of annoyance. It's not Eddie's fault that he had to cut back on the bandwidth for their video calls when he was out. The six-hour time difference only made it more difficult for them to both be home with decent broadband to talk. Or do other things.

Eddie grinned down at the screen, and even with the poor solution and bad lighting, Steve could see the pleased expression on his boyfriend's face. "Aww, you think I'm pretty? Stevie, I had no idea." Eddie coos, making it sound like a joke. Steve knows it's not, not really. Which is stupid, because Eddie is one of the most attractive guys Steve has ever seen, with his big brown doe eyes and full lips and interesting nose, tattoos littering the skin of his lithe body. If Steve were there right now, he would grab Eddie and kiss him silly, showing him exactly how pretty Steve thought he was.

"Baby, you know how beautiful I think you are. And how sexy and sweet and funny..." Steve teases, keeping it light, while reassuring his boyfriend that for Steve, Eddie is the best thing that has ever happened to him.

"Okay, okay, big boy, I get it. I guess I just need you to show me when you get here." He waggles his eyebrows suggestively and winks, looking like the biggest dork in existence with his giant headphones and his nose red from the cold and that beloved toothy grin that Steve needs to kiss, like, yesterday.

He quickly scanned the hallway outside his office to make sure no one was coming in before lowering his voice to that deep, seductive tone he usually only uses when they're both under the sheets with their cocks on their hands. "Oh baby, believe me, when I finally get my hands on you, I'm going to show you as many times as you can take it. And then some if you're good."

His words have the desired effect, as Eddie pauses for a moment to put a hand to his face before pressing his phone to his chest and turning the screen black. Steve can make out the faint "jesus h. christ" over the noise, probably because he knew how Eddie would react after two years with him.

Eddie doesn't stop for long though, pushed forward by the crowd around him. "You're a menace, Harrington. A bloody menace, I tell ya."

"Oh, baby, I love it when you talk British to me." It's said in a teasing voice, but there's some truth to it. Eddie's accent had been one of the first things that had piqued Steve's interest when they first met. It's no secret that he loves it when his boyfriend uses it to rile him up even more.

"You've got some weird kinks, Stevie."

"Only for you," Steve says and then adds with a voice that is only for Eddie's ears these days, "I can't wait to show you all the dirty things I think about when I'm alone in bed with my hard cock in my hand, wishing it was your hand or your mouth or, fuck, your ass gripping it tight." He doesn't have to play up the moan that follows, because it's been five months since they last saw each other, and Steve is almost certain he's going to come in his pants the moment Eddie gives him a hug.

"Bloody hell, I'm in public! You can't just... There are rules, Steven. Rules." Judging by the edge of desperation in Eddie's voice, he's not alone in his need.

"Guess you'll have to punish me then, huh? Show me my place."

"Oh, look, I'm at the theater. My place of employment. Guess we'll have to table this lovely discussion until you get here and we have some privacy to talk this over more thoroughly."

"Can't wait, baby. Love you."

"I love you too, sweetheart."

Only one more day before he can hold Eddie in his arms again. Despite all the dirty talk, that's what Steve is looking forward to the most. He can almost feel the comforting weight of Eddie against him, the solid and warm body wrapped tightly in his arms, Eddie's breath on his neck and Steve's nose buried in his dark curls.

With another longing sigh, Steve looks at the clock on the wall before picking up his pen again to go over the remaining paperwork on his desk. Eight hours until his flight to London, he might as well get some last minute work done before he takes the rest of the year off to stay with Eddie.

READ THE REST ON AO3

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #steddie fanfic #stuadholidayexchange #my writing #Nsft

[barbika1508]

Star struck (Steven Grant x Reader)

Word Count: 2,7 K

Genre: Fluff, Romance, Cuteness

Summary: Y/N meets a celebrity and Steven doesn’t quite know who she is talking about, but still manages to get jealous which doesn’t go past Y/N, who finds it all amusing, given she only has eyes for her boys.

/ Masterlist 2023 /

I’m barely able to hold back my squealing from excitement, the bus ride home eventful as I can’t stop humming. I could barely sit still. And of course, the elevator takes forever when you least want it to. So, power walking down the corridor I restrain myself in that aspect. Until I reach the front door of the apartment, fumbling with the key, almost walking into the door as one of my boyfriend’s did a double lock.

‘’Open c’mon.’’ I whine, stubbornly pushing patience lost. Jumping inside I’m surprised that I catch my balance looking up seeing Steven peeking around from the bookshelf having stood up I’m sure due to my commotion.

‘’You will never believe what happened!’’ I call out still containing my excitement while my boyfriend cutely tilts his head, confusion written all over his handsome features. Spinning on my heel I close the doors, leaving the key inside the lock.

‘’I was at Piccadilly; random I know it bustling with tourists’ dear gods. A little bit of sun and everyone just comes out from hiding, unbelievably predictable humans are, aren’t they?’’ As I ramble, I pull over my head my purse, hanging it onto the newly acquired coat hanger we’ve gotten just the previous weekend having stumbled upon a market where they sold antiques.

‘’I wanted to pick up some cakes from the new place they opened. The one I mentioned that I saw from TikTok?’’ I make a gesture stopping briefly as he walks slowly closer looking cosy. So handsome and cute at the same time, a dark green sweater, and comfy grey sweatpants his curls are wild enticing me to just hug him and never let him go.

He gives the slightest nod making me clap my hands ‘’Yes!’’ I cheer beginning to pull of one sleeve of his padded jeans jacket I lately am obsessed with wearing ‘’Anyways the line was insaneeeeee!’’ I give him a deadpan look ‘’I swear babe, I would've waited until tomorrow.’’ Slipping my right arm out I throw the jacket over the entire coat hanger ‘’ANYWAY I digress.’’ I shake my head bringing my hands together as I walk up to Steven who is still looking at me tentatively, confusion gone a smile tugging at the corner of his lip.

‘’Wow you look handsome.’’ I find myself getting distracted once I’m standing in front of him, earning myself his chuckles, one hand settling over my hip the other cupping my joined hands delivering a sweet kiss on top. Unable to move past how handsome he is, how he makes my heart speed just by a look let alone the sweet gesture of kissing my hand.

‘’So, you were at Piccadilly.’’ he reminds amused, his hands crossing together as he settles them on the low of my back holding me close. I shamelessly press both of my palms flat over his firm chest.

‘’Yes, there! The crowd on the bus just got too rowdy and I figured why not get the deserts. Anyway, I jumped out the first moment I could. Had to make my way from the very back, bloody hell…’’ his smile widens ‘’...I almost had to wrestle a woman to give room so I could go out!’’

‘’And you’d win the fight if a drawl broke lose.’’ he teases to which I point my finger confirming his words giving a curt nod.

‘’You know I would.’’ I snort ‘’So, I jumped slash got thrown out basically. Almost kissed the ground in relief.’’

We both make grimaces at that Steven still amused and unusually standing still as he watches me ‘’Okay the good part. So, I looked up to the front of the bus hearing the doors closing and then, barely got a step forward when a guy followed, landing not so graciously behind me. The bus just took off.’’

He shakes his head tsking to which I nod ‘’Right??! So rude.’’ I shake my head along with him ‘’I instinctively grabbed the guy’s arm and his way too fancy coat and literally dragged the man onto the sidewalk and away from the buses splash zone. Of course, there was a huge puddle there.’’ I raise my right hand giving him the OK gesture.

‘’Uh oh dove.’’ he begins but I put my finger on his lip, stopping but mostly surprising him as his eyes dares from my hand back to me.

‘’Stop thinking ahead!’’ I warn ‘’The man who I grabbed and “saved”...’’ I do the quotation marks ‘’Was none other than Kit Harrington!’’

I look at him pointedly watching his blank expression as it switches from puzzlement to tenses as soon as I raise an eyebrow pointedly, the whole reveal not reaching what I hoped it would.

‘’Jon Snow?’’ I try giving him the biggest hint, his perplexity turning into furrowed brows as he offers a sympathetic smile.

‘’I’m sorry my dove, but I’m really blanking. Is he the character from yesterday's movie?’’

Not to be over dramatic but I mentally face-palm myself. For a man who knows names of pharaohs, and can read Egyptian hieroglyphs, and remembers history dates better than anyone I’ve ever met, and also absurd details I tell him about myself and in general he really, reaaaaallly sucks at remembering the names of characters, shows and movies.

‘’Wow.’’ I begin attempting to take a step back as I raise my hands as if in surrender ‘’Woww!’’ I repeat intent on ducking to get out of his hold, but he’s faster knowing all my moves after all picking me up even as I twist around in his hold ‘’Whelp- STEVEN!!!’’ I shout grabbing onto his arms resting under my belly.

‘’Relax…’’ he begins with a smile in his voice.

‘’YOU’RE GONNA DROP ME, STEVEN…’’ I continue twisting, not sure what to hold onto as he has me in a weird position and quite high up, holding me in such a way that I’m far from the ground. Okay sounds dramatic again but he could drop me at any moment, I would not get the chance to turn and catch myself like a cat. In any case.

‘’I’m not dove!’’ he reassures making his way to the couch, hold firm ‘’Stop wigglin’ so much, you little fox.’’

Twisting me in his hold effortlessly I must add I cling onto his shoulders the moment I’m turned, one hand settling around his head the other, around his shoulders, legs settled over his upper torso.

‘’Why raise me so high up?’’ I whine as he stands still his hands barely supporting me as my grip is enough to keep myself steady ‘’I know you’re strong but, my gods love. Did Marc talk you into this?!’’

I grumble keeping still as I can my thighs beginning to strain ‘’Didn’t have to. I just know you to well.’’ comes his muffled reply ‘’Now can you slowly let go of me for a moment pretty girl? I kind of don’t see where the couch is anymor’.’’

His chuckles are way amused by the tingle of fear that’s still present. Only when I feel his hands move under my thighs do I register his words, slowly letting go, thrusting him to hold me.

‘’Please don’t drop me, please don’t drop me…’’ I repeat under my breath switching into glaring at him as he twists me like a gymnast effortlessly, lying me down first and then settling himself atop of me, his weight welcomed as he keeps me pinned, arms caging me in, head settling over chest, looking up at me.

‘’I would neva.’’ for good measure he shifts and presses a kiss to my nose.

‘’I know.’’ I admit watching his eyebrows raise up as he stares at me ‘’It’s something about height that makes me irrational I guess.’’ I make up a lame excuse although not so farfetched either. Cupping his cheeks I admire him, how soft his eyes are, his tolerance for my rambling saint like. All the boys are patient with me.

‘’So, about this Kit fellow…’’ he begins his face slightly hardening eyes averting from me for a moment. I recognized his train of thought where it’s going with it, I’m sure the other boys present as his eyes drift towards the blank screen of the TV.

Albeit awkward as he’s further down on me, I hold myself up with my left shaky arm but end up being successful as I direct his face upwards bending enough so I can press my lips against his distracting him. It lasts a second or two, unfortunately the position completely comfortless.

‘’Okay you gotta move up, pretty boy I can’t kiss you like that.’’ I say as I fall against the pillow reaching back to rub the back of my neck ‘’I feel like I almost sprained a muscle there…’’

This time he stops me with a kiss, having raised just perfectly shutting me up in the best way possible. I can feel his smile as he moves his lips slowly taking his time. I savour him likewise, always eager for whatever my boys give me. Fast, slow, hard, teasing. I'm just happy to be with them.

The kiss gets broken too soon for my liking, my fingers barely sliding into his glorious curls. I watch as his dreamy look shifts into a serious one. Before I can question him further, he ends up burying his face into my neck as rest atop of me, his weight not a problem as he’s strategically lying down. He’s that considerate yeah.

‘’Are the boys annoying you?’’ I whisper running my fingers over his scalp to calm him down, his nod subtle to which I hum ‘’Lads it’s rainy. And its cuddle time. You’ve got plenty of cuddles, okay? Stop bothering Steven.’’

As I speak, I stare up at the ceiling and the wood planks holding the roof above us - literally. I raise my hand just in sync as Steven turns his head the other way, my eyes following his onto the still blank TV screen. For a second, I watch Marc as he glares at himself his hold tightening.

Knowing no words are going to help as the boys share one body and can behave like brat’s, I reach for the coffee table grabbing the remote thank the gods successfully, turning the TV on immediately.

‘’Do you wanna watch a documentary on Atlantis?’’ I break the silence and I hope their arguing, feeling the shift in my boyfriend's hold, the man snuggling closer moving his head so that he has it tucked under my chin but not uncomfortably as I move the buttons of the remote, onto my profile and my list to watch.

‘’I would love to, mon amour.’’

My cheeks are hit with heat instantly. Steven doesn’t often speak French but when he does, when he uses French nicknames…safe to say I’m ready to throw my panties at him. Clicking onto the documentary I slowly exhale trying to calm myself down, content to be where I am.

The intro drags out the whole explanation kind of unnecessary as I know the entirety of the alure that is the lost city. Its reason enough to avoid some documentaries as the information tends to repeat itself. But not even 10 minutes into it the host gets revealed to which my hand shoots out as I point ahead!

‘’That’s Kit Harrington!’’ I reveal excitement again hitting me, Steven raising onto his elbows as I wiggle in excitement ‘’He was so nice. Kind of nervous to be honest looking around but not in a creepy way. Let me up I want to show you, we took a selfie…’’ giggling in excitement to show him the said selfie Steven lies back onto me keeping me in place his pouty and grumpy expression making me halt in confusion ‘’So now you take selfies huh??’’

‘’I mean…’’ I drag the word out ‘’He is a celebrity.’’ I raise my eyebrows in question, my answer not satisfying his query. I watch as he looks at the TV, Kit explaining something, ending up giggling with his co-host.

‘’Celebrity or not, he ain’t tha’ special.’’ Steven grumbles getting up sitting on his knees glaring at the TV raising his arm up ‘’Look at him. Shave much?’’ the insult has my lips retreating into a line as I try to keep laughter at bay admiring my boyfriend as he gets unusually grumpy Steven being a sweetheart at all times and unapologetically himself, grumpiness not really something I associated him by.

That’s Marc’s thing.

‘’Must be the curls.’’ He concludes pointing his finger at me as in accusation his action having me raise my hands in surrender ‘’You have a type don’t ya?’’ he grins in triumph as if he had figured me out.

‘’If my type is cuddly, extremely handsome and knowledgeable in ancient Egyptology who kick’s ass and is very smart then I definitely have a type.’’ I muse spreading my arms out to invite him back in. But instead, my boyfriend remains on his knee’s hand still in the air as he looks at the TV, and at Kit still speaking the silence and his lack of reaction self-explanatory.

‘’You dofus!’’ I shout grabbing the pillow behind me swinging it over my head with both arms blindly to hit him ‘’I was taking about you Steven!!! My gods!!!’’ I complain staring at him in disbelief at how he doesn’t automatically think about himself ‘’The man is married for the love of, wahhh.’’ Frustrated I can’t even end the sentence grabbing the second pillow my head landing not so nicely on the arm rest as I swing it again.

But my boyfriend is deceiving under the lose clothing he prefers to wear. The man is strong as an ox – he displayed a fraction of his strength when he carried me over – pushing the second pillow out of the way landing atop of me once more grasping my hands making sure to pull me lower and flat against the couch.

Blinking in downright bafflement I look at the calm expression Steven is sporting as he’s observing me, I’m sure holding himself back from firing another sarcastic comment against the forgotten documentary still playing in the background. Thanks to his closeness I’m pulled into glorifying my boyfriend’s handsome features. The was his lips had gone in a line portraying sternness, pointy nose curving nicely, half closed eyes providing a mystery as to what is going through his mind. As he subtly shift’s a lose curl from his unruly hair falls over his forehead my eyes flickering to it.

‘’It’s the curls.’’

The statement has me meeting his gaze, a bright smile spreading over his features ‘’I knew it.’’ Smug as ever he muses, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

‘’Hmm.’’ I begin any rebuttal dying down as I take him in ‘’Must be.’’ I murmur getting serious myself, cupping his face feeling how warm he is refocusing his triumph back onto me ‘’But I like you the most.’’

I end up whispering as if I’m telling him a secret.

And que back my wonderful shy Steven, whose cheeks under my palms heat up. He ducks down lying half on me face buried under my chin his movements of rearranging us hurried but effective and soft in nature, leaving me giggling halfway through.

‘’Cutie patotie.’’ I cheer wrapping my arms around my boyfriend even hocking a leg over his thigh, my head falling to the right as I look at the TV. Rising my hand higher I begin playing with his curls smiling quietly to myself as the documentary has ended. I watch as the next suggested show begins the countdown to be played.

3. 2. 1.

At the grandiose music intro, the title gets spoken out loud Steven immediately turning his head to face the TV, not moving an inch his attention stolen. It’s always about Egyptology. Even though a good 3 minutes into the show Kit appears again, my boyfriend remains quiet this time around.

So, I let him be enjoying my position, and his warmth and gentle fleeting touches. It’s a good day today. Having met a celebrity not at all that much of an accomplishment.

This right here…oh yeah. Perfection.

Copyright 2023© by barbika1508. All rights reserved.

#moon knight system x reader #steven grant x y/n #steven grant x you #steven grant x reader #steven grant #moon knight x you #moon knight x y/n #moon knight x reader #moon knight fanfic

[see-arcane]

Kiss Him No More

“Unclean, unclean! I must touch him or kiss him no more. Oh, that it should be that it is I who am now his worst enemy, and whom he may have most cause to fear.”

In which the connection between a sea-bound vampire, his new wine-press, and her husband is put to intriguing use.

Ao3 link here

He was on the water when it happened.

His hold on the woman was already in place, but hardly of use in that hellish period between Piccadilly and the ship. Too much to think of while preparing his final box, hardly a word worth eavesdropping on, and a general miasma of dull irritation blotting out his attention in-between. The only respite came when he allowed himself a dip into the day’s torpor to keep himself from turning ragged enough to lash out at the chattel. One of his sweeter dreams involved a future at the far end of this improvised game of limp-and-lure in which he made his return to fair England and treated himself to twisting off a few heads he’d so graciously allowed to stay on their owners’ shoulders despite their rudeness.

The charming fellow at the port for one. Perhaps the man tending the wolves for another. The latter was, if nothing else, a proper admirer of his beloved creatures. He might die quicker. Then the wolves could head to his seaside friend’s abode and eat the man down to the bone. Starting with his tongue. It was one cozy thought of many he nursed as he tried to smooth down his own hackles over this most insulting snag to an otherwise pristine entry to the country. Yes, he would return. Yes, he would untangle the snarls made of his precious tapestry. He knew, he knew.

Still, mortification burned in his chest like a coal.

Years of planning smashed like glass by idiot children. It enraged and embarrassed in the same blow. Would he have been so blindsided a century ago? Two? Three? He would swear he felt the ghosts of every foe jeering at him from the grave.

How low he has fallen! How lax he is! He would not notice the laurels he squats on have been swapped for wild rose until there was a holy rash on his backside!

Such would surely be his reception once he made it back to the castle. Oh, but his harpy loves would laugh until their crystal cackling turned hoarse. They would all have their penance to pay once he got home.

It was their fault, damn them. He had grown idle? He had let his guard down? He, who had spent an ordinary man’s lifetime arranging everything to exactness for England’s sake, was the lazy one when the most they could be bothered with was grudgingly consenting to learn the tongue? No. No, no, no. If anyone was to receive a lion’s share, pardon, a lioness’ share of guilt for this mess, it had to be the three pampered cats who had whined and paced and kicked up such a maddening fuss about having to be patient for two whole months to get their promised toy, only to let him vanish right out from under their claws.

No doubt they would have some excuse. They would huff and sniff and laugh. We searched so diligently for a whole half a night! Honest! He was just too fast for us!

He would hear it all patiently just prior to wringing them out like yowling dishrags.

“He was fast,” he murmured to himself in the box. The torpor was thinning now as sunset passed over the ship. Still a corpse, but one who might move. Just as he had once upon a time, turning his head for a parting smile at his good young friend with the spade in hand, complete with a little tickle of paralysis through the eyes. A gesture that had earned him his own farewell in the form of the scar still resting on his brow. A heavy strike for one with such depleted veins. It had been easy to laugh off then; blood for blood. His new playmates would surely have cheered the boy had they caught him.

Instead, Jonathan Harker had fled the castle and cut through the Carpathians like a knife to make it back to his England. To his woman. To a blade that would have seemed absurd to picture in his hand only a season ago, but had proven to fit him like another limb. Fast. So fast. So…

The memory flashed in him again, raw as the burn on the woman’s head.

The stalwart shepherd dogs’ hands weighty with the Cross. Jonathan’s strangling the kukri knife. How a single night had changed him! The dark locks gone silver-white, the eyes bright as melting coins. He had flown with his steel, a rush of speed and strength that would have unsewn a mortal man into a bleeding pile with one strike. Indeed, he had almost been that fool. Surprise and, yes, fine, he admitted it, laxness had him standing still and stupid as a doe not recognizing a hunter’s rifle. But he had moved at the last, losing a great cascade of wealth from his purse. Better that than his entrails.

Even when he was out the window and shouting his bile up at their whole lot, there had been no pause for the blazing Thing that was now Jonathan Harker. That Thing having taken advantage of the diatribe to slither out the broken pane and creep down the house’s side, a spider coming to share a helping of venom from its eager fang. Realization had struck in a cold and nearly dizzying blow as he watched the descent.

Where the solicitor’s fellows might mean to corral or corner, Jonathan Harker fully intended to kill him in broad daylight. Witnesses or no. This, when he could have no clue as to how his corpse would disintegrate to its rightful state. Jonathan could only think that he would look like a madman slaughtering a nobleman in a crowded street. And he did not care.

All this just for the woman.

The epiphany had struck like a strange boiling poison in his bowels. It did not cool even as he shot away, locked the gate at his back, and vanished into the crowd. Nor did it settle with the night, with the day after, or any of the hours to follow. The feeling was only ignored as he worked toward shipping himself back to his territory, dangling himself and the woman’s fate just enough so that she and the clever little cogs in her brain could turn and come to the obvious conclusion as if the daft old Count could surely never have thought to have his connection turned against him! He would leave the door open for her a good while before shutting her out. Let them scramble about on the Continent awhile until they thought they had a chance in the chase again. Follow the lame wolf, everyone, never mind his teeth.

He thought of Jonathan Harker’s teeth. Blunt and white and bared in a livid rictus of hate, hunt-maddened as those finest breeds born to cull the pests of farmers and rend the throats of bears. He tried to picture them as they should have been by now. Sharp as darning needles, the lips bloodstained, curled up by choice or command at the sight of him. A grin that should be waiting in the castle for him.

There was the boiling poison again. Its heat thawed the cold of him so wretchedly it might have liquefied him from the bones out. A poison that seared hotter with every thought of Jonathan Harker.

Jonathan Harker, who escaped.

Jonathan Harker, who hid away a full account of that summer stay and all the information worth gleaning out of his cordial host.

Jonathan Harker, who gave the vermin his name. His properties. The architecture of his entire endeavor, served on a silver plate, parsed out for swift consumption and destruction by the woman.

Jonathan Harker, whose company had, with bitterest irony, turned out to be the most pleasurable stretch of time he could recall out of the past six months. The Demeter had ended sloppily with the captain’s obstinate trick of the rosary, the ghost ship forced to crash. His first conquest on English soil, his supple Lucy, had annoyed almost more than it satisfied with those damned pet lovers circling her, all ended with she and her tomb now lost. Even the woman, his canny wine-press, had turned sour on his tongue.

He had at least seeded the expected despair. A crash of woe and a blow struck as first payment for the fools’ intrusion on his affairs. Plus a fine incentive to bring things to the necessary head in Transylvania. The bitch and her fellow dogs were duly kicked, now spurred to hunt him even as it enticed them back to his land of power. A game of keep-away put to the extreme. Come get me or I get her!

Supposing they did not put her down outright as they had his poor Lucy. But they would hold off, he knew, soft things that they were.

Even if they were otherwise, she still has him to make them reconsider. Or else deliver them into their own pits in the earth before they can think to scratch her with a stake.

He betrayed himself by grinning.

A man willing to skin a gentleman in the street for defiling his woman was also the same man to slaughter a friend who dared to raise a killing hand to her. Another happy hypothetical to mull over, though it too boiled. His grin faltered back to a sneer in the earthen dark.

Jonathan Harker, Jonathan Harker. What wouldn’t he do for his woman? More pressingly, what wouldn’t he do for his Master once she was reduced to his cudgel and collar? The notion brought a different warmth to him. A juvenile one that might have made him chuckle in better circumstances. Here he was again, an old man made abruptly young as Mr. Harker started strumming old desires awake.

But thoughts of those summer nights chafed as much as soothed now. All the delight was tainted with the haranguing of his future self: Now! Do it now! Don’t dally, don’t savor! Drink him as you take him! Let the women have their taste if you must, but finish it before he can slip into the wind!

All too late.

It was all he could do not to ram his fist against the dense wood of the lid. He was free to move now and it took true effort. Sunset had been and gone, the woman’s prying gone with it. She heard water. She felt his stillness. Through her eyes he could see them all: the shepherd dogs.

The old man he pictured with his skull bashed open, his scholarly acumen spilled like gruel upon a brick wall. The doctor he could see drunk dry and sent toddling back to the asylum, feasting through his patients like a plague. The little lordling would be ordered to wring the necks of all his dogs prior to opening a few dozen polished doors to his good friend Count De Ville. The American he would shoot full of holes before and after his turning, followed by sending him off to make arrangements on that further colonial shore.

And Jonathan Harker?

His dearest and most daring friend?

He would have a positive wonderland of activities to endure. His vocabulary would be whittled down to precisely three words in the years to come.

Mina! Master! Mercy!

The ship lurched to one side and shouldered him against the left of the box. He chewed on a curse and sent up a demand to the sky to settle its breeze down. Then, scenting that there were no crewmen among the cargo, he let himself leak out. Man to mist, mist to man. He stalked where there was space to stalk and climbed where there wasn’t, simply needing to move. This came with the needling memory of the zoo and its wildcats sulking and skulking behind their bars. Another curse was caught in his teeth. A third, a fourth. He almost struck out at a random crate when something struck him first:

A sudden flare of sensation from the woman.

Curiosity made him reach out before he’d even registered what the sensory shock came from. Surprise slapped into him when he found himself wearing the woman’s face as Jonathan’s fastened on it, lips sealed into each other as tears rolled. A familiar sight, a familiar taste. Nor was it so from borrowing her senses on previous occasions. He had known this and so much more of the young man back when his hair was dark as a chestnut.

The shock came from the feeling of a deft hand grazing the woman’s thigh. Fingertips skimmed inquisitively along the skin where the femoral artery pulsed and blood rushed in expectation toward—

“Jonathan.” Her head shook. “We can’t. We shouldn’t…shouldn’t…” The hand came away from her thigh and joined its brother in cupping her face. Jonathan’s gaze rested solely on her eyes, refusing the Wafer’s scar so much as a glance. “It wouldn’t be right.”

“How much of anything in this past week has been right for us? For you?” Here the choking throat bobbed. Brown eyes gone wet as glass. “I just—I want to do something for you. To give you all that can be given as we are.”

“As I am. You are not the one marked, unclean—,”

“No. You do not call yourself that. Please, never insult the woman I love with such a word again. Marked, yes, but never, ever unclean. Nor unworthy. Nor anything less than sublime.”

“That isn’t true, Jonathan.”

“Wilhelmina, it is. Whether you believe it or not.” Jonathan bowed forward until, gentle as a feather, his brow rested against the burn. “If you cannot, I shall simply know it twice as hard for us both.”

“Such is sweet to hear. But there’s more to consider. You know it.”

“So there is. And I care more for you than any other consideration or hypothetical element. You are here and real and whatever else may come into it is inconsequential as vapor. If you tell me you truly do not wish me to touch you, to give you what comforts I can beyond a held hand and our shared bed, then I will drop the matter. We shall be chaste until,” again the leap of the throat, “all is settled. But before we swear to abstinence, I want you to tell me, from your heart, that you wish it because you deem it a true desire and not merely another act of deprivation for—for its own sake.”

 In the dark, a tongue clicked and tutted. A close call, Mr. Harker. Can’t let it slip whose eyes you pretend not to see on the other side of hers.

“Would you wish to engage in such intimacies were you in my position?” was Madam Wine-Press’ counter. “I have read it all. Everything you bore—,”

Here an outright cackle was stifled in a dirt-powdered sleeve.

Ha.

Ha.

‘All.’ As if he had not thumbed through the diary entries himself before tossing the papers on the fire. Such wide gaps between so many dates, dear Jonathan. Whatever for?

“—everything you were prepared to risk rather than stay eternally in the presence of those Weird Sisters. How can I, being what I am, becoming worse, make you pantomime your way through any such act with something that may soon cease to be your wife?”

Ah, the melodrama of the martyr. A fine save, wine-press. No other cause to pause in the coital fumbling. None at all.

In answer, Jonathan pulled away an inch, still staring straight ahead. Love softened most of the look, but an edge of whetted steel hovered in it too. Seeing her and seeing past her. It was almost like watching a magic trick as the expressions of the gallant lover, the loyal knight, and the hunting dog all overlapped together with a radiation of purpose in every angle. All the while, the hand that had risen from her thigh began to descend.

It did not fall immediately, but walked. A steady trek down the cheek to the lips. From lip to throat, swiping past the tell-tale bite. Smoothing around the hill of the breast and its pointed cap. Along the bend of the waist, across the shelf of the hip. Home again on a thigh that was still hot under the nimble fingers. Perhaps warmer.

“Tell me to stop if you want me to stop. But only if it’s for your sake. Not mine. Not God’s. Not any hesitation born of what some intangible other might think.” The hand began to roam again. “I love you, Mina. Always.” The fingers crept. Slipped. Traced. “There is no force, no change, no decree on Earth or beyond it that will make me feel otherwise.” The entire hand was at work. Tirelessly. “If my words are not enough to prove it, if action is not enough, if my own nightmare left on paper has skewed the matter, I ask that you let me verify it in the flesh. If you will let me.”

Faster. Faster. Faster. A speeding cradle of muscle and bone rocking up, up, up, in, in, in—

“Will you let me?”

The answer was a single breathless vowel chased by a burst of damp heat, hands locked tight on Jonathan’s shoulders.

Out on the sea, in the dark, a second body shuddered and locked his teeth against a gasp. Later he would try to mock himself for the reaction. He wasn’t a stranger to the ‘Weird Sisters,’ as his Harkers called them, and their own play. They would all borrow each other’s climaxes given the opportunity. And yet this one had struck deeper.

In the present he tried to shake off the tremors still thrumming up and down his legs. Instead, he locked himself more fully into the woman’s senses. The heat of her, the breath, the tingling across her lap. Then, whispered back, woven with equal resignation, determination, and want:

“Will you let me?”

“Yes.”

And so the woman’s hand—his hand—made its own route along Jonathan. She was as deft as her husband. Though he flattered himself that his own experienced digits had worked the young man far more expertly. It had been necessary to wring it out of him in his less than enthused condition. Regardless, it was a pleasant return to better memories and a charming prelude to their trio’s unique and sprawling future together.

There was a satisfaction in seeing the young man come undone as the body usurped the mind, pleasure blasting out all the sentiment of love for one heady moment. Yet it returned within a blink. As did his lips upon hers. A sweeter heat flooded the woman this time. No tears, only the taste of each other, the feel of hands held or hands grasping, the heart twisting with such mingled agony and rapture that it might have popped.

Her teeth grazed Jonathan’s lip.

Sharp.

Do it, he found himself suddenly thinking at her. Urgent. A bootheel pressed to a phantom throat. Do it. Do it now. He wants it. We both know it. We know he will not live without you. If you are undead, he shall be too. If you are ended, he will fall on his blade. Save time. Save him. Keep him. Just a taste. Go on.

She pulled away. Doing so, she saw that delicious, that delirious, that most divine truth in her husband’s face.

Yes. He would let her. Be it now or tomorrow or at the far end of her change. He would let her.

And if not you? Do you think he would deny my offer a second time if it meant joining you? Or should it come from your Sisters? They were so looking forward to a new pet of their own. Do it now and he can be ours alone. Do it and save everyone the pain of waiting. To stall the inevitable only makes the hurt worse. I know from experience. Take him. Now.

Her voice tried to crawl up her throat. He collared it.

Now, Wine-Press!

Silent, she looked at Jonathan. Jonathan read what couldn’t be heard. The next kiss went to her knuckles. Her palm. Then he laid the latter flat against his heart as it beat steadily on.

“It’s yours. Always.”

Yes, my friend. I know.

And that was the sum of it for that evening. Damn them.

Night came, night went. He slipped back into his box as the sun crept up. They would want another trance, perhaps, and it was best he be an idle carcass when the time came. As he settled in, he treated himself to a parting glimpse through the woman’s eyes. Here was Jonathan again, standing before the mirror and seeing to the mechanics of shearing his stubble away. The woman caught herself staring at his throat a moment too long and snapped her gaze back up to the concentrating face in the glass. Perhaps wondering when she would lose her own reflection. Just as well. There would be more noteworthy views to come.

He pondered them as hard as he could, illustrating them in his mindscape for express delivery to her dreaming mind once sleep took her. It wouldn’t do to have all her rest come so peacefully. Not when there was so much excitement to come.

As a start, he would show her how he had taken Jonathan for the first time. Followed by all the ways he had taken him after. On back or belly, folded over or splayed wide, gasping or pleading. Always quick to please his Master, but always so teasingly shy about letting himself be pleased. Always thinking of a future that should not have existed: the one where he lived and left as a human being, crawling home to the daydream of his waiting lady.

This would be followed by merrily running him through that gauntlet again, albeit with Madam Wine-Press held at bay as neatly as any of his beasts. Jonathan would be no less obedient as the caveat would be that any disobedience would result in his wife tragically coming in contact with one of the Dutchman’s convenient Crosses. Ideally slotted as deeply in her as Jonathan’s Master was in him.

He could have her do it. If he was doubted, he would gladly demonstrate. For solidarity’s sake, perhaps he would also blunt and oil up one of the hunting party’s stakes. It would be interesting to see how far Jonathan might take it in as she watched.

So it would go for the opening act. Next, the dining hall. Her Sisters would be long since parched and deserving of some gesture of reconciliation after their own punishment. Madam Wine-Press could observe as Jonathan was shucked bare as a roast, drained at the neck and the loins until he was all but dry. Ah, still no taste for her yet! Come, to the marriage bed.

Not hers, of course.

Theirs.

The climax of Lenore and Wilhelm, consummated in the crypt where he had left the ebon coffin waiting in its proper place. There Jonathan would be laid, half-alive, feeble as a kitten. His Master would climb over the waiting bridegroom and order the woman to shut the lid for them. And she would.

All this and more danced just out of reach, a brilliant horizon far more precious than any mere silver lining. The visions were enough to scour away the last of the clouds in his mind. This detour would have a happy ending after all.

A pain reached him.

Small, but there. Incessant.

The woman was making two fists. Her nails cut hard into her palms as if she meant to gift herself stigmata. She was standing before the mirror as she did so. Jonathan had gone to the wardrobe and could be seen over her shoulder. Half-dressed, the landscape of his back and the lines of his throat stood out in mesmerizing relief. The woman regarded this, then herself. For the first time since it was bestowed on her, she did not spare a look for the burn. Just the eyes.

Not her own.

Pretense of ignorance or no, she saw her Master as much as he could ever be witnessed in a looking glass. Her voice came in a low crisp note, almost crystalline. A whisper glazed in poison:

“This man belongs to me.”

He smiled back at her and hoped she felt it. At the same time, a delightful thought occurred to him. He allowed his hands to travel. Under his shirt, below his belt, circle, tweak, tickle, stroke, pump. He imagined still being busy with this bit of maneuvering when it came time for the woman to have her sunrise trance. Would she speak honestly about her borrowed experience under the hypnosis? Better yet, would her own hands be forced to travel along the corresponding routes before her gawking audience? Could he manage opening the buttons of a blouse and the flipping of a skirt? Oh, to see dear Jonathan’s face during it all! To see it after she came awake!

It would be good for a laugh…but it would give him away too soon. He was to be no more than an ignorant drowsing lump in his dirt, after all. So he settled for finishing himself off as she stood before the mirror, glowering away as if it mattered. Jonathan came up to her a moment later. Hands were held and eyes were met with stinging tenderness.

In the dirt and the dark there was a last sigh before he settled himself into stillness like a good corpse.

Yes, Wine-Press, he belongs to you for the moment. Until he is returned to his rightful owner, be sure to kiss him for us both.

And she did.

#it's been ages since I did anything with a splash of smut in it #but then I started thinking about how Dracula might abuse his end of the psychic link with Mina #especially if/when the Harkers were trying to have some private time #first he takes her husband then her girlfriend then her blood #now the thieving bastard is even piggybacking off her senses while Jonathan [REDACTED] #content warning for some depictions of a coital nature #and references to past and implied future assault #give or take a few grislier revenge fantasies from the Count #anyway #jonathan harker #mina harker #dracula #my writing #re: dracula #dracula daily

[sofasoap]

Thank you for everything.

Pairing: König x  f!Reader ( OC aka "Mini" MacTavish ) + Simon " Ghost" Riley + John " Soap " Mactavish

Summary: Time for Mini to introduce her new boyfriend to the family. Breaking Ghost's heart a little bit. and new found family for him.

Warning: M To E rated. mention of sexy time! Safe sex people! swearing, fluff? angsty in places? any geography and facts are made up a bit regarding to Scotland etc. For fictional purposes.

A/N : Character of Mini MacTavish is from @saltofmercury fic “ “The Favorite MacTavish” ” which she graciously let me borrow and write bit more expanded universe. Please go read her wonderful story to get bit of background.

 “masterlist” for more stories to this Mini MacTavish expanded verse.

Note: I have FINALLY found my beautiful König

By the amazing artist @egg-ball. This is my perfect image of König. * cry *

Also this is my drool worthy Ghost “Simon/Ghost” - Credit to : @shkretart

" What you doing here. "

" What are YOU doing here, this is my parent's house of course I am here!"

" Your mum invited me to come."

" Since when are you good friend with my Ma? "

" Since a while ago."

Soap sighed. Don't think he is going to get anymore information out from Ghost's mouth, he let him in.

" Hi Simon! welcome welcome. " Mrs MacTavish rushed up to him as he walks through the front door of their estate.

".. Hello Mrs MacTavish."

" Johnny, be a nice boy and show Simon the guest bedroom."

Rolling his eyes, " Come on. this way. " Soap reluctantly lead Ghost towards the bedroom quarter of his parent's house.

MacTavish farm has been around for few centuries, famous for quality crops and recently as one of the big investors for up and coming Speyside Whisky. Although Ghost is more of a bourbon whiskey guy, but he wouldn't say no to a good quality alcohol.

"Where is Mini."

" She's gone to the airport and picking her boyfriend up. Should be back within an hour or so."

" .. Do you know who this guy is." Ghost ask as he put down his duff bag in the corner of the room.

"No idea. But he better be decent." Soap puffed.

Soap seen you smiling like a dork few times while texting, when he ask you about it you always wave him off and tell him to mind his own business. Makes him even more suspicious that you are trying to hide something from him.

"Ma! Da! I'm home!' Soap and Simon can hear from the back of the house as you yell. Hearing another muffled male voice greeting, Soap and Ghost look at each other, and walk back towards the front door.

A very tall figure was awkwardly bending down giving Mrs MacTavish hug and turn to MacTavish senior a handshake, both Ghost and Soap froze as they suddenly recognise who the mysterious man was.

König.

Chewing your lip, you typed and deleted and typed and deleted, before you decided to press sent.

--- Hello my teddy bear, are you free in April?

Few minutes later, you her a DING as the message sent through

-- I should be free, unless we get deployed again, is there something you need, Liebling?

-- I told my Ma and Da about you.. and they would love to meet you in person, they are inviting you to spend Easter this year at the family farm up in Scotland.

An hour. No reply from him. You heart dropped. Have you pushed a bit too far?

--- ONLY if you are comfortable with it! I can decline if you are not up to it or if you are planning something with your family!

You quickly typed up.

... Still nothing.

After the Piccadilly Circus incident, you and König got even closer. He came and visited you in the hospital day after the incident. Bringing you flowers and some Kaiserschmarrn.

" Wow, König, where did you get this from?"

" I.. I made it."

"... YOU made it?" This man really surprises you, he can carve like a professional, and now he can bake like a pro? What can't this man do????

" I rang my Mama last night and ask for recipe.. I borrow the kitchen at the Emergency centre to make it..." he replied shyly.

Trying to imaging a big tall Austrian man baking in a tiny little kitchen makes you giggle. You took a bite of the pancake and moaned. It is GOOD. Probably one of the best sweet you ever tasted in your life.

"I hope it's to your taste.." König wrangle his hand nervously.

" OH GOSH You better make this everyday.. It's SO DELICIOUS."

" I .. I can make you other stuffs too."

" Do you plan to open a dessert shop after your life in military König? If you do, I will be your most loyal customer."

König look down on the floor, twiddling his thumb, said nothing.

Due to his work commitment, you two only get to see each other when he is in London. But both of you communicate as much as possible through text, and in some occasions through phone or video calls.

It's a slow courtship. But you don't mind. Good things takes time, you remind yourself.

You can really see him making a real effort to slowly slip out from his comfort zone. Bringing you little gifts each time, little carving he made himself, desserts he made, little hand crafts his Mama and his Oma made especially for you.

You also can't resist teasing your boyfriend from time to time.

“ And MAYBE you can show me later how good you are at… RAMMING into people. My big teddy bear.”

" You know, I miss my big teddy bear in winter, no one to keep me warm in bed."

Everytime you tease him with these hidden innuendos, you swear you can see the imaginary steams coming out from his ears.

He is always hesitant to hold your hand, those big callous hand. Wrap around yours, making you feel safe.

First time he initiated a hug was when you two were walking down the street, in freezing cold weather, he saw you shivering. Silently he open his trench coat, look at you asking for permission, and proceed to pull you in and wrap you up. He is like a human furnace. You inhale. Smell of his cologne mixed with gunpowder. This is home.

You realise you are slowly falling in love with this big , gentle man.

First time you saw his face, and first kiss, without the mask, was when you two * FINALLY* spend a night together. ( The Holy trinity, you dubbed it later on when you recall the event to Emma. )

Emma was away visiting her family for her long overdue holiday.

" GO ON Mini, invite him to stay over, MAKE A MOVE, push that boy into bed!" She urged you after she told you about her holiday plan. " You can make a much as noise as you want with him and I won't be here to yell at you!"

You smack your good friend on the arm, " EMMA!!!"

" What, I am telling the truth, besides, ' she pointed at you ' how long you guys been going out for? over a year. yet you still haven't kiss him properly, let alone seeing his face in full."

You know she's right, at same time you don't want to push him too much. As if by chance, König rang you the next day informing you he is coming over for the long weekend.

"Have you book your accommodation yet? If not... Um. Emma is away at her family for the week.. Um. Do you want to... stay over at my place?"

You heard him choking, coughing and someone else in the background asking him if he is OK.

" I .. I ... I..."

" Yes or no König."

"... Yes."

" Right! that's sorted. I'll see you then!"

You feel like a teenager, all giddy and nervous. For fucks sake, you are an adult! it's normal to ask your boyfriend to stay over. You convince yourself.

He showed up at your doorsteps few weeks later, and you two go on your usual routine. Out for a nice walk, go out to local bistro and have a good meal, window shopping.

Slowly you two stroll home. You two took turn taking shower. You brew some nice herbal tea and sat in front of the TV, winding down.

You lean over and put your head on his shoulder. You feel him lifting up his arm, starting to stroke your hair, gently.

you shuffle into his space bit more. He stiffens. Thinking you made him uncomfortable, you pulled away slightly. He immediately pulled you back in.

You look up at him, searching for something in his eyes. Lifting one hand up, silently seeking for permission, his eyes drop down and look back up at you, you slowly pull his black mask off.

And there he is.

You smiled, " There's my handsome teddy bear." You whispered. With tears in your eyes, you trying to take his features in. The scar across his nose, across his cheek. the little imperfections. Tracing his features with both of your hand, König close his eyes and sighed.

Feeling bold, you swung leg across, straddling him. Tilting your face up towards him, he look down with dark hooded eyes, and close the final gap. Shy and tentative at first, it soon become heated.

You moan into his mouth as grabbed your backside, pulling you closer to him. You can feel his arousal. Grinding against his lap, you heard him taking in a sharp breath, and broke the kiss.

" ... Are you sure."

You nodded your head, totally out of breath to reply.

As if a switch has been flipped, he lift you up, like you weigh nothing, you hook your other leg across his hip, he marched towards the bedroom.

Despite both of you are inexperienced ( Hell, you never went past second base with the boys you were seeing in the past thanks to Soap, your cockblocking brother!), everything seems to progress naturally. He certainly make up for it .. somewhere else. and oh BOY. It was GOOD. You know you going to be very sore the next day.

He was an excellent lover. Gentle after care. He turned back into the shy König after the deed was done. " Did I hurt you Liebling? I am sorry if I was too rough... OH der Scheiß, YOU ARE BLEEDING!" He quickly jumped off the bed. You pull his arm to stop him.

" Hey love, calm down. It's normal.... after um.. the.. first time.."

" Still... I hurt you.. " He shook his head. He left the room, and came back few minutes later with warm towel, gently wipe you down.

Afterwards, he pull you into his chest, him being the big spoon, the warmth enveloped you as he whispered into your ears.

"Ich liebe dich"

Back to the present. You were still waiting for his reply two days later, when you begin to think its a very bad idea. One big step forward, rolling back down to the bottom of the hill, you think to yourself.

You finally got a reply after a week. He apologising but didn't give a reason for his late reply, and ask you for the details. You let out a big sigh and proceed to give him the dates and travel details.

Quiet chit chat as everyone sit around the dining table. Your Ma and Pa politely asking him question about his family and how he comes to know Ghost and Soap.

Ghost and Soap just stares at König as he answer the questions quitely, with you smiling at him.

" What is your intention with my sister König." Soap asked all of sudden.

You shot Johnny a look, Jesus fucken hell, does he have to make the atmosphere so awkward?

König gave your hand slight squeeze underneath the table.

" I will not hurt her. I love her very much. In fact, I am here today to ask for permission for marriage in the future."

Your look at your boyfriend with disbelieve, Is this the socially anxious König that you know? And what is this about marriage? Ah?

Soap was about to stand but Ghost press him down by the shoulder, shaking his head.

Everything was slightly blur after that. You vaguely remember your Ma and Pa gave both you and König a hug, welcome him into the family, even Johnny and Simon shook his hand , begrudgingly.

You suddenly thought, why is Simon here anyway?????

" I am sorry Liebling.. I should have ask you first.. " König apologised profusely after everyone retired for the night. You smiled at him and pat his chest, comfort him,

" It's ok.. took me out by surprise... " jabbing him a little, " I expect you to make up for it later." You chuckled. He grabbed your hand and nodded.

3am, you toss and turned, with König lightly snoring away beside you. You decided to go into kitchen to get a glass of water.

You jumped slightly when you saw a figure standing by the window.

" SHIT Simon... you really gave me a fright."

" sorry. "

Walking over to the fridge you pour yourself a glass of cold water, looking at Simon, he shook his head as you silently ask him if he want some water too.

Taping on the glass, you decided to ask.

" Why are you here anyway Simon? Not that we don't want you here.. you are welcome any time.. "

" Your Mum invited me.'

" Since when are you good friend with my Ma... "

" Since a while ago."

You rolled your eyes. You took another sip of water. Simon turned towards you, looking at you. You can see there's sadness in his eyes.

Putting the glass down. You walk over to him, pull him into a tight hug. Burying your head in his chest, you mumbled.

" I am sorry Simon.'

Ghost's heart ached You knew. That little bit of feeling that he is trying to hide away deep down, and it shattered when he saw you looking at König lovingly during dinner. The way you smiled at him, the way he take care of you. He knows he had no chance. You only love him as a big brother.

".. You are like a brother to me and Johnny.This will always be your home. I want us to stay as friend. I am so sorry."

He wrap his arm around you. Tight. Gave you a light kiss on the top of your head.

"You have nothing to apologise for." He murmured.

" I know... but.. "

" It's ok. I'll get over it." he sighed.

" Johnny can take you out and introduce you to some ladies?" You suggested timidly.

" I seriously wouldn't trust him."

You laughed.

Giving you a pat on the head, he left your embrace.

" I am happy for you Mini... I truly am."

" OH! I know this lady doctor at work.. She use to be in the military .. she's from New Zealand... "

" No sis... Don't trust YOU either to set me up with anyone." Ghost huffed.

You giggled as he called you sis. It will take time. but that's a start.

"My Ma and Pa really loves you as an adopted son you know.. maybe they will introduce my cousins to you."

" Mini MacTavish. Please no."

Poor Ghost got his heart broken. it's ok. he will have someone in near future that suits him. I just want to give him a family he deserves.

#könig x reader #könig x y/n #könig imagine #könig x you #könig x oc #könig call of duty #simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #john soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #soap mactavish #oc #john mactavish #konig call of duty #konig x reader #konig x y/n #konig x you #cod mw2

[moral-terpitude]

Piccadilly Circus - Tommy Shelby x male!reader

The name of this comes from an article I read about the intersections for the tunnels being named after London streets so that navigation was easier.

———

Request: yes! - by anon

Word Count: 517

Warnings: None

Your boot slid off the edge of the fire step, waking you back up for what must have been the 10th time that night.

You groaned, digging around for a cigarette and a lighter. Might as well make use of the time awake.

“You really believe after all this shit, this Hell we’ve seen and been through, that there’s a God?”

It felt like the first time you’d been out of the tunnels in months. That wasn’t the case, but the dark of the walls always made the sun feel much more welcoming when it did come round. No longer stretched on stomachs digging and hauling dirt. Mud. Dust.

Depended on the day.

Everyone had decided to argue today. Well, not everyone. Just Shelby.

Fucker decided to get everyone going at breakfast, at this point for lack of supplies it was some dry bread and the days rum ration, about there being no God.

“How do these fucks decide 40 smokes is enough for a fortnight?” You murmured under you breath, struggling to get it lit.

He snorted next to you.

“We’re supposed to be asleep and your worried about how many cigarettes the King has decided to send us?”

He leaned up off the slope of the hill, kicking your other foot off the fire step in order to make you lose your balance.

“Tom, don’t even start right now.”

He cleared his throat, lighting a cigarette also. The lack of sleep and lack of food however had you going back on your own word rather quickly, however.

You sighed, barely able to see as you glowered at him in the small confines that were wrapped in night, “You’ve got a company of God-fearing men you’re leading here, Shelby. You can’t just go around pushing your nonsense off on them at a time where we’re down on our luck. The lack of food and the lack of—”

He shut you up. This man you’d known since his gypsy family settled in Small Heath, shared beds with to hide young drunken antics from the wrath of Polly Gray, and arrived to this hellhole of your current life with, now had his lips pressed fully against yours in the dark of night.

For a moment, you didn’t withdraw, didn’t retreat, finding a comfort and an ache in your gut at the contact.

Until you found some regular part of your brain, pushing him away from you, to stare into rather hurt looking blue eyes in the dark. “What the fuck, Tommy?” You hissed, looking around in the hopes no one else had seen, “Did that really just happen? You’d better hope—“

He cleared his throat, “I’m sorry,” he climbed down on to the duck board, hand rubbing the back of his neck nervously as he headed back deeper into the trench and in to the tunnel. You could still hear him though, now speaking to himself, “I should not have done that. Why did I do that?”

You lit another smoke, pushing the moment away and hoping your tired eyes and spirit would will you back to sleep.

#tommy shelby #peaky blinders #peaky fucking blinders #peaky fookin blinders #tommy shelby fanfic #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinder fanfic #fanfic #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x male reader #tommy shelby x reader #ava’s asks

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

[ comfort ] a tender kiss to provide comfort or reassurance for Rory and Price <3

Thank you so much for the prompt, Gen! Alas as much as this one is comfort it also gets major angsty (thanks MW3 campaign for that) so spoilers ahead for that if you aren't yet aware (don't say i didn't warn you) *also tagging @statichvm since you wanted that rory goodness*:

Rory’s eyes fluttered open, facing the alarm clock on the side of her bed, 03:15, and there was no arm coiled over her, no snoring in her ear, no thick bristle of chest hair pressed to her back. The bed was empty and cold air drifted over the bare skin of her arm, a lonely sensation, made lonelier knowing John wasn’t so far away. 

Tossing back the covers, she grabbed her robe from the chair by her bed, and pulled it on, wrapping the closure tight around her, keeping the cold November air out. Bare feet padded towards the balcony where John stood, staring out at the dark and the black – a pure extract of emptiness – the same look he had in his eyes since the funeral. She stood in the doorway, french doors sitting wide open, he was lost in thought, barely even puffing on the cigar that sat loosely on his lip, the smoke trailing up into the sky too hazy with cloud cover to see stars. 

She stood there, her gaze wandering over him, taking in the way he stood with hunched shoulders as though he carried the burdens of the world upon them – in his mind he did – the way he didn’t look up at the sky, but rather at the world below him, the lives he felt a duty to protect, and the fact that there was now one more that would never rest with him, one John would believe he failed. 

“John,” she whispered his name so softly her voice could barely be heard above the sound of traffic below and yet it was enough to bring him back as he cleared his throat, jostling the cigar enough to allow the ashes to drop from the end. The amber glow reflecting in his eyes along with all of the judgement he cast upon himself. 

“You needn’t get up for me, go back to bed, Ror.”

“I don’t know who you think I am, but I’m not leaving you like this.”

She stepped out onto the balcony to the honking of horns below, in the heart of London traffic never seemed to stop but it made conversations like this easier, there was always more in what was unsaid, things that couldn’t be heard. In this moment, action was what counted. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she held him close, pressing her head to that space just above his chest where she could hear his heart thrum. That steady beat that never seemed to lose it’s rhythm, even in the heat of battle. 

“You couldn’t have known what was going to happen, John. This isn’t on you.”

“‘Course it is.”

“You really think Soap would want you to blame yourself like this? We all know what we’re getting into fighting bastards like Makarov. It’s the hard truth.”

“He might not, but –”

She pressed her fingers to his lips, her head lifting to look up at him, she knew all too well the things that could run through a person’s mind when they thought they had failed. Not a day went by where she didn’t think about Piccadilly Circus and what happened on her watch, it hadn’t been lost on her that the very same thing could have happened once more in the Chunnel. “You can’t do this to yourself. You did what you thought was right, you’ve always done that. No one can fault you for that.”

He said nothing, his brow knitted as he stared at her with the steely gaze of the hardened Captain, and not of the man who she had known for the last six years. Pulling the cigar from his lips, he blew out smoke through his nostrils and she could feel his heart start to thump out of rhythm against the palm of her hand pressed against him. 

“I certainly never will.” Rory cupped his face in her hands, brushing her fingers through the whiskers of his facial hair upon his cheeks, looking into his eyes with as much tender expression as she could exude. “You’re a good captain, John. A good man. There’s no one I trust more with my life than you, love.” 

Lifting up onto her toes, her lips pressed to his, tasting the smoke and the whiskey on his breath. He likely had never fallen asleep in the first place, but she couldn’t let him brood any longer, certainly not alone. They were partners, in everything, and she would do whatever it took to remind him of that. 

#kiss prompt #ship: you are the sword to my shield #oc: rory sinclair #captain john price #mw3 spoilers ahead!!

[angelswing236]

"Do you know a way out of here?"

Fictober 2023

Category: Fanfiction

Fandom: Downton Abbey

‘Do you know a way out of here?’ a voice asked behind Thomas.

He turned and quickly flung up his hand, sketching a smart salute when he saw an officer, a captain, standing behind him on the duckboards, his uniform pristine, a whistle around his neck, his pistol in his holster, a long scar down his cheek.

‘Where do you want to go, sir?’ he enquired, politely.

‘Do you know a way out of here?’ the captain repeated.

Rude, Thomas thought, but the quality were often oblivious to the lower classes. It wasn’t much different in the Army when it came to the officers and the rank and file.

‘If you go down that trench to the crossroads of Piccadilly and Leicester Square, sir, you’ll find a communications trench leading back to the support line trench,’ Thomas said, twisting to point to where he meant. ‘They’ll be able to give you directions to where you want to go from there.’

When he turned back, the officer was gone, nowhere to be seen. Thomas frowned, the captain’s behaviour annoying him. Why ask the question if you weren’t going to bother to listen to the answer?

He had to admit, though, the man was stealthy. He hadn’t heard him walk up behind him and he hadn’t heard him leave either. And he must have moved quickly to get beyond the dog-leg in the trench in the seconds before Thomas turned back to him.

‘All right, Barrow? I could murder a cup of your tea. Put the billy can on and I can even offer you a biscuit. A parcel’s come through from my missus,’ Corporal Atherton said as he came around the dog-leg, raising his prize in triumph, Corporal Slate beside him.

‘Sounds good,’ Thomas replied, perking up at the thought of something sweet instead of the same old same old in the ration packs. ‘Did you see that officer? Did he find his way out?’

‘What officer?’ Atherton said, perching on the fire step to unwrap his parcel.

‘The one that just left. He asked me if I knew the way out and then disappeared back where he’d come from when I was in the middle of pointing out how to get to the communications trench.’

Atherton shrugged. ‘Didn’t see no officer. Ain’t nobody awake down there. They’re all catching forty winks while they can before Fritz starts up with the sound and the light show again.’

Slate narrowed his eyes at Thomas. ‘What did he say to you, this officer? Exactly.’

‘He said, “Do you know a way out of here?”. He said it twice. That was it, though. He buggered off without so much as a thank you,’ Thomas sniffed.

Slate exchanged a look with Atherton. ‘He’s back.’

‘Now, now, Billy, don’t start all that again,’ Atherton said, shaking his head.

‘Who’s back?’ Thomas asked.

‘Captain Entwistle. He was a captain, wasn’t he?’

‘Yes. How did you know if you didn’t see him?’

‘Come on now, Billy. It’s just an old wives’ tale.’

‘No. It’s not. He’s definitely back.’

‘What do you mean?’ Thomas asked, a prickle of unease creeping over the back of his neck.

‘Did he have a whistle around his neck? Tall bloke? Cleanest uniform you’ve ever seen outside the barracks? And a pistol in a holster?’

‘Yes to all that. How did you know?’

‘Scar on his face?’ Slate asked, tracing his finger in a line along his cheek exactly matching the scar on the officer’s face.

‘Yes. What’s going on? You know him then?’

Slate shook his head. ‘No, I’ve never seen him, but others have. Usually right before summat bad happens.’

‘Don’t put the wind up the lad, Billy,’ Atherton said with a sigh.

‘What do you mean?’ Thomas pressed, the sense of unease pressing heavier on him.

‘We think his name is Captain Entwistle. He appears right before an attack, asks if you know a way out of here.’

‘So, he’s from the General Staff, is he?’ Thomas asked, puzzled why a captain would come asking the ranks the way out.

‘No. He’s not from anywhere. He’s not real.’

‘What do you mean, “he’s not real”? I saw him. I spoke to him. He spoke to me.’

Slate exchanged another look with Atherton. ‘Then you’d best take extra care of yourself.’

‘What? Why?’

‘He’s a ghost, Barrow. Rumour has it he died around these parts in ’15. He pops up before a battle or an attack asking the way out. And usually…’

‘What? Usually what?’ Thomas prodded, his heart thumping.

‘Usually, it’s not good news for the bloke he asks,’ Slate concluded, looking at Thomas with sympathetic eyes.

‘Why?’ Thomas pressed, needing to know.

‘They die. Or they get wounded at the least. Or they go mad.’

‘You don’t know that for sure, Billy,’ Atherton said quietly, shooting an apologetic glance at Thomas.

‘Well, it’s happened enough for there to be a pattern,’ Slate said, still eyeing Thomas. ‘If I were you, Barrow, I’d get as far away from here as I could without risking being court-martialled. If Entwistle’s spoken to you, you’re for it.’

Thomas stared at him, the prickle crawling down his spine. Screwing up his courage, he shook his head.

‘Nah, I’m not having that. I’ve had posh gits thinking they know better than me all my life. I’m not pandering to this one.’

‘Good for you, Barrow,’ Atherton said, approvingly.

‘Well, just be ready. That’s all I’m saying,’ Slate replied, ominously. ‘Maybe you’ll be the one to break the pattern.’

‘You can bank on it,’ Thomas said with a confidence he didn’t really feel. ‘Now, what about those biscuits and a cup of tea?’

‘Stick the billy can on then. You make the best tea I’ve ever had out here,’ Atherton replied, going back to his parcel.

Thomas headed for the dugout, pausing briefly, a shiver running down his spine, as the shadow of a tall officer with a scarred face faded beyond the dog-leg in the trench.

#fictober23 #downton abbey #thomas barrow #fanfiction #writing prompt #writing challenge

[bcacstuff]

Timeline 5 Oct 2022 - Dec 2022

Timeline 5

For completeness and to consult when there’s discussion about his whereabouts. In addition to the previous timelines.

Timeline 5 covers 2 October 2022 - 31 December 2022

Previous dates see timeline 4 here

On Sunday October 2nd 2022 he posted a promo video for his book from Loch Lomond, where he turned out to be with Valbo and a camera crew

It looks like he was filming for the rest of the week and flew to NYC on Friday October 7 from Edinburgh, when also a new book event was announced for October 17th in NYC. Taking place before the already announced ones in Edinburgh and London.

October 8 & 9 NYCC, many pics, with DL and DB, Q&A on Saturday evening, Sunday OL panel. On the Saturday Q&A he also tells the fans he'll be flying home on Sunday and return for the book event on Monday October 17 for one day as he needs to be on set again the next day.

Meanwhile filming went on, they were filming in Culross at the beginning of October, other locations for the rest of the month include Midhope (Lallybroch), Cambusmore (Fraser's Ridge), Stirling and Dalmeny. On October 11 Starz announced the cast that'll join the new season, new and some old ones. In some articles it is also announced that C and S became executive producers for the show.

He was spotted on October 16 again in NYC, the day before the book event in NYC at 92Y.

On Friday October 21, the interview and video on Conic Hill at Loch Lomond (see Oct. 2nd above) was broadcasted by the BBC One show

October 23 & 24 Book events in Edinburgh and London. On October 24 he appeared on GMA (pre-recorded while in NYC on October 17) Where he also pre-recorded an interview for parade.com

On October 25 the official launch and he was signing books at Goldsboro Bookshop in London

October 26 an interview on the Zoe Ball show was broadcasted and a fan chased him down in London

As already known, the last days of October and November 1st Dalmeny was set as location for a number of extras. Meanwhile new dates were added on their schedules showing that the first 2 weeks in November Liverpool would be used as a location. A newspaper article confirmed and announced that the location would be used for the Philadelphia storyline. A tweet on November 1st showed how the scenery was prepared. A post of Diarmaid Murtagh who plays Buck MacKenzie in S7 on November 3rd learns that he is done filming, his location was Culross. Cait posts on November 5 that they've been doing digital press the past week.

On November 4 Graham MT posts a picture showing him, DL and S on a night out the day before (Nov. 3rd) in Edinburgh at the Aizle.

As of Monday November 7th lots of things going on in Chester and Liverpool, videos and lots and lots of pics and other footage is being posted from the filming location for the whole week, also showing SH in a scene with DB. On Friday we see they are cleaning up the place and get a TikTok showing S in London at Waterstones Piccadilly.

The visit to London was just short apparently as on Sunday 13 November Duncan posts a picture showing GMcT and S at the Sheep Heid Inn in Edinburgh, and GMcT posts the same and some more. On Monday 14 November S posts a video, and a story about the weekend, visiting Tom Kitchin at his restaurant in Edinburgh. One of the other actors, Doug Rao, who was at the same diner party posted about an epic stag weekend, which gave us the idea GMcT is going to have a Scottish wedding soon. A week later MacKenzie Leather Edinburgh posts a picture of SH with the same sporran Doug Rao posted before, noting that S was there the weekend before to get his 'special' sporran, hinting more to follow about this early next year, which gives the indication Graham's celebration will be early next year!

On November 17th the American Reality Television Awards are presented in a virtual show, Men in Kilts wins 3 awards, the appearance was clearly recorded shortly after he arrived back from New Zealand recording MiK2, roughly between February 15-20. He mentions it himself and his hair shows the length he had at that time and even before the OL Premiere in London on February 24th.

November 20 Sam attends the BaftaScotland Awards and wins the audience award. Lots of pics and videos of him and other cast members in attendance, SS, John B, David B with gf, CB, Lauren L.

November 21st Sam announces the partnership with SGwine and Sassenach, he announces celebrating it with a M&G on December 3 in NYC and December 4 in Miami.

On November 26th Sam is spotted at the iasg restaurant, a restaurant of the Blythwood Square Hotel in Glasgow. A fan posts a fanpic she took with him that day, and in a picture on IG of a random person he appears to be in the background.

Outlander filming went on according to extras schedules, in studio and outside on location as well, and it looks like they’re filming at least until December 22nd.

On December 2nd Sam was spotted in NYC at Jacks Wife Freda, Soho NYC with Alex, the pics looked very staged.

On December 3rd the NYC whisky event at Total Wine took place, several pics and videos from the event

A day later the same at Total Wine in Miami, where he apparently stayed at the Ritz Carlton Coconut Grove and had diner with the SVP Communications of SG.

No hurry to get to LA or back to Glasgow as it seems, he had time to visit the Zoological Wildlife Foundation in Miami, posted on December 7th.

Announced on December 7th is a book signing in Glasgow on December 18th. So he wont stay the holidays in the US.

While AN posted a story from an airport, which turned out to be the Ronald Reagan National Airport in Washington D.C. (or Virginia), news broke that S is announced to be on a Spanish tv show in Madrid on December 14.  The next day another event in Madrid organized by MoviestarPlus was posted on Twitter for December 13. Shortly before midnight EST AN posted a pic showing him and S in the Soho Cigar Bar in NYC. Unclear if this was posted as a latergram or not, though this information seems to confirm it was RT.

On Monday 12 December he was a guest on the morning show called 3rd hour today in NYC. It was only announced the night before. Pictures and a video leaving the show and meeting fans outside. Later that day he got papped while leaving the hotel on Crosby street and waiting for a taxi, unaware how Peter Dinklage walks right pass him.

Tuesday 13 December he’s in Madrid, Spain, in the evening an event organized by MovistarPlus takes place. Many videos and pictures of the event posted everywhere and the event could be followed live via IG.

Wednesday 14 December is a busy day with several interviews in the morning and pre-recording the tv show that will air the same night. In the evening he attends the Esquire Award event in the Casino de Madrid where he will get an Award as international actor HombresEsquireES. The next day he’s spotted by a fan, still in Madrid.

Meanwhile OL filming goes on including nightshoots and early morning calls in the freezing cold.

He seems to be home in Glasgow according to a story he posted on Friday 16 December showing a card in his kitchen. Sunday 18 December the announced signing at Waterstones in Glasgow takes place and he did some book shopping, though at the other Waterstones store on Byres road. In the evening he visits a concert of Paolo Nutini in Glasgow.

His driver couldn’t resist telling us that filming wrapped for the holidays on Wednesday 21 December and they had a little party which apparently ended at Sam’s place. 

Friday 23 December a picture showed him in Edinburgh donating a motorcycle he won earlier that year, a video confirmed it as real time.

Christmas and the Holidays was spent in Scotland, he posted from Edinburgh (his mother’s place) on Christmas day, visited a game at Murrayfield on December 30 and posted a picture (car ad) from Edinburgh on December 31 saying he ends the year in Edinburgh.

Other timelines:

Pre Hawaii timeline

Timeline 1 August 2020 Timeline 2 September 2021 Timeline 3 February 2022 Timeline 4 August 2022

#timeline #october 2022 #december 2022

[harrisonarchive]

From The Beatles’ Sydney press conference in June 1964; Olivia Harrison and Yvonne Innes with Queen Elizabeth II at the 2008 Chelsea Flower Show’s garden for George (photo by Sang Tan, © PA Images/Alamy Stock Photo).

“The Queen’s all right though, actually. The Queen’s, you know, it’s not, it’s different like the Prez over here, the Prez seems to be the heavy guy. Whereas the Queen just, like, goes around waving all the time. And, you know, it’s really her karma, her, you know, the fickle finger of fate pointed at her and she happened to, you know, she didn’t split and she had to go around waving. But she is, she’s a nice lady and that makes it even worse somehow.” - George Harrison, KPPC-FM, November 1968

“The cab paused at a stop light at Piccadilly Circus, immediately opposite a massive Tower Records window display for the impending release of the previously unissued radio performance album, The Beatles: Live at the BBC. A large crowd was clustered before the imposing promotional product presentation, oblivious to the former ‘Fab’ staring at their backs from a cab window 10 feet away. ‘Well, look,’ Harrison said, chuckling softly as he pointed to the huge sepia photo blow-ups of the four early-60s Beatles in dark suits and overcoats as they ambled outside the headquarters of the British Broadcasting Company. ‘Isn’t that my old band?’ Hearing this, the cabbie cocked his head to get a good look at Harrison and gasped. Struck by the drama of the moment, the driver asked his famous fare to autograph a £10 note. ‘Oh!’ Harrison said with an impish grin as he took the bill from the hack. ‘Would I do that to the Queen?’ Then he signed his name across the likeness of Elizabeth II and handed it back.” - Billboard, December 15, 2001 (x)

#The Beatles #George Harrison #John Lennon #Paul McCartney #Ringo Starr #Jimmie Nichol #quote #quotes by George #harrisonarchive videos #olivia harrison #Yvonne Innes #1960s #1990s #2000s #1964 #2008 #fits queue like a glove

[lukethewitt]

SLUSH PILE 📚 The Bread & Roses, Clapham (20th-24 February) 🥪 🌹 Etcetera, Camden (11th-13th March) 󠀦󠀦󠀦󠀦🎫

Unseen Theatre presents a groundbreaking new comedy which stirs debate about AI, the nature of the arts and what happens when there's 'too much' great art for people to consume.

Tickets here:

Aaron Devine as Jack Pauline Marion as Iris Nicky Vatvani as Kai Ariana Shaw as Piscopia Marek Lichtenberg as Virgil Riga

When the prestigious Piccadilly Press opens to unsolicited submissions, three interns are tasked with sorting through these unrepresented novels and finding one which is worth publishing. To the surprise of the managers and the interns alike, the so-called slush pile is in fact filled with thousands of great works of literature, making the task of deciding impossible.

Meanwhile, esteemed BAFTA-winning actor Virgil Riga finds himself growing tired of a film world dominated by generic franchises and scripts written by committees and algorithms. His frustration at the state of the entertainment industry spills out into a debate about AI and the rights of actors and artists, which soon crosses over with the interns' concerns.

🎭

L. T. Hewitt makes his theatre writing and directing debut, after winning Best Film at the Free Independent Queer Film Weekend for Battersea Power Station and Best LGBT Film at the Tokyo International Short Film Festival for A Matter of Trust, among other awards.

#actor #actors #acting #ai #London #theatre #Londontheatre #offwestend #westend #westendtheatre #publishing #novel #writer #writersofinstagram #comedy #philosophy #cheaptickets

[see-arcane]

Why did Dracula "save" Jonathan for the very last night until his journey? We know from how he fed on Mina for three days she was pale and weak, but not dead, so he could have been feeding on him for a few days/week until he succumbed.

But he kept him unbitten until Jonathan's final letter was written and only then Dracula declared that "he is mine tonight", and the rest is history.

Dracula prefers foreplay over the climactic act when he's enjoying himself rather than pressed for time. He likes playing with his food and/or future conscripted vampires. With Jonathan, he gives the superficial reason of wanting the Englishman around to learn how to speak in the same way. Which might be part of it! But to have him prisoner and literal captive audience for two months implies the more likely desire of just enjoying the cat-and-mouse of it all. Teasing things out until the last possible night and what Dracula assumes will be Jonathan's last night as a human being full of terror before the Brides have their turn with him, forcing him into inevitable vampirism.

Even with the Demeter crew, we see him playing. None of the men aboard strike him as anything other than another revitalizing meal in potentia, so the only fun he has is playing the torturous game of picking them off one by one in the dark, but the play is there.

You mentioned how different his MO with Mina was--how brisk. I'd say it's because it was all business. And petty vengeance. Not only was he striking at an enemy by trying to conscript her, not only was he violating her and her husband in what played out very much like a rape and a hovering promise that in time she will very literally be another of his pretty undead pets like the Brides. It was also to (unsuccessfully) give him eyes and ears on the group using her borrowed senses. He was on the clock with Mina, which is why she gets the quickest treatment.

Though I think there is something else worth mentioning in how he preys on Lucy; the character we're meant to assume is the template for how he hunts out new undead members to the Dracula club. And what do we learn from her case?

We see that if it weren't for Mina, Van Helsing and the suitors' intervention, his playtime with Lucy would have been far, far shorter and had even less impression on him than the book already showed. Lucy has friends. Lucy has people giving her new blood to stall her undeath. Lucy's conscription keeps getting stalled--and that is what keeps Dracula interested. It's a matter of engagement, pride, and, most likely, the only reason he really bothers to play more extravagantly with her. Hence the theatrics of getting poor Berserker in on it.

And after all that back and forth and bleeding and biting and Bloofer Ladying? He immediately loses interest and starts sniffing after the Pretty Girl in Piccadilly. Which, while indicative of him being a glutton for beauties, shows another very lopsided treatment compared to how he toyed with Jonathan.

I've pointed out before how Jonathan is the only character in the book Dracula goes out of his way to have whole conversations with. Mina gets one villain monologue, the group gets some fist-shaking and moustache-twirling at the Piccadilly house, but even when he has no reason to, Dracula really does go full gothic horror 'courtship' mode with Jonathan. Chatting, cooking for him, maintaining the whole castle charade; true, with increasing acts of abuse and psychological torment, but he actually engages with Jonathan.

This, when Lucy doesn't get so much as a 'Hey xoxo ;)' and Mina is given a traumatic speedrun to get her into vampire mode ASAP.

Dracula shows minimal finesse with Lucy, none with Mina, and devotes two months to Being Very Intimately Weird with Jonathan. Which means the question is less 'Why did Dracula wait so long to bite Jonathan?' and more 'Why is Jonathan's treatment so different from every other victim of Dracula's period?'

#for the record I don't buy that 'I too can love' bit as anything like sincere ~romantic yearning~ #Dracula is a sadistic selfish monster Period #but I will say I can buy him having a warped funhouse version of affection #otherwise why would he even put up with the Brides' getting snippy with him when he could just command them into silence? #at best he's 'fond' of Jonathan in the way a dog loves their chew toy #it's theirs to cherish and mangle #and I think because that's the best Dracula can manage it's the only thing he can call love #jonathan harker #dracula #mina harker #lucy westenra