#does london need yet another hotel

[gurugirl]

A Balancing Act | Ch. 2*

Series Summary: Harry is a famous, rich, handsome, pop star and he’s been in therapy since his boy band days. When he meets Y/n, a beautiful and successful artist, he cannot take no for an answer when it comes to her. He’s determined to make her his even if he has to bend the rules a little at first.

Chapter Summary: Y/n learns that Harry kissed another woman and decides to move on. Harry crashes Y/n's date to get her to change her mind. But then he makes a shocking discovery.

Warning: 18+ only, NSFW, smut (oral sex sort of), angst

Word Count: 9,739

Commissioned by @cinnamonone (thank you!! xoxo)

A Balancing Act Masterlist

Returning to LA after his tour in Latin America, Harry was sitting with Pat in his lovely house. Matcha tea was served and she started off by asking him how he was feeling emotionally lately. She tended to want to start off their sessions by letting him talk about his emotions and how he was dealing with his busy life, reserving the topic of relationships and love until toward the end. It gave her a good gauge of his overall well-being.

“I miss home. It’s always the hardest when I feel like I’m missing out on so much. Feels like I’m ignoring what’s really important in life and focusing too much on myself. Feels selfish. I know that no one thinks that. My mum is always telling me to not worry but it’s just hard. Especially because I’m closing in on 30 and just feels like I’ve just been playing around for all my life.”

“But this is your work. And you do work hard. You’re just lucky that you’re talented enough that you can delve into this kind of creativity and make a living from it. You’re putting more responsibility on yourself than is necessary. You’re on your own path, Harry. And while from the outside everything looks fun and glamorous, even you know the truth because you live it. It’s hard. So don’t discount yourself by feeling like you’re not doing enough. Your mom is okay. She can take care of herself. Gemma is okay too. She’s doing well. Your friends and all the people that matter in your life support you. Comparing yourself to the 9-5 worker isn’t going to do you any good. You’re a successful artist. An entrepreneur. Just imagine if you weren’t. You’d be in Manchester or London and working some mundane job. Sure you’d be around your family but you wouldn’t be thriving like you are now. I think you’d be miserable and if you’re miserable your family will feel that.”

Harry nodded, “Probably. I guess I can’t imagine myself doing anything else.”

“I can’t either. But it’s more about how you’re dealing with that guilt. I think as you’re getting older your priorities are shifting a little. And that’s okay. It’s good to welcome new awareness. Just be sure to not dwell on it because no one else is.”

Harry sniffed a laugh and smiled. Pat was right of course. He knew all of this. They’d been talking about his guilt a lot more recently and he recognized it was more because there were particular milestones that society set for people. And Harry had met many milestones but the basic ones like love, family, stability, children were all things he’d had yet to really achieve. Of course, he had a family but not his own, with a spouse and kids and a little house in town… but that wasn’t his to have yet. And the little house in town might wind up looking more like a bunch of houses in different parts of the world. He couldn’t deny he was lucky but he also couldn’t ignore that he felt like he’d been shirking his adult responsibilities.

“Okay. I can tell you need to say something. Want to move on from this subject?”

Harry grinned and repositioned himself to face more squarely toward Pat, “I met someone.”

“Oh? What does that mean?”

“I met her in Chicago. She was staying at the hotel I was in but she was there for an art show, she’s this really talented artist. But anyway… we just hit it off. We’ve been talking on the phone almost every night. I really like her.”

Pat nodded and placed her mug down, “That’s great. So, she stayed at the hotel you were in but how did you come to actually meet her?”

Harry described the scene at the bar and then how he invited her to his show the following evening, “I just… I don’t know. She’s not famous or anything but she acted like I was just a normal guy. And we really connected mentally and physically. She really seems to like all the things I like.”

“You mean, in bed? Or have you really gotten to know her on a deeper level?” She smirked and tilted her head. Harry was like this. He could connect with all kinds of people and it made his heart swell and lurch and then as fast as it filled up it all deflated just as quickly.

“Well, not just in bed. But yeah. We just clicked.”

“Look, I think that’s great. Just remember, you are okay as a single man too. Correct? You don’t need to be loved all the time. You are enough. You don’t have to fall in love and get married and have children to be a whole person. Society says you need that but you get to choose your path. But if you really like, this, uh… what’s her name?”

“Y/n. Even her name is pretty.”

“Y/n. Well, if you like her enough just take your time. Get to know her. Long distance is hard and phone calls are good but no substitute for face-to-face time. Do you think she’s as serious about this as you are?”

Harry shrugged and pursed his lips to the side, “I think so. I mean… we’ve talked about a lot and she’s told me so many things about herself. I guess I haven’t asked her to make it official, though.”

“Probably wise to wait to make it official. Jumping into a serious relationship could backfire as you well know. And there is the matter that you’re on the road so often. Did you see anyone else while you were away?”

Harry shook his head, “No. I actually really like Y/n. Didn’t want to do anything to fuck that up.”

Pat sighed, “You do realize you were supposedly spotted leaving a party with a woman people claimed you were kissing. Right? Just a couple of weeks ago. Which would have been after your Chicago shows.”

Harry groaned and nodded. He did know. His PR team told him about the supposed fan sighting and there was even a photo of him with a woman. Who he did kiss, but it wasn’t a kiss that meant anything. It was just a bit of fun and Harry had had a good amount of tequila. He honestly was just flirting and wanted to kiss the woman. But of course, when she wanted to take things further he declined because Y/n had been on his mind.

That was one thing about Harry. He was flirty and he’d kiss people he never intended on sleeping with. He kissed men and women and flirted all the time but usually, it was more friendly than sexual. Sometimes people got the wrong idea but that was just how Harry was. He loved getting close to people and touching. Loved hugs and kisses especially if he knew the person.

Even when he was with his last ex she’d gotten used to him kissing others and holding hands with someone else. But it wasn’t always very well received. Like the time she left one of the parties they were at early because she was tired and then he was filmed making out with a friend on a couch in front of people. He had a lot of explaining to do for that one. She forgave him but it hurt her. She cried. Harry felt bad that he’d done it. He loved how it felt to kiss someone and have them kiss him back, the zip of excitement and the tiniest bit of tension.

“Yes. I’m aware. I don’t know that she’s heard anything just yet. I think the photo only got published like yesterday or day before.”

“Well, it’s probably a good idea to talk to her about it before she sees the photo and reads the salacious headlines. That is if you’re interested in still seeing her.”

He nodded and looked down at his lap.

“Now, let’s talk about how you’re doing with all your new endeavors coming up. The timelines and the travel that will entail.”

.           .           .

Y/n was usually late with getting news or updates on celebrities. She spent a lot of her time painting during the day so unless she took a break and used her free time to peruse social media sites she might not realize things like the fact that the man she was beginning to develop feelings for had kissed another woman while he was away in another country.

Just as on this day. She was blissfully unaware of what he’d done as of yet. That is until Kat, her best friend, called in the middle of her glazing a painting she’d just completed.

She hadn’t told anyone about Harry except for Kat. Kat would keep her mouth shut about everything. Y/n knew she could trust her friend with her new secret. Not that Harry told her to not tell anyone but he did mention it would be better if very few people knew.

“Hello?” She spoke into the receiver as she capped the glaze and wiped her hands on her bibs.

“Hey babe. Did you see the link I sent you?”

“Uh… no. I’ve been working on a piece all morning.”

“Put me on speaker. Take a look.”

Y/n clicked the sound to the speaker and opened up her texts to see the link from Kat.

The moment the Daily Mail website came up with a blurry, dark photo of Harry standing very close to a woman she felt her heart drop.

Reading the caption of the article:

STYLES SPOTTED KISSING MYSTERY WOMAN IN COLOMBIA

“Are you seeing it?” Kat asked.

“Yeah. I am.”

The article mentioned him leaving with the woman after a party and Y/n put the phone back to her ear, not wanting to read more in that moment, “Thank you, Kat. I’m glad you showed me.”

“Of course. I mean… it’s Daily Mail so it might not be anything, but I just wanted you to have that info just in case. You know?”

Y/n nodded and swallowed the lump in her throat, “Yeah. I know. I’m gonna go, though. I need to finish my canvas. But I’ll call you later, okay?”

Letting out a shaky breath she sat down so she could read the whole article, line by line. Obsess over the information and then google to find more websites and gossip pages, supposed first-hand accounts, unnamed sources talking about how he’s been seeing her for a while and he’s excited, other blurry photos of him at the party drinking…

She shook her head and stood up, locking her phone and putting it down on the table near the bottle of glaze. She looked over her canvas and figured she could take a break. It would be good for her to get out and take a walk. Clear her mind and figure out what she wanted to do.

Her walk resulted in her only dwelling on everything. He hadn’t called her in a couple of days but she knew he was traveling back to LA. She felt like he’d probably needed the rest from all the shows, the jetlag, time zone changes… but perhaps it was because he was seeing someone else now.

And that was certainly possible. They didn’t know one another all that well. She hadn’t even told him the whole story about her husband yet. About what had happened to him. And there had been no commitment made. They had sex in his hotel room. A few times. And it was really good. She felt they had a unique connection. Her feelings for him grew a little more quickly than was wise probably and the Facetime calls with all the revelations of things from their past and what they wanted in the future felt like she was talking to someone whom she could see herself with. He’d also given her his personal cellphone number which she knew was sort of a big deal.

But of course, that was ridiculous. This was Harry Styles and even if he did like her (which she was sure he liked her on some level) that didn’t mean they’d end up together. He could choose anyone. It certainly wouldn’t be her.

Later that night as she snacked on dill pickles and popcorn she fell into the hole of the search engine on her laptop.

The night Harry was supposedly seen with the woman was a night he hadn’t called her (she checked her call log). He didn’t call her every night, but it was still noted. Then she found another “source” saying Harry was happier than he’d ever been and that the Colombian woman was spotted in LA with him.

He hadn’t called her again that night either. Closing her laptop she figured it was over. She wouldn’t be calling him to find out what was going on. He didn’t owe her anything and it would look weird and stalkery to be asking him about the other woman. As if she had any claim on him.

Opening up her DMs on Instagram she decided to check back in on Dante. He’d messaged her all that time ago and she’d left him on read once Harry came into the picture. Maybe it was time to find someone closer to being in her own league.

.           .           .

Harry had a little time off and he caught up on much-needed sleep and getting back into a normal routine. He’d planned on calling Y/n that night. He’d been back in LA for a few days and felt like he was back in the right time zone finally. But he wondered why he hadn’t heard from her at all either. Normally she’d send off a little text during the day. A meme or something that would make him laugh. But it was silence from her for almost five whole days. Not that he’d reached out either but still…

He wondered what she was doing. It was a Saturday night and when he realized she was two hours ahead of him he figured he might as well give her a ring to see how she was. It was nearly 9pm her time already.

But the call went to voicemail so he left a message, a smile on his face, “Hey you… haven’t heard from you in a few days figured I’d give you a call to see what’s happening. I’ve been back in LA for a bit and I’m all caught up on rest. Give me a call back when you’ve time!”

She didn’t return his call that evening.

The following day Harry checked his messages and texts but he’d still gotten nothing from her and it was already midday (yes, he’d slept in quite late since he was up late writing a new song he couldn’t get out of his head). It was odd.

Shooting off a text message to her he suddenly had a feeling that perhaps she was avoiding him. Perhaps she’d seen the articles about him with someone else. He hoped that wouldn’t deter her from wanting to see him again. Hoped that she’d at least let him explain.

He needed to do something about it if that was the case. He couldn’t let her slip away without even having had the chance to see where it could go.

.           .           .

She heard the voicemail. In fact, she saw her phone light up with a notification that he was calling her in real time.

But she’d just messaged Dante and they had plans to meet up the following weekend. She’d been lucky that he hadn’t already come to town for the art exhibit. She thought she’d missed her chance when she messaged Dante back and apologized for not responding sooner. But he was polite as ever and they made plans to see one another.

So she was going to move on from Harry. There was unlikely anything good to come of it anyway. She had an amazing night with him and a handful of orgasms she could reminisce on but he was a world-famous pop star and he was single and surely he wanted to play the field for as long as he could. She understood it, but that didn’t make the situation feel any better. Therefore, the only way to get over him and to move on was to stop contact with him and get back out there.

Plus, now that she’d been with a man after her husband she felt like it was time to start dating again. It had been fun with Harry and she could have fun with others too. Maybe she’d sleep around a bit. See what that was like. Sow her wild oats. She’d gotten married so young and had little experience before him… Yeah, it was time to get out and date.

The following day she saw a text from Harry after leaving a meeting with someone who knew an art dealer.

Was just thinking of you. Missed hearing your voice. I’m back in LA now. Call me or text back. 

She sat in her car and locked her phone, putting her head behind her on the headrest. What was he doing? She was kind of confused that he’d called her, left a voicemail, and then today had texted her. She really was trying to just move on. Figured he had too. But she was too curious not to call him. However, she’d keep him waiting until she was at home with a bottle of wine before she reached out. Maybe she’d hear him out. Maybe he wouldn’t bring up the other woman. She wouldn’t be bringing it up unless he did, but he had to know she’d heard about it. Right?

So, she took the long way to her house, stopping to pick up a bottle of wine and Chinese food before getting home.

She drew her curtains and took her clothes off, only wearing her panties and a tank top, and put her hair up in a messy bun on her head (like the real-deal messy buns, not those cute going-out-messy-on-purpose messy buns). Pouring herself a glass of wine and taking a big gulp she looked down at her cell phone as she sat on her couch and re-read his text.

For some reason she was nervous. She wasn’t sure how this conversation would play out but she wanted to find out what the result would be. This could possibly (most definitely) be the end for them. And she’d be okay with that if it were. Bummed, but fine. She still had her date with Dante to look forward to.

She dialed the number and put him on speaker as she leaned back into her couch and covered her face. She didn’t know if he’d pick up or not but she wanted to get this conversation out of the way.

“Hello!” Harry’s voice came over the speaker quickly. He sounded keyed up.

“Hi. It’s Y/n. You called and texted so I wanted to return your call.”

“Oh yeah… well, it’s been a few days. Was wondering how you were. So, yeah… How’ve you been?”

“I’m good. And you?”

Harry paused and noted the way she answered him in a clipped tone, cold. Not her normal friendly disposition.

“I’m well. Is… is everything all right?”

“Sure. Just doing my thing. Is everything all right with you?”

Harry sighed and rubbed his hands over his face, “Yeah. Um… did you read something about me? Is that why you’re upset?”

Y/n laughed and took a sip of her wine. Here we go, she thought to herself.

“Do I sound upset to you, Harry?”

“You actually do. Yes. Look, if you’re pissed about the articles from when I was in Colombia, I just want you to know that all of that is blown out of proportion. Right? So-“

“Oh. Interesting So you’re saying you didn’t make out with a Colombian woman at a party in Bogota?” God, she hated to sound so jealous but he did bring it up first. She cringed as she let her hurt feelings surface, but it was too late to keep her cool like she intended.

Harry sighed loudly, “I just mean that’s all blown out of propor-“

“Yes, you said that. I’m asking if what is being said is true or not.”

“It didn’t mean anything, Y/n. I am a bit of a flirt and I kissed a woman but that was it! I swear. I thought of you the whole time-“

“It’s fine, Harry. You don’t owe me anything. Besides, I’m going on a date next weekend anyway. We’re free to see other people, right? And-“

“A date? Next weekend?”

She laughed, “Yes. A date. Next weekend. It’s not like you and I will get to see one another much anyway. If at all. So there’s no reason to drag this out. We had fun but it’s clearly not something we need to bother ourselves with.”

“Bother… what? I thought we really connected, Y/n. I’m confused. I really like you.”

“But how can you say that when you made out with someone else? I really like you too Harry but you’re seeing other people because you know as well as I do that this, whatever it is between us, was never serious. Right?”

“No. No that’s not true. And I didn’t make out with her! It was like a quick party kiss sort of thing. Damnit! I swear, Y/n. I’m sorry. I had a little too much tequila and I kissed her but I really was thinking about you and she wanted me to come with her to her room but I told her I was seeing someone and that was it! God, I fucked this up didn’t I?”

Y/n sat for a moment. She had to admit she was surprised by all of this. Surprised that he’d contacted her after she didn’t respond the first time, that he seemed upset about possibly having offended her or hurting her, and that he was acting like he really did like her. But she determined that it was best if they parted ways. She realized it would simply be too hard for this to work. And based on the way his fans obsessed over the Colombian woman and were already talking shit about her (when they didn’t even know who it was) she knew she was right. She had to put an end to it before she got her heart broken.

“There was never anything to fuck up, Harry. But, look… let’s be honest here okay? I’m just a regular gal. I’m not your type, not the type that would be able to deal with your fame and all your adoring fans. I had a lot of fun with you and I think you are absolutely amazing. I really do like you but I just can’t see this working. You know?”

Harry shook his head and tried to stay calm. He had to think. He had to make this work. And he needed to not freak out about the fact that she was going on a date. He hated to think of her with anyone else. And yes, he did kiss a woman, but it wasn’t the same thing! Not to him anyway.

“I think you’re wrong. I think it can work. Let me prove it to you. I’ll come see you. Cancel your date next weekend and let me take you out instead.”

Y/n blinked her eyes, taken aback. She was truly shocked that he wanted to see her again and that he wanted to make it work but still…

“Harry…” she sighed, “you can’t expect me to cancel my date. That’s really not fair to me.”

He knew she was right, “Okay. Sorry. I guess I’m overstepping. I just thought we really connected. I was looking forward to seeing you again.”

Pulling her lips into her mouth she sat her glass of wine down. She was looking forward to seeing him again too, until she learned about the kiss. Even if they weren’t serious and even if the kiss meant nothing to him it meant something to her, “Please don’t make this hard. I really did like you, Harry. But it’s obviously not going to work. And that’s okay.”

“No. It’s not okay. I’m coming to see you. You don’t have to cancel your date. I’m not going to boss you around, but I’ll be flying to Chicago on Friday morning. I’m going to prove to you that we have something good here, Y/n. And if you still don’t see that after next weekend then I’ll back off.”

She couldn’t lie and say that she wasn’t beside herself with the idea that he wanted to put in so much effort to see her. And she certainly couldn’t stop him from going to Chicago and she wouldn’t. But she did feel like it was unlikely he’d actually show up.

“I mean… Jesus, Harry.” She shook her head and grinned, her heart pounding, “You’re crazy. I don’t understand why you want to do this. We had a night together-“

“It was more than just a night. Y/n, come on… you know as well as I do that it was more than just that. All the things we talked about on the phone all those nights. Did that mean nothing? I shared so many personal things with you and I know so many things about you too. But I want to know everything. All of you. I might be crazy but I can’t just give up.”

“We’ll see. And I can’t stop you from flying out here but I’m not going to make you any promises either.”

Harry was determined. More than ever. He knew it was special with Y/n. He knew she knew it too. The night he had her in his hotel room was maybe the hottest sex he’d ever had. And of course, hot sex doesn’t necessarily mean that they’re soul mates but the way they connected and were vulnerable with one another was not like anything he’d ever had. Then all their subsequent conversations and things they’d revealed about themselves? No. He wasn’t done and she wasn’t either. He felt it deep down that she wanted him to prove to her that he was serious.

Kissing that woman had been a mistake. And now he was going to prove to her that he was serious. That they could work.

.           .           .

She didn’t know why she told him where she was going to be on her date. She didn’t need to tell him. He could wait to see her until after. She told him as much at first when he called her the moment he landed.

“Where will you be with your date?” He spoke saying the word date like a dirty word.

“Harry… why do you need that information?”

“Because I’m just curious. Maybe I’m looking for restaurant suggestions.”

“I’m sure,” she rolled her eyes to herself, “If I tell you, you better not show up and ruin everything. I kind of like this guy, Harry.”

Harry’s heart fell into his stomach and the smirk on his face faded at that. She liked the guy? She was supposed to only like him.

“I won’t ruin anything. I promise.” He couldn’t actually make that promise. He wouldn’t be held accountable for the methods he used to convince her she was his. That she wanted to be with him only.

.           .           .

The steak house was a typical small-town restaurant that looked cutesy and had a few things on the outside of the building to let you know it was a restaurant but still came off as more of something that looked like a house.

The inside wasn’t much different. The entry into the restaurant started at the bar. Round high-top tables and tall stools scattered along the middle with dining tables with chairs of normal height lined the wall to the right. The bar with various bottles of neatly arranged, half-empty bottles of liquor along the left. Old wood floors, crown molding, high ceilings, an old dusty scent mixed with the smell of stale spilled beer (that smell just doesn’t come out after years of clumsy customers insisting on spilling their ales every night for the past 35 years), food cooking, and meat searing. Beyond the bar was the main dining room with more tables placed around the space and large windows that looked out onto a sizeable terrace with more tables under a large awning.

Harry let his gaze move around the room and walking past the bar he peeked into the main dining room to see if he could spot the woman of his dreams.

“Harry Styles!” A young lady shrieked and as he turned back he saw two other women walking toward him. He knew the look. They were starstruck and hoping for a chance to speak to him and get a photo.

Reluctantly he obliged. Signed a napkin, took a few pictures, and shook their hands with a smile on his face. It tended to be better to just be nice and give them something quickly instead of declining. Sometimes declining or saying he couldn’t resulted in more issues than it was worth.

Not spotting Y/n anywhere either inside or outside he asked the young man stood at the front if there was a reservation under Y/n’s name. He expected that her date would have put it under his name but on the off chance-

“Yes sir. Uh, that reservation for 2 people isn’t for another fifteen minutes. Are you the other party on the reservation?”

Harry grinned and nodded, “Why yes. I am.”

He followed behind the kid to a spot outside on the terrace and ordered a bottle of red wine. He knew he wouldn’t be able to drink the whole thing but figured that once Y/n arrived with her date they could finish it off. He knew that what he was doing was taking it a little too far (maybe a lot too far) but he wanted to properly greet her and get a good look at this date. He’d get up and let them take their seats and then he’d pay the bill of course as an apology for the inconvenience.

Before he’d finished his glass of wine his sight landed on the entry to the terrace where Y/n, a tall man with dark hair (presumably her date), and the young host who seated Harry were walking toward him. There she was. She’d really dressed up too. The low plunge of her dress and the way it hit her hips were mouthwatering. He stood up quickly as he continued to watch her in awe. Her pretty face was set in an unamused frown, “What are you doing Harry?”

Shrugging his shoulders he looked to the guy next to her. He was Harry’s height. Taller even. Annoyingly good-looking in an older, sophisticated yet unbothered kind of way, “I’m Harry,” he jutted his hand out to shake.

The date looked at Y/n and then back to Harry with his hand taking Harry’s in a firm shake, “Yeah, I know who you are. Harry Styles… But why are you sitting at our table?” He asked with a laugh. So she hadn’t told her date about him. Pity.

“Oh, I was just having a sit, drinking a little wine. But I’ll be on my way. Just wanted to make sure my lovely friend here made it safely. Oh! And please! Enjoy the rest of the wine. And I’ve already told them that the tab is on me. So get whatever you like. Go wild.”

The look of anger on Y/n’s face should have deterred Harry from speaking further, but he couldn’t help himself, “And you look… wow. Incredible. You’re stunning, Y/n,” he looked over her frame and then back to her face, “I’ll call you later,” he winked as he turned and sauntered away just as casually as he had mentioned he was paying their bill. As if it were all just a normal occurrence.

Y/n watched the handsome pop star walk away before turning to Dante, “Sorry about that. He was just trying to be funny. Just a friend,” she reassured.

Though, Dante didn’t seem wary of him at all. He was clueless as to what had just happened, “You know Harry Styles?!”

Sitting down and pushing Harry’s nearly empty glass of cabernet to the edge of the table she nodded, “Yeah. Met him a couple of months ago when he was in Chicago for a concert, and I was there for an art show. Just luck.”

She left out the part where he had her in his posh hotel suite one evening and they spent the whole night fucking and talking and laughing. Connecting. And then again in the morning until she had to leave.

Y/n wasn’t sure how to feel about Harry’s little stunt. He seemed like such a genuinely sweet guy that what had just happened felt a little out of character. Though she got some glimpses of his pushy, dominant side in bed, she hadn’t seen any of that persona transfer outside of the bedroom. Not when he first introduced himself, and not in any of their conversations on the phone… But she guessed perhaps there was a part of him that would come out in this way. And she couldn’t lie and say she didn’t enjoy it all deep down.

But still. The nerve of him to sit at the table she and her date would be sharing and drink wine while he waited for them. To look at her the way he had, his eyes blatantly following her shape down to her hips and back up again with that grin… The compliment. And then to have their bill paid for? It was a power move. He was trying to assert dominance over Dante in some way. Even though Dante was annoyingly clueless somehow. She thought for sure he’d be livid about it but he wasn’t.

Dante was a little too nice she decided.

And it’s not like Y/n thought her date should be upset. She didn’t want two men fighting over her or anything. But the part of her that kind of liked what Harry had done, liked that he was trying to stake a claim or send a message- wanted to see what Dante had in him. Wanted maybe just a tiny bit to see him jealous or even insist on paying despite the fact that Harry said he would. Dante didn’t seem threatened at all. She shook her head of those thoughts. How silly for Y/n to even think that he should feel that way. Of course not!

And she couldn’t stop thinking about how good he looked in his suit and his thick dark hair with soft curls as she and her date neared the table he was casually sitting at. The handsome smug look on his face as he watched them. And she tried to refocus and listen as Dante was talking about his recent gallery show but she was now stuck thinking about the night she and the famous man shared together. That was probably part of what he intended as well, showing up like he did. To set the tone for the entire date. He knew what he was doing. And it had worked.

“Excuse me. I need to run to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

She took a deep breath as she walked into the restaurant and followed the hanging wooden signs that pointed toward the little hallway where the two bathrooms were. A single toilet room each for women and men.

Flicking the light on and clicking the lock she leaned into the door and closed her eyes. She had to give herself a pep talk.

“You’re here with a perfectly nice and handsome man. Same interests, a level head, funny, humble…” and Dante was all those things. But something was missing. Something was holding her back from truly enjoying his company. And she knew just what it was. It was because he wasn’t Harry. And even if Harry hadn’t made his surprise appearance to discombobulate her completely, interrupting her date, she would have still felt the same.

Just as she pushed herself off the door there was a knock, “Sorry! Be right out!”

Y/n washed her hands and dried them before opening the door. But in a shocking split-second, she was met with the handsome smile of the man she couldn’t stop thinking about as he walked into the bathroom, causing her to step herself backward. Harry closed the door and clicked the lock.

“Harry! What are you doing?!”

Harry smirked and leaned his back into the door, “How’s the date going?”

Crossing her arms over her chest she tried to feign annoyance but she was working hard to hide her own grin, “It’s fine. I like Dante. Why are you still here?”

“I figured I’d see if you were free after. I brought some things with me that I think you might enjoy.”

She paused. He brought some things? What did that mean?

“I can’t believe I told you where my date was,” she shook her head and sighed.

“I’m sure you did it because you hoped for this very outcome.”

“Oh come on, Harry. I actually didn’t think you’d even come here this weekend, to be honest.”

Harry stitched his brows together and pushed himself off the door, taking two long-legged strides toward her, and brought his hands up to her face, “Well I am here. And I want you, Y/n. I don’t care that you’re on a fucking date. That should be me sitting out there getting to take you out,” he jabbed a finger in the air toward the door before returning his palm to her cheek.

Her blood pumped quickly through her veins and her head felt fluttery and light as she watched his mouth and then looked at his eyes as he spoke. His hair was fluffy and soft and his hands on her face felt gentle but she knew what they could do. All the very opposite things of gentle that had awakened some kind of indulgent new requirement. She wanted to put up a good fight. Make him work harder. Make him beg a little even. He’d kissed another woman! For god’s sake, she should make him grovel. But he was there. With her. Looking at her like he did that last morning they were together when they were making plans to keep contact until they could see one another again.

She didn’t know how to respond. If she were responding candidly, she’d tell him that yeah, it should be him out there treating her to dinner and not Dante. That she hadn’t been able to get him off her mind and last night, even though she had this date lined up, it was Harry’s image that she orgasmed to when she masturbated. In fact, it had only been Harry she got off to since she’d had that night with him nearly two months ago.

Harry tilted his head and spoke softly, “Please, Y/n. Do you want me to get on my knees? Beg? Or,” a small devious smirk quirked up on his lips as he licked them and ducked in to speak into her ear, his body pressed into hers, “maybe you want this. You like the chase, don’t you? Is that what you want? Trying to play hardball with me, sweet girl?”

She was a goner the moment his lips brushed over the shell of her ear and he brought his hands down from her face to her hips and pulled her in close. A small warm peck to her lobe, “What is it that you want me to do? I’ll do it.”

Y/n drew her hands up his back to his broad shoulders and moaned as she stretched her neck for him, “You shouldn’t be here. I’m in the middle of a date.”

And despite her words, Harry seemed to figure out what it was she needed and he dragged his mouth down to her jaw and then attached his lips to her neck and lightly peppered kisses and warm licks down the sensitive skin until he lowered enough that he’d made it to her clavicle, drawing a needy little gasp from her lips.

He backed away to look down at her and she had her lips parted and eyes closed, which made him smile.

She was his.

“And this dress,” he smoothed his hands down from her hips to the bottom hem of the material that landed just above her knee. He pulled the fabric upward, his warm fingers sliding up and under the stretchy cloth until he met her inner thighs, squeezed together, “Why did you do this? Wearing this for him? Baby this dress should only be for me.”

Her breaths deepened and her body grew hot with his hands on her. This was such a bad idea but she didn’t have it in her to stop him. She wanted him. When she opened her eyes and looked at Harry she licked her lips before speaking, “I hoped you’d see it. But I didn’t really think you’d come.”

Harry’s palms splayed against her thighs and continued to push the material up as he smiled at her with a cocky grin, “Wanted me to see it. So you wanted me to be jealous. To see you wearing this slutty thing on a date with another man while I watched. Suppose I deserve that. But you know you’re leaving here with me. Yeah? That’s what you wanted. Gonna show you what you deserve for teasing like this.”

Y/n let out a small whimper when he pushed her legs apart and kept his eyes on hers. His light green eyes were slowly disappearing under his dark pupils. His lids were droopy, and his lips parted as he finally moved his face to hers and nudged at her nose with his before putting her out of her misery and kissing her in a hot, desperate embrace.

She tried to resist but she’d already been a goner and the way he kissed her melted her senses and stamped out her resolve.

She was his.

Harry’s hands continued their path upward and she knew what he was doing, as far gone and mushy as her brain was, she understood his intentions. So she parted her thighs more for his access and Harry panted against her lips, “You want me to touch? Need a little something before you go back out there on your date?”

She nodded after faltering for a second. Her date… She wasn’t sure she could face him after this. She only knew she wanted Harry.

He pushed his fingers over her silky panties and grinned as he continued kissing her, her back pressed into the wall, “Fuck, baby girl. You need Daddy don’t you?”

She groaned and popped her eyes open, nodding the tiniest bit as she watched him use his hand on her, rubbing over her cloth-covered clit. Harry hissed and looked at her with sultry eyes, “Soaked for me, baby. You don’t want to go back out there to him. You need to be taken care of. Can you wait til we get back to your place or do you need it now?”

Harry was serious. He was going to leave with Y/n. Dante would be fine. His check was covered after all.

Y/n let out a shaky breath. Here or at hers? Her place was half an hour away and she was already vibrating with desire. Harry’s words and soft touches and his presence somehow pulled from her a need that she hadn’t felt in a very long time. One that she was certain Dante couldn’t affect.  

“This is crazy,” she breathed out.

Harry pushed his mouth to hers and moved his fingers down to the drenched crotch of her panties pushing them to the side and he keened at the feel of how slick she was under the pads of his fingers.

“Remember how good it was, Y/n? How you moaned and came over and over again? The way you took me when I fucked you.”

Harry was hard as rock in his trousers. This woman was doing things to him. He hadn’t been so determined about anyone in a very long time.

“Yes,” she whispered when he stroked up and down through her labia and then pressed into the hood of her clit.

“And how good we are together. We work, Y/n. This works. I know you know it.”

He plunged two fingers inside as he kissed her mouth. She opened her legs further for him and rocked her hips forward into his hand.

Y/n realized suddenly where they were and what they were doing when a knock sounded on the door, “Let’s go. I need to tell Dante that I’m leaving first.”

Harry was directed to stay outside at the front of the restaurant while Y/n went to the terrace and broke the news to Dante. She felt awful. She really did. Dante was nice. He was attractive. But he wasn’t her type in the end and she was slick between her thighs as she sat down and winced at the feel. The empty ache. She was flushed and her panties were chilled against her skin where it was wet, a result of just having been fingered in the bathroom. But her body was guiding her. She was aching and wanted Harry in her bedroom. Wanted Harry inside of her again.

It was probably a mistake. She’d probably regret this but she only knew one thing. And that was that Dante would never have a chance. Not when she was fantasizing about Harry on a date with him. That wasn’t fair to him, to string him along. So she justified that it was better this way.

.           .           .

Y/n had fully expected that Harry would have a driver or something. But to her surprise, he rented a car. A really nice car. A Mercedes Benz wagon.

She did kind of wish he had a driver, though, so they could sit in the back and that there was one of those partitions that separated them from view. But as it was, she was sitting in the passenger side as Harry drove her to her house.

It was kind of wild to her that Harry Styles was driving her to her house and that once there, in her small residential bungalow, they’d probably wind up having sex. Certainly, they’d wind up having sex.

“I’m sorry I did it this way,” Harry paused with a smirk on his face, “but not that sorry. Worked out in my favor.”

Y/n breathed out a laugh and shook her head, “Yeah, I guess you got your way. I imagine you’re used to that.”

“Heey! What’s that supposed to mean?” He knew exactly what she meant.

“It just means you’re probably not used to not getting exactly what you want.”

Harry nodded shallowly as he kept his eyes on the road in silence. He was just happy it had worked. He wasn’t sure it would. And yes, he was used to getting what he wanted but he didn’t expect to get everything he wanted. Not all the time anyway.

“My place is pretty small. Two bedrooms. One bathroom. A small backyard. So don’t judge, okay?” She was mostly teasing, feeling quite nervous about what was soon to happen. The state of her home was actually the last thing on her mind.

“Don’t be nervous, love. We’re going to have a great time together.”

Y/n gulped the saliva in her throat and looked ahead toward the road. She knew they’d have a great time together if their last time together was any indicator. In fact, she imagined it might be even better. He was visiting for three days and she had nothing to do other than finish the canvas she’d been working on for the past week. So they’d have a lot of time. To explore and to play. To talk.

She recalled a conversation they had one night over the phone when Harry brought up her pretty, plump bottom, his words still making her blush having never enjoyed anyone calling her plump in any way. But somehow, when Harry said it, it felt sexy. He made her feel sexy. Her curves and her extra bits, her tummy and ass and arms and thighs… they only spent the one night together but he made her feel as if all of her was beautiful.

“Such a pretty, plump bottom like yours… and you’ve never had anal sex before, or anything? My finger was the first to poke inside?” He spoke his words with a smile.

She was already lying down in bed and gently rubbing herself to the sound of his voice and he’d been heavily flirting and suggesting what they’d do together the next time they saw one another.

“No. Have never done anything back there,” she laughed breathily.

“We can change that. I can start by licking your pussy and your ass until you’re so wet and creamy that I can just slip my finger inside your little hole and get you ready for more.”

She moaned lightly at the idea.

He continued, “And once you’re shaking and begging to come I’ll slowly fill you up with my cock so you can finally experience what it’s like.”

Y/n laughed and paused her fingers, “You’d like that wouldn’t you?”

Harry groaned and panted (he was also touching himself), “Oh I would be in heaven to have you any way you wanted. But to be able to be your first experience with that would be amazing. But the question is, Y/n, would you like that?”

She squirmed in the soft black leather seats just thinking about it. She wasn’t sure if he’d want to go that route or not but she figured if he got her loosened up and drippy she probably would very much want that. She felt like he’d make it good. She knew he’d make it good.

Harry noticed the way she shifted and wondered if she was still on edge. He imagined her panties were a mess after what happened in the bathroom. He would have loved to have fucked her then and there but she asked to leave. And he could wait a little longer, though his cock was aching and pushing against the front of his trousers painfully.

Y/n was trying not to eye his crotch. He clearly had an erection. Still. And she knew he was nice and thick and long. Just remembering the way he looked had her thighs clenching together. Yes, she was still very wet in her panties, and knowing that soon he’d be using that thing on her gave her an idea.

She reached her hand over and put her palm on his upper thigh over his pants and Harry quickly glanced down before putting his eyes back on the road. He swallowed thickly. He liked where this was going.

“Gonna help me out a little?”

Y/n smirked and looked up at him as she unbuckled her seatbelt, “Do you want me to?”

Harry scoffed and shot his eyes at her quickly, “Is that a serious question?”

Biting her lip she positioned herself to lean over the leather console and began to undo the leather belt he had on. Harry adjusted his seating and pressed the seat back button to lean back a little to give her more room as she unbuttoned his pants. He parted his lips and let out a labored breath when he felt her palm over him.

He was so warm under her hand, even with the material of his pants covering him. She continued working on opening his pants up when the seatbelt warning dinged.

Harry groaned and rolled his eyes but she continued, not worried at all about the sound. She wanted to pull him out and play with him a little bit.

The road to her house from the restaurant was mostly along a small highway with no stoplights and very little traffic. Which she liked so she could have him out in her hand and no one would pull up next to them and catch a glimpse of what they were doing. Not to mention it was Harry Styles in the car, that would surely get some attention.

When she finally dragged his underwear down enough that she could grasp around him he moaned softly. She loved how he felt in her hand, the way he looked. She pulled from the base of his shaft upward, rolling his foreskin over his frenulum and back down. He was hard and his tip was pink and pretty like his lips.

The ding of the seatbelt warning chimed again as she leaned further over and moved her lips to right above his erect cock. Harry moved his arm away to give her space, before putting his hand on the back of her head. Her hair fell over the exposed skin at the base of his cock before he felt her lick gently over his slit and stroked him slowly as Harry drove down the road toward her home.

It was difficult to put him into her mouth with the console in between them but she had been able to put his tip in past her lips and lick all around him, lapping at his precome as she continued moving her hand in gentle strokes at his shaft.

Harry was panting shallowly and his stomach muscles were contracting. It felt so good to have her mouth and her hand on him. He wished he could look down to see her sucking him off but he had to keep an eye on the road, and with her seatbelt undone (thanks to the reminder every two minutes from the warning chime) he didn’t want to chance anything.

Y/n moaned around his slit and Harry choked out his words, “Fuck, baby. We’re almost there. Gonna give it to you so good when we get to your place.”

And she knew he would too. She wasn’t very experienced. She’d slept with two men before she got married but of all the men who’d fucked her, Harry was far and away the best at it.

Harry pulled into her small driveway, directly behind her Toyota Camry. Tucking himself back into his pants as she adjusted her dress before getting out of his car and plucking her keys from her purse.

“Did he pick you up here at your house?” He pointed toward her car in the driveway. He deduced that if her vehicle was there the date must have come to her home to pick her up.

Y/n paused and it took her a moment to understand what he meant but the realization dawned on her, “Yes. He did.”

Harry nodded, “So he knows where you live? Did you invite him in?”

Sighing she shook her head and pinched the bridge of her nose. Was he really doing this now? “Yes. He came in, stood in the doorway, and looked around while I grabbed my purse. That was it.”

Harry was standing over her with a small frown, “Were you planning on sleeping with him? After the dinner?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. What is this, Harry?” She pulled her arms upward before dropping them at her sides in frustration, the keys to her house jangling as she did so.

Putting his hands on her upper arms he slowly rubbed upward, “This is just me wondering what you were up to is all. It’s a good thing I got there in time to stop anything from happening.”

A scoff fell from her lips as she looked up at him, stunned, “No. This is you being jealous.”

Harry shook his head with a cocky grin and brought his left hand up to her neck and pulled her into his chest, “I’d be jealous if you left with him. But he’s nowhere to be seen now is he?”

She felt the small squeeze on her neck as he pushed her bottom gently to the front of his car, his hips connected to hers so she could feel him, “S’just you and me here, though. Isn’t it? You’re wet for me. Not for him,” his soft, warm mouth was suddenly pasted over her jaw and she gasped. It was hard for her head to fight its way out of the labyrinth of mush that he seemed to be so good at leading her into. But he knew that. He loved the way she responded to him.

Harry chuckled, his laugh vibrating off her neck as he tenderly kissed the edge of her parted lips before backing away and grasping her hand to pull her to her front door, “Let’s get inside then. Can’t fuck you out here on the hood of the car for all to see can I?”

Everything was rushed and desperate in her brain. She was shaky putting her key into her door to unlock with Harry right behind her, his hands at her hips, his lips on her neck.

The moment the door was closed and locked Harry pulled her into his arms and kissed her again. It was hot and frantic. They were both on edge and very much in need of release. Together. Even though he acted as if he had it totally together and he was in charge, he was feeling desperate too with the way his tip was leaky and his cock throbbed in his pants.

“It’s this way,” she panted breathlessly as she pulled his hand to bring him toward her bedroom.

But Harry paused when he saw a large, framed photo hung on the wall. It was of Y/n with a man. Kissing a man. She was wearing a beautiful wedding dress and the man was in a tuxedo with the backdrop of a lovely garden and flowers all around.  

“Is… this you?”

Y/n was halted when she whipped her head to look at what he’d seen. She realized instantly what he meant.

“Um. Yes.”

“Are you… married?”

Y/n sighed and let go of Harry’s hand.

Talk about a mood killer.

Chapter 3

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[noforkingclue]

New brain rot-Mulan happenings because you know what I deserve it. *we* deserve it

Someone who works for the Peaky blinders-a damn good shot, maybe, or a damn good informant-someone proper, but not someone Tommy pays all too much attention too. He didn't seem to have gone to war, and frankly he might resent him a little for that.

But he knows him-knows of him, really-and he does good work. Tommy doesn't ask too many questions, and neither does he-just gets the man paid, and he seems loyal enough.

He seems young-Tommy's never seen him with scruff-but he doesn't act young, and frankly Tommy only fears the smallest amount of worry when he wonders how old the man is, if that's why he wasn't in France, dying too.

So when one day he needs some assistance as he travels to London, he selects him-never had an issue, and he wants the family at home, keeping an eye on things.

And it's a little strange, at first, just spending time with this man-this man that seems so guarded, but who is Tommy to judge-but he finds himself enjoying his company, oddly enough. Asks him why he's a Peaky blinder, one day, and can appreciate the answer of protecting family.

But it's when he comes back early to the hotel room, from a night out (not far, just to the hotel bar for a drink, he's no fool) that he finds himself frozen and it's like the whole world clicks into focus as he stared.

He's a she. She's been doing man's work-well enough she fooled his men, fooled him-but was loyal and didn't ask questions. A woman who took a fucking bullet for him, a scar or two more than once, who he sent to danger more than once, on his command-

She intrigued him. She intrigued him greatly.

Note: requests are currently closed

Title: Hidden Secrets

Peaky Blinders tag list: @stylesofloki, @ohshititsfenharel, @lenaskyler02, @elenavampire21, @swordofawriter, @zablife, @cillmequick, @polishcrazyone, @nataliewalker93

Thomas Shelby tag list: @alreadybroken-ts, @darlingdevil, @lyrxbz, @watercolorskyy, @notyour-valentine

Everything tag list: @greenrevolutionary, @byebyebreezywrites, @spngingerbread21, @layazul, @lov3vivian, @simonsbluee

In hindsight it was obvious.

The hotel door swung shut behind Tommy and he lit a cigarette. The click of the lighter was the only sound in the room and Tommy’s eyes never left you. You had just got a lot more interesting.

At first you were just another Peaky Blinder. You seemed younger than the rest, Tommy had never even seen you with facial hair or the same deep lines that marked the faces of most of the other men in his employ. Clearly you had never seen the horrors of war, your age had spared you from that fate and yet you willingly threw yourself into his world. You allowed your hands to be soaked in blood.

You were a good shot, reliable and loyal, all three things that were surprisingly hard to come by if you weren’t family. Once he finally talked to you (one late night in the Garrison with too much whiskey) he found you surprisingly pleasant to talk to. You still had your guard up, cautious about the drinks Tommy were giving you but you still let some information slip. How you were doing this for your family, how you needed to look after your parents now that your oldest brother had died in the war. Tommy noted the glint in your eye, the love and pride you held for your family. If your brother hadn’t died you never would’ve joined the Blinders and you never would’ve come into his life.

He never should’ve gotten so close to you. It wasn’t appropriate to be so close to someone… to someone… to someone like you but he couldn’t help it. He’d seen the slightly concerned looks that his brothers gave him and the not so subtle warnings the Polly dropped. It wasn’t anything like that he just liked you and knew that knew that he could rely on you. Which was why he picked you for this London job instead of Arthur or John. He needed them back home. He could rely on them to run the business and he could rely on you to do exactly what he told you to do.

Being so close to you was a lot harder than Tommy expected which was how he found himself in the hotel bar downing whiskeys. It certainly wasn’t to distract himself (definitely not) it was just a stressful time and a drink always helped. Still, he did have business tomorrow so he couldn’t spend all night drinking and eventually he’d have to go back up to you.

Tommy was expecting you to be in bed when he got back and clearly, from the look of horror and shock on your face you had expecting him to be back later. You grabbed your shirt and pulled in up against your bound chest. You took several steps back before stumbling back and falling to the ground. You swallowed thickly and opened and closed you mouth several times. Tommy smirked at you and walked over to you. He stood over you and your gazes locked. He reached down and paused when you flinched away. He gave you a brief smile before offering you his cigarette. You took it was shaking hands and he savoured the moment your fingers brushed against his.

“Well then,” he said, “this is an interesting development. Now what am I going to do with you?”

#fanfiction #peaky blinders #reader insert #request #thomas shelby #tommy shelby #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x reader

[raschuuuu]

Summary: Y/N is a famous YouTube vlogger and Ruben Dias a famous professional football player. They've been friends for a few months but never met. Now it's finally time for them to meet but what happens when one of them falls in love?

PART 2

Rating/genre: fluff, friends to lovers

Pairings: Ruben Dias x female reader

Word count: 862 words

—————————————————————————————————

The same night I arrived in London, Ruben and I had another video call. And another three weeks later Ruben and I, of course, still kept in touch, but not that much because of one: He was busy and two: I've been busy too. I started filming vlogs again regularly.

I haven't told you what videos I'm shooting yet. I refer more to daily lifestyle vlogs or vacation vlogs. My videos like to be watched by girls and boys and I also film on twitch a few videos, which means I like to stream too.

Today I made plans to meet a good friend of mine, his name is Brett. Brett and I met at a little event in London, and he talked to me first there. It felt like Brett and I were friends forever. Brett was never in one of my videos, so he had a little debut today.

"Hey, guys, welcome to a new vlog from me! I hope everyone are doing fine. I'm meeting a friend of mine later, you've never met him, but he's a great person, and that's why I really want him to be in my vlog today." I said to the camera. „This is what I’m gonna be wearing today guys!“ I turned the camera around so you can see my OOTD in the mirror. I was on my way out and while I was walking I was talking to the camera.

When I got to the restaurant where I wanted to meet him, he was sitting there and I smiled at him. The camera was still filming all the time. "Here he is," I said with a big smile on my face, hugging Brett. Then I turned the camera around and Brett waved into the camera. „Guys this is my beste Brett!!!“ - "Hey, guys, I'm Brett," he said shyly. I had to laugh because I realized he must have been embarrassed. Brett and I sat in that restaurant and talked a lot, the camera kept filming. We told my viewers how we met, we made a lot of jokes, and after lunch at the restaurant, I continued to vlog. Brett and I had a nice day in London. We went into a couple of stores, I helped Brett to pick out a suit because he was soon invited to a wedding, and we went to a coffee shop and had coffee and cake. In the evening, we went to a bar and got drunk there. I finished my vlog the next morning in my bed. I had quite a hangover from the night before, and I said goodbye to my viewers.

I uploaded the vlog that same week on YouTube and got such nice comments from my viewers. Everybody loved Brett and wanted to have a vlog with him again as soon as possible.

When I was lying in my bed at night I watched at a documentation on Netflix and then I got a call from Ruben. "Hi," I said. "Hey," he said dry. "Are you all right?" - "Yes, I'm fine. Do you have a boyfriend now?", he asked all of a sudden. "No, why?" "I watched your vlog and it looked like you were dating," he said. I had to smile. What he and everyone else didn't know is that Brett likes dicks. Yeah he’s gay. He would probably try to hit on Ruben if he knew we were friends.

I decided to keep it to myself and not tell him. "Really? No, we don't date. But did you think we looked good together?" I asked. He didn't answer my question. I called his name. "No," he answered, and before I could say anything, he said, "I'll go to London and meet you tomorrow." Now I've been quiet. What's wrong with him? Why does he want to come all of a sudden?

"Of course you can come, but why all of a sudden? We didn't plan anything and I didn't clean up. I don’t have any food here. I need to buy food. Oh, God, I don't have anything at home," I replied and suddenly I got stressed. "I've just made a spontaneous decision. You don't need to buy anything. I'm gonna get a hotel. I'll come with Arabella. I'd like you to meet her. We're just getting to know each other, and I think it can be serious with her." He said, and somehow I felt weird. And if I'm honest with you, I felt jealousy as well. He didn't tell me anything about her when I was with him, and why would he want to introduce me to his situationship or whatever the fuck she is? "Uhm, sure I'd love to meet your girlfriend." I lied. I don't want to meet her. "But does she know about me? Did you tell her about me because I'm not really unknown and I don't want her to think anything wrong." - "Yes, I told her we were friends. She was surprised, but she was happy and she loves to watch your videos. We watched your video with Brett together. Her idea was to go on a double date together."

OH OH HELP!

#Ruben Dias #Ruben Dias fic #Ruben Dias imagine #ruben dias x reader #ruben dias x you #ruben dias x y/n #mancity #manchester city #football fic #football imagine #footballer one shot

[freddiemercurylegendabovelegends]

Today, on 8th February, 1976 - Queen Story!

New York, NY, USA, Beacon Theater

'A Night At The Opera Tour'

🔸Freddie Mercury was taking tea on the 47th floor of his New York hotel. In his suite. The Royal suite, of course. It was the morning after yet another triumph for Queen - that brilliant and highly original British rock band built around the outrageous ideas and stage presence of the exotic Mr.

Mercury. They had played their fourth concert in as many nights at the battered but fashionable Beacon Theatre, and wvith an album and a single in the American charts, they were riding high.

Warm tea was permitted to slide down Mr. Mercury's regal throat as he prodded gingerly at some nasty looking bruises on the side of his neck.

He explained, My very promising pop career nearly came to an untimely end last night. Two young girls outside the theatre decided to claim my scarf as a souvenir. They quite forgot that it was wrapped around my neck at the time, and they very nearly strangled me. I'm sure Her Majesty doesn't have to put up with this sort of thing. But then, she doesn't have anything in the charts at the moment does she?"

He is a wicked man, Mr. Mercury.

He is also everything that a rock idol is supposed to be, and New York has been quick to recognise this. Like Mick Jagger, Freddie has off-beat good looks. Jagger has those pneumatic lips, and Freddie has the most out- spoken set of teeth ever to have found their way on to a pop fan's wall. He also enjoys the lifestyle of a true superstar - he lives out our fantasies for us far more effectively than we could ever manage to do for our- selves. Even if we had his kind of money.

His dress sense is sensational. He seldom looks less than spectacular, and he is not the sort of chap who believes in going unnoticed. Satin is his favourite fabric, with silk coming a close second. And he loves those loose, floppy, Japanese-style jackets.

But as he is quick to point out, There is a quiet side to me too, you know.

My home life is very civilised, and I hardly ever dress up to watch the tele- vision. Unless I am watching a Royal occasion of course. Then, my dear, it's on with the tiara and the emine ..

the LOT!

But Freddie felt there were better things to do in the city of New York than sit around sipping tea and discussing sartorial matters. He in- vited photographer Terry 0ʻNeill and me to join him on a shopping expedition, and it seemed a reason- able idea. Freddie was his casual self in short fur coat, white satin slacks, white clogs and silver snake bracelet.

The problems we encountered were little ones. Like young girls sobbing softly outside the door of a shoe shop while Freddie sought some- thing for the regal feet inside. And then there was the confusion of the young lady in Bloomingdale's depart- ment store who began to give Freddie a free manicure, only to discover that the nails on his left hand were already painted with black lacquer.

Freddie said, I love America. But l cant imagine ever coming here to live.

Our music is successful over here because it is so distinctively English.

We must keep it that way. I have just bought a new house in London, and an enormous car that looks like a boat on wheels. I could never leave all that.

And I have far too much fun ever to worry about a silly little thing like tax.

I know l'm terribly extravagant.

I always have been. My life these days is one perpetual spending spree. So I suppose l am the sort of person who needs to find ways of reducing tax.

But it's all such a bore. Why don't you buy a pair of these beautiful glitter shoes? They 're outrageous. And they 're cheap. And they re much more interesting than tax, don't you think?

I did think so. But I decided against buying the lurid footwear. You have to be a star to wear shoes like that.

Somebody rather like Freddie Mercury, in fact.

#1976 #a night at tbe opera album #a night at the opera tour #freddie mercury #queen band #london #zanzibar #legend #queen #brian may #john deacon #freddiebulsara #roger taylor #new york #usa

[jbaileyfansite]

Jonathan Bailey's interview with The Standard (2023)

(TW: this interview contains a story of Jonny being threatened by an homophobe in DC the day after the Human Campain Rights Gala)

Queer as Folk, Will & Grace, It’s a Sin: it’s not as if TV hasn’t tackled the gay male experience – and well – before. But I can’t think of a gay, straight (as it were) drama that matches the sweep and sheer mainstream gloss of Ron Nyswaner’s new eight-part Paramount+ series Fellow Travelers. 

Nor can I think of one that does sex quite as brilliantly – frequent, searingly hot, sometimes tender, sometimes perfunctory, sometimes borderline brutal (one of the writers’ rules, Nyswaner has said, was “that we would never repeat the same act. When we got to episode eight, we were really kind of flummoxed”) and always articulate in a way that the necessarily secretive characters can’t be.  

It’s certainly the first series I’ve seen that explores gay relationships in such an unapologetic yet nuanced and, frankly, expensive way, I tell Bailey, when I meet him at the Corinthia hotel in London. 

“Totally,” he says. “And you can see it on the screen; the respect. In the early 90s, you needed a straight superstar like Tom Hanks [in Philadelphia, also written by Nyswaner] to bring a queer story and commission it. Cut to thirty years later, and it's the story itself that is the commissionable thing.”

I think the heartthrob star of Bridgerton is underselling his own clout a bit. The series follows the love affair between Tim Laughlin, an idealistic young congressional staffer (Bailey), and the vastly more experienced, cynical and outrageously handsome State Department official Hawkins ‘Hawk’ Fuller (Matt Bomer, whose all-American jawline could open a can of luncheon meat) that begins at the height of McCarthyism.

It jumps around a thirty-year timeline, expanded beyond the mid-century scope of Thomas Mallon’s original novel, to explore the relationship’s far-reaching repercussions, and the way that legislated oppression shapes people.

The other thing that stands out about the series, which begins in 1953 at the start of the Lavender Scare – the government crackdown on homosexual federal employees that resulted in upwards of 5,000 losing their jobs, and an alarming number taking their own lives – is that all the gay leads are played by out gay actors.

Bailey has said before that the important thing is gay stories being told, rather than slavishly ‘appropriate’ casting, and “I still 100 per cent stand by the fact that I think all actors should be able to do everything,” he says. “But to have gay actors chronicling the oppression and the trauma of it, I think it only adds to the experience. It's exciting that people welcome it.”

It’s encouraging too, that an out gay man was trusted to anchor a heteromantic behemoth like Bridgerton, to the point that having been snapped at Wimbledon with Ariana Grande (with whom he stars next year in the movie of Wicked), a newspaper was calling his agent threatening to out him as straight (“I'm in two minds about whether that's a really good sign of progression”). But all this progress is set against a sobering backdrop.

Rights for women and LGBTQ+ people are being rolled back across the world. Hate crimes based on sexuality have risen by 112 per cent in the last five years in England and Wales alone. How does he feel, right now, I ask him. After a moment’s consideration, he tells me a story that shocks me to my core.

He’d been to Washington DC, he tells me, at an annual event for the LGBTQ+ organisation The Human Rights Campaign. 

“It was an incredible experience,” he says, sitting one leg tucked under on a tasteful beige chaise longue. “I met President Biden. I was there with Shonda Rhimes, she was being given an award, Matt Bomer was given another one; I was introducing him. My first political gala. I had the most amazing night; had a drink; couldn't sleep; buzzing.

“I woke up the next morning, it was like a montage. Sunshine, I was like, this is brilliant. I went into a coffee shop, and I was wearing a Human Rights Campaign cap from the night before. And the young lady who I was ordering from recognised me from Bridgerton, we were just chatting.

“And a man arrived behind me and he said, ‘Are you famous?’ And I said something like, 'I'm really famous for ordering coffee,' which is actually quite an annoying thing to say,” he laughs. “And then he got my cap, and he pulled it off my head and he threw it across the room and he said, ‘get out of this f***ing coffee shop, you queer.”

The room went still, Bailey remembers. But he walked over, picked up his hat, and put it back on his head. “If you don't take that cap off, I'm gonna f***ing shoot you,” it came again. “Where I'm from, people like me kill people like you.”

It was, of course, terrifying. But “in the moment, everything slows down,” he says. “No one knew what to do, apart from one girl, she was amazing. Angela, she came up, and she got her phone out and she said, ‘I'm recording this message, I think you are welcome in this country. And what you're saying, I think, is appalling.’ That happened sort of five minutes in, and he left.”

The man was from Pennsylvania (yes, Bailey did ask), and what Bailey took from the experience, he says, is that “potentially, there is a kid who – that's his father. That's his uncle. That's his teacher.” 

He pauses. “My life was threatened. My body believed it; my brain didn't and it took me a while to really catch up with it. But I've got friends and security. There are so many people that don't. They are surrounded by that every day, and the torment of what that must be like, the amount of fear that was generated... If that's what children are surrounded by, they're not going to be able to grow in any way.

“And of course, that's not just an American story,” he continues. “It's international. And it's terrifying, that [here in the UK] we're not looking after queer people, in terms of allowing them into the country. Because that is the reality; people’s lives are literally at risk.”

He says the messages he’s been getting in response to the show bear this out. “People are still living in the closet. Or they’ve had a moment where they're watching and they realise, that was their father's story, or their mother's story; or it’s people who have been affected by this, but for the first time are understanding the trauma.

“People are so shocked that this is such recent history, but the majority of people in the world are living under that sort of belief system. And people on Instagram message from areas in the world where just getting through the day without being outed is survival.”

Bailey, 35, grew up in rural Oxfordshire as the youngest of four and the only boy to an audiologist mother and a father who worked for Rowse Honey. He had nothing but support and love within his family, but even he internalised shame from the way gay people were represented in the media when he was growing up. 

“The majority of gay people were either the butt of jokes, or being caught in sexual acts and considered deviants, or they were committing suicide, or they're dying of AIDS,” he says. 

He’s spoken before about an episode of Casualty he saw, aged 11, with exactly the latter storyline, “and I do remember that episode, viscerally, and crying and being like, that's what I'm [going to be]. And that isn't Casualty’s fault. It's brilliant to have that story out there. But it was the lack of variety, of access to being allowed to feel that you're going to be okay.”

Having said that, he says, “every five years is a different gay generation. It was nowhere near as tough as if I'd have been born 15 years earlier. Me and my friends, two in four, if not three in four, would not be here.” 

His relationship status is off-limits. There’s “a lovely man”, but that’s all he’ll say. “It's not secret, but it's private,” he says. “Having a private life is, for me, completely critical. I don't know if I would be able to be as confident to speak out on other things if I felt that my whole life was up for grabs.”

Bailey’s next big screen project is Wicked, playing Fiyero alongside Grande as Glinda and Cynthia Erivo as Elphaba. At one point though, he was doing that, Fellow Travelers and Bridgerton at the same time, which sounds insane.

“On World AIDS Day last year, I was in Canada playing Tim on the AIDS ward,” he says (you know this from the start, no spoilers here). “And then I wrapped, went straight to the airport, slept on the plane, got up and went straight to a Regency ball, slept in a hotel in London overnight and then went and danced with Ariana Grande for a day, my first day of rehearsal. Then I came back and burnt some conscription papers for the Vietnam War on the Monday.”

He’s got big plans of his own too – galvanised by the gala in Washington, he’s been working with the charity Just Like Us, which brings queer speakers into schools. "You're twice as likely to be bullied if you're gay, or queer," he says. "And yet if there's positive LGBTQ+ messaging within the school system, 100 per cent of people's mental health and happiness increases. It's a no brainer." He is planning to establish a foundation next year, to consolidate his charitable work.

But for now he’s glad to be home for a bit. Bailey moved out of London to be closer to his Nana during lockdown, and stayed (“I was watching Strictly with her the other day”). She’s 93, born in 1930, so “we worked out she's the same age as Tim. So we charted everything that Tim experiences with where she was, and it was amazing,” he says.

“I knew that she had known one gay man at work in her life, because that obviously came up when I was having conversations about who I am, and I knew he had taken his own life. She's watching Fellow Travelers, and it's really emotional for her because she's, I think for the first time, really being allowed to understand what might have been going on.”

She's “blown away” by the show, he says. They haven’t talked about “specific scenes”, but “she said to my sister – ‘I didn't know he had it in him.’ I actually want that on a T-shirt.”

Source

#fellow travelers #jonathan bailey #jonny bailey #lgbtq+ #lgbtqia #interviews #interviews:2023 #the standard 2023 #NEW!

[blueshistorysims]

September 1921, Henford-on-Bagley, England

Dearest sister,

I hate it. I bloody detest it. Thomas, the title, the fucking castle. I could go on for hours about the castle. It is beautiful, yes, and full of history, but my god, it costs 6,000 bloody pounds a month to even run it. 72,000 a year. That’s more than I would make in fifteen years in my field of work. I think once Thomas dies I am going to sell it. I don’t see the need to live in a Versailles Palace knock-off. I was told that they even hired Jules Hardouin-Mansart and his successor Robert de Cotte to design the place back in 1709. 

I spend six days a week with his grace, learning the skills and duties of a duke. He’s hired an etiquette coach to teach me how to dine properly (there is no need to be so many types of spoons and forks, why is there a fork just for eating cheese and another for snails?), a ballroom instructor to teach me to dance waltzes, and I spend hours with the estate manager, learning to the run the bloody place. Stella has escaped these tortures because her mother thought it be would smart to learn American, English, and French etiquette and dining styles. 

Sundays are my only free day, and I spend it with Stella. She hates it here more than I do. She tells me that she wants to go home, back to New York. I don’t blame her. The countryside has almost no society, and we avoid the neighbors—Thomas doesn’t think we are ready to be in proper society yet. It is so bluntly obvious that he does not like us I almost laugh. 

He leaves for London for parliament soon. I am tempted to sneak away on a boat back to New York. Change my name and run to California where Stella and I will run a hotel. It began as a joke at first, but I wonder if she’s starting to be semi-serious now. I think I will make a case to let us live in London, that way we will be near you and Francesca, and Stella knows people in London. She won’t stuck in a society based on racial privilege and merit. I just want to pursue my own life with my own interests. 

I will send a telegram when I am in London. Hopefully soon. 

Your darling suffering brother, Byron

East London

Giselle set the letter down and sighed. Of course Byron was complaining about living in a castle. She understood why he was angry, but she was living in a tiny apartment in East London, barely making ends meet if she and Francesca weren’t both working. The only person she felt sorry for in the matter was Stella.

“Oh Giselle,” Francesca wailed, opening the door and slamming it behind her. She was crying.

Giselle stood up in shock. “What happened, dearest? What is the matter?”

“I’ve had a telegram from the family lawyer. Aunt Rosamond is dead.”

#the walshes #the walsh legacy #the sims 4 #ts4 #sims 4 decades #sims 4 historical #ts4 story #history simblr #sims 4 history challenge #ts4 historical #ts4 decades challenge #1920s #ts4 1920s #tw sex mention #tw death #byron walsh #thomas walsh #stella gardenhouse #francesca pace

[greeneyed-thestral]

I BOOKED A TICKET TO SEE MICHAEL IN NYE

so here's the thing

I went to London for the first time last october and going to the theatre there was a wake up call, as if a voice in my head that had been silent for a really long time whispered 'hey this is actually all you need to feel better? to sit in the dark and experience something special with other people that love it as much as you??'; so I wanted 'London at least once a year' to become a thing

right now I don't know what I'm doing with my life and some days I just feel like I want to hop on a plane and forget everything and everyone, sometimes I just stop and turn my head and realize oh I'm... not in London, but I remember who I was there??

one january evening I kinda mentioned to my sister that Michael would be doing a play at the National this spring; she got me all excited like we looked for planes, hotels and possible dates that could work for both of us and I literally couldn't switch off my head, which scared me, for I stayed awake all night 'till five o' clock writing a detailed schedule for this hypothetical crazy weekend

and then I kinda gave up the idea 'cause I don't have a job at the moment but what if someone calls me?? what if I'm away and I lose the chance of a lifetime? should I even go back so soon like shouldn't I wait for a better opportunity or something special?? but c'mon it's a weekend I mean who is going to need me AND YET--

my sister kept insisting for weeks but I didn't want to be bothered anymore 'cause I've been feeling really down and I didn't want to fool myself like last time, and everything felt pointless anyway

but last night she sent me screenshots of a plane and hotel option for a weekend in march when there's nothing going on here that binds me to stay, and I said you know what... maybe?

so she rushed into my room and not even two hours later we had booked the plane, the hotel and a theatre ticket for me to see Michael Sheen in Nye anD I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO TELL YOU BUT I HAD A BREAKDOWN and started crying

'cause moments earlier there was nothing and now there was this thing and I felt overwhelmed like-- I'm actually going to London just for a day, but I get to see Michael?? like I'll be in the same room as this person that is so so special???

and I felt guilty and scared even though I never leave the house and I don't really do nice things just for me, yet still I ask myself if it's worth it and if I deserve it

there are actually many pros: I had a plane voucher to spend within the year, this is the last weekend my sister can come with me, we get to see London in spring, the hotel is great and very close to the theatre and to the underground, if everything goes according to plans we get to see another play in the afternoon as well, also it's not like Micheal performes live so close so often, who knows when I'll ever get the chance to see him again, and c'mon these past months are proof that I clearly love him in everything he does, don't I owe him this?

on the other hand I get so scared of what might happen like what if I go all the way there and then Michael can't perform that day, what if I wasted the voucher, what about delays and unexpected problems, also the show is going to be filmed, maybe I should have said no and stream it instead of choosing to go there...

I just feel like I'm always waiting for a perfect moment, the perfect occasion, and maybe this is one and I can't seem to see it; must it be that I need others to push me this way otherwise I would never do anything? I mean to me it's scary that I have to reach this breaking point to experience something when I'm well aware that booking a plane to a place that is two hours away it's the norm for other human beings

I just need someone to tell me I did the right thing. 🥺

#me #nye #michael sheen

[fredficaccount]

MARCH FIC RECAP

I read 32 fics in march and reread 1.

From several fandoms : larry, rwrb, tarlos, drarry, athelnar, cmbyn, sterek, obikin.

As always, I'm infinitely grateful to all the authors for their gifts and to AO3 for being this space for sharing.

Apart from my re-reading, which I'll talk about at the end of this post, I particularly enjoyed 6 of these fics.

***

2 Larry :

Landslide, by @aimmyarrowshighaes, spibsy (lucy_and_ramona)

Explicit, 143k words, completed 2014-02-19

Historical AU, 70s AU, Strangers to lovers

Summary

The year is 1976. In November, Jimmy Carter will take control of the White House. Americans are meeting Laverne & Shirley at their apartment in Milwaukee. Hotel California diverges from the reign of Kool & the Gang. And the FBI is still reeling from the repercussions of Watergate, the tragedy at Wounded Knee, Operation Family Secrets, and the strategic terrors of the anti-cult movement.

That's what Special Agent Harry Styles has been told is the basis of his mission to an abandoned farmhouse in rural New Hampshire.

With his hair grown out long and his shirt untucked, he's going undercover to do reconnaissance on suspected cult leader Louis Tomlinson, who has led a group of people out into the middle of nowhere, leaving no record of the life he'd had before. All Harry knows is what the agency gave him: Tomlinson's name, and instructions to figure out what he's doing with the eleven people he brought with him.

In the year that Harry spends undercover and under Louis Tomlinson's wing, he learns more than he ever expected.

What I liked :

This story is perfect : masterful scenario, well crafted characters, and a very special and absolutely unique atmosphere, all to achieve about how a remote place can help you find in someone the home you were looking for...

@louisbumpenguin did this superb cover :

With blood and soft stitches, by @bravestyles

Not Rated, 57k words, completed 2020-07-30

Established relationships, suicide attempt, hurt/comfort

Summary :

After a failed suicide attempt and a three month long coma, Harry wakes up.

What I liked :

Suicide, depression… It's not an easy subject… And yet the author comes up with a story that is all sensitivity and emotion. They describe perfectly what it's like to go wrong, even when you love your husband, even when, from the outside, everything seems to be going well. The distress of Louis, the husband who almost lost his love, is also palpable and poignant.

Both characters are amazing, and it's literally impossible not to fall in love with Louis, who reminds me TTS Louis, a marvel of solidity and devotion to his other half.

***

2 Drarry :

Life lessons, by @bixgirl1

Explicit, 68k words, completed 2019-06-04

Enemies to friends to lovers

Fic post

Summary :

On the cusp of a promotion, Harry needs a little help with his image. Enter Draco Malfoy — who doesn't really do that, Potter — to whip him into shape… and make him feel things he hasn't for a very long time.

Featuring: odd jobs, surprising chemistry, lots of accidental kissing, the Prophet living up to type, owls exhausted by the carrying of dirty letters, a secret no one can talk about, a merry band of Slytherins (none of whom really approve), and an enchanted mirror (who really, really does).

What I liked

This is another one of those drarry fics where I fall in love with both characters and their stories, each so different yet so compatible.

The Cabin Trip, by @gallifrey1sburning

Explicit, 23k words, completed 2021-02-22

Friends to lovers, Sharing a bed, Pining

Fic post

Summary :

When Harry decides to swap his house in London for a cabin in the Catskill Mountains for a week, he’s excited for the chance to take a vacation with a group of his closest friends. He’s positive that his long-standing crush on Draco won’t be a problem; he’s been handling it just fine for years, after all. Unfortunately, he wasn’t counting on those tiny swim trunks. Or the way Draco licks melted chocolate off his fingers. Or having to rescue him from a rogue shower. And he definitely wasn’t counting on Draco deciding to sleep in Harry’s bed. But it’s going to be fine. Right?

Featuring: gender fuckery fashion icon Blaise Zabini, Greg Goyle as “the dad friend,” Luna Lovegood petting wild animals that she absolutely should not be petting, and Harry and Draco not being nearly as subtle as they think they are.

What I Liked :

This fic is a sort of grand epilogue, set against the backdrop of a beautiful cabin in the Canadian woods, with a lake, obviously a shared bed, pining and a great bunch of friends. A lovely serotonin moment. I could have gone on for pages and pages.

***

1 Tarlos :

No rules in breakable heaven, by @strandnreyes

Explicit, 75k words, completeted 2023-07-27

Private chef AU, friends with benefits

Fic post

Summary

Carlos doesn't know what to expect when he takes a position as a private chef in the Hamptons for the summer. All he knows is that he needs a job, and one that puts a roof over his head, gives him a chance to practice his craft, and will look great on his CV is more than he could ask for. Turns out he has no idea what he’s in for.

What I liked :

I sincerely hope that the author continues to write for a long time to come, because every time, it's a joy to read. Carlos and TK are beautiful, moving and touching, no matter what reality they find themselves in, and this AU private chef is no exception.

***

1 Athelnar (Vikings) :

Uppsalir, by @gwylliondream

Mature, 66k words, completed 2019-02-01

Strangers (Or Enemies ?) to lovers, slow burn

Fic post (kind of)

Summary :

In the raid at Lindisfarne, Ragnar takes a blow to the head and is knocked unconscious. Thinking Ragnar is dead, his kinsmen leave him behind on the beach. When Ragnar awakens, he suffers from amnesia. He cannot remember why he sailed west, or what transpired at the monastery. Athelstan discovers his bruised body on the shore, and they embark on an adventure that challenges their faiths, their lives, and their love.

What I liked :

Years ago, I was really into the Vikings series. And all my interest collapsed when Athelstan died (I don't suppose I'm spoiling anything for anyone?), because G. Blagden was due to join the Versailles series. Here we are in 2024, I'm discovering Uppsalir on AO3 and omg it's a gem! It's a shame that such perfections don't have more readers, for lack of a more popular fandom…

***

My monthly reread :

We cant take the long road home, by @pinkcords

larry fic

Explicit, 45k words, completed 2020-07-09

Road trip AU, strangers to lovers, pining

Fic post

Summary

Late afternoon seeps into the cab, just shy of too warm, and the breeze that crosses window to window tosses their hair in their eyes, around their faces. They ride in pleasant silence, the radio humming softly in the background as they speed down the coast, and when Louis looks over, Harry’s smiling to himself, a private happiness born from whatever’s going on in his head. Louis likes to think it has something to do with him, or at the very least, this adventure they’ve embarked on together, chosen to see through to San Diego.

Or, Harry and Louis fall in love down the coast of California.

What I liked :

I finished March by rereading this fic after watching a TV documentary about the Seattle area with my mum (Easter weekend). This is the third time I've reread it, and the third time I've loved it! It's got some of my favourite ingredients: road trip, pining, a lonely character whose heart gradually opens up, beautiful landscapes, pining, emotion… Really, We can take the long road home is one of my all time favourite fics.

What's more, there's a lighthouse and a sea glass found on a beach…

#monthly fic rec #my fics recs #fic rec list #fic rec #fic rec recap #larry fic rec #drarry fic rec #tarlos fic rec #viking fic

[bit-dodgy-innit]

Scared to be Lonely

Part Two   Part Three    Epilogue

Summary: After S.W.O.R.D. helps with the clean-up in the Cairo aftermath, they ask Marc to return the favor: guard a variant Loki’s estranged wife while Thor and S.W.O.R.D. try to track down the evasive Godbutcher. Yet leave it to a “catty space princess” to throw the Moon Knight for a loop. 

Pairing: Marc x Fem!OC, eventual Steven x Fem!OC and Jakex Fem!OC, past Loki x Fem!OC, past Marc x Layla

Rating: Explicit, Minors DNI! 

Word Count: 7.3k (hahahaha wut?!)

TW/CW: Leave it to Oscar Isaac to end my decade (?) long hiatus from writing fic...it’s so long and filthy I had to split it up into parts instead of posting in one go like I’d planned. But for this bit - talk of divorce, mention of forced marriage, angst, oral (m receiving), fingering, dirty talk, barebacking (wrap it before you tap it IRL folx), p in v sex, and a smidge of creampie & cum-eating 

“This is beneath me,” Khonshu declared yet again, materializing on the bus seat across from Marc, “Since when does a venerated member of the Ennead, and therefore by extension his avatar, serve as a paladin for Loki’s brat bride?”

Marc pulled out his phone. Pretended to make a call. Held the phone to his ear and then spoke. “Since if it wasn’t for S.W.O.R.D. last month the clean-up in Cairo would’ve been more of a mess than it was.”

Khonshu bristled. “I don’t trust them.”

“We agree there. But all things considered, as far as S.W.O.R.D. calling in the favor I owe them, there could be worse asks. Besides, if there’s really a deranged godkiller out there, we need intel.”

“Resorting to lowly bureaucrats instead of finding the adversary yourself. No wonder she left yo--” 

“Ok talk to you soon!” Marc pretended to hang up and pushed Khonshu to the back of his mind. 

Any mention of Layla was a conversation-ender.  Khonshu was severely mistaken if he thought Marc was any more excited about guarding Loki’s ex-wife from another universe than he was, but if Marc was being honest, he could use a distraction. The two weeks since he’d signed the papers had been…rough. 

A calm, robotic female voice came over the bus’s loudspeaker and announced his stop. He stepped off the bus into an impossibly posh area of London. Funny how different areas of the city could be so starkly different they felt like separate worlds. 

The S.W.O.R.D. operative was waiting for Marc outside of Claridge’s as said he would be. 

“Agent Woo,” Marc greeted him. 

“Mister..?” Woo struggled with how to return the greeting, trying to determine who he was speaking to.

Marc watched him squirm for a moment or two, then put him out of his discomfort, “Spector. The other one has a British accent so thick it borders on hokey.” 

Sod off, Steven chimed from one of the polished window panes of the luxury hotel’s entryway. 

At least he counted you, Jake added. Marc was still grappling with the existence of another alter, and it was none of S.W.O.R.D’s business. 

“Oh, okay, thanks. Shall we?” Woo gestured to the door, eager to put his gaffe behind them.  

The two men made their way across the grand, bustling lobby. Marc had never been to the hotel, but it was more or less what he expected. Chandelier, black and white marble tiles, a sweeping staircase. 

“What am I walking into here?” Marc asked. When googling his charge, Sigyn, he hadn’t found much. He’d even consulted a few of Steven’s mythology books but they contained little more information about the Norse goddess. All Marc was working off of was, until recently, that she was the long-suffering wife of Loki, god of mischief and chaos, and that Sigyn was given the title of goddess of fidelity for her trouble. 

Woo called the elevator. “You read the brief?”

“Of course I read the brief,” Marc fired back. It had been frustratingly vague to his chagrin, but not to his surprise. Sigyn was a “variant”, a person who had come from another universe into theirs. In her dimension, she’d been married to Loki for centuries on Asgard and part of the ruling royal family. S.W.O.R.D. suspected that her universe’s Loki had gone rogue, conspiring with the entity who had been destroying gods across the multiverse. 

“She’s lovely,” Woo said as they got on the elevator. 

“Don’t bullshit me.” 

Woo deflated. “Her highness comes off as arrogant, imperious. Our psychiatrist says it’s because she’s still feeling vulnerable after her husband left her. We need her for intel obviously, but our team has lead on Gorr–”

“The godkiller” Marc interjected.

“Yes. Thor doesn’t want her to come. Our leadership agrees, it’s too risky. We can’t lose our two closest connections to Loki and Asgardian assets should the mission go south.” 

“So you called me to babysit rather than actually help you.”

“You are helping,” Woo insisted. “And your status as a consultant with us is delicate, Mr. Spector. S.W.O.R.D. is protecting you and your alter from several international authorities. Fail to keep the princess safe and perhaps we’ll reconsider.”

“Does she have the same affinity for lightning as her brother-in-law?” 

The elevator reached the top floor. 

“No, but like other Asgardians, she has increased strength and invulnerability, heightened senses and stamina, in addition to the Allspeak. She’s a practitioner of magic, but her skills are nowhere near Loki’s. She also tells us she can hold her own in a fight.”

“Hand-to-hand combat or with a weapon?” 

“Doesn’t matter. Under no circumstances is she to leave the premises of the hotel. We’d prefer if you two stayed in the suite at all times.” 

“Worse cages to be kept in,” Marc commented as they walked down the plush-carpeted hallway to what he guessed was a penthouse. 

“Tell that to her,” Woo muttered under his breath. 

The pair reached the door to the Asgardians’ suite. Two armed guards were posted outside. Marc stopped Woo before the agent could give the nod for entry to his colleagues. 

“Do I really have to call her your highness?”

“If she likes you she’ll let you call her Sigyn, she picked that up from Thor.”

“So you call her Sigyn.”  

Woo snorted. “Ha! No.”

With that, Woo motioned to the operatives and they opened the door. Six more guards and agents were inside from what he could see, and Marc could barely take in the elegance of the spacious and cream-colored suite before Thor stormed into its living area. He was in full battle guard: helmet, cape, and the massive axe that Marc always assumed was over-compensation for other “shortcomings”.

Hot on his heels was a woman adorned in a large gold helm of her own. Where Thor’s was winged on the sides, hers has two large semi-circles and a dazzling emerald inlaid in the center right above her brow. Though her respective cape was green - her husband’s color Steven clocked - she wore a glittering gold gown. Sigyn. 

The more Marc observed her, everything about Sigyn seemed gem-like. Long, honey-colored  tresses tumbled down her back, and her skin was fair but sun-kissed. A pair of sapphire-like blue eyes competed for brilliance with the emerald on her helmet. Her cheekbones were high, her lashes were long, her lips were full, and her build athletic.

Loki left her? What an idiot, Jake marveled. I’d chain her to my bed and live inside of her–

Marc blocked him out before Jake could finish the thought. 

Though you’ve got to admit, she certainly looks like a goddess, doesn’t she?

He turned away from Steven’s image in the mirrored cabinet behind the dining table across the room. Marc was a professional. Unlike his alters, he could handle being in the same room as a beautiful woman. He pulled himself out of his head, focusing on the argument unfolding in front of him.

“No one knows Loki like I do,” Sigyn asserted. 

Thor wasn’t convinced. “I’m his brother.” 

“Adopted brother. I’m his wife,” she countered. 

“Estranged wife,” Thor shot back just as quickly. He scrubbed a massive hand over his face. It was clear they’d had this dispute before. “I need you to stay here, Sigyn. You’ll get your crack at him, I swear it, but not yet. 

Thor spotted them before the princess could get another word in. “Oh brilliant! Your knight is here!” 

The Asgardian crossed to them quickly, his hurried gait betraying his desperation to change the subject. Sigyn glared at the trio of men with disdain. She may have only married into royalty, but it appeared to Marc that Sigyn definitely had her imperial sneer down. 

“Cut the cow dung, brother. You mean my nanny.” She narrowed her gaze onto Marc. Everyone else in the room followed suit. 

Sigyn’s stare was withering. Was he supposed to bow? “Don’t you dare”, Khonshu protested. 

Marc offered his hand instead. “Marc Spector…your highness.” 

Sigyn didn’t take his hand. The princess’s face gave away nothing. Instead, she looked at Thor expectantly. 

“Lord Spector, allow me to introduce you to her royal highness Princess Sigyn of Asgard.” 

“Thanks but um, I’m not a lord.” 

Thor was thrown. “You’re a knight, aren’t you?” 

“I’m the avatar of the Egyptian god, Khonshu. Moon Knight is a title but I don’t have subjects or anything.”

Sigyn groaned. “Norns”. She swept out of the living area into what must have been a bedroom, making sure to slam the door behind her. 

Thor broke the subsequent awkward silence. 

“So now you’ve met my sister,” he sent the other men a conciliatory smile. “Technically, we’re not siblings, or really in-laws even, but she’s fast become the younger sister I never had, you know?”

“Sure,” Marc offered. 

“I’m an only child,” Agent Woo blurted. 

“Anyway, Marc, I was hoping to see Khonshu! It’s been a literal eternity since I’ve seen that crazy old bird!” Thor scanned the room.“Is he here?”

Marc glimpsed Khonshu in his periphery shaking his head. “Not now, no,” he lied. “The Ennead relocated to the Overvoid, so it’s complicated to–”

“We need to go,” a female voice tinged with an eastern European accent interrupted him. A smaller blonde woman entered in tactical gear. “Is the Princess Bride taken care of?” 

“Yes!” Thor exclaimed. “Marc Spector, Yelena Belova.” 

Yelena shook Marc’s hand. “You’re Sigyn’s personal detail?” he nodded. “You poor son of a bitch.”

“I’ve been a mercenary for over a decade, I think I can handle a catty space princess.” 

“Exactly! You’re the best there is,” Thor pulled Marc close to him. The Asgardian lowered his tone, “She’s been through a lot as of late. First her husband leaves her and then she’s transported to a different realm, in an entirely different universe where they were never wed, not to mention he’s dead here too.”

“I get it. Sort of. I got divorced recently.” Marc had no idea why he said it. Did he drink and fight about the split from Layla? Yes. But talk about it? Never. 

“Great!” The god of thunder caught himself. “It’s not great, I’m sorry, though perhaps you wanted to get divorced? Who am I kidding? Breakups are always hard. Well, they are for me, you seem like the stoic type. But it is great you two have something in common.”

The suite had nearly emptied. Before Thor followed suit, he went to Sigyn’s closed door and knocked. No answer. 

“Seeg? We’re leaving.” Still no response. Thor tried another tactic. “They may come here, you know. That’s why we need you and Marc to stay behind.” 

Sigyn’s reply came in the form of a pillow being hurled at Thor’s face that sailed through a gold hole in the top half of the door that disappeared as swiftly as it materialized.  

Bloody hell, Steven marveled at the casual use of magic. 

Thor remained undeterred, shouting “I love you, sister!” before he took his leave. 

Agent Woo headed for the door too, clapping Marc on the shoulder. “She’s all yours.”  

Marc stopped him. “Wait, you’re not staying?” 

“I thought you read the brief! It clearly outlined that this is an all-hands-on-deck situation, which is why we called you. Plus, I'm pretty sure she despises me. The door guards stay. Charge whatever you need to the room. We’ll be back as soon as we can.”

Less than a minute later, the room was deserted. Marc approached Sigyn’s door. He tried knocking and calling for her, but she remained non-responsive. 

“She didn’t climb out the window, did she?” 

“The princess is still here,” Khonshu assured him before adding “unfortunately.” 

“Might as well make the best of it.” 

Marc wasted no time flopping onto the couch that probably cost more than his last car, ordering room service, and several putting pay-per-view fights on S.W.O.R.D’s tab. If he was lucky, Sigyn would stay holed up in the bedroom until everyone came back. 

Those hopes were dashed ninety minutes later when the princess emerged from her bedroom and padded into the living room. No longer in her ceremonial battle armor, Sigyn wore a simple ivory linen dress. Marc turned off the TV reflexively when she entered the room. 

Sigyn studied him, her eyes inquisitive and piercing. “You’re the Moon Knight?”

“Just Moon Knight. No ‘the’. Fuck it, just call me Marc.” 

“But there’s another man that lives within you.” 

“Yes.” 

“What’s his name?” 

“Steven.”

Sigyn nodded, digesting the information. Marc was surprised to see there were no traces of wariness or distaste on her face, simply curiosity. 

“And you both serve Khonshu?”

“I do more than he does.” 

Wouldn’t at all if it were up to me, Steven remarked, his face warped in the silver of the serving cover that the room service had been delivered under. 

“I’d like to apologize for my behavior earlier. I made a rather terrible first impression.”

“Don’t mention it. Thor told me what you’re dealing with right now.” 

An exasperated sigh escaped past Sigyn’s plump lips, “I wish he hadn’t. He treats me as if I were made of glass, it drives me mad.” 

“He cares about you.” 

She softened slightly. “It’s all too easy to forget he's not actually the brother I’ve spent the last however many years with. Otherwise he’d know.” 

“Know what?”

“That I am not a fragile, helpless princess that needs your protection, Marc.” 

He stood, went to her. Marc fought to ignore the intoxicating scent of jasmine that flooded his nostrils when he crowded his space to test her. “Oh yeah? So why haven’t you given me the slip then? 

Her sapphire eyes turned hungry. “Have you looked in a mirror lately?”

“Not if I can help it.”

Sigyn chuckled. She lifted her chin in an attempt to make up for the inch or so Marc had her height-wise. “You remind me of my husband. Ex-husband.” 

“Ouch,” he replied with faux hurt. 

“You strike me as a man who doesn’t take well to authority,” she explained, “so are you really going to listen to those puny Midgardian peons and keep us confined to this room?”

Marc smirked at her, but he didn’t answer Sigyn. This was a game he could play. And win.

“Perhaps you really are only a knight in name, hmm? Especially if you’re afraid of protecting a superior being who received her combat training from Odin’s elite Crimson Hawks.”

It was Marc’s turn to chuckle. She was goading him, trying to use reverse psychology. He leaned in close, hovered his lips millimeters from her ear. “Nice try.” 

Marc stepped back from her and returned to the couch. Clicked the TV back on. Before he could resume the boxing match he’d been watching, Sigyn followed him to the couch.

“Merely my only opening gambit. I’d caution you trying to play mind games with me, Marc. I was married to the god of mischief for a very long time.” 

“Sweetie, you have no idea who you’re dealing with.” 

“It’s your highness.” 

That’s it, give me the body! Jake demanded. I’m going to bend her over and–

Marc did his best to retain control of the body and cover any signs from bleeding onto his face as he stared Sigyn down. 

Khonshu didn’t make it any easier, “For once I agree with the ruffian.” 

“Marc?” 

“Yeah”

“Are you well?” 

“Never better,” he pivoted immediately. “Cards on the table, I only agreed to this because I want to know more about the godkiller–”

“Godbutcher.” 

“Excuse me?”

“He calls himself the Godbutcher”. 

“That’s a hell of a name to give yourself,” Marc mused. “Who has he butchered so far?” 

“We don’t know how many. I’ve overheard that some members of the Greek pantheon were victims. Thor refuses to tell me anything more, which means he’s afraid.” 

“Where were they going?” 

“You believe they’d tell me?”

“No I don’t, but you’re too savvy to wait to be told,” Marc pressed. “You must know something.”

The television remote flew from the table into Sigyn’s hand. She turned off the TV. “Take me to dinner and I’ll tell you all that I know. I hear the restaurant downstairs is fabulous.” 

“So you can be closer to an exit and lose me in a crowd? I don’t think so.” 

“I genuinely haven’t the faintest idea where they went,” she averred. “If I did, we likely wouldn’t be able to follow them anyhow since you don’t have the tech, nor I the magic to traverse the multiverse.” 

“They’re traveling inter-dimensionally?” 

“That’s the most I was able to glean.” 

“Why are you telling me this?” 

“Because I have been locked in these rooms for nearly four days and I am going mad,” Sigyn confessed, her eyes locked with Marc’s so he could see the truth in them. 

“The restaurant downstairs,” he agreed. Sigyn’s face lit up. “That’s it though.”

“Of course,” she flit back to her room. 

“I should have claimed Layla for my next avatar when I had the chance,” Khonshu lamented. Marc turned to face him. “You don’t use the head on your shoulders to negotiate.”

“Keep her out of your craven attempts to control me,” Marc fired back. “I’m containing Sigyn so you can go find where Thor and S.W.O.R.D. went to.” 

Khonshu cocked his skull, impressed. “Perhaps you’re not as useless as I thought.” 

The god vanished and Marc snuck over to Sigyn’s bedroom, listening through the door. She was on the phone. 

“Under Sigyn Odi–-Sigyn Frodisdottir please. No, the private dining room won’t be necessary.” 

Marc’s notion of Sigyn trying to lose him among the hotel guests wasn’t unfounded after all it seemed. He was taken aback by how gracious the princess was, however. There wasn’t a trace of the haughtiness in her tone that she’d spoken to Marc or the S.W.O.R.D agents with. 

Sigyn continued with who Marc guessed was the concierge, “I was curious if your personal shopper might be available? Wonderful! One minute, I’ll ask him–”

Her footsteps got closer and Marc launched himself through the hallway to resume his position on the couch before the door opened. When Sigyn appeared, Marc was tapping away on his phone, pretending he’d been there the entire time. 

She handed him the receiver. “The shopper requires your measurements.” 

“I thought we were just going to dinner?”

“Not with you dressed like that.”

Marc rolled his eyes. So much for Sigyn abandoning her royal airs. She retreated to her room once more and left Marc with the phone. 

He put the phone to his ear. “Don’t make me look like a douche, alright?”

*** 

It’s official. You definitely look like a douche, Jake mocked Marc’s reflection as he straightened his tie in the suite’s spare bedroom. 

I think we look sharp, Steven offered. 

“Fuck it,” Marc took off the tie and tossed it on the bed. He undid the top three buttons of the hideously expensive shirt the Claridge’s personal shopper got him instead. Sigyn would deal. 

Marc called for her, “We gotta go! You said seven, right?”

“A moment more!” Came the princess’s muffled reply through the door. 

He waited for her in the living room. Caught his reflection again on the TV screen. 

“I do look like a douche.” 

Sigyn’s door opened before Marc could change back to the clothes he arrived in. Her hair was artfully piled atop her head, exposing the golden skin of Sigyn’s shoulders since the deceptively simple, short black dress she wore didn’t leave much to the imagination. 

“Don’t clean you up well.” She remarked as she approached him. 

It took Marc a moment to acknowledge that she was speaking to him. He was a professional, but this wasn’t an impetuous princess before him. Dressed in earthly clothes, Sigyn was simply a knockout. He liked this version of her better. The golden helmet and cape and shimmering gown were unnecessary adornments to her beauty. 

Jake and Steven immediately, simultaneously, demanded control of the body. It felt as if four fists were pounding on his skill from the inside. Marc didn’t blame them, but there was also no way in hell they were going to ruin the delicate connection he’d forged with Sigyn.

Who do you think you’re kidding? Jake scoffed. You want first dibs on fucking her.

Sigyn’s hand cautiously touched his arm, snapping Marc out of his thoughts. 

“Marc? Can you hear me?” Her brow was furrowed in concern. The strappy heels she wore gave her the height advantage now. 

“Yeah,” he said, “yes. Sorry.” 

“Are you sure? We don’t have to do this.” 

“No, I want to,” the words left Marc’s lips without permission. _Get it together Spector, _he thought, it’s like you’ve never seen a pair of tits before. He needed to backpedal. “I mean, we had a deal.”

Sigyn grinned. “Shall we then?” 

The restaurant was dark and enveloping in its design - aubergine walls, low lighting, velvet seats. A singer and her small band occupied one of the corners; her sultry voice suited the ambiance of the establishment well as she serenaded its patrons. 

Marc wasted no time ordering the most expensive champagne on the menu to spite S.W.O.R.D. Once the waiter departed from the table, he got right to it. 

“So the godbutcher.”

A nervous laugh escaped Sigyn. She fidgeted, and even in the dim lighting, Marc could tell the princess was blushing. “In Asgard we usually wait for the first course before we discuss the matter at hand, Mister Spector.” 

Marc readied a retort until he caught Sigyn's fingers unconsciously drifting to her left ring finger, as if to twirl a wedding band, only to remember a moment too late it was bare. 

That’s when it occurred to him. She may be considered a goddess, but Sigyn was clearly a profoundly lonely woman. Not only had she been forsaken by her husband, as morally ambiguous as he was, she was on a strange planet in a completely different universe from hers with men in suits keeping her cooped up in a gilded cage. Why else would she not have escaped from the suite and insisted Marc dress up and take her dinner? 

He understood how she felt. All too well. But before Sigyn’s plight could truly tug on his heartstrings, Marc shut it down. He could work with this. Sigyn wanted the boyfriend experience? Marc would give her the boyfriend experience and get what he needed. 

Better give me the body, Steven entreated, only his eyes visible on the thin blade of Marc’s butterknife. You’re a bit too gruff to deliver the boyfriend experience, aren't you? 

“Shut up,” Marc whispered. 

Sigyn had heard. “Beg your pardon?” 

“Nothing,” he covered. “And I’m sorry your highness, you’re right, it was inappropriate of me to ask you right away.”

“I shouldn’t expect a Midgardian to observe the customs of a realm to which he’s never been,” she admitted. “Please call me Sigyn.”

Marc smiled a wolfish grin. He was in. 

“Nevertheless, I wish to know more about my enigmatic sentry.”

“Not much to know,” Marc deflected. His response was an automatic defense mechanism. Don’t let anyone get close, or let them learn anything they could use against him. Yet he knew he needed to give Sigyn something if he was going to coax anything useful out of her. “From Chicago, that’s in America. Do you know America? It’s um, across the-”

“I’ve heard of America,” she reassured him. 

“Served in the military which led me to mercenary work which led me into the service of Khonshu.” There. That was something.

Sigyn giggled as their waiter brought their champagne. “You say it with such simplicity.” 

“Yeah well, something tells me you’re a lot more interesting,” Marc countered.

“Is that so?” 

“You’re very different with me than you were with your brother and S.W.O.R.D.” he remarked.  

“Because you don’t look at me with pity,” Sigyn explained. “In their eyes I’m the silly, stupid woman who married the evil god because she didn’t know any better. Whereas they all saw this coming lightyears away apparently, and regard me as if I didn’t know my husband after centuries of marriage.”

“I get it,” Marc told her, making sure to catch her gaze. “I really do.”

Sigyn didn’t know what or how to ask about Marc’s…condition, so she stayed silent and took a sip of her champagne instead. 

Marc followed her line of sight to the band. A few couples had taken to the small dance floor in front of the musicians. Sigyn watched them with equal parts wonder and wistfulness. 

“Do you dance on Asgard?” 

“Yes but not like this,” Sigyn kept her eyes on the dancers. “Here it looks to be about two people merely being close to each other. On Asgard, it’s much more formal, impersonal even. The first time I met Loki he asked me to dance.” 

“Did he?” 

“I could hardly believe it.”

“Why?” When Sigyn looked at Marc in confusion, he elaborated, “Have you looked in a mirror lately?”

Sigyn flushed, a mix of the alcohol and the compliment.

“My entire childhood, my mother’s complete focus was getting Thor to wed my elder sister. Which if I’m honest, I learned not to mind, since it meant I could do what I like, court who I wanted. But the shock on her face when she discovered that a prince had asked little Sigyn to dance instead of her prized Astrid,” her expression darkened, “It’s probably why I stayed with him after the shock at the wedding.’

“What do you mean?”

“The night Loki danced with me I was already betrothed to a friend of my brothers’, a fellow Crimson Hawk. Theoric. We were madly in love and Loki could see that. So he arranged for Theo to be killed in battle and posed as him. Odin married us, and it was only after we had sealed our vows that he revealed who I had actually pledged eternity to.” 

“Fuck” was all Marc could muster in response. Sigyn sent him a wan smile.

“Odin was enraged, marriage was binding but no one ought to be wed under false pretenses. So he offered me the goddess of fidelity. And I suppose because of all the resentment I harbored for my mother, I accepted. Yet I grew to love it - both my husband and my role. Odin and Frigga had begun to send me on my own diplomatic envoys before…” she swallowed the lump in her throat before continuing, “before all of this happened.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

Sigyn blinked away a tear. “Tremendous. Now you pity me too.” 

“I never said that.” 

Sigyn took another sip of her champagne. The band began a new song, the bass and strings made for an enticing mix. 

“Dance with me,” Marc said. 

“Don’t trouble yourself.”

“Sigyn.”

“I don’t wish to anymore.”

Marc stood. Reached out his hand. 

“Stand up.“ It wasn’t a request. At last, Sigyn obeyed. 

Who knew her highness is just as good at taking orders as she is giving them, Jake noted as Marc led them to join the few couples already dancing. 

Somewhere in the middle 

Think I lied a little 

Sigyn was a quick study as to where to place her hands, fighting to ensure that her face wouldn't betray just how good it felt to grip Marc’s hard but warm flesh under her hands, and the two were sidestepping together in no time. 

“Thank you,” she whispered. 

I know that I seem a little stressed out 

But you’re here now 

And you’re turning me on

Marc ignored how intoxicating Sigyn’s closeness was and focused on how to get more information out of her. It was clear she was feeling vulnerable, he needed to meet her where she was at. 

“I got divorced. Recently.”

Sigyn’s eyes found Marc’s, open and compassionate. “I’m so sorry.”

“Not your fault,” he shrugged, “but know I do get what you’re going through.” 

Put my mind at ease 

Pretty please 

“At least with my ex-wi—with Layla, things were pretty cut and dry as to why. I couldn’t be there for her, I couldn’t protect her, now she’s mixed up in the same shit as I am” Marc shared. “But what I can’t figure out is why Loki would leave you to team up with someone who wants you all dead.” 

“Because he wants a throne,” Sigyn answered simply. “He’s always wanted a realm of his own to rule over. I suppose he believes allying himself with Gorr will not merely dispose of Thor but all deities who would challenge him.”

“But Gorr would kill him-“

“Not if Loki double-crosses him first,” Sigyn pointed out. 

She knows how he thinks, Marc noted to himself, the song’s dulcet melody filling the silence. 

If we take it further I swear I ain’t gonna break 

So baby come try me 

“But what do I know? Things had been comfortable, content between us. This could just as easily be his latest and arguably his grandest act of self-sabotage,” Sigyn mused. “A subject you seem well-acquainted with, no?” 

“Dinner, dancing, and head-shrinking? You really know how to show a guy a good time, your highness.” 

“Tell me Marc, did Layla ever say she required your protection?” 

He bristled, refusing to reply.

“I don’t know her—“

“Yeah, you don’t.”

“But I’d venture that Layla, if she married you, hardly wanted, let alone needed, your protection.”

Marc’s grip tightened on Sigyn’s waist but he said nothing. They continued to dance in silence as the band moved into a new song. 

Too much time, losing track of us

Where was the real?

“Did it ever occur to you that maybe Loki left you to protect you from what he felt he had to do?” 

“A noble thought.” The same pained smile spread across Sigyn’s lips. “But you don’t know my husband.” 

“I don’t,” he conceded, “but if our paths cross, I’ll be sure to kick his ass.” 

“By all means. If there’s anything left after I’m finished with him, that is.”

Marc laughed, instinctively holding Sigyn closer, their lips millimeters apart. The air seemed to crackle around them. 

Is it just our bodies? 

Are we both losing our minds?

Instead of bringing his mouth to hers, Marc turned his face to murmur into Sigyn’s ear. “How about we get out of here?” 

She shook her head. “Take me upstairs.” 

Is the only reason you’re holding me tonight ‘cause we’re scared to be lonely?  

Marc didn’t need to be told twice. As soon as the song came to an end, he escorted Sigyn off of the dance floor and out of the restaurant. With the way the waitstaff was fawning over the princess, he figured they’d know to put their meal on S.W.O.R.D.’s tab. 

They crossed the expansive lobby with Marc’s arm around Sigyn’s waist, but not daring to do anything more. The wait for the elevator was excruciating, he could already feel himself beginning to grow hard, but all bets were off when the larger metallic doors closed behind them. 

Their lips crashed together with a surprising amount of force, finally no longer denying their desire for each other. Sigyn’s hands gripped either side of Marc’s face, while his hands found purchase on her hips, walking her blindly back into the wall of the elevator, pressing his hard-on against her. 

A throaty moan escaped Sigyn’s mouth in between harsh, hungry kisses when she felt Marc’s erection against her hip. She grinded against him, savoring the friction, detaching their lips to whisper, “Is that all for me, Moon Knight?” 

He mouthed at her neck, encircling each of her wrists in his hands, pinning them to the wall, “Shut up.” 

Sigyn acquiesced with a giggle that suddenly morphed in a moan when Marc bit down on the juncture of her neck and shoulder. 

The elevator doors opened to their floor with a high chime. The pair stumbled out and disconnected, Marc adjusting his jacket to try and hide his boner while Sigyn smoothed out her dress, both aware that there were still two guards posted at the other end of the hallway outside the suite. 

“Your highness,” they greeted them, opening the door for Sigyn and Marc. 

She smiled and acknowledged the guards with a nod, hoping her eyes telegraphed Sigyn’s gratitude for not commenting on their appearances. 

As soon as the door closed behind them in the suite, the two launched themselves at each other once more. This time Marc’s hands went straight under the hem of Sigyn’s dress to her ass and lifted the princess into his arms. 

“I should fuck you against the door so they can hear,” Marc growled. 

“Naughty,” Sigyn played with the hair at the nape of his neck, “spread me out on the bed first.” 

Marc obliged, carrying her into the bedroom, and depositing Sigyn on the bed with a toss. She laid back amongst the pillows, separating her legs to give Marc a glimpse of the scrap of black lace covering her as he stripped off his shirt and toed off his loafers. 

“Turn around,” he ordered. 

Sigyn did so, and Marc unzipped her dress and slid it down her shoulders, kissing every newly exposed notch of her back as he went. He slipped off her stilettos and pushed the black fabric down her hips, Marc’s mouth watering when Sigyn’s full, toned ass came into view. He snapped the strap of her flimsy thong against her golden skin, earning a shiver from Sigyn.

“This ass,” he groaned as he pulled Sigyn’s back flush with his front. Marc snaked his hands up her taut abdomen, then cupped her breasts in his large hands. 

“Marc,” she mewled as he resumed his attack on her neck. 

He teased her nipples, pinching them. “What do you want?”

She answered him by slithering out of his grasp and twisting back around on the bed, sitting back on her heels. Sigyn’s hands went straight to Marc’s belt, undoing the strip of leather and unzipping his fly. She reached inside, taking his massive, insistent bulge in hand through Marc’s boxer-briefs, squeezing him through the fabric.

“Fuck,” he grunted. 

Sigyn withdrew only to pull his pants and underwear down, Marc aiding her and by kicking them off. He stood before her in all of his glory, and a wicked, satisfied glint flashed in Sigyn’s eyes when she was able to take in Marc’s member without any obstruction. She bit her lip unconsciously - he was uncut and thick. An errant thought danced through her mind —she owed her sort-of brother-in-law an apology and her heartiest gratitude for pairing them together. 

Concentrating back on the task before her, Sigyn pumped Marc a few times, climbed off the bed, and knelt before him. She brought her lips to his head tracing the shape of her mouth before laving kitten licks up his length. 

Marc gazed down at Sigyn through hooded lids as his cock slipped between her lips and she bobbed up and down. He rested a hand on the back of Sigyn's head, guiding her eager mouth along the length of his dick. Shit she was good at this. 

Well, she is a thousand-year-old goddess, Steven pointed out, probably had loads of time to practice. 

The last thing Marc wanted to do was think about Sigyn with another man, the thought prompted him to begin thrusting into the warm, wet suction of the princess’s mouth. She moaned. 

C’mon, fuck her mouth, Jake urged in Steven’s absence. 

As if she could read their thoughts, Sigyn grasped onto the globes of Marc’s ass and pulled him deeper. His eyes rolled back in his head as she proceeded to deep throat him. Did Asgardians not have gag reflexes? 

Marc could feel his orgasm creeping up on him. He pulled himself from between Sigyn’s plush lips, but the princess looking up at him with her wide sapphire orbs and glistening pout was nearly enough to undo Marc. 

“Wanna come in your pussy,” he offered as an explanation, lifting Sigyn to her feet and pushing back onto the bed again. This time, he covered her body with his, Marc’s hand slipping down to her underwear, toying with Sigyn’s clit through the lace. 

She let out a breathy cry, both relieved and riled up that her core was getting some much-needed attention. Marc’s dexterous fingers continued playing with her while another slipped between her folds, earning another keen from the princess. He proceeded to rip the thong clean off her body and redouble his efforts by thrusting two fingers inside of Sigyn. She canted her hips to meet his strokes, just as hungry for this as he was. 

“Sigyn,” he murmured. 

“Hgggnnn,” came her incredibly coherent reply. 

“We need protection.” 

Her eyes popped open, her brow creasing. “From what?”

“Sexually transmitted diseases,” he explained, “and pregnancy.” 

“Our kind can’t contract any diseases from yours,” she panted. Marc hadn’t ceased his ministrations and hit a particularly delectable spot inside of her. “And I take a – um, tincture. F-f-for contraception.” 

His thumb drew circles around her clit. “Fuck me already, Marc,” she demanded. 

Marc was all too eager to acquiesce. He withdrew his fingers from Sigyn, inserting them into her eager mouth while he lined himself up with her dripping core. Sigyn licked Marc’s digits clean, treating him to more insistent, needy moans as he ran the head of his cock through her wetness. 

At last Marc sank into Sigyn’s tight cunt. She felt just as heavenly as he’d imagined she would, her walls clinging to his shaft in a vice-like grip, encouraging him to sheath himself further. 

As Marc pulled out to thrust back in deeper, Sigyn wrapped an arm around his neck and brought their mouths together once again. They collided in a mess of teeth and tongues, Sigyn breaking the liplock only when Marc picked up the pace of his hips, her neck thrashing to the side. 

It felt as though Marc was consuming her, spearing her apart with his thick girth, and she loved it. What they shared felt more primal than her lovemaking with Loki had been as of late. Sex was a tactic or carefully calculated move in the chess game that her marriage had become, with Marc it seemed that they needed each other equally as badly, and for the same reason. To forget someone else. 

And with a face like that and the way Marc pistoned his fat cock into her, Sigyn had no problem with forgetting everything except the stretch in her pussy, Marc’s dark, unflinching gaze, and the pair of bulging biceps that held her wrists above her head. 

“You’re so strong,” Sigyn exhaled. 

Marc grunted a reply, continuing to hammer into her. 

“But so am I,” Sigyn smirked as broke free of his grasp, flipping them over so she was on top. She canted her hips and pinned Marc’s wrists just as he had hers, a devilish grin playing across her kiss-bruised lips.

Despite the hot thrill that raced down Marc’s spine at having a partner who could match his strength and the view of Sigyn’s tits bouncing in time with his thrusts, he wasn’t going to let her get away with it. 

“Oh no you don’t,” Marc rolled them over again, splaying Sigyn back on the bed. He hooked the backs of her knees in the bends of his elbows to spread her legs wider and pounded in deeper. 

Sigyn threw her head back against the bed’s downy comforter. “Norns, Marc, yes.” 

But Marc was unable to shake the idea of fucking the Asgardian against the wall. He collected her in his arms and carried her to the wall opposite the bed. Sigyn’s breath hitched when Marc re-entered her and resumed his punishing pace. She clenched around him even harder, relishing the contrast between the rigid, polished wood paneling at her back and Marc’s searing flesh, damp with sweat, pressing into her front. 

Marc was unrelenting in his assault on Sigyn’s pussy, driving his hips into her, earning a hybrid of a moan and shriek when the tip of his cock found her g-spot. He focused there with his thrusts, swallowing Sigyn’s cries and moans as he impaled her. Though initially Marc has wanted the guards to hear just how well he was fucking her royal highness, he’d changed his mind. Now he wanted all of Sigyn’s sweet little sounds for himself. 

Particularly sweet was the sound of slick slap on skin-on-skin from where they were joined. “Do you hear that?” Marc asked her, his voice gravel. It sent another shudder through Sigyn. “You’re so wet for me baby, you gonna come on my cock?” 

Sigyn pulled Marc closer to her, digging her manicured nails into the thick muscles of his traps. “Make me.” 

The Asgardian’s challenge spurred Marc to redouble his efforts, holding Sigyn up with his pistoning hips and only one arm, the other shooting straight down to her clit. He rubbed rough, persistent circles into the nub, prompting Sigyn’s cunt to clench around him so tightly he could barely thrust. 

Marc didn’t mind though, he ground his hips into hers and continued his stream of filthy goading, “You like that? ‘Cause I love the way your tight cunt is squeezing me. Come on, cream on my cock baby.”

Sigyn snapped with a loud, unprincess-like wail as she came, her pussy spasming around Marc’s hot length inside her. Her orgasm rushed like a roaring flame through her veins, her nails digging so deep into Marc’s shoulders she nearly drew blood. Marc didn’t stop grinding his dick into her core as Sigyn came, prolonging her release as he chased his. She didn’t know how long it took for the blinding euphoria to settle, but when Sigyn regained coherence Marc was still frantically fucking into her. 

Despite the oversensitivity beginning to set into her groin, Sigyn tightened around his pulsing dick again and urged him on, “Marc, wanna feel you.” 

That did it - not a moment later was Marc painting her walls with his hot seed. He slammed his free hand against the wall and his chest vibrated with a deep groan as he emptied himself inside of Sigyn, the climax so good he could forget about Khonshu, his divorce, and the impending threat of the Godbutcher, if only for a moment. 

Marc gathered the remains of his strength and walked them back over to the bed, his softening cock still inside Sigyn. This time he lay her on the now mussed duvet much more gingerly, and extracted himself from her just as carefully. 

They lay beside each other, looking into each other’s eyes for the right thing to say. This was so not how Marc thought tonight would go when he got the call from Agent Woo, but he was not complaining. 

Marc spoke first. “How do you feel?” 

Sigyn smiled - not an imperious smirk, nor the grin she used to mask her pain when talking about Loki. A genuine, unguarded smile. “Very good.” 

“Just very good?” Marc scoffed with mock offense.

“Very very good,” Sigyn assured him with a kiss. “Wonderful, even. Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Marc found it too easy to get lost in Sigyn’s eyes. “I am famished, though.” 

“You did work up quite the appetite, Mister Spector,” Sigyn remarked. She sat up, pushing herself off of the bed. “Order us something, I’m going to clean up.” 

What a gentleman you are, Steven fumed, leaving her to fend for herself as soon as you’re finished. 

Marc sat up as well, eschewing firing back at Steven that he barely wasn’t a virgin anymore, and grabbed Sigyn’s wrist as she headed toward the en-suite. “I can get you–”

“It’s no trouble,” she told him. She gestured to her now thoroughly wrecked updo. “Besides I should tend to this.”

“Wait, let me…” Marc slid his fingertip along the inside of Sigyn’s thigh where his release had trickled out of her. She bent over obediently and sucked it clean, making Marc’s spent cock twitch in a valiant attempt to harden again so soon.

He enjoyed the view of the naked princess traipsing into the bathroom, then grabbed the in-room phone.

 Part 2 

A/N: The night’s just getting started for Sigyn and the Moon Boys... 

#moon knight #moon knight smut #marc spector #marc spector x female reader #marc spector x female!oc #sigyn #thor #thor odinson #moon knight fanfic #moon knight fanfiction #steven grant x female reader #steven grant x female!oc #jake lockley x female!reader #jake lockley x female!oc #steven grant #jake lockley #khonshu #agent woo #yelena belova #loki (marvel) #loki #past loki x oc #marc spector smut #steven grant smut #jake lockley smut #thor love and thunder #oscar isaac #oscar isaac smut

[delightfullysubatomic]

An unfinished and not fully accurate timeline of the NMJ Lads 2000-2012 (Tim-centred tbh)

Summer 2000: Alex goes to Edinburgh with 'How To Avoid Huge Ships'

Academic year 2000-2001: Mark in year ? of uni, Alex in his final year of uni year of uni, Tim has just graduated. Tim decides to do a play because he didn't do one in his final year at uni.

Alex was also doing stand up in another strand of Footlights (I think, idk how it works)

2000 (Cambridge, term 1)- Alex writes a panto of Treasure Island, Tim auditions and gets a role. Performances are late Nov-early Dec. Tim also auditioned for Bouncers by John Godber. He got both roles and fortuitously decided to do the panto.

(I don't think Alex and Tim became close yet)

2001 (Cambridge, term 2) - Tim does the Spring Review (sketch show) and starts to write a bit (was Mark in this??)

2001 (Cambridge, term 3) - Tim and Mark audition to be in the Footlights Summer Tour, which is what Emma Thompson, High Laurie et al did. They perform at Edinburgh and are nominated for Best Newcomer. It's directed by [friend who still directs plays w Tom Basden]

I don't know if the Spring and Summer sketch show / team are/were the same as each other but Tim conflates the whole year into one when telling any stories about it. Not sure either if they figured out about Tim not being a student during the Spring or the Summer.

2002: Tim and Dinky Donk contribute to an EP of Concrete Cow sketch show on Radio 4

Tim and Mark move to London. IIRC Tim moved back to Cambridge after a bit (maybe after losing his job at Hamley’s?), not sure when he moved back to London - suspect 2003/2004 as he’s still doing stuff in Cambridge at that point.

2002: Mark wins the Telegraph Open Mic Award. Tim's stand up career starts and ends in the space of 10 ok to terrible gigs

2003: Making Fish Laugh - Alex’s first solo show (Tim as assistant). Nominated for Best Newcomer

2003: Alex is on Brain Candy on BBC3 (stand up variety show)

2003: Mark and Tim direct the Footlights tour show(?) Starring some future Inbetweeners

2004: Mark's first 24 hour show (Tim as assistant). Mark gets engaged. Mark also does a show with Rhod Gilbert.

2004: Alex's second show Every Body Talks (Tim as assistant)

2004: Tim performs Luke and Stella at Edinburgh

2004: Mark's first novel is published

2004ish: Tim starts writing poems

2005: Alex gets married

2005: Mark does his first solo show and another 24 hour show

2005: Mark is nominated for Best Newcomer

2005: Alex’s third show When in Rome (Tim as assistant)

At some point Tim lives with Alex (and wife?)

2005-2007 (?): Tim performs in Cowards in Edinburgh (they also did it in London and in early days Alex, Mark and Rick Edwards were involved)

2006: Mark wins the inaugural Edinburgh Panel Prize and Time Out Critics Choice Award. He is nommed for the Barry Award (Melbourne)

2006: Mark starts appearing on Mock the Week and other panel shows

2006-2008 (+Xmas 2009): Tim adapts All Bar Luke for Radio 4

2006-2007 Alex and Dinky Donk try to meet someone from every nationality. I don't know if they get a show out of this!

2006: Mark and Tim are in Time Trumpet

2007: Mark writes 2 pilots. One stars Tom Basden and the summary sounds suspiciously like Tim's life at that time

207: Mark starts his Radio 4 show with Tim and Basden

2007: We Need Answers at Edinburgh

2007: Alex's fourth show Birdwatching at Edinburgh

2007: Tim’s first solo show Slut In The Hut in Edinburgh. It is produced by new comedy company The Invisible Dot, which is Tim’s comedy home until 2016ish.

2007: Herb McGwyer (nominated for Best Short Film BAFTA in 2008)

2007: Tim lives with his brother

2007ish: Cowards on the radio

2008: We Need Answers (2) at Edinburgh

2008: Alex's fifth show Wordwatching at Edinburgh

2009: Tim’s second solo the Slutcracker show in Edinburgh. He wins the Edinburgh Comedy Award.

2009: Mark does The Hotel immersive (hey there recent Taskmaster Ep)

2009: We Need Answers on TV

2009: Birdwatchingwatching by Alex and Tim's first poetry book are published

2009: Cowards on BBC4

2010: Taskmaster in Edinburgh (1)

2010: The Horne Section begins

2010ish: Tim joins the Alan Partridge world

2010: Tim is in Party by Tom Basden on Radio 4

2011: Taskmaster in Edinburgh (2)

2012: Tom start Tim Key's Late Night Poetry Programme

2008-2012(ish): Tim lives in a box room in Limehouse. During this time he wins the Edinburgh Comedy Award and is on TV quite a bit. He said during ep 1 of Taskmaster that he had no space for anything but kept the lintel(?) From his Edinburgh show. In the Taskmaster podcast Josh said Tim implied he was homeless but he would have been referencing the fact that he had a box room’s worth of living space (I included this because Josh thought Tim was lying in the show but i’m pretty sure he wasn’t).

#I started this ages ago #I didn’t check all the dates at the time so some of them (esp the ‘ish’ ones) will be out by a year or two #I won’t finish it but… in case it’s of interest I thought I’d post it #Happy Christmas! #I guess I just hope this doesn’t count as stalking

[mariana-oconnor]

The Copper Beeches pt 2

I observed that he sat frequently for half an hour on end, with knitted brows and an abstracted air, but he swept the matter away with a wave of his hand when I mentioned it. "Data! data! data!" he cried impatiently. "I can't make bricks without clay." And yet he would always wind up by muttering that no sister of his should ever have accepted such a situation.

Holmes is worried. He really does seem to always worry about women in potentially abusive situations. This is also why the werid Enola Holmes law suit was weird, btw. The argument for that was that Holmes wasn't depicted as caring about women until the later works, which were not out of copyright, yet this was published in 1892. He's literally referencing a theoretical sister here in a way that clearly shows he would be a concerned brother.

"Please be at the Black Swan Hotel at Winchester at midday to-morrow," it said. "Do come! I am at my wit's end. HUNTER.

I love the tone of this telegram. It's got that 'please' at the beginning, to be polite, but then at the end it's less 'I'm scared' and more exasperation.

"That will do very nicely. Then perhaps I had better postpone my analysis of the acetones, as we may need to be at our best in the morning."

Alas, the acetones will have to wait. Holmes is both willing to postpone his chemistry, but also concerned that he will need to be his best.

By eleven o'clock the next day we were well upon our way to the old English capital.

Such a weird little historical note there. London's been the capital city of England since... Idk... around the Normal conquest in 1066? I don't know if there's an exact date. Most people these days wouldn't even know that Winchester used to be an important city, but Watson's just slipping that in there.

Holmes had been buried in the morning papers all the way down, but after we had passed the Hampshire border he threw them down and began to admire the scenery. It was an ideal spring day, a light blue sky, flecked with little fleecy white clouds drifting across from west to east. The sun was shining very brightly, and yet there was an exhilarating nip in the air, which set an edge to a man's energy. All over the countryside, away to the rolling hills around Aldershot, the little red and grey roofs of the farm-steadings peeped out from amid the light green of the new foliage.

Another lovely description of the scenery and the weather. Everything's so nice. What a lovely day to prevent a crime. And Holmes taking time to look at the scenery.

"You look at these scattered houses, and you are impressed by their beauty. I look at them, and the only thought which comes to me is a feeling of their isolation and of the impunity with which crime may be committed there."

Holmes is super optimistic. This entire speech about the country is why Midsomer Murders exists. Lolol. Look at the idyllic countryside, just full of crime and violence.

"But look at these lonely houses, each in its own fields, filled for the most part with poor ignorant folk who know little of the law."

I feel like that's a little rude of you. I'm pretty sure that even in the countryside people know that murder and theft are illegal.

"I have devised seven separate explanations, each of which would cover the facts as far as we know them."

I want to know what these seven explanations are. I really do.

"In the first place, I may say that I have met, on the whole, with no actual ill-treatment from Mr and Mrs Rucastle."

I feel like this is more luck than anything else. The man is very creepy. We have not yet met the wife, but if she is anything like her husbad described her, she too is very creepy.

"I have gathered that they have been married about seven years, that he was a widower, and that his only child by the first wife was the daughter who has gone to Philadelphia. Mr Rucastle told me in private that the reason why she had left them was that she had an unreasoning aversion to her stepmother."

The fact that she's a stepmother doesn't fill me with confidence in this matter. Still not sure Alice isn't buried under the floorboards. Not to malign stepparents, but in stories like this, they're often the bad guys.

"Mrs Rucastle seemed to me to be colourless in mind as well as in feature. She impressed me neither favourably nor the reverse. She was a nonentity. It was easy to see that she was passionately devoted both to her husband and to her little son. Her light grey eyes wandered continually from one to the other, noting every little want and forestalling it if possible."

This is the most insulting description of a person. She's just nothingness personified. Although this in itself is unsettling. The fact that her husband seems to have such a big personality and she just fades into the background and tries to pre-empt his needs. Eeeh... I'm getting weird vibes. Maybe she's just a naturally retiring and quiet person. But it feels more like a woman who is scared of upsetting her husband. We once again have only the husband's reported word that Alice left because of her.

And sometimes she's just found crying?

Yeeeah. I'm not into this. Nope. Not good.

More than once I have surprised her in tears. I have thought sometimes that it was the disposition of her child which weighed upon her mind, for I have never met so utterly spoiled and so ill-natured a little creature. He is small for his age, with a head which is quite disproportionately large. His whole life appears to be spent in an alternation between savage fits of passion and gloomy intervals of sulking. Giving pain to any creature weaker than himself seems to be his one idea of amusement, and he shows quite remarkable talent in planning the capture of mice, little birds, and insects.

Ah, our earlier suspicions about the child are accurate, it seems. This is a serial killer in the making. If this were a modern story he would have killed his older sister by pushing her down the stairs and his parents would be covering it up.

I don't know where the creepy servants come in. Maybe they just don't like the Rucastles because they're serial killers?

"'Oh, yes,' said he, turning to me, 'we are very much obliged to you, Miss Hunter, for falling in with our whims so far as to cut your hair. I assure you that it has not detracted in the tiniest iota from your appearance. We shall now see how the electric-blue dress will become you. You will find it laid out upon the bed in your room, and if you would be so good as to put it on we should both be extremely obliged.'"

Creeeeepy creepy creepy creepy. Just skin-crawlingly creepy. Don't comment on her appearance, dickhead. This is just a whole pile of weird.

"The dress which I found waiting for me was of a peculiar shade of blue. It was of excellent material, a sort of beige"

I've looked up beige but I still don't really understand what this means, because yes it did used to refer to a fabric, but the fabric was specifically undyed wool. This fabric is definitely dyed, so... Is it a woollen dress?

"...then Mr Rucastle, walking up and down on the other side of the room, began to tell me a series of the funniest stories that I have ever listened to. You cannot imagine how comical he was, and I laughed until I was quite weary."

So he wants her to dress up pretty and listen to his stand-up routine?

"They were always very careful, I observed, to turn my face away from the window, so that I became consumed with the desire to see what was going on behind my back. At first it seemed to be impossible, but I soon devised a means. My hand-mirror had been broken, so a happy thought seized me, and I concealed a piece of the glass in my handkerchief."

I'm always so happy when the people who come to Holmes do their own detective work. Like Mr Melas in the last story, getting the information out of poor Paul under the villains' noses. Miss Hunter here is not just accepting what's going on, she's trying to actively decipher it. Alas, her subterfuge is discovered and she is turned into an active participant in whatever game the Rucastles are playing on the man in the street outside.

Interesting that Mrs Rucastle is the one who takes the initiative here. Clearly she's not as silent a partner in this as she appears.

"'It's only Carlo, my mastiff. I call him mine, but really old Toller, my groom, is the only man who can do anything with him. We feed him once a day, and not too much then, so that he is always as keen as mustard. Toller lets him loose every night, and God help the trespasser whom he lays his fangs upon. For goodness' sake don't you ever on any pretext set your foot over the threshold at night, for it's as much as your life is worth.'"

Ah good. Animal cruelty and oblique threats to her life. That's what we like to see. 'We essentially starve our dog to make sure he's aggressive' is such a dick move. I can see where little Edward gets his animal cruelty from. A chip off the old block, that one.

This family is just so messed up.

Holmes has connections with loads of people, he must know someone who needs a governess and isn't a complete nightmare of a person.

"The very first key fitted to perfection, and I drew the drawer open. There was only one thing in it, but I am sure that you would never guess what it was. It was my coil of hair."

Yep, that's Alice's hair. I don't think I remember Alice being buried under the floorboards, but I honestly wouldn't put it past these people.

"There was one wing, however, which appeared not to be inhabited at all. A door which faced that which led into the quarters of the Tollers opened into this suite, but it was invariably locked."

Oooooh. Alice is locked in the secret wing of the house. How very Bluebeard.

I once saw him carrying a large black linen bag with him through the door.

The mind does automatically go to 'body', doesn't it? I don't think it is a body, but that is what I thought immediately on reading this.

Violet Hunter does pretty much all the leg work in this story. She works out that there's someone behind her, she discovers the forbidden rooms, she sneaks into them. She gets so close to discovering the truth and then...

I turned and ran—ran as though some dreadful hand were behind me clutching at the skirt of my dress. I rushed down the passage, through the door, and straight into the arms of Mr Rucastle, who was waiting outside.

Well... this isn't going to end well.

"'My dear young lady! my dear young lady!'—you cannot think how caressing and soothing his manner was—'and what has frightened you, my dear young lady?' "But his voice was just a little too coaxing. He overdid it. I was keenly on my guard against him."

Glad to see that she's finally seeing through him and has the sense not to tell him what she saw. Although she probably shouldn't have left the door open.

"'Well, then, you know now. And if you ever put your foot over that threshold again'—here in an instant the smile hardened into a grin of rage, and he glared down at me with the face of a demon—'I'll throw you to the mastiff.'"

Ah, there it is, a direct threat to her life. His illusions of civility are peeled back and he's no longer just creepy, but actively horrible.

I do like Violet Hunter, she's such an active participant in events. She doesn't just present a puzzle and then let Holmes tell her what's up, she sniffs around and tries to work out what's going on. And what's going on is a whole lot of bad news.

I'm not sure why Alice is locked in the forbidden wing of the house, but that really doesn't matter. I didn't think she was in Philadelphia. It might be a story a little similar to Miss Sutherland's. She has an inheritance and if she marries, her father and stepmother will no longer have access to it, so locked in her rooms she must be and a doppelganger brought out to pretend that Alice is still happy and healthy.

A whole house full of horrible people. And that poor dog.

I wonder what happened to Alice's mother.

#Letters from Watson #Sherlock Holmes #The Copper Beeches #long post

[thehauntedinfirmary]

Fic Rec Friday Edition 19

Welcome to another edition of Fic Rec Friday! This week, we recced the fics that made us laugh out loud! So welcome in the weekend with this week's selections - and feel free to like and reblog this post to spread the word!

Let's just forget the Hollywood rules by tearupthesky

Ryan rolls his chair closer to Shane. "Did you hear that, man?" he says under his breath. "That dog hates me, did you hear it growl at me? It almost took my fucking hand off! It could smell the curse. It recognized me with its primordial wolf senses." "It's a fucking labradoodle," Shane says.

Complete | 4k words

i need a tall glass of something by amosanguis

Ryan bites him. Maybe a little too hard. Maybe not hard enough. There’s definitely blood, but whatever – Shane’s finger is still attached and Ryan’s still a fucking parrot. They’re both losers here.

Complete | 3k words

just a little bit by middlecyclone

They’re in their hotel room in London, and of course they have to share it because the BuzzfeedBlue budget can fly them across the Atlantic and yet for some reason it can’t get them separate hotel rooms, and honestly Shane hadn’t minded that even a little bit until Ryan started making little whining noises and staring at Shane’s toes. Shane likes spending time with Ryan, he really does. But he draws the line here. Because this? It’s not okay.

Complete | 1k words

Fist and Foremost by makemadej

Becoming boyfriends is surprisingly simple, but learning to communicate like boyfriends is kind of a struggle. Also, Ryan really wants Shane’s fist in him and is determined not to mention it.

Complete | 26k words

A Sensitive Subject by aspookycryptidsock

"Hey ghosts, tousle my hair, gimme a little purple nurple or something. Let's have some fun!" - Shane Madej, 2016 (Working title: nip nops.txt)

Complete | 7k words

LAB Verse by orphan_account

Three times Ryan breaks the Fae rules inadvertently, and one time he is very aware of it.

Complete | 8k words

I told my demons about you (they told me to get therapy) by Ren_Saxon

Lately, Ryan feels like the Spirit box is not spitting out ghost's thoughts, but his own. Which is bad news, considering the subject of his every waking thought is right there with him at all times.

Complete | 5k words

Want to learn more about The Haunted Infirmary? Check out our pinned post!

#shyan #skeptic believer #shyan fic #shyan fic rec #otp: we took an oath #friday fic recs #haunted fic recs

[thenasoneshots]

Classroom Shippers - Lestrade x Reader

Requested?: No

Prompt: None

Reader's Relations: None

Warnings: None

Other Notes: You're a primary teacher in this

----------------

"Miss (L/n), is he your boyfriend?"

I felt my face flare up at the question from the small girl. Maybe taking a load of 11-12 year olds on a school trip alone wasn't the best idea… I bent down away from the detective inspector to her level, "No… he's not. Now did you need something?"

"But you love him though, don't you?"

Again, my face went redder than I thought was possible as I responded, "Millie, my love life is none of your concert at the moment. Please just go and have fun while we're here."

"But there's like police guys everywhere! We can't do anything, that's what I came to tell you!"

I sighed, "Alright, can you go and get everyone to come back to the bus then? We'll go to the hotel for the afternoon then."

She nodded and ran off as I took a deep breath turning back to Greg, "I'm sorry about that, but this is what I get for taking them on a school trip all on my own."

"It's kind of cute to be honest. They're just looking out for you, you know, (Y/n). Want you to be happy and all."

I smiled, "I guess you're right, so… what happened here that you had to spoil our school trip?"

"Murder case. I just hope that Sherlock doesn't appear…" Greg responded, muttering the last statement, causing me to giggle, "You know Sherlock though, he will appear. I wish you luck for when he does. I should probably go and get those kids to the hotel," I replied, before saying my goodbyes and walking off outside where I saw the kids sitting on the bus, Millie waiting outside. I smiled and walked up, "Good job, Millie. Everyone here?"

She nodded, "Yep! So… are you sure that guy isn't your boyfriend?" I just shook my head and got on the bus, her following me as I talked to the driver about where the hotel was we were staying at.

----------------

The last day we were in the centre of London for for the trip, again, somehow we managed to bump into Greg again.

"We meet again, (Y/n)."

I giggled, "Yeah. I guess we do. Another case?"

He nodded, "Yes, and unfortunately, that psychopath is already here."

I giggled, "I think you mean 'High Functioning Sociopath', Greg. You should listen to him though."

"I know, but he just makes Scotland Yard look like a bunch of idiots."

I giggled at his complaining but before I could say anything else, "Miss (L/n)!! When are we going home? Oh Hello again, Mr! Are you sure you're not Miss (L/n)'s boyfriend? This is the third day in a row we've seen you and her talking." My face flushed red and I hid behind the clipboard I had with the schedule written on as I composed myself, "Alright, We're going home now actually," I replied, checking the schedule, "To the bus!" The three boys smiled and took off, but before I could follow them, I felt a hand grab my wrist. As I turned around, Greg grabbed my upper arms and kissed me. I blinked and wrapped my arms around his neck, kissing him back.

"Are you sure he's not your boyfriend?"

I flinched back at Millie's voice and cleared my throat "Well, I gu-"

"I am," Greg interrupted me, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind, leaning his head on my shoulder, "Now I guess I should let your teacher take you back."

Millie smirked and ran off as I turned around so I was now facing Greg, "Thanks for that. Now she's going to tell the whole class and I'll never hear the end of it."

He chuckled and pecked my lips, "They deserve to know that their teacher isn't single anymore. Plus otherwise they'll just get mad at you when your name changes."

I rolled my eyes and giggled, "Is this your way of proposing even though we literally just got together?"

"Well, we're childhood friends, we've known each other for so long, (Y/n), but no, not yet. Maybe in a few years."

-----------------------

"Now, to conclude our final assembly of the school year, I'd like to pass over to our Year 7 teacher, Miss (L/n)."

I smiled and took a deep breath walking up to the small mic in the school hall as the headmistress patted me on the shoulder, "Good luck."

I nodded to her as a thanks before speaking into the microphone, "Hello to you all. Now those of you in year 9, might remember that school trip we had when you were in year 7, and how you kept asking me if the guy we kept running into was my boyfriend, well, when we come back in August, I won't be 'Miss (L/n)' to any of you anymore," this caused gasps and mutters of confusion to go around the hall, "as by that time that won't be my name. I am pleased to tell you all that I am getting married over the summer!"

There were many cheers throughout the school hall as I continued with one final point, "Oh, before I forget, Millie Williamson, please can you and your parents come and see me in my classroom after the assembly."

-----------------

"What did you want to talk to me about, Miss (L/n)?" Millie asked.

I smiled and bent down to her level the best I could, placing a hand on her shoulder, "Millie, how would you like to be the flower girl at my wedding?"

Her eyes widened and filled with joy, "Really?! You want me as part of the ceremony?!"

I nodded and she looked up to her parents a pleading look on her face. Her mother sighed, "Miss (L/n), may I ask why you want Millie to be your flower girl?"

"Well, to be honest, if it wasn't for her, then I wouldn't be getting married at all. It's thanks to her constant pestering two years ago that gave me the courage to confess my feelings to Greg, my now fiancé and I want her to be there as a thank you."

"I see."

"Please, Mum, Dad? Please can I do it?!" Millie asked again, causing both her parents to sigh, "Very well, what date is the wedding, Miss (L/n)?" I smiled widely and told them the date as Millie gave me a hug.

--------------------

I smiled, snuggling into Greg's side, the two of us sitting on the sofa in the house as I admired the shiny ring on my finger.

"How was today?"

My smile widened and I leaned up kissing him, "Absolutely perfect. I wouldn't have had it any other way."

"I love you, (Y/n). So much."

"I love you too, Greg. Both of you."

"Huh? What are you talking about?"

"I'm pregnant," I whispered in his ear before snuggling into his side and going to sleep.

#bbc sherlock #x reader #lestrade x reader

[mlwritersguild]

Gabriel in London, by @2manyfandoms2count

Based on a prompt submitted by @noirshitsuji: EmilyinParis!AU; preferably not LS-focused but I'll accept it either way (I wanna see what people can do w/ one of the rarer pairs here)

AO3; Emily in Paris AU, pre-canon, first meetings, misunderstandings, humor

Summary

When Gabriel Agreste moves to London for his fashion career, he does not expect the city to be as unpleasant as he finds it. A couple of encounters might make him rethink his first impression.

---

Deep down, Gabriel knew he couldn’t have (and shouldn’t have) expected a triumphant, red carpet welcome in London, just because the famous and feared fashion critic Audrey B. had noticed his design concept for a pro-pigeon ad campaign he’d accepted to do in a desperate attempt to survive; one had to eat, after all.

Conveniently, Gabriel couldn’t hear that reasonable voice over the Clash’s London Calling playing through his portable record player (it felt strangely fitting, even though he’d never let himself be flagged down as a punk) – which is why, when yet another car slammed its breaks and its horn when he crossed the road without looking to his right first, he jumped out of his skin and shot the driver a disapproving look.

If having to get a public train after the Southampton ferry wasn’t enough, he now had to walk to his meeting with Audrey on busy Piccadilly, jostled by the locals whose exasperated sighs and tuts when they overtook him hurt infinitely more than a Parisian “mais avance, putain!”, getting near-death experiences at every pedestrian crossing, sometimes without even jaywalking. Where were the Londoners going, that they couldn’t just enjoy a casual stroll? He thought the English were supposed to be the phlegmatic ones. And why couldn’t the British drive on the right-hand side, like every other respectable country out there?

Finally, the Ritz’s sparkling sign came into view, and Gabriel sighed contentedly. He’d never been to the hotel’s Paris branch, but now that was more like it. Maybe this was where his real London experience would finally begin.

— If Gabriel had been on cloud nine as he stepped through the majestic doors of the Ritz, people rushing to take his coat and escort him to a delightful teatime experience, he could not say the same when he walked out.

Audrey B. had had the absolute gall to announce to him that he’d need to work while he was in town, not on design projects he’d be passionate about, but on themed accessorising photoshoots for the magazines (which entailed a 9am start, would you believe it), and she’d had the nerve to flirt with him at the same time, as if it would make it all better.

“It’s all about the connections and the exposure, Gabrichou. Have them eating in the palm of your hand, offering you helicopter rides and showering you with diamonds. I’m your fairy godmother, of course, but you need to conquer the public, and there’s nothing better for that than to slowly invade the pages of Style Queen. With your own, original designs? Ridiculous, utterly ridiculous! First you have to give the people what they want. Soon enough you’ll be free of all that and they’ll think you’re selling them what they need. Anyway, do you have a jet, by any chance? No? Oh well, nobody’s perfect.”

She’d driven off in her limo, and hadn’t even offered him a cab home.

Gabriel’s nose scrunched as he approached the Green Park tube station’s escalator. The London Underground had no business being so deep. He set a dubitative foot on the metallic step, taking care to stand on the left-hand side, where no one else was standing. Heaven forbid he came in too close contact with people.

He’d barely settled a gloved hand on the rubber railing when he heard someone clear their throat behind him. A man in a suit (it seemed to be the London uniform) stood close enough to breathe down his neck, which made Gabriel shudder; the man cleared his throat again, nodding towards the steps below with a very passive aggressive “excuse me, sir.”

Gabriel refrained from saying anything and flattened against the railing to the best of his abilities, as the man unceremoniously pushed past him, without so much as a thanks.

He straightened his jacket with his best poker face, internally cursing the man with a string of colourful words he knew better than to exteriorise. One had to stay calm.

Someone tapped on his shoulder, making him turn around again. He was suddenly faced with the closest thing to a fuming file of Brits looking down on him, clearly wanting to walk past.

Gabriel felt an indignant protest rise in his chest. This was an escalator. Why did people want to walk down to the bottom of it, when they could just metaphorically sit back and relax?!

“Toi, ma poule, t’es pas d’ici,” a voice came from his right as a hand pulled him towards it, disarming Gabriel’s pent-up anger with the element of surprise.

Gabriel scoffed at the brutality of the movement and assessed the man who’d dared touch him and emit the assumption, shuddering at the mere idea that someone might think he was a common rosbif.

He was struck by the bright blue eyes that illuminated his face. Associated with the man’s curly, blond locks, he looked positively angelic.

“You’re too stylish not to be a fellow Frenchman,” the guy resumed in English, with a thick French accent.

Gabriel cleared his throat, shaking away the enchantment. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It is one.” The man nodded, before extending a hand. “Clown. Harry Clown.”

“Gabriel Agreste,” Gabriel announced sternly, shaking it.

“So, Gabby.” Harry jumped off of the step they’d been on as they approached the end of the escalator, landing on the solid ground before turning back towards him. “What do you do in life, when you’re not disrespecting London etiquette?”

“Gabriel,” Gabriel corrected, ignoring the pique. “I’m a fashion designer.”

“Sérieux?" Harry gawked at him. "That's such an amazing coincidence, you know, I'm a comedian, and I've got this show I'm trying to launch, what do you think about the concept of a fry superhero?"

Gabriel tuned out then, but Harry blabbered on passionately about his show despite the lack of his poule's participation in the conversation. He seemed happy monologuing, and to be quite friendly; Gabriel despised shown enthusiasm, but he had to admit it was a nice change from the British sternness.

By the time he got off the tube, Harry had given him his business card and he’d somehow made him promise that he’d design a costume for his one-man show performance. Even if it clearly wasn’t his dream project, Gabriel appreciated the fact that it was relevant to his career path, unlike Audrey’s assignment (which he couldn’t even turn down given London prices). Plus, as much as he hated to admit it, it was nice to have a French ally in this strange city. — Gabriel slammed the door of his flat behind him.

One day, he’d own a mansion, he promised himself. London houses were better than the lift-less Parisian building’s chambres de bonnes he’d had the displeasure of living in, but living in a dark and humid basement was only remotely better.

The flat was as spotless as imaginable in the dim light, and as would be expected after the rental agency sent someone to deal with the mess the previous tenant had left, despite the clear “hire a cleaning company” clause in the lease contract. It had only taken them a week and a half to find someone, he thought sarcastically.

The ceiling light still didn’t work though, he noted with a huff.

He carefully took off his shoes before heading towards the small table he’d installed against the right wall of the room, on which he’d placed two matching lamps, so as not to live like a mole, and flicked the switch of the closest one.

Nothing.

Gabriel huffed again, and tried the second one.

It didn’t turn on either.

He swore under his breath. Just his luck that not one, but two bulbs would go out in one go.

He made his way towards his bedside table, where he kept a beautiful accent lamp he’d bought in an antique shop with his first paycheck. It would be better than nothing, although he decided it would make more sense to plug it nearer the entrance of the studio, until he fixed the other ones. Just in case, though, he turned it on before unplugging it; the bulb produced a small halo of light. He went back to the entrance table and carefully placed it on it, before bending down and plugging it into the outlet and flicking its switch.

The room remained dark.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” He contemplated the lamp in his hands, and then, the wall. It had worked a second before. It didn’t anymore. Ergo, it had to be a wall problem. And since the plug next to his bed worked, it had to be his next door neighbour’s fault that these didn’t work.

This day just kept getting better.

He stomped back to the door and slid his loafers back on, then grabbed his keys and his most pissed off expression, slamming the door behind him once again.

It was when he stepped out of the awning created by the small ground floor porch (Gabriel's mansion's would be much more impressive than that) and started climbing the stairs up to street level that he realised it had started raining. Damn English weather.

He peeked at the neighbouring house’s front door; it only had one doorbell, which meant it hadn’t been divided up into flats, and the ground floor lights were on. He supposed it was a good thing; whatever the problem was, he could talk to them about it now, and he’d only have to explain the problem once.

He huddled under the small ledge provided by a balcony on the first floor and pressed the doorbell insistently a couple of times, getting more annoyed with every minute of no one answering.

When the door finally swung open, Gabriel wished he hadn't. The man towering over him had his arms crossed over a chest Gabriel estimated could not go through the door frame without inching sideways. His impassive, silent stare only made his stance more impressive; Gabriel heard himself gulp. Then he remembered who he was, or rather, who he was going to be, and straightened up, making sure to look as haughty as he could muster.

“Good evening, sir, I believe there might be a problem in your basement that’s affecting my electricity, and I demand that you fix it right this instant.”

The man grunted, but didn’t budge.

“Siméon? Who is it?” A melodic female voice came from behind him.

The so-called Siméon moved aside to let the voice’s owner through, and, for the second time that day, Gabriel was struck by someone’s beauty. The light the absolute gorilla facing him had blocked out framed her slim figure like a halo. Her kind smile extended to the most spectacular pair of green eyes he’d ever had the chance of meeting; he doubted sapphires could compete with them. A blonde bun sat on her head like a crown, reinforcing the regality of her stance. And her outfit… Her rose-couloured pant suit was just perfection.

“Hi there, excuse my…” the woman hesitated, turning back towards him. “Flatmate. My flatmate," she repeated more assertively. "He can be a little rough around the edges."

“That’s alright,” Gabriel said, daring a polite smile.

“I’m Emilie Graham, by the way.” The woman extended a hand, which Gabriel took. He doubted he’d ever felt skin so soft. “And you are?…”

“Gabriel. Gabriel Agreste.” Gabriel drowned in her green eyes, and he pondered if he should kiss the back of her hand. Something about Emilie’s poise made him think he should. “I’m your next door neighbour.”

A raindrop slid from his vest’s sleeve onto his hand, jerking him out of his thoughts, and then onto Emilie’s hand.

“Oh my goodness, is it raining?!” she exclaimed, craning her neck to get a view of the sky. “You should’ve said so! I’m so sorry, where are my manners, please, do come in.”

She nudged Siméon aside and ushered Gabriel in, closing the door behind him.

“I’ll take it from here, Siméon.” She patted his arm, and the man grunted, disappearing in a room on their left after having shot Gabriel a glance he interpreted as a warning. “Gabriel, may I offer you a cup of tea?” Emilie turned her attention to him once again, an angelic smile gracing her lips.

Gabriel considered the offer, but as tempting as spending more time with her sounded, he remembered that he had a mission to accomplish.

“You’re very kind, but no thank you.” He shook his head.

“Sure? Alright, then.” She shrugged. “So, Gabriel, to what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?”

Gabriel noticed all of his anger and drive seemed to have evaporated the minute he’d walked through the door with her, and he didn’t like it one bit.

“Well, um, you see,” he started, wincing at his hesitation. He took a deep breath to clear his head. “I seem to have a problem with the electricity in my flat, specifically the plug sockets that are on our shared wall. I’d contact my landlord, but I wanted to check if you had an issue with it, too.”

“I see,” Emilie said gently. “Which floor do you live on?”

“I’m… in the basement,” Gabriel muttered, feeling oddly ashamed to admit it to her.

“Oh, that’s a lovely space. Let’s go and see if everything’s alright here.”

She spun around and walked down the hallway to a staircase going down. Gabriel observed with wonder that she had the strut of a model, not questioning how she would know if his flat was “a lovely space” or not for a second.

“Are you coming?” She turned back towards him with a quirked eyebrow.

“Oh, yes, of course.” Gabriel picked up his pace to the closest he’d ever get to a jog to catch up with her.

“So,” Emilie said as they went down. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t sound like you’re from around here.”

“That’s because I’m not,” Gabriel answered. “I’m French.”

“Oh, lovely! I’m part French myself, it’s been a dream of mine to live in France one day.” She sighed wistfully as they reached the bottom of the staircase, but moved on before Gabriel could build on her comment: “Ah, here we are.”

She walked straight to the room that faced them, turning its lights on.

Gabriel gawked at the home cinema he was faced with. Not only was this beautiful woman renting a house when he could only afford a sub-par flat, but she had rooms that he only pictured in his dream mansion. Who was she?

“This is our shared wall, yes?” She waited next to the right wall, which supported the screen.

“I believe it is.” Gabriel nodded. “You have a home cinema?”

“Oh, yes. My…” she hesitated again, making Gabriel wonder why she struggled so much with epithets. “My landlord is something of a cinema connoisseur, and given that I’m an actress, I thought it was fitting to keep it.”

As if one should get rid of a home cinema if it were handed to them on a silver plate, Gabriel thought. “You’re an actress? Anything I might have seen you in?” he asked politely, knowing perfectly well he would’ve remembered if he had, but wondering if maybe there was something a bit more niche he’d overlooked.

“Nothing yet, but here’s hoping you do one day!” Emilie laughed, switching on some appliances.

Gabriel was even more flabbergasted that she could afford the place.

“Well, all this seems to work, so I don’t think the issue’s on this side,” she concluded. “Do you mind if I pop into your flat to see if there’s anything I might spot? Before you contact your landlord.”

“Um, okay,” Gabriel felt obligated to answer.

“Great, then, let’s go!”

She led the way out, grabbing an umbrella on a rack in the entrance.

“I’ll be right back, Siméon!” she called out before walking out, not waiting for an answer.

Gabriel overtook her to unlock his front door, but let her in first, apologising for the lack of light.

“I can see why it would be a problem if the sockets didn’t work, it is awfully dark down here once the sun has set,” Emilie thought out loud.

Gabriel refrained from commenting that it was particularly problematic, considering that it felt like the sun was out only about 30% of the time, showing her the lamps instead.

“You see, the bulbs seem to be out; but I can assure you that they’re not.” Gabriel pointed towards them.

“I see,” she said pensively. “And they’re plugged in, of course, but…” She kneeled next to the table and took a look at the sockets. “Aha!” she called out triumphantly with a plastic click sound.

“What?” Gabriel asked.

She grinned as she switched the light on. “The sockets had been turned off. It’s a strange concept we have here.”

“The cleaner came today, she must’ve switched them off after using them with the vacuum!” Gabriel grunted, internally kicking himself for not having thought about it.

“Don’t beat yourself up about it, you’ve just arrived here.” Emilie brushed what Gabriel hoped was imaginary dust off of her knees as she stood up, and placed a comforting hand on his arm. “You’ll get the hang of it.”

“If I end up staying.” The words tumbled out of Gabriel’s mouth before he could stop them.

“Oh, you’re thinking of leaving already?” Emilie’s smile fell temporarily. “I’m sorry we haven’t made the best impression. If you feel like it, I’d be happy to take you on a tour to make you fall in love with London! At any rate, you can pop around for a cup of tea anytime you feel like it, I’m home most of the time.”

“Thank you for the offer, I might take you up on that.” Gabriel felt his cheeks warm slightly. “And thanks for your help today.”

“Oh, that was no problem at all! Hope to see you around, neighbour.” She winked before walking out, giving him a small wave.

Gabriel considered that maybe, just maybe, he’d finally found a reason to give London a try.

#ml writers guild #december event 2022 #2manyfandoms2count #miraculous writers guild #mwg #miraculous ladybug #gabriel agreste x emilie agreste #gabriel agreste #emilie agreste #harry clown #ml fanfiction #mlb fic #mlb fanfic #ml fanfic #miraculous #ml fandom #miraculous ladybug fic #miraculous ladybug fandom #ml writer #miraculous writer #miraculous ladybug writer #ml writing #mwg events #ml fics #the miraculous tales of ladybug and chat noir

[chickensarentcheap]

Esme stuff (Tyler centric)

For @tragiclyhip​ who needs a cheer up!

@innerpaperexpertcloud​, @secretaryunpaid​

That’s not a man that’s hungover. That’s a man that was up alllll night with colicky twin boys.   Love you, babe. You’re the best damn husband, baby maker, labour and delivery coach, and daddy hands on daddy any woman could ever ask for.  Thanks for letting me sleep last night!

What in the Ron Jeremy, boom chicka bow wow, seventies porn star hell is going on here?

#justgoingtogetahaircuthesays  #heisnevergoingtherealongEVERAGAIN

Sir, you’re going to have to start wearing long sleeve shirts. At least for a bit. Because I’m ovulating and horny AF and we don’t need another shark biscuit to add to our collection.

Normal pants and underwear? (Those red things are one of only six pairs he owns, BTW).  I guess I can forgive the holes in the shirt.

PS:  He brought out a dad joke when I mentioned the shirt.  His exact words: “It’s Sunday. It’s my holey shirt.”

Mmmmhmmm. 

PPS:  Just so you know, the happy trail leads to wonderful things

Also, how does this man wear his pants so low? And why aren’t they done up?

#borninabarn

OMG. So we are in London.  For a client meet and greet and some fancy ass event neither of us really want to go to.  He messages me from the hotel gym to say ‘meet me in the lobby. we’ll go for lunch’.   So I’m thinking, ‘oh, he’s going to shower and change down there.  Okay’.  I go downstairs and he’s waiting and I notice he is DRENCHED in sweat.  And at first he’s playing it all cool and reserved and making small chit chat and you know what he does? He grabs me and wraps me in this bear hug and let me tell you, he smells RIPE.

Jerk face.

Lucky I love you.

In Europe :) A family trip to as many places as we can fit in.  I wasn’t sure if I should trust him when he said he was taking the boys and himself for hair cuts.  He is so damn lucky...

#favehaircut #heissogettinglaidtonight

A throwback to his lumberjack stage!!  The beard hadn’t really started yet, but still...

Someone is happy to be home.

I may or may not have cried to see him in one piece.   I miss him when he’s gone. I worry.  I can’t help it.

We totally DID NOT have a forty five minute fully clothed make out session like horny high schoolers.

Did you know someone’s voice alone can bring about the Big O? If they’re saying the ‘right’ things? I didn’t.  But I sure found out quick. Look how proud of himself he is.

#HusbandIloveyourface

Forgive me folks. I don’t get to see him in full out mercenary mode (or close to full out.  No blood shed. Or at least real blood. What you see is fake. And used during advanced first aid training) very often and he’s been out in the outback training new guys for a couple of days so I today I ventured out there and found THIS.  Sweet baby Jesus.  F*ck me sideways. Literally.   He’s insanely hot all the time, but THIS?  *fans self off*

Oh, btw honey, we got a bird while you were gone. 

Double date night with my sis and her wifey.  The old fella cleans up nice, doesn’t he?

Surfing lesson day! To be fair, he’s been trying to teach me at least four times a week for about seven years, but I digress.  He has the patience of a saint and he loves sharing his passion with me and appreciates my enthusiasm.

My instructor is totally hawt.  I may have slapped his ass and said “nice bum, where ya from?”

He told me stop objectifying him.

NEVER.

Our dear friend Andy took this and now I think I owe him my first born. Or a kidney.

#holyFACK

#Tyler and Esme series #Esme Rake