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crazy-dog-lady-81 · 1 year

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The Wedding

Amelia gave herself a final once over. Happy with what she saw, she left the bathroom and walked into the bedroom where Kai was waiting for her. They were sitting on an armchair, leaning forward, elbows on their knees, scrolling through their phone. Dressed in a fitted black tuxedo and crisp white dress shirt, Kai was looking dapper and devastatingly handsome.

“Wow! You look absolutely amazing Bartley. We might need to keep that tux a night or two longer. Bond always did turn me on”.

Kai stood, dropped their phone into their jacket pocket and turned to look at the brunette. Their smirk was replaced by slack jawed adoration as they took her in from head to toe. She wore a knee length dark green A line dress with a black lace cardigan. Her hair was curled in lose ringlets, that hung around her shoulders. She looked so incredible that their words were temporarily quelled.

Unable to speak, they stepped forward, white carnation buttonhole in hand and carefully fastened it to her dress. “You look so beautiful, Amelia. I am going to be so proud to tell my friends that you’re with me. ” Their voice was tender and their green eyes were full of love.

Amelia felt her face redden into a deep blush. “That works both ways. You should know that I feel proud to be the woman on your arm who gets to have you take them home.” She stood on her tippy toes and resting her hand on their chest for support, kissed Kai gently. Their foreheads came to rest together and they stood wrapped up in each other for a moment.

“You haven’t done your bowtie. Do you need a hand?”

Kai handed it over and let Amelia do it for them. It was a small act between the pair, and not unusual. Amelia often adjusted their clothes, pushing down tags or fixing their collars. It was always pleasant. Today, though, it felt intimate and tender. With a soft shaft of sunlight spotlighting her, the little neurosurgeon deftly tied the bow, before adjusting it up to Kai’s throat.

“There!” she said when she was happy with her work. “Perfect!” They shared another sweet, chaste kiss before Kai took her hand and led her to the door. Amelia picked up her purse, and stepped onto the landing as Kai held the door for her. After checking the room was secure, they walked through the hotel to the car. Once again, gentleman Kai held the door open while Amelia sat into the passenger seat.

Kai took the wheel and after adjusting the seat and mirrors, eased the car back out of the parking space, out of the carpark and into the city. Amelia had selected a rock station and it played quietly in the cars cabin. Now, she held Kai’s hand as they drove towards the hotel.

The journey wasn’t long but it was peaceful. It was a hallmark of their relationship. They had their moments. Every couple does. In general, though, they radiated a blend of calm closeness. It was fair to say that in the year that they had been together, they had become completely comfortable together.

The ceremony was being held in the ballroom of a small boutique hotel in downtown Rochester. It was a stunning venue, intimate and elegant in its style. The room was bedecked in shades of blue and a string quartet played in the corner.

One of the grooms had worked with Kai in the lab since the very start of the project. They had become friends and often met socially outside of work. Benjamin had met his soon to be husband at one of Kai’s shows. They might even have had a hand in matching them up. They’d just had a feeling that the two would work well together. Their instinct had been right it seemed.

Kai was approached by friends almost as soon as they entered the room. They all worked with them at the Mayo, most in the lab but some from the medical and nursing faculties too. Kai introduced Amelia with a quiet pride. The mixed and mingled until the band struck up the bridal march. They took seats and Kai took Amelia’s hand. Amelia smiled at them. Benjamin stood with the celebrant visibly nervous as his fiancé Kelvin made his way up the aisle. The ceremony was as sweet as it was sentimental. They had written their own vows and they were heartfelt in their nature.

As the grooms were exchanging vows, Amelia felt Kai’s arm slip around her shoulders and hold her to themself gently. She looked and saw that they were looking at her. The expression Kai wore was tender and loving. Their eyes told Amelia of their feelings, love and devotion for her. The depth of those feelings touched Amelia’s soul and she looked into her tall scientists eyes. Reaching up, she stroked their face. They leaned into her touch instinctively. Amelia mouthed a silent I love you and rested her head on their strong shoulder, feeling her head rest on hers.

For the rest of the day, Kai held Amelia’s hand and stood tall and proud by her side. They couldn’t take their eyes off of her, afraid to miss even one second. Watching the grooms exchange vows, something had clicked inside Kai’s heart. The words of their vows were words that could have been written by them for Amelia. With that, it had come to them that she was the one. Amelia was their hearts fire and their twin flame. There would never be another for them.

Amelia, noticing that Kai was being unusually attentive towards her, drew them away from the other guests at the first opportunity. She brought Kai outside into the hotels manicured grounds. They found a bench and sat together.

Neither spoke at first, just sat in companionable silence. Kai eventually broke the silence. “Listening to the words of the vows, I was overcome with my feelings for you, Shepherd. I realised that I am head over heels in love with you. There’s no one else for me. You, Amelia, are it. My world and my everything. It’s you and Scout. You’ve got me. I am yours now and forever.”

They took her hand and intertwined her dainty fingers with their long, slender ones. They raised it to their lips and kissed it reverently, while looking deeply into her blue eyes.

Amelia felt her heart speed up as the enormity of Kai’s words landed within her. They were committing themself to her. And what shocked her was the fact that she felt at ease with it. She felt her eyes tear up and then water trickling down her cheeks even as a smile spread on her face.

“I feel the same about you, Kai. It’s like I belong with you and to you. My whole life, I think I have been waiting for you to come along and show me what healthy love looks like. You make me feel seen and heard and adored and safe. I do not see a time in my life when I won’t want to be with you.”

Kai slipped their arm around her then and once again, held her close. “I used to hate weddings. They seemed like cheesy, expensive and redundant things. Most people only got married for the pictures. But, now I understand it’s more than that. When you mean it, when your vows mean something to you and to your partner, then marriage can be a magical thing. You no longer have doubts about whether you love each other or not. You know you do. It’s real and stabilising. I think I’d like that with you.”

Amelia was quiet. It wasn’t a panicked silence. She was thoughtful about Kai’s words. They felt real and raw. A marriage to them would be sacred and meaningful. It would be an anchor between them. Not a ball and chain by any means. Rather a Deeping of the bond that already existed between them.

“I think I might like that with you too. Soon but let’s not rush. When we are ready and feel the time is absolutely right for us. Yes?”

Kai kissed the top of her head and hummed. “Yes. That’s a deal. So, are we engaged?”

Amelia laughed. “I think we are. I mean, didn’t you just propose?”

Kai looked down at her and with a goofy grin said , “I suppose I did and that you accepted. Yeah, that would appear to make us engaged. Do you want to keep this to ourselves for now? If we aren’t going to rush it?”

Amelia loved how Kai could just read the situation and call it so accurately. “Yes. Let it be our little secret until we decide to have a wedding.” She cuddled in as close to their body as she could. They kissed the top of head again. “You want to go back in now?” Amelia shook her head. “Can we go back to the hotel, please? I just want to be close to you right now. Not even have sex, just to hold you.”

They stood up and took off their jacket. As Amelia stood, they draped it carefully around her. “Thank you.” They put an arm around her shoulders and felt her slip one around their waist, holding on to one of their belt loops. They slipped away quietly, after saying their goodbyes to the happy couple.

Later, back in the hotel, as the couple lay wrapped up in each other, soaking in the sacredness of the decision that they had made, Kai slipped a pretty gold ring with an emerald in it from their little finger and gave it to Amelia. “This was my Nana Bartley’s engagement ring. I will buy you your own, when the time is right, but for now, I want you to have that.”

Amelia tried the ring on. It fit nicely. She looked at Kai and said, “I don’t need another ring. This is perfect. And it means more because it has a history.” They shared a kiss and returned to snuggling. Tiredness eventually overtook them and they climbed into bed after changing into their pyjamas.

They slept and they dreamt. In their dreams, they saw themselves happy together, for many years to come.

#amelia shepherd #amelia x kai #greys anatomy #kai bartley #amelia shepard #kai x amelia #kaimelia

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busterverse · 3 years

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STUDY THAT SATURDAY

#Buster Keaton #Help I'm Slippin' Into The Buster Zone #that face #👀#black and white photo #Old Hollywood #vintage #one completely dapper and handsome gentleman #Silent film stars

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random-imagines-blog · 3 years

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Empty Walls {Sirius Back x Reader}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 2380 Summary: A lot of the order is pretty untrusting of any Slytherins joining their midst - but there is one person who accepts you. Warnings: Mentions of character death.

Molly Weasley shoved a plate of food in front of you, so harshly that little puddles of gravy spilt onto the table, making a small mess. You thanked her regardless of her hostility, and cleaned up the gravy with your own napkin, embroidered with your initials. She was a wonderfully sweet woman most of the time - but you just so happened to be a Malfoy. Despite your loyalty to the Order of the Phoenix, many of its members still didn’t trust you yet, because of your surname. It was more about that than the fact that you had been in Slytherin, while everyone else around here seemed either to be a Gryffindor or even a Hufflepuff. You tied your blonde hair out of your face and started to eat self-consciously, knowing that there were eyes on you no matter what. Sirius Black’s to be specific. He always seemed to be watching.

The room filled with the sound of eating as everyone dug into Molly’s delicious food. You were the first done, vacating your seat quickly and washed the dish - by hand - in the sink. You had grown up completely spoiled, with the house elves doing all of the cooking and cleaning, so earning your place here had been difficult at first. You didn’t mean to be spoiled. You just couldn’t help how you were raised.

Grimmauld Place. It was dark and it was dingy, but there was one place in this house in particular that you were drawn to. The wall with the family portraits - your own included. All of the little faces of your family, and then the burned out one of Mr. Sirius Black. Your eyes went to your brother and you smirked to yourself. He was painted in that little hat. He always hated that picture, which made you love it even more. You then saw your parents, Lucius and Narcissa. They both looked a little snooty, which was how they tended to appear to the world. But they were never like that when it was just the family together. Your fingers graced your mother’s face. You missed her, a lot. She still sent you owls, and your father would always add his own little notes. They loved you, despite the fact that most of their friends saw you as a traitor. That your actions nearly put a bounty on their own heads, like the rest of the order.

But you were going to help take him down before he could try to collect.

“Do you really like staring at your own face that much?” A deep voice came from behind you. You didn’t turn around. It was Mr. Black himself. He always seemed to be following you around. He was probably the most mistrustful of the lot. You just ignored him, and put your fingers over your father. You missed him as well. His opinion was the one that you had been most scared of - but you were doing what he was too cowardly to do. You were making the right choice.

You didn’t even pay attention to your little portrait. You knew what you looked like. You didn’t give into the vanity that the rest of the Malfoys seemed to have. You preferred knowledge over looks.

“It’s not that bad of a picture. Mine was awful. They made me cut my hair for it, so I looked like some dapper gentleman,” Sirius said. He had come and stood right behind you. You didn’t realize how close he was until then. If you took even one step backwards, you would have bumped into him.

“So it’s a good thing that your place is burnt out then?” You asked.

“I like to think of it more as an empty space,” Sirius said. “I’ll probably paint over the whole damn thing one of these days. Most of these people, I don’t feel like I’m that related to anyway. Like you.”

“We’re hardly related. It’s like ... many branches away,” You said with a shrug. He may be some sort of cousin but it never felt that way to you either. When you looked at him, you saw ... well, a handsome man, even with all of that hair and those tattoos. You had seen photos of him when he was younger and you had some pretty obscene thoughts one should not be having over family members. He’d been, to put it roughly, a hunk. “Why haven’t you painted over it by now?”

“The room needed some sort of decor,” Sirius shrugged. “I don’t know what I’d do with an empty wall.”

“Well, knowing you, I’m sure you’d hang a very flattering portrait of yourself,” You mused, clicking your tongue. “Dorian Gray style.”

“What?” Sirius asked. You laughed then, remembering that someone like him probably hasn’t picked up a book since his time at Hogwarts, let alone one written by a muggle.

“Nothing,” You said, shaking your head. “So what can I help you with? Does Molly need help with something?”

“Why would Molly need help with anything?” Sirius asked, taking a seat in one of his favorite chairs in the bedroom.

“I don’t know - you all seem to think that housework is female only work-” You started but Sirius cut you off.

“Not at all,” He said, shaking his head, those unruly waves flying around him. “I actually wanted to talk to you myself. And it’s really not about housework.”

“Well, talk away,” You said, settling into a chair of your own, facing away from those painted walls.

“I’ve been keeping my eye on you for a while now. I knew your father back in school and-”

“Yes, I’ve heard some of the stories,” You interrupted, crossing your legs. “There’s no need to go into a lot of backstory. I know you don’t trust me and that’s what you want to talk about, isn’t it?”

“Do you always go around making up all of these assumptions?” Sirius asked, curiously. “I don’t distrust you, I actually wanted to tell you that I think you’re doing an amazing job. Especially for someone so young.”

Your mouth went dry at the unexpected praise that he was bestowing on you. “Well, thanks. That actually means a lot to me. It’s been hard, since I had to give up everything but saving the world seems pretty worth it. Wanna tell Molly what you think, because that woman has had it out for me since day one.”

“She’ll come around. She’s just mistrustful of Slytherins, that’s all.”

You were quiet for a couple of minutes there, thinking about all of the times that you had tried to proven yourself to the Order. You had gone out on dangerous missions without hesitation. You had fought people who had once been dear family friends. You were trying to protect the world, which seemed bigger than just one family.

“Guess I just have to give it time - and hope that we have enough of it,” You sighed, realizing there wasn’t much in this situation that you could do. “You’re not so bad yourself, Black. Even if you come from a family of, well, us. Snakes and all.”

“Thanks,” He chuckled. “I’ll take that to heart.”

Since you had already graduated from Hogwarts, you spent a lot of time among the rest of the adults. Molly was finally warming up to you just a little, if only because she had no children to keep her busy now that they were all back at school. You were one of the youngest in the Order, having just left school the year before, and so she doted on you. Or, at the very least, she didn’t make a mess of your food anymore.

“Fancy taking me for a walk?” Sirius asked you one day, leash in hand. You laughed, knowing exactly what he had meant. It was the only way that he could leave this house. Being disguised as Snuffles, the big black dog. And the only way not to get Animal Control called on him was to have someone walk him around.

You nodded, also feeling the need to get out of the stifling nature of the house. Get away from the screams of the portrait and the gloominess that clung around every corer despite you and Molly’s attempt to cheer the place up a bit. Sirius turned into his dog form, and you put the leash and collar on him - which always felt weird, no matter how many times you did it. His tongue lolled out as he grew excited for the fresh air and it was enough to make you laugh.

These walks became more and more frequent - especially because sometimes, when you were in a more isolated part of town, Sirius would turn back into his human self and you would have a coffee and sit in a park, enjoying the early fall nature. You ended up having some really long conversations. About everything. You told him some stories about his godson, Harry, and his friends at school - they were rather infamous and it seemed like you knew a lot about them despite not being in their house. And your brother’s complaints, of course.

It didn’t take long for you to realize that you were falling for this much older man, despite the age gap and the fact that he had been in Azkaban for years, and that this was hardly the time for love, given the fact that there was a war that was growing in importance more and more each day.

“To the ones that we have lost,” Arthur Weasley said, raising his glass in toast over his head.

It was not a happy occasion that you were celebrating here tonight, back at Grimmauld Place. “To the ones that we have lost,” you toasted back in return. And then you drank deeply from your flask - Firewhiskey having become a solace these days.

Sirius was taking things particularly hard - the war may be over, but the cost of that victory was entirely too high. He was tearing himself apart about it, but you couldn’t blame him. He lost his only other best friend. And the Weasleys had lost two sons - one to death, and one to the attack of a werewolf, though Bill was pulling through swimmingly.

You stood up slowly, which garnered the attention of the rest of the people around you. “I can’t be here,” You admitted, finding it too hard to be around loved ones, when they weren’t exactly the ones that you wanted.

You went down the hallway into the room with the family portrait on it, your wand in your hand as you closed the door, but you did not lock it. “What have you done to be remembered for?” You asked the portrait of yourself, and of your parents.

“I think this is a long time coming,” Sirius said, staggering into the room. “Patat Pingere.”

“What are you doing?” You asked, as the paint started to peel off of the walls, and then dissolve into nothing, leaving only the bare baseboards that they must have been before the family tree. You watched as you, your parents and the rest of them just seemed to disappear, like you never existed.

“You deserve to be remembered,” Sirius said, leaning against the doorframe, taking in the sight of all of that white. “So we’ll repaint you now, as you are. And... and Remus. And Tonks. And Fred... the others...”

You nodded, looking at the potential of it now. All of the noble house of Black had disappeared, and most of them were better off being remembered - entirely unlike everyone that you had just lost, and whose death was still pulling at your heart.

“And yours,” You said, looking over at Sirius. You were surprised to see that his head was down, and a sob racked through his entire body, and he was barely keeping himself upright.

You rushed to his side and took his weight upon your shoulder, half-dragging and half-carrying him to his favorite chair and helped to lower him into it. He didn’t let you go, so you had no choice but to sit with him. You curled up in his lap like a kitten, and he held you while sobbing into the shoulder of your robes.

You were through with crying - you’ve made yourself dehydrated with it and nothing ever seemed to get better, but seeing Sirius like this was still draining nonetheless. “You’re not completely alone Sirius - you have me.”

That seemed to help somewhat, for his shoulders stopped shaking as much, but he did continue to hold onto you tightly, making sure that you could not leave, even if you had wanted to. You didn’t want to, you wanted to stay and make sure that he knew - that he knew that you would not leave him.

“I love you.”

You weren’t expecting that from him, especially not at this time, but you began to run your fingers through the dirty, straggly hair.

“I love you too.”

“Don’t just say that if you don’t mean it. I can’t take anything more, I just-”

You’ve never seen him so vulnerable before. Even when he was in the middle of a fight, with spells going around him, narrowly missing him, he usually had some excitement showing on his face. But this was a defeated man, who seemed ready to break at the slightest negativity.

“I mean it, with every bit of me. I really, truly do,” You told him, detangling a few knots with your fingers, your wand having dropped on the floor when it seemed like he was falling. “I love you, Sirius Black.”

“Can we fix this - these empty walls?” Sirius’s head rose just a little.

You nodded, looking into his dark eyes, which had the same expression as a dog that had just been kicked. “Yes, I think we can. I know we can. Let’s start tomorrow.”

#Sirius Black #Sirius Black x reader #Sirius Black oneshot #Harry Potter #Harry Potter oneshot #request #oneshot #one shot #siriusb #x reader

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prurientpuddlejumper · 4 years

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Out Tonight (Part 1)

Part 2 ->

Summary: Barba would never admit to being a RENT geek, but when he gets drunk and no one from the SVU squad is there to see him, he can’t resist the siren call of the karaoke stage. You would never approach a stranger at a bar, but when you hear Barba singing your favorite musical, you gather the courage to ask for a duet.

Rafael Barba x Female Reader

Warning: NSFW, 18+, Dub-con!! Everyone is enthusiastically willing, but also super drunk. So... use your best judgement. (No smut this chapter just some intense kissing)

4,144 words

The thing about Scotch whisky is, it’s a drink meant to be sipped. A.D.A. Rafael Barba drank a Scotch every day, especially after a difficult case. One or two, mulled upon over the course of an hour.

At over 40 percent alcohol by volume, the practical difference between Scotch, the gentleman’s drink favored by lawyers and Wall Street executives, and the tequila swigged by rednecks ripping their shirts off at a dive bar is the speed at which the beverages are consumed.

The thing about being a Scotch drinker is, you’re only ever one particularly bad day and a few extra drams carelessly tipped down the hatch away from getting well and truly shitfaced.

This would never happen to A.D.A. Barba. He had complete control of himself at all times. In the courtroom. In his manner of dress. In his speech. He won cases other prosecutors wouldn’t dare to take on, because he was meticulous. He was relentless. And he never let his guard down.

But on this particular day, nothing was going according to plan. All week, in fact, a case he was certain of had been falling apart piece by piece, slipping through his fingers, until today, a man who made Barba’s stomach sicken walked out of the courtroom a free man.

It was his fault. He got cocky. The victims subjected themselves to retraumatization just to testify on the hope of getting some kind of justice, and it was all for nothing. He let them down. He let the SVU team down. The look on Benson’s face when the foreman delivered the not guilty verdict made Barba want to crawl inside himself.

So he did what he always did on bad days, and went to his favorite bar alone to sit quietly and numb his sorrows over a glass of Macallan.

Except it wasn’t fucking quiet. This was supposed to be a subdued, sophisticated establishment that didn’t draw a big crowd. This was his bar! But for some godawful reason, the new manager had decided—unbeknownst to Barba—to try hosting karaoke night.

Karaoke!

He scowled at the colored stage lights. Glowered at the rambunctious crowds of young people. Seethed at the bad 80’s music and off-key bellowing. He dropped heavily into his usual seat at the bar and exchanged withering looks with the bartender, who slid him his usual drink without needing to be asked. What the hell was happening to his life? Barba began to wonder whether he had anything under control at all, downing the dram in one shot.

As he gasped on the fiery liquid burning down his throat, he gained determination. They were not going to take his bar from him. Not a chance. If these tourists and college kids wanted to have their revelry, they would have to do it with a grumpy old killjoy glowering at them. He ordered another round.

***

An hour and a steep tab later, and Barba was gripping the microphone with sweaty fingers, belting out One Song Glory at the top of his lungs.

He rationalized it as “better bend than break,” but the truth was, he had dreamed of becoming an actor before going to law school to please his mother. His inner theater geek was always waiting to slip out whenever he let his guard down, but since that was never, it was side he rarely indulged. Tonight, his head was spinning, and it didn’t seem like a bad idea.

“One song to redeem this empty life. Time flies—and then no need to endure anymore!”

The wooden bar stool creaked as his weight sank back down on it, and he ordered another drink to question about his life choices. “Will I ever be remembered for anything besides my failures?” he asked the glass. He’d come this far from the poor barrio where he grew up, but every step was a fight. He couldn’t just be good, he had to be better than the privileged WASPs he was competing against. He had to be the best. Every little mistake, every lost trial, could be the end of all he had worked for.

Barba was so busy nursing his latest drink, he almost didn’t notice someone else drunkenly belting a track from RENT. Except, as his head swung up to listen, it wasn’t drunken belting at all. A woman with a low-cut blouse and tight jeans that hugged her curves was singing so seductively, staring right at him. She winked and sweetly begged him to take her out tonight.

No—he was imagining it. He was just drunk, lonely, and pathetic. She was working the crowd, making everyone feel like she was singing just to them. Maybe she was a Broadway performer to have that skill, or at least a master at flirtation. Either way, she was way out of his league. There was no chance she had singled him out.

***

So what if you didn’t know anybody, and it was dangerous to go alone? You were in Manhattan on a Friday night—you were going to go out and have a good time, dammit!

The promise of karaoke drew you into a small but packed bar, and you were a few drinks in when you heard a voice like an angel and a rock-star had a baby singing a song from your favorite musical ever. The voice belonged to a singer wearing old-man suspenders, a pink tie, and a light coating of stubble from not having shaved since morning. He was fashionable, you guessed. Dapper. But it was that expressive voice that mesmerized you. As he sang, your gut was wrenched with the emotional pain woven through each note.

You were smitten. You tried to go talk to him, but the moment the song was over he vanished into the tightly-packed crowd. It was silly. It was far too bold to approach a stranger in the big city, but the warm tipsy feeling in your gut gave you confidence to hatch a plan.

Step one: Locate him from the stage.

Step two: Impress him.

Step three: Bond over mutual love for RENT.

Step four, if you managed to get that far, was a bunch of squiggly question marks and “kiss his face?” hastily scrawled in pencil. It was a long shot, you knew that. You were way too shy, and he was far too handsome not to have a girlfriend, or a boyfriend, or a husband. Frankly, even if he were single, he was way out of your league. But still, the nebulous step four could simply be “Have a fun night with your new karaoke buddy,” and that possibility alone made you feel like glitter was exploding inside of you.

When it was your turn to sing, you found him from your elevated vantage—he was sitting far from the stage, at the end of the bar—and tried to catch his eye. You’d been using Out Tonight as your karaoke icebreaker for years, so you’d gotten good at playing up the sexiness, tossing your hair and biting your lip. Your clumsy ass had even picked up a few dance moves to spice it up, and you gave them your booty-shaking all when you saw him look up at you.

You were glad you’d worn the jeans that made your butt look fantastic, and your sexiest, strappiest sandals (which were actually Tevas with a two-inch wedge heel, purchased from an outdoor gear store). He was watching you with fascination as you pouted the lyric, “don’t forsake me,” at him.

It sent a shiver down your spine to think he might really be looking at you that way.

The moment you got off the stage, you were bombarded by guys offering to buy you a drink, asking for your number. It was discouraging that Sexy Suspenders was not among them. Apparently your sexy routine worked, but entirely missed its intended target. Then again, a man like that probably let women come to him.

Ducking and weaving past your suitors like they were physical obstacles and not people, you reached Suspenders. The bar stool next to him was open, held by a briefcase and folded suit jacket. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, and his hair was a little mussed. He appeared to be deep in conversation with his empty glass. You took a step forward to approach him, but an anxious constriction in your chest froze you in place.

Who do you think you are?! A gorgeous, sharp-dressed city guy will never even give you the time of day! Your mother’s nagging voice chimed in to warn you not to talk to strange men in bars when you’re out alone, in New York City, no less. You grimaced at your awesome double-dose of anxiety. He would either laugh in your face, or you were about to get murdered. Hooray!

But there was a loneliness in his demeanor that encouraged you he wouldn’t laugh, and up close, you noticed he was so short you could probably pick him up like a little baby chipmunk if things got out of hand. Ignoring how thick his forearms were, of course. But if he crushed you with those, you would die happy.

***

The next singer on stage had started screeching a rendition of Don’t Stop Believin’ with ten drunk buddies, and Barba was squeezing his eyes closed to try to drown them out, so he was caught completely unaware when a tap on his shoulder startled him.

“Is this seat taken?”

His vision blurred. He had to rub his eyes and look twice to be sure he was seeing who he thought he was seeing. “Mimi!” he blurted. “From the—nice, um—no. No one’s sitting here.”

He moved his belongings to the top of the bar, and you sat on the vacated stool, quite pleased with yourself. The bartender immediately handed you a pink icy cocktail with a slice of lime, and pointed his thumb to someone at the other end of the bar who paid for it. Barba followed his gesture to a very cute guy in his twenties and felt a twinge of double-edged jealousy that the most beautiful woman he had ever seen was most likely about to get up and leave him, and that the drink hadn’t been for him, because frankly, he couldn’t blame you. You did get up, but only to crane your neck to find your benefactor. When you did, you gave the world’s dorkiest thumbs up, while conspicuously putting your hand on Barba’s shoulder.

Barba’s lips spread into a smug bastard what-are-you-going-to-do-about-it smirk as he stared down his attractive rival. His head cocked to the side pleasantly. The other man’s flirtatious gaze fell into an annoyed tick. You sighed with relief as he moved away.

Turning back to Barba, you realized your hand was still on his shoulder and quickly removed it. You inhaled and said, “I heard you singing you were amazing do you want to do a duet together? Can we? I love RENT! I’ve always wanted to do Light My Candle—can we do it together?” in one breath.

Your flurried gush of words nearly knocked him off his stool—he put his hands up defensively and sat wide-eyed, nodding slowly as you went full babbling-nerd on him. You may not have been as suave as he initially thought, and oddly enough, he was okay with that. It was disarming, and your enthusiasm was infectious.

Because his instinct to distance himself from anyone he might risk forming a real emotional connection with wasn’t working at the moment, he grabbed you by the shoulders, locked his piercing eyes with yours, and emphatically answered, “Yes. We must!”

***

Having a karaoke partner is essential for Broadway musical numbers, as most of them are duets—two or more characters interacting with each other as the plot of the show advances. Light My Candle was one of your favorite songs, and snagging the mysterious suspendered singer meant you could finally perform it outside your shower.

It was a bouncy back-and-forth duet that was fun to sing, but you forgot how aggressively flirtatious it was until you had to ask him—you hadn’t even asked his name yet—if you had the best ass below 14th street, and about wax dripping between your… um, fingers. But the way he looked at you made seducing him so natural. You just had no idea if it was part of the performance, or if it was real.

When the song was over, you bounced on your toes, clinging to his arm for balance as you tripped on the stairs down from the stage, squealing, “That was so much fun!” He put his hand around your waist to steady you. It felt like it was made to be there.

His face was flushed red and his eyes sparkled with exhilaration, and he quickly agreed to another duet, though he muttered, wiping a light sheen of sweat from his brow, “Thank god no one from the precinct is here.”

Performing together with a partner always makes you feel a connection—even if it’s just drunken karaoke. When you sang one part of a harmony and he picked up the other part, your voices became two halves of a whole. And with musicals, it’s as much about acting as it is singing. He threw so much emotional intensity into the lyrics, which gave you something to respond to, throwing it back at him in fluid conversation as your voice soared above his and dove beneath it again.

You hadn’t had this much fun in a long time, and you had a feeling he hadn’t, either.

Not that you had any way of knowing, really. You guessed it by the ease in which he embodied Roger’s stubborn refusal to open his heart, by the mournful way he lifted his drinks to his lips like he was toasting at a funeral. His expensive leather briefcase and formal attire, too, suggested a well-paid but dreadfully boring line of work, like a financial manager.

Your guess was dead-on, in truth. Barba was vigilant against dating anyone he met professionally. Even if there had been a secretary or paralegal or two he’d had chemistry with, for the sake of his career, he could not afford to conduct himself in a manner that could raise even the hint of a scandal or ethical conflict in the workplace. And anyone he met outside of the workplace… well, he didn’t. His entire life revolved around his job.

The bartender had just brought a fresh round of drinks, and your head rested on your fist, elbow on the bar. Barba was staring deeply into your soul with those pretty green eyes, trying to figure out how he managed to get you and how he could keep you.

“We should do Another Day next,” you grinned.

“Who do you think you are, barging in on me and my guitar!” He sang in a gritty rock voice, poking at your chest accusingly while holding an air microphone with the other. You forgot to be surreptitious and blatantly checked for a wedding ring.

After Roger’s verse, you sang back Mimi’s part, seductively leaning in closer to him. “There’s only us. There’s only this...” As you leaned closer, his eyelids drooped, and his eyes darkened. “Forget regret, or life is yours to miss.” The smoky smooth molasses of Scotch was strong on his breath. He studied your face hazily, his eyes drawn down to the movement of your lips. There was no mistaking his attraction for a performance now. You sang softer and softer until your forehead was resting against his, your lips almost touching. Then you just breathed.

“No day but today,” he mulled the lyric and the impulsive circumstances that had led him to being with you in that moment. “I should follow that advice more often.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do,” you murmured. “Here I am in the city, having fun,” your voice slowed to a crawl as your eyes flicked up and down his face, “...with a perfect, handsome stranger...”

His tongue ran over his lower lip again as his eyes dropped to your mouth and clouded over with some sultry thought.

You’re not sure which one of you moved first, but in the next moment his lips were melting into yours, desperate and passionate. That tempting tongue of his ran along your lower lip now, sliding easily inside as your mouth parted to invite him within, swirling in heated wet circles around yours. It was heavy with the taste of Scotch and the faint bitterness of coffee, as if that were all he’d eaten that day. You curled your fingers into his hair and deepened the kiss, moaning into his mouth, and his broad arms closed around your back and pulled you off your bar stool onto his lap.

His skin was burning hot, and waves of heat coursed up through your body like you were both on fire. Your pulse thundered in your ears until it drowned out the off-key music, and each pounding heartbeat sent a corresponding throb to your cunt. Your eyes closed. All that existed was the messy clashing of your teeth and tongues, the woody-sweet scent of his cologne filling your lungs, the heat of his strong hands on your back, and the bulge of his cock twitching beneath you.

When you finally had to come up for air, and hopped back onto your own bar stool, suddenly self-conscious of how pornographic that nearly was, all he had to say was, “I’ve never done that before.”

You blinked. “You’ve never… kissed someone?”

“Not someone I just met in a bar!” his eyebrows shot up and he sounded so utterly scandalized, your euphoric high from kissing him came crashing down. He saw you as some kind of cheap tramp for kissing him. Pretentious asshole. Suddenly you felt like shit.

You turned your attention to the second round of that fruity cocktail that random guy paid for. It turned out to be a pretty tasty drink, so you ordered another. Maybe you should have given that guy a chance.

“So, are you here by yourself?” Barba asked your profile, not bothering to hide the patronizing concern in his tone.

“Yeah,” you said without looking up.

“Jesus. I thought so. That’s really dangerous, you know.”

“Ugh,” you groaned and pivoted away from him further, leaving him confused. So first he implied you’re a slut, and now he was pulling the whole, the city is full of predators, but I’m a Nice Guy—let me walk you home routine. This is what you get for picking a guy based on how good he sings.

“I did not mean to imply that. I only meant that I’m usually more... careful.” Oh. You must have said all of that out loud. Oops. “But you’re right to be suspicious of my intentions. There are… all kinds”— he breathed the word out in a jaded huff—“of tactics predators will use. Manipulations, brute force, drugs, fake personas… And all they have to do is claim consent and half the time the jury believes it even if the physical evidence is horrifying.” He was getting visibly angry thinking about it, his drink dangerously close to spilling as he clenched his fist around it.

You stared at him. “Um.”

“Oh,” he cleared his throat, “I’m an A.D.A. for Manhattan. Prosecutor. I’m a lawyer,” he clarified when the acronym earned no look of recognition in your eyes. “Lately I’ve been working with the Special Victims Unit, so when I see someone drinking alone late at night, talking to complete strangers,” he gestured at himself. “You have no idea how many sexual assault cases start with this exact scenario.”

“Big-shot lawyer, huh? Sure, now pull the other one.”

“What?” His head cocked at you in utter bewilderment.

“Pull the other… leg. You’re pulling my leg?”

“I know what it means, I’ve just never heard it said by anyone under sixty. Are you secretly an old man?”

Your cheeks burned. “You’re an old man,” you retorted childishly.

His lips folded in on themselves as he tried to keep a straight face. “I don’t know. What can you tell me about the Model T?”

You took a grumpy swig of the fruity strawberry cocktail.

“What was World War II like?”

“So are you really a lawyer, or do you just use that line to pick up chicks?”

“I am, I am!” he laughed. “I can prove it. Let’s see...” he pulled out his phone, brought up a search result for his name, and scrolled through headlines. “DA’s Office Helps NYPD Persecute Immigrant Families,” “Justice at Last for Serial Rapist Victims,” and others rolled across the screen. He narrowed his eyes as his index finger hovered over each one. “Oh, sounds like I’m an idiot in this one,” his mouth twitched into a sardonic smirk, “and I’m a real asshole here… Oh, look, here’s one where I’m the big hero.” He held out his phone so you could see the photo of him in another flashy suit and bold tie, speaking to crowd of reporters in front of the courtroom steps. He looked so sexy in his full three piece suit, and much more severe, his face hard and intelligent. The caption below it praised his victory putting away a notorious rapist, and identified him A.D.A. Rafael Barba.

“Wow. That is you. Who knew I was doing karaoke with such an important guy?” You slung your arm around his shoulders, which were irresponsibly broad and solid. God, being with him felt so right. Casual touches were so comfortable even though you’d just met, and the way he responded, melting under you, sent a wave of heat through your lower back.

He kept flipping through headlines, his brow quirking a little at one, eyes narrowing at the next. Then he saw one that made him stop scrolling. He put the phone down on the bar and scrubbed his hand over his face and hair, blinking back tears suddenly forming. You caught the glowing screen before it automatically locked. The headline was from today. “Local Teacher Found Not Guilty—.”

His head dropped into his arms on the bar. “It was my fault. If I had done something different, been more prepared...” A sad groan emitted from the Barba puddle.

“I’m sure you did everything you could,” you soothed, and rubbed his back sympathetically. “So one guy got acquitted. It happens every day.”

“I know,” he growled. This fact was the opposite of comforting.

“You’re sure he was guilty?”

“He did it. To at least a dozen kids over the last two decades, but no one wanted to testify, or the statute of limitations was up, and then our key witness… There must have been something I could have done, something I didn’t think of. I let him get away with it.” His shoulders heaved as he sobbed into his arms. “I fucked up.”

You kept rubbing circles over his back, whispering soothing words to him. You leaned down and peppered his head with soft kisses. He shifted off the top of the bar and began crying into your chest, his arms wrapping around you like a baby lemur. You held him tight, suddenly understanding that this was the memory he came here to drown. This was why all night you had caught him looking wistful every time the conversation lulled. “I’m sorry,” you murmured. “It’s alright. Shh.”

His arms tightened around your waist, then relaxed, tension melting from his body. “This is nice,” he sighed into your shirt, enjoying being snugly pressed against you, surrounded by warmth. “Thank you… this is nice.” He never let anyone comfort him like this. Never let his need for comfort show under his stoic exterior. If his judgment were functioning properly, it would have struck him as a red flag how easily he sought comfort from a stranger that he wouldn’t have accepted from his closest friends, but it felt good to let it out.

Eventually, he remembered his dignity and sat up, drying his eyes on his sleeve and glancing regretfully at the wet splotch he’d made in your shirt.

“Sorry,” he said, clearing his throat. He picked up his latest glass of scotch, and swirled its half-empty amber contents before setting it down again. It was possible he had drunk enough.

“It’s OK. You had a bad day.”

His lips tightened at the corners in agreement. “Usually Liv is the only one who tries to cheer me up. So, thanks for…” He closed his eyes and tilted his head. “You’re very nice.”

Your chest fluttered. He was terribly cute, and far too vulnerable for you to be having these lascivious feelings about him.

#Rafael Barba #Rafael Barba x Reader #ada rafael barba #Raúl Esparza #svu fic #female reader #my writing #Headcanoning Barba as good at singing naturally #and is a fan of RENT change my mind #emotional hurt/comfort #sorry about the dubcon everyone but sober Rafa would never sing in public XD

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karmaholmes221 · 3 years

Text

Vicomte de Phantom II

Pier 69

Paris, 1895- A mysterious fire consumed the Opera Populaire. A mob rampaged through the theatre's twisted catacombs baying for the masked man they held responsible. Only his mask was ever found...

I flicked a strand of wet hair out of my face and began messing with the sleeves of my dress. It was busy down at the piers for this time during the day as relatives stood and waited for the disembarking passengers to make their way through the custom house. I stumbled slightly as I was jarred by a young man, who rushed past me to join a rather large crowd just outside the gates. Unable to extinguish my curiosity, I moved closer to see what all the commotion was about, slipping into the crowd of reporters, photographers, well-wishers, and gawkers without notice. The man, who was clearly a latecomer, turned to the man beside him.

“Has the Persephone docked yet?” he panted.

The man nodded. ”Yeah, the passengers are going through customs now.”

”Here they come!” A young woman whispered loudly to the two men as the first of the passengers made their way through the gate.

”It’s Mrs Astor!” one of the reporters called as a portly lady wearing an enormous plumed hat stepped through the gates, being escorted by a dapper gentleman.

”Hey, Mrs Astor! Over here!” the photographer called. Mrs Astor turned and several flashbulbs went off.

”How was your trip?” one reporter asked.

”Is that the latest Paris style?” another called.

Mrs. Astor just smiled and blew them a kiss before turning away and allowing herself to be escorted to her waiting carriage.

”Look, there’s Colonel Vanderbilt!” A young man near the front of the crowd called.

”Hey, Colonel, enjoyed those French pastries, did you?” the reporter asked.

Vanderbilt smiled broadly. “There’s nothing there we don’t have bigger and better over here, I assure you.”

”Thanks Colonel!” the photographer said loudly, trying to be heard over the chattering crowd. The Colonel smiled indulgently, patting his ample waistline lightly as the photographers flashbulbs went off before moving off to hail a carriage.

”Hey, there she is!” Someone yelled and all heads turn to the gates, I glanced over, only slightly curious as to the reason to who this mystery person was that they were all standing here waiting for and felt my breath catch in my throat at what I saw.

There, framed in the gateway, clutching the hand of a young boy, stood Christine Daae’. She was nearly obscured by veils and a cloche hat but she was gorgeous, iconic, every inch a star. There was a moment of awed silence as I tried to reign in my pounding heart and push the dread that was seeping through me away. ‘Why, after all these years, why did she have to show her face here, in this town? If Erik finds out she’s here…’ I refused to complete the thought, I didn’t want to think about how far Erik would go to regain his hold on the former prima donna. I pushed the thoughts away as the crowd burst into pandemonium as flashbulbs exploded and the reporters and photographers began shouting, all vying for Christine’s attention.

Christine remained silent, pulling the boy at her side closer to her and wrapping a protective arm around his shoulders as a familiar voice rose above the shouts of the crowd. “Her name is Madame de Chagny! Stand aside! Stand aside, please!” As Raoul appeared through the gate, I couldn’t stop myself I gasped. The woman just ahead of me glanced back but I could hardly find it in me to care. It was Raoul, older and slightly more weathered looking than I remembered, but still the same man that I had been married to all those years ago, still dapper and handsome and, in this moment, brusque irate. “No pictures, do you hear? No pictures of my wife, no pictures of the boy!”

”Hey Christine, why Coney Island?” one reporter called.

”Your first concert in years, why ain’t you singing at the Met?” A reporter in front of me, a young man with ink stains on his shirt, called out and Raoul looked towards him, a dignified look on his face.

“The Vicomtesse has been engaged by the well-known impresario –”

”Well-known?!”

No one’s ever seen the guy” the same reporter cut him off, before launching another into another question. ”How’d he lure the great Christine Daaé over here, anyways?”

”It’s the money, right? All that American moolah!” The photographer said mockingly.

”Hey Christine, whatcha gonna sing, “Yankee Doodle Moolah”?”A man in the crowd called and the people around him sniggered.

Raoul turned towards where the man’s voice had come from. “My wife is an artist, sir - - !” Raoul began heatedly.

”Yeah, and her art is paying off your gambling debts, is what they’re saying in France.” The photographer scoffed. I was hit with a moment of surprise at the news, I had heard of there financial burden because of some poor investments but I hadn’t realized how badly off they must be if Christine was coming out of retirement to pay their debts off.

”Is it true you left your entire fortune on a roulette table in Monte Carlo?” the reporter asked and Raoul’s eyes blazed angrily. “Why, you insolent jackal! How dare you -” Raoul said taking several steps toward the reporter.

“Father-” The boy began in a quiet voice that was unlike either of his parents.

“Not now, Gustave!” Raoul snapped as reporters turned their questions on the boy.

”Hey kid, how does it feel to have a famous mother?”

”This is your first time in America?”

”What do you plan to do here at Coney?”

The child glanced around shyly, clearly not sure how to handle the attention. ”I… want to learn how to swim.” He said quietly. There were hoots and laughs from the crowd and I couldn’t help but feel a small amount of sympathy for the boy shrinking back against his mother.

”I said, leave the child alone!” Raoul snapped, glancing around anxiously. “For God’s sake, didn’t this Mr Y send someone to receive us?”

I felt another stab of shock at the sound of Erik’s new name here. It was the name he had been using in the public eye at least, to me he was still Erik. The shock gave way to anger as I realized that he had been in contact with Christine and Raoul, however vaguely, while I had been forced to sever all ties with everyone in Paris because of his actions. I was brought out of my thoughts as the boy suddenly became very animated, he stepped forward and pointed at something across courtyard. “Mother, look..?Right over there… Across the square.. What is it?”

Everyone turned and I wasn’t surprised to see the sight of Erik’s carriage, fancifully designed with horses that were entirely mechanical and a driver whose face was completely obscured. The crowd around me began to buzz as words of astonishment, wonder, and even fear were thrown back and forth. “What on earth could it be?”

“I’ve never seen such a thing before in my life!”

“Damn strange, that’s what it is!”

“The most peculiar conveyance!”

Suddenly the door of the carriage opened and three familiar figures extricated themselves from the vehicle. I ground my teeth as the three figures bowed in unison to the crowd before turning to approach Christine and her family with their usual bizarre yet beautiful motions. “Are you ready to begin? Are you ready to get on? You’re about to start out on the journey of your lives.” Squelch said before reaching behind the child’s ear and pulling out a colored handkerchief.

” Is this some kind of joke?” Raoul demanded, his voice filled to the brim with bewildered outrage.

One of the onlookers closest to Raoul scoffed. “No, it’s a publicity stunt for that freak show on Coney!”

”It’s a front page feature, is what it is! You getting this, Smitty?” One of the reporters asked his photographer as he rushed to write in a small, leather book and I couldn’t help but smile at the idea of such good publicity for free.

There was yet another flash from the photographer’s camera.“You betcha!” he replied, taking yet another picture.

Gangle stepped forward. “If you’re ready, then get in. Once you’re in, then we’ll get gone. And who knows, once it goes, Where you’ll be when it arrives?” Gangle spoke and, in one fluid motion, he had removed Raoul’s top hat and suddenly made it vanish into thin air.

“This is outrageous!” Raoul snapped as the crowd began to murmur again, this time in approval.

“It’s amazing!”

”Brilliant!”

”I’m telling ya, that Mr Y is an absolute genius!”

Gangle and Squelch quickly moved to flank the family and walked them towards the carriage as the bird-like Fleck beckoned them forward. “It’s a fun house where the mirrors all reflect what’s real.” Fleck said mysteriously.

“And reality’s as twisted as the mirrors reveal.” Fleck and Gangle whispered.

Squelch added his voice to the mix. “And the fun is finding out what the mirrors show…” By now the whole group had reached the carriage and Christine was helped into it as Raoul continued to protest.

“This is unacceptable, do you hear me? I will be taking this up with your employer! Whoever he is!” Raoul snapped as he was finally coaxed into the carriage, leaving only the boy, Gustave, outside it.

Gustave gazed at the carriage and then at the crowd, his face and voice excited as he spoke.”Everything and everyone, it’s all just how I dreamed…All the freaks, and all the fun, exactly how I dreamed…And Phantasma still awaits…Wonder what’s behind its gates…” The boy climbed into the carriage and it silently rolled off as the onlookers watched, speechless. As the carriage disappeared from view I quickly turned on my heel and began to push my way through the crowd, catching snatches of conversation. ”That was something’, wasn’t it?” A boy who couldn’t be older than sixteen told the woman who was hanging on his arm.

”I was hoping she’d sing. Caruso sang half of Pagliacco for us when he got off the boat.” A woman complained to her friend.

“I bet she ain’t got it no more, not like the old days. Sure, she’s pitch perfect… But empty inside, like the flame went out or something’.” One of the reporters said simply, digging in his coat for a match.

I slipped passed a woman who looked to be my age as she suddenly began pointing to the arrival gates, calling out to the crowd. ”Look! It’s the Rockefellers!”

I finally made it through the last few people and slipped down the busy street, a plan forming in my head. I veered off the main street and into a dismal back alley. I would take a shortcut back to Coney Island and Phantasma, and I would find out exactly what was going on.

#part 5 #romance #phantom #opera #love never dies #erik destler #raoul #fanfiction #vicomte de phantom II

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heavymetalover · 5 years

Text

Strangers In the Night (Xavier Plympton x fem reader)

Summary: You’re hitchhiking when getting picked up by an unexpected stranger.

Warnings: smut, dirty talk, oral sex, vaginal sex, daddy kink, fluff (omg).

Word count: 6.2k

A/N: im SORRY about the daddy kink AGAIN… i have daddy issues.

this ended up being wholesome, i feel letdown tbh.

~mostly inspired by the beautiful ones by prince~

~~~~

You chew away on your gum, taking small steps through the gravel going towards your destination. Surrounded by nothing but a narrow road and some woods. As night begins to fall, you become a little more suspicious of each sound rocking in the trees. After all, there’s been a crazy murderer on the loose around LA. Gives you shivers just thinking he could be lurking, watching.

The sound of a car approaches and you follow the routine of turning towards the road and sticking a polished thumb up in hopes you’ll attract a Good Samaritan. The dusty red Nissan slows down to give you an unbearably loud honk and speeds away, you spit into the dust it leaves behind. “Fucker!” you yell out, although certain the road hog wouldn’t hear.

Another driver approaches, quite a large van. You shyly stick out your thumb again and feel a smile inching onto your face; sometimes friendliness can tempt the strangers. You can’t see them from where you stand, but their van pulls to the side of the road for you.

Not wasting a beat, you spit your gum out onto the road and skip over to the van. The window’s rolled down and a dapper man sits in the driver’s seat. Frosted hair hairsprayed to perfection, green tank top exposing his trim arms, and sunglasses tipped slightly over the bridge of his nose, exposing ravishing blue eyes. “Hey honey,” he greets with a smirk, “need a lift?”

You jump onto the step for the passenger’s door and lean into the window, head resting on your arms. “You headed north?” you ask, biting your bottom lip to entice the stranger.

“Sure am,” he replies looking out onto the road. “Just stopping at Oasis, is that far enough for you?”

You shrug your head into a shoulder, peering out onto the road with half a smile. You lean back on the step, gripping onto the window with your fingerless gloves. “Hey, beggars can’t be choosers, right?” you joke, leaning back into the window and turning to look at the handsome man again. He’s taken his sunglasses off completely, biting the tips seductively with his dazzling eyes plastered on you. Your heart sinks in your chest, not even bothering to hold back your nervous smile. You run your tongue between your teeth and his eyes find the floor of his van.

He shakes his head and puts his sunglasses back on. “You better get inside before you get me in trouble, baby,” he says with a slight sigh.

You jump off of the step to swing open the door and eagerly hop into the passenger’s seat, throwing your backpack into the back of his van and slamming the door shut. Digging through your pocket for a pack of cigarettes that you stole from your roommate before fleeing; you hit the box, taking the single stick that jut out, and sticking it between your teeth. “Mind if I…?” you trail off, dangling the cigarette between your lips.

His eyes dart towards you and back onto the road, “Oh no, of course not. Go right ahead,” he blurts, adjusting himself in his seat. “Actually,” he reaches beside him and grabs a small lighter, “I got that for you.”

He hangs over his seat, keeping one hand on the wheel. He sparks the lighter once, twice before it ignites. He holds the flame to your cigarette, his eyes meeting yours only for a moment. You sharply inhale the oaky, bitter taste of tobacco before hastily blowing it into his face. He leans back into his seat, suppressing an obvious smile as he goes back to focusing on the road. “You’re going to get someone killed one day if you wanna act like a gentleman, lighting up my cigarette and being all chivalrous.”

“Pfft,” he jeers. “Can’t kill anybody when there’s no one around.”

He glances at you, cross earring hanging from one of his ears and you feel a drop in the pit of your stomach. “You look so familiar,” you mention before taking another drag.

“I get Simon Le Bon a lot,” he nods.

“No,” you shake your head.

“George Michael?” he guesses with an apathetic shrug.

“No, no, not like that,” you take another drag. “I’ve seen you -your face- before somewhere,” you tap your chin, “somewhere.”

“Oh!” he sounds enthusiastic. “I teach aerobics! Maybe you came by the studio?”

“No, I haven’t,” you reply mindlessly, drawing more thick smoke into your lungs and tapping the tip of the stick to remove excess ash. You’re searching every crevasse of your brain for where you’ve seen this man before, but coming up empty.

He looks nervous with the more time you spend silently pondering. “I’m a pretty serious actor, maybe you’ve seen some of my stuff,” he suggests, trying to break the silence.

Your heart skips a beat and you accidentally fling your cigarette out the window from excitement. “Oh my gosh! Yes! That’s where I’ve seen you! I have seen some of your stuff, ooh baby, I’ve seen all of your stuff,” you exclaim, pointing down to his crotch. “One of my old roommates was gay, had a total hard-on for your VHS.”

The man shakes his head, nervous laughter evading his lips. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Oh, don’t you dare bullshit me,” your voice cracks into a squeal as you push his arm. He’s still shaking his head as confutation. “No, no, no, don’t even deny it. I saw a skinny guy taking a hard piping from you! I know it was you, how could I mistake that beautiful face? And you even have the earring, c’mon.”

“Look, I don’t know who you think I am, okay?” he snaps in distress. He doesn’t entertain your claims, instead shaking his head weakly. “I’m not…” his voice quivers. “I’m not gay.”

You feel an instant pang of regret for making such a big deal about the tape. “Oh,” you sigh, “well, I never thought you, you were.” You slump back into your seat, positioning yourself to face the road again. The man has gone silent. “I mean, for what it’s worth,” you start, but your mind screams at you to stop. Just let it go, he’s clearly uncomfortable.

You purse your lips together and sigh, suffocating your hands between squished thighs. You fill your cheeks up with air in hopes it’ll get you to stop yapping. The only sound present is the tires going over the gravelly road. “For what it’s worth?” he finally asks.

You hold back a smile, turning back to him. “I was just going to say you looked like you were really good,” you blurt out. “And big,” you bring your voice higher in an attempt to sound more flirtatious, “very, very big.” He exhales a lazy snicker and shakes his head. “What?” you throw up your hands defensively, “It’s true!”

He continues shaking his head. “You’re too much,” he exhales.

“Well apparently you are too,” you quip, raising an eyebrow.

His mouth is agape, no words coming out and too stunted by yours to even attempt a rebuttal. He glances at you, eyes peeping over his glasses to get a better look. “Who are you?” he asks.

You perk up in your seat, offering your hand to him since he’s already proven himself to be a careless driver. “I’m y/n,” you say with a jaunty smile. “And you are?”

He takes your hand limply into his. “Xavier,” he says, leaning down to give a small peck onto your gloved knuckles.

“Classy,” you whisper while retrieving your hand, Xavier returns his focus to the road. Part of you is kicking yourself for even wearing the gloves and missing out on the feel of his soft lips against your skin. Dammit, why did Madonna have to make them so fashionable?

You itch to cross your legs in your seat, but knowing that would expose Xavier to what’s underneath your dress, instead you opt to just sit on them. Would it be so bad to expose myself to him? “Xavier,” you say his name to fill up the conversational lull. “Xavier, Xavier, Xavier,” you singsong. “Why did you stop to pick me up? Pick up a lot of hitchhikers?” you keep your eyes glued on him and lean your head back on the seat to get comfortable. His van does have a very homey feel.

“No, you’re my first,” he responds.

You dramatize a fake gasp, placing a hand on your chest. “Little old me? Why am I so lucky?” you press.

“Well, the sun’s setting, you’re in the middle of the woods and you’re a girl. Not to mention the lunatic Night Stalker going around the area, guess I was feeling a bit generous,” he smiles. You begin nodding your head, satisfied with his answer, when he cuts you short. “Or,” he adds, “maybe I just thought you were one, very foxy chick.” You feel your heart flutter and cheeks burn hot; you want to fan yourself like they do in movies. “Either way, I still picked you up, didn’t I?” He asks, cocking a brow.

“Oh yes sir, indeed,” you smirk with a slight shake to your head.

The woods have disappeared behind you two and in no time, you’ve reached Xavier’s destination on Oasis street. He parks his car on the side of the road and takes the keys out of the ignition, finally turning in his seat to face you like you’ve done during the whole ride. The sexual tension is beginning to become an insufferable elephant in the room. “Where you heading from here?” he asks.

You shrug your shoulders. “Don’t know, maybe crash at one of those twenty-four-hour diners until they kick me out,” you say with a slight chuckle, recalling how many times that’s happened to you before. “Just gotta get out of this place, y’know.”

He tilts his head up. “Running from something?” he speculates.

“Aren’t we all?” you roll your eyes with a slight nod.

He grins, “You can say that again.”

You take one long look at him before letting out a bitter sigh. “Goddamn it, I guess I should bounce,” you say with a frown. You reach into the back of his van to get your backpack, making sure to spend extra long bending over in your short dress. You lean onto his seat, feeling your ass press up against his arm and can only pray he’s getting a good look at it.

You eventually recover your bag from the back and sit down, body twisted towards Xavier. You prolong the inevitable, not wanting to leave his van, not wanting to leave him. There’s something about this stranger that excites you, that makes you thirst for more of him. You can’t explain it, there’s just an overwhelming attraction.

You open the door to leave his van, sliding out when he grabs your wrist. “Wait,” he protests. You stand on the step to the passenger’s seat. “Ehm,” the words get choked at the back of his throat. “I’m not in a rush, you can stay with me for a while and chat,” he suggests. “Only if you want to, obviously. You can leave too if you want, but… I think you’re a pretty cool chick.”

You purse your lips to hide a smile. “Thought I was a foxy chick,” you joke, adjusting the backpack that keeps slipping down your shoulders.

“Oh yeah,” he lifts his brows, “mighty foxy.” He nods his head, half-lidded eyes ogling you with a wide smile spread across his gorgeous face, you can’t resist him. You climb back into his van and shut the door.

You settle into the chair and he pulls out a box of cassettes from under the driver’s seat, fishing through them to find a keeper. You dig through your backpack and pull out a cherry lollipop, his eyes squinting in confusion as you unravel the plastic. “Don’t give me that look, I feel myself about to crash,” you explain yourself.

“No judgement here,” he replies, fingering through his cassettes.

You nurse your lollipop, peering into his box to find any recognizable artists, but they’re mostly mixtapes. You pluck out a black tape marked ‘Purple Rain’, the newest Prince album. “Didn’t this movie just come out?” you slur your words, lollipop sitting passively against your cheek.

He glances up. “Yes, but the album came out a while ago,” he explains, still pawing through his collection.

“Well, I haven’t heard it yet,” you shrug and shove it into the cassette player. The machine takes a moment to read the tape.

“Songs are a bit wonky and out of order, I recorded it from my friend’s album,” he confesses.

The album starts playing with a funky pop beat. “See, it’s working. Now, put that away,” you order, grabbing the box from him. “Let’s talk.”

You throw his box into the back of his van and spin towards him again. He looks up for a moment, seemingly in thought, then back at you. His enchanting light eyes capturing you from the lightening fast contact. “W-what are you running away from?” he asks with a moment of hesitation.

You take the lollipop out of your mouth. “Wow, already with the hard-hitting questions,” you tease. He stares at you, but you can’t bring yourself to meet the bright blue that sweeps you off your feet. Instead, looking at your hands and cleaning under your nails. “I guess just a bad living situation. Been house-hopping for as long as I can remember, but I basically just live out on the road now,” you meet his eyes for a second, only to embarrassedly look away.

“I get it,” he nods.

You finally look at him, sort of in disbelief. Usually the people who drive you places always lecture you about making better life decisions, finding a job, pursuing school, yatta, yatta, yatta. ‘The whole world is at your fingertips’ spiel. It takes you by surprise that he understands. “You do?”

“Yeah,” he breaks eye contact, his thumb ghosting his full bottom lip. “I was in a tough spot not long ago. We’ve grown up in the prime time of being doped up drug peddlers and I was dumb enough to fall into that bullshit. And I’m talking about the hard stuff, not like M.J. or cocaine.” I don’t do many drugs, maybe a bit of weed here and there, but I thought cocaine was a hard drug. “But,” he breaks your inner monologue, “the strongest people always go through the toughest shit.”

“Cheers to that,” you smile and cheers the air with your lollipop, penetrating the sticky candy between Xavier’s lips. He accepts the intrusion gracefully, keeping the sweet, ravished ball of cherry between his lips. “Any summer plans?” you ask.

He takes the candy out of his mouth, the crimson orb glossing over his perfectly plump lips. “Nothing much, just teaching more classes. Got this gnarly gig up at some camp in a few weeks, should be fun,” he answers.

“I don’t know of any camps around here. Which one?” you ask, half paying attention and half peering onto the road.

“Camp Redwood.” Your head snaps back to look at him and you instinctively slap his arm in hopes it’ll get rid of the idiot in him. “What?” he shrugs.

“What’s your damage, dude?” you gasp with a facetious smirk. “Are you honestly telling me that they reopened Camp fucking Deadwood and you’re stupid enough to go work there? Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Why? What happened there?” he asks, eyebrows knit in confusion.

You sigh, you’ve been on the road for so long and even you’re more up to date on the folklore of Camp Redwood. “There was a huge massacre there. Every single person ended up dead, stabbed to bits, and all of them had one ear missing. It was a psycho killer they called Mr. Jingles because his only giveaway was the sound his keys made,” you pause to imitate the sound of keys jingling, “ching cling cling, right before he slashed them to bits!”

He smiles and squints at you, taking a moment to absorb your story. “Not even! You kind of had me until you oversold it with the keys thing,” he exclaims, waving the lollipop around as he speaks.

“Xavier, I shit you not, that actually happened,” you explain, leaning closer to him. “And the worst part is that Mr. Jingles is still alive today. Probably waiting for the day that that fucking camp reopens to escape the loony bin and do it all over again,” you make your voice low to freak him out.

He scoffs. “So what? I’m not afraid of some drip named Mr. Jingles. If anything, he should be the one scared of me.”

You laugh a little too hysterically at his comment. “Mhm, yeah right,” you mock. “He’d take one look at your George Michael lookin’ ass and run in the opposite direction,” you deliver sardonically. You fetch your lollipop and slump back into your seat, turning the dial up on the radio. A song with a raunchy beat starts up and both you and Xavier exchange a glance. “What song is this?” you ask, puckering your lips against the lollipop.

He clears his throat, “S’called Darling Nikki.”

“Mmm,” you lean back in your seat, but keep your eyes locked on him. “It’s pretty sexy.”

He nods. “It is.”

His eyes meet yours, pink tongue running over his bottom lip. You shove the candy into your mouth, sucking on the sweet taste of artificial cherry. The song puts you in the mood. Not that you weren’t already in the mood, but it offers the perfect opportunity to stop beating around the bush.

You close your eyes and tilt your head back, bobbing on the lollipop in your mouth until the savory ball hits the back of your throat. Gagging, you pull it out of your mouth slowly, opening your eyes and giving Xavier a knowing look.

He slowly exhales watching you, now leaning against his seat and lightly covering the bottom of his face with one large, veined hand. “Holy shit,” you hear him breathe.

The lollipop clings to your lips before bursting out, keeping a connection through a filthy pink string of saliva. It detaches and smacks against your chin. You keep your eyes peeled on Xavier and he studies your mouth. You slap the candy against your sodden tongue and slurp up the mess you made, keeping the lollipop pressed against your lips. “You’re a nasty girl, aren’t you?” he whispers, white teeth tugging slightly at his lip. Fuck.

“You want to see something nasty?” you ask, leaning the passenger’s seat back in preparation. “I’ll show you something nasty.”

You suck on the lollipop one more time, slobbering on it just before it’s completely drenched in your saliva. Leaning back on the seat, you hike up your short dress and expose your favourite skimpy panties. After building up so much tension between the two of you, your pussy is already wet and craving the touch of his big hands.

You rub your clit in circles before pulling the fabric to the side. Xavier’s eyes watch every movement as you trail the drenched lollipop down your body, stopping at your pussy. You run the cherry-flavoured orb down your folds and press it against your tight hole. You apply pressure until it penetrates and let out a soft moan. Recalling how long and fat Xavier’s cock was in his dirty movie, you can’t imagine how it would ever fit inside of you.

You shove the lollipop further into yourself, trying to stretch yourself out a little bit in readiness for Xavier. Wiggling the stick around inside yourself and pushing it to the point of nearly disappearing inside your hole. You shimmy it some more before dragging it out against the resistance of your retentive walls. Reinserting the candy into your mouth and getting a saltier flavour this time.

Xavier shifts around in his seat, erection booming in his tight pants. A palm over his crotch for readjustment, he leans closer to you. You can feel the warmth of his body, it makes you tingle. “I find it rude not to share,” he finally speaks.

You take the lollipop out of your mouth and veer yourself towards Xavier, setting a small kiss on his lips. He puts a hand on your cheek, guiding more of your kisses towards him, while the other hand crawls down your body. His hand stops on your thigh and you feel a thousand goosebumps erupt on that leg, a shiver running through your veins.

His lips don’t part from yours, fusing with your face and sucking ever so gently on your lips. He combs his hand towards your pussy, fingertips grazing your thighs as he inches to the throbbing in your clit. You bring the candy back down to your folds, but he takes it from you, insistent on that whole ‘sharing’ rule.

Xavier leaves your lips for a moment to spit down onto your wet cunt, rubbing the candy against your slit before pushing into your hole. Once again, it demands a meager moan out of you, this time you moan onto Xavier’s lips. “That’s right, moan for me, baby. Moan for daddy.” You summon more moans as he fucks the lollipop into you, playing them up to turn him on even more.

You gnaw on your lip and look at Xavier, light sobs still faintly spilling from the back of your throat. You must seem irresistible to him because he mashes his lips into yours and leaves your pussy to place both hands on your face, pulling you closer to him. You pull out the candy he left inside of you and detach from his kiss to pop it into his mouth.

Xavier grabs both of your wrists and slips into the back of his van, bringing you along with him. He sucks all your juices off of the lollipop before spitting it out onto the floor. As he takes a seat in the back, you sit next to him, resting both of your legs on his thighs as you two join at the lips once again. His hands brush up and down your legs, feeling the rapid growth of goosebumps with each swipe.

The kiss intensifies, tongues colliding and lips smacking. You pull at his tank top as if silently begging him to take it off. A new song begins and he moans against your lips, pulling away eagerly and leaving you lovestruck, leaning in an awkward position and trying to reorient yourself. He slides away from you and pulls his top off over his head, then begins undressing you as well, pulling for your dress to come off. You lay onto your back and shimmy your dress off, still wearing a bra and panties set. In a matter of seconds, you’re skin to skin and Xavier is on top of you, teasing you with soft kisses. His lips pulling away to mouth the lyrics: “Baby, baby, baby. What’s it gonna be? Baby, baby, baby. Is it him or is it me?”

You bring him back, kissing the sweet cherry off of his lips. His hands rough up your body, grabbing a hold of every bit of you like he hasn’t touched anybody in years. One hand squeezing your hip while the other finds your cunt to rub back and forth on your swollen clit. When you push back from his kiss, pardoning a loud groan, he kisses your neck. He savours you, handles you like a prize possession, it makes you feel warm.

You palm the bulge in his briefs, feeling him grow and heat up under your touch. His breath catches and he jerks his waist away from you. You pause your kiss to shoot him a flustered grimace. “I want this to be about you, baby, not me,” he explains, before giving one more kiss on your lips. Then one on your neck, chest, belly, down to your pelvis. You let out a broken breath when he kisses right above the line of your panties. He slides them down your legs and taunts your aching clit with his delicate breath; appointing extra sloppy kisses on your thighs as he works his way to the main dish. He looks up at you, baby blue eyes unabashedly beaming with excitement before diving into your candied cunt.

You throw your head back as he begins licking you up and pushing your legs further apart. The pleasure so built and intense that you feel it hit the moment he lays his tongue flat onto your dripping core. You feel your muscles quivering under his lick, under his touch, and your body burns with desire. One hand lays limp on your leg while the other continues pulsing your clit, his tongue shoves its way down your gaping hole.

You reach down to grab onto him, grab onto something, anything. He holds up his hand and you lace your fingers with his, squeezing at each undeniable moment of pleasure. You scrunch up your feet as he quickens the pacing over your clit, then slowing it down. He plays your pussy like a gifted musician, speeding up and slowing down just when you need him to. “Please fuck me,” you beg, the words pouring out on their own, “Xavier, I want you inside of me.”

He stops gluttonously licking up your cunt to look up at you for confirmation on your words. “Y’sure?” he questions, making sure there are no misconceptions.

You prop yourself on your elbows, raking a hand through his perfectly gelled, thick head of hair. “Unless you’d like to stay down there, daddy,” you say, squeezing him between your thighs slightly on the pet name.

“Baby, I can stay down here forever,” he lays his head on your leg and you sit up, pulling him to meet your lips. His kiss makes the world feel dreamlike, so tantalizing and hypnogogic that you swear you’re tripping on acid when he touches you.

He gives an unexpected slap to your raw cunt and you jump, unable to hold back a short peep hiccupped into Xavier’s mouth. He smiles. “I love making my kitten purr,” he whispers into your lips, slapping you once again and you chirp another calculable yelp.

Xavier climbs on top of you with his lips pressed passionately against yours, fighting for dominance. His long fingers grip the back of your neck while his thumbs massage the curve of your jaw reverently. His big hands soon venturing to other parts of your body, running down your back and promptly unhooking your bra like a burden that could no longer be adjourned. The fabric falls artlessly and Xavier paws at your breasts before he can even see them. Still locked on your lips, he circles a finger around your nipple, motivating them to get hard sooner than you’d expected. Nipping at the tiny buds, he leaves your lips to suckle them; running his tongue against your areola and giving strong sucks. You appreciate the moment so much, watching Xavier suck on your tits like his life depended on it, that you completely forgot you were in his van.

You reach down to his crotch and he lets you this time. Rubbing his long cock in his briefs, feeling how rock-hard he is turns you on even more. A shudder rumbles through your body and you take his dick out. It’s already ready for you, long and thick, harder than ever. He stops worshipping your tits to kiss you again, this time lightly pushing you down so you lay in the backseat of his van.

He stands over you, holding his cock and spitting onto it to lube it up for you. He rubs his saliva onto the head and up and down the shaft before resting it on your hole. You prop yourself up to watch it go in, feeling your heartbeat quicken with each tiny amount of pressure he puts. “Are you ready for it?” he asks, smearing the head into your wet folds.

“Mmm,” you moan, just feeling his cock against you is enough to send you to euphoria. “Yes, daddy.” He slowly starts pushing himself into you, stretching you out so much that all you can do is stifle a moan. Your nails dig into his seats, no doubt leaving some kind of mark or even some polish flakes. “Slow, slow, slow,” you plead through gritted teeth.

He accommodates and moves into you at a snail’s pace, stopping every so often when he thinks he’s hurt you. Once he’s half in, he starts pumping in and out, stuffing you up with his chunky length. “Oh my,” is all you can contrive through deep breaths.

He sees how unravelled you’ve become and leans down so you could rest your head on his shoulder. “Hold onto me,” he requests. You follow orders, grabbing onto his back and guiltily digging your nails into him with every thrust. “Let me know if I’m hurting you,” he whispers into your ear.

The rational part of your brain has already called quits on taking his dick, but you’re too charmed by Xavier to tell him to stop. Of course there’s the pain, but his cock is so deep and so big that it vellicates a sensitive area inside your pussy that you’ve never felt before. Each plunge poking at it slightly and stimulating it just enough to keep you from surrendering to his length. You’ve explored your body enough to find your g-spot, but he tickles an area that’s causing you to completely shatter. He pumps again and you feel yourself loosening up to him, although that doesn’t stop your nails from clawing up his back.

All the pain you’ve felt is absorbed into overwhelming thrill. You sit up even more now and watch his cock pump into you, your pussy accepting more of him with each thrust. He keeps hitting that spot in you and your whole body tenses up with it. You look at him, trying to find his eyes, but he’s too lost in your pussy to meet yours. What kind of witchcraft is he doing to make me feel this way?

His hands, resting on your lower back, scooch you closer to him. He doesn’t even have to move much for the both of you to feel elated, just a slight wiggle is enough for you to feel everything. You sit up on his thighs and grind your hips against him. “Your pussy,” he whispers between breaths, “so fucking good, kitten.”

Your cunt writhes with each little movement, you can feel yourself dripping onto him. “Ugh’m God!” you throw away your integrity and scream. “Jesus Xavier, oh my…” you trail off, rolling your eyes back and feeling him hit that sensitive spot again. Your tendons tightening, teeth grinding, and eyes shutting with every movement.

You lean your chin on his head, still slightly rocking your hips, but unable to bring yourself to complete the motion from crushing alleviation. His forehead is perched on your shoulder as he tries shimmying around inside your pussy. He’s too far gone to form a sentence, too. He holds onto your back, rests his head on your shoulder and breathes rapidly onto your chest. His eyelashes give your collarbones light butterfly kisses while he blinks himself back into reality.

The song is at its climax when you take the initiative to try to finish, unsure if you can even bring yourself to conclude this little affair. You start grinding harder against him, both of you undoubtedly withholding groans to save face. You rock yourself on him harder and he finally allows himself to make eye contact with you again. A pleading look in his pool-of-blue eyes already tell you everything you need to know without saying a single word.

You fuck him as hard as you can burying your head into the crook of his neck. You take in the smell of his cologne, now mixed with sweat. It smells so good. He contributes by gyrating himself inside of you.

“Fuck!” the word weeps out without your consent. You feel yourself unwinding, again you feel it coming with each thrust, the shattering. “Oh, my fuck! Daddy, your cock is so f-fuck!” you’re crying, jumping on his rock-hard dick.

“Shit,” he seethes under you, grabbing your hips and guiding them into his cock. “You fuck me so good, baby girl,” he groans.

You jump on him, his dick so deep you think it’ll push on your belly. “Son of a- huh,” you breathe, feeling yourself starting to come. You keep beating up that tender spot deep in your cavity, providing it all the love it was once deprived and smacking it with each stimulating bounce on his cock. “Yesyesyesyes,” you don’t take a breath, “ooh there.” You keep pummelling him into you, Xavier is close too. “Right. Fucking. There,” you breathe between each jump.

You can’t get any words out when orgasm engulfs you. You stand up to prudently pull his length out of your clingy lips, giving your clit a rub before soaking his cock in your juices. “Shiiiiit,” you moan, squirting a clear liquid out of your hole and all over him, all over his van.

“Damn, baby,” he utters. You feel a single tear drop escape your eye and swat it away before he can see. Without a word, you insert him back into your, now soaked, hole; not leaving until you’ve made him come as hard as you did. You slide him back inside of you, his length hitting you all at once again. It seems to hit him hard too, because his face knots the deeper you insert him. “Fucking tight,” he sighs.

He pushes you to lay back again and starts hammering himself into you. You moan with his harder thrusts, feeling him fill you up makes you fall apart; your whole body feels weak. He can’t control himself, contorted moans escape from deep in his throat. “Where do you want daddy’s come?” he asks, trying to hold himself together, but fails miserably.

“Right in my dirty mouth,” you reply, licking up your bottom lip.

He rolls his eyes back, “Oh, fuck you,” he says with a slight laugh. His smile immediately dissipating to a twisted expression. You feel him coming to release, his grip on your arm gets tighter and he pounds harder into your pussy. He pulls himself out of you and jerks his long length above your face. You obediently open your mouth and lay your tongue flat for him to use up.

He takes a second, zealously jerking himself over you, until he empties his seed onto your tongue. You feel the warm liquid hit your tongue and immediately swallow it down for him. Pressing your lips to the tip of his cock, giving a suck to clean him up and a small kiss on the tip.

He breaths out an exasperated sigh and limply lays down on top of you. “Get off,” you giggle, “you’re crushing me.” He rolls onto his side beside you and you roll onto yours so you’re facing him. He holds out his hand, wiggling his fingers with a small frown. You grab his hand and band your fingers together, he smiles when you accept his invitation. A moment of silence is shared between the two of you, not awkward, just comfortable.

“You know you’re the only one,” he says, a slight crack in his voice. You lift an eyebrow in response. He looks down at the hand you’re holding onto, “Everybody that knows about that tape doesn’t believe me. They think I’m gay or… they just cast me out for even doing it in the first place,” he opens up, caressing your knuckle with his constricted thumb. You stay silent, letting him get it off his chest and studying the woe that washes over his face. “I don’t know,” he gives his head a slight shake.

“Fuck those people,” you shrug, “you don’t need them anyways.” His pillowy lips twist into a smirk. You use your free arm to prop up your head. “Besides,” you continue, “they don’t know what they’re missing. You snooze, you lose, right?”

He smiles. “I like you, y/n,” he sighs. “I’m not letting you slip through the cracks.”

You unbind your hands to move a piece of hair that was stuck to his forehead. “Don’t worry about me leaving, I have no where to go. I’m all yours, baby,” you say with a jokey tone, but you hope he takes you seriously. He’s usually easy to read, like an open book, but when his face turns neutral it’s agonizing to imagine what’s going on in that pretty head.

“So… you want to meet my friends?” he asks, breaking the silence.

You cock your head to the side. “Huh?”

“Come to Camp Redwood with me?”

~~~~

smallest fucking taglist:

@codyswhore @odongreentea @liliesandforgetmenots @avesatanormalpeoplescareme

#xavier is chaotic good #my writing is so amateur compared to everyone else on here lemme just embarrass myself right quick #xavier plympton #ahs 1984 #american horror story #xavier plympton x reader #1984 #smut #michael langdon #ahs imagine #xavier plympton smut #ahs #xavier plympton x you #xavier plympton x fem reader #xavier plympton one shot #xavier plympton imagine #imagine #ahs fanfic

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ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes · 4 years

Text

Blue Eyes Part 2

Summary: After the Garrison is shot up, the youngest Shelby daughter finds a new home in London. She strips herself of her last name and tries to live a peaceful life far away from her brothers’ chaos in Birmingham. But fate leads her right back into it after she runs into Alfie Solomons.

Part 2: A chance encounter between a Shelby and a Solomons. But neither knows who the other really is.

Ella Thorne spent her twenty-third birthday with close friends. They went out dancing at a popular club that January night. It was well liked by the young adults of London who liked frivolous fun mixed with intrigue. There, the ordinary rubbed elbows with the wealthy and the criminal. It was great fun and perfect for a birthday celebration.

Amelia, Ella’s best friend who she met at work, was a carefree spirit who loved the era. She wore her hair short and her dresses even shorter. She mastered the smoky eye and used her alluring appearance to lure men like a siren’s song. Often times she had multiple men trying to win over her affection at the same time. There were rumors that she’d had affairs with American mafia and European royalty. But behind all the showmanship, the young woman was a kind soul and a loyal friend.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“Don’t you want to dance with that boy again?” Amelia pointed out a dapper man who had asked Ella for a dance earlier in the night. He stood by a group of well-dressed colleagues. His green eyes kept returning to Ella and he gave her a smile whenever she returned the glance.

“Oh, I think my shoes have given me a blister.” She replied and nursed her gin. “He’s sweet but not very interesting.”

“His mate said he’s a banker. Might be well off?” Amelia shrugged.

Ella smiled but shook her head. She knew money wasn’t everything. “What about you? I’ve seen you dancing with four different men tonight.”

“Five.” Amelia corrected with a smug smile. “They’re nice and all, but none of them could keep up with me on the dancefloor.” She sighed dramatically and leaned against the bar. "So I assume they couldn't keep up with me in life."

“I don’t think anyone could keep up with you, Amelia.”

“I know but…oh shit, look!” She gasped and pointed towards the entrance of the lavish club.

“What?” Ella tried to see over the crowd of dancers and drinkers but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.

“That’s Alfie Solomons. Bloody hell, what’d you think he’s doing here?” She asked.

Her friend saw the crowd start to part slowly like the Red Sea. She saw a small group of men making their way through. “I don’t know who that is. But he’s at a bar, I’m assuming he came here to drink.”

“No, El.” Amelia shook her head firmly. “He’s a gangster but don't let him hear you call him that. Controls Camden Town, s’fucking terrifying. He doesn’t come to clubs unless he has a reason.”

Ella furrowed her eyebrows. The men drew closer and she finally got a good look at the man leading the pack. Barflies quickly moved aside to let him through. They seemed afraid to be caught in his line of vision. He appeared very intimidating. A black hat cast a shadow over his face; he wore a big coat and multiple rings on his fingers.

“Just keep your head down,” Amelia whispered to her friend over the loud jazz music. "Ignore him and he'll ignore you."

Ella had never seen her friend shy away from anything. But she apparently had a good reason just like the rest of the club. She turned and faced the bartender who had gone a little pale.

The gangster arrived at the bar; he was given a wide berth despite the packed nature of the club. “Evening, Louis.” He greeted the man behind the bar.

“Mr. Solomons, can I help you with anything?” The bartender swallowed hard and approached him slowly. "A drink maybe?"

“Nah mate, just out having some fucking fun, ain’t I?”

“O-okay…”

Alfie chuckled and gestured for the man to come closer. Warily, the bartender leaned in. With frightening speed, the gangster grabbed the man by the collar and slammed his face against the bar top.

Ella jolted and watched the bartender pick himself up and stagger back a few steps. His nose was clearly broken and blood streaming down his face. She’d never seen anyone react so violently when they were unprovoked. But no one else seemed surprised. In fact, even the bartender looked like he had been expecting it the moment Alfie walked in. He simply grabbed a towel from under the bar and pressed it to his bloodied nose, wincing from the pain.

“Your boss is fucking late again, mate. You know I don't give people a third chance. Fuck, you're lucky I gave you lot a second chance.” Alfie continued talking like he hadn’t just bashed the man’s face in.

“I-I’ll get him on the telephone…” Louis stammered behind the towel.

“’Course he ain’t here again.” Alfie sighed heavily and adjusted a gold ring on his index finger. “Fucking hiding out and making you face the consequences, s’a disgrace, innit? He's a coward, yeah, and people like that in my fucking neck of the woods don't survive very long.”

“Yes, sir…”

Alfie pointed at him with two fingers. “You get him on the phone, yeah, you tell him if he innit down here in two minutes with the proper money he owes me, I’ll fucking kill you both. Right? Good lad.”

The bartender nodded shakily and hurried off.

Ella was frozen in place. Her blood had run cold as she listened to the threats the man was dealing out. She wasn’t sure if he would really kill the poor boy but she wouldn’t put it past him.

“Did’ya hear me?”

Ella was in such a state of shock that she didn’t even notice the gangster had turned his attention to her. She met his eyes and was partially surprised to see how handsome he was, albeit rough around the edges. He certainly wasn’t the clean-cut gentleman that Amelia fawned after. But had had lovely teal green eyes and a spine-chilling scar that marked his right cheek, not completely hidden by his beard. He was interesting even on face value and Ella couldn't look away even if it meant her safety.

“Sorry?” She wasn’t sure how she found her voice again. It was nearly impossible to think straight in his presence. It was such a strange contradiction that she felt. She’d watched him harm an innocent young man, continue to threaten his life, and now she was caught up in his appearance.

“Said your drink’s empty, love.” He repeated himself. A small smile graced his face.

“Oh uh…” Ella glanced down and saw that she had finished her gin. “Yes, well I…”

But he didn't let her finish. “Fucking hell, you’ve got blue eyes, don’t ya?” He bent down slightly to come eye to eye with her. “What’s your last name, love?” There was only one other person on this planet that had eyes like her.

“Thorne,” Ella answered. She’d successfully gotten the name Shelby out of her mouth during those four years away from Birmingham. “Ella Thorne.”

Alfie nodded slowly. Tommy never mentioned having a relative named Ella. “Alfie Solomons.” He introduced himself in turn. “Sorry, ‘bout the little show.” He gestured to the blood on the counter. "But it's all business, innit?"

“N-no it’s okay,” Ella replied. She felt someone tugging her arm and saw Amelia give her a look of alarm.

Alfie raised an eyebrow. “Am I interrupting something?” He asked.

Amelia shook her head firmly. She looked immensely uncomfortable when his attention turned to her. “No, Mr. Solomons. I uh…”

“Go and dance, I’ll be right here,” Ella assured her friend. It took some convincing but Amelia did eventually retreat to the dance floor, looking over her shoulder every so often.

“Ah, your friend’s told you who I am.” Alfie surmised by Amelia's reaction to him.

“She knew your name,” Ella admitted. But she remembered not to say anything about his profession to his face.

“And you didn’t.”

“I can’t say I know everyone in London.” She smiled shakily. "It's such a large city."

He nodded with an amused look and ran a hand over his beard. “Just an innocent bit then, aren’t you? Small life in a big city, aye?”

Her lips parted and she thought about her family. She certainly didn't have a small life when she was in Birmingham. The Shelby name gave her a larger appearance. London did make her feel smaller but that was good. Fewer people paid attention to you when they didn't care what your last name was. “Do you judge people based on how they look?”

Alfie leaned back to take in her appearance. “You a Soviet spy or something?” He cocked an eyebrow.

Ella couldn’t help but giggle at the outrageous idea. She'd never been accused of being a spy before, let alone one from Russia. “No.”

He actually let a small smile make his beard twitch. She had a charming smile. “Well, they usually send beautiful women that’ll catch you off guard, don’t they? And when they've got you naked and tied up, they stick a gun to your fucking head.”

Her cheeks flushed red when he called her beautiful. She was strangely used to crass language. She grew up swearing like a sailor because of her brothers. She tried to be a little more refined now that she was a professional woman, working in an office. But habit was hard to break and Amelia always laughed whenever the girl got too drunk to speak English and reverted to Shelta. The young woman ducked her head and shrugged. “You spoke to me first, Mr. Solomons.” She replied.

He chuckled and tapped his fingers against the bar top. “Cheeky.”

“Do you always think you have spies on your tail?” She wondered and tilted her head to the side. “Most people aren’t worried about spies."

“I’m just a baker, love.” He smirked. “What would spies want with me?”

The bartender returned with a nervous looking man following him. His eyes were shifty and he looked like he was going to be sick when he saw Alfie standing there. “Mr. Solomons.” The man cleared his throat and tried to look him in the eye.

Alfie looked displeased that he would have to conclude the business he’d come there to carry out. He was a little more interested in the woman to his right. The one with the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. There was something about her that was drawing him.

But business was business.

“Is that money I see in your hand?” Alfie looked surprised. “Really? To think I was going to have to fucking beat it out of you.”

“I-it’s…” The man’s sentence stopped abruptly and he shook his head. “Erm…here.” The owner of the bar handed Alfie the envelope of cash.

Ella had seen massive wads of money before and hats full of coins. She often wandered around the betting shop, helping Finn read the betting slips, following Polly around, and seeing if Tommy would let her drive the family car. Sometimes she glanced over her aunt’s shoulder as she opened the safe. It was unreal to see that much money in one place. But her brothers made it happen.

But Alfie seemed displeased when he took a peek into the envelope. “Seems short. Ollie, count it.” He handed the envelope to the curly-haired man standing to his left. As his assistant swiftly counted the bills, Alfie kept a hard look at the owner of the bar.

“It’s only half,” Ollie informed his boss and returned the envelope to him.

Ella saw the owner of the bar go even paler than before. She clutched her purse close to her side and looked for Amelia in the crowd.

“Half. Fucking half? Louis, mate, did I ask for half or did I ask for the full amount?” Alfie narrowed his eyes at the bartender.

“F-full, sir.” He answered.

“So why do I only have fucking half of the payment in me fucking hand?” He demanded.

Ella wondered briefly if this was how her brothers handled business. She could for sure see John and Arthur carrying out in such a way. She’d seen Arthur threaten men for far less, like accidentally bumping into her on the sidewalk. But she wasn’t sure about Tommy. She often wondered if Tommy was capable of hurting anyone. He was intimidating, sure but that didn’t mean he would be as brutal as her brothers or the man beside her at the bar. She usually considered him the brains of the operation and not the force.

Alfie pocketed the money in his coat. “I’ve got to take care of some business, love.” He turned to Ella.

She nodded and realized she wasn’t afraid of him like she probably should’ve been. Like Amelia and the rest of the club was. She knew how gangsters were. They were only scary to the people who had reason to be scared of them. She wasn’t afraid of her brothers because she was under their protection. Alfie didn’t seem like the kind of man who would harm her unless he had good reason to.

“Have a good night then, yeah?”

“Yeah…you too,” Ella replied even though she had a good feeling he was going to seriously injure the men behind the bar. But what was that compared to all the men her brothers had harmed? Maybe she'd grown too accustomed to the idea of violence even while she was away. There was always a reminder in the back of her mind that her brothers were dangerous and she didn't even know the half of their deeds.

He smiled and tipped his hat to her before turning and walking towards the back door of the bar. His entourage followed him as well as the owner of the bar who would be found in the Thames the next morning.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Ella woke up with a bit of a hangover. Amelia had kept her out into the early morning hours. She’d only managed to get a bit of sleep before the sounds of London woke her up. After getting dressed, she went downstairs and picked up the mail. She sorted through the pile and stopped at a cream-colored envelope.

Miss Ella Shelby

She rolled her eyes and knew who it was from. Only Tommy insisted on calling her by her given name. She often missed her family but she felt she had a good reason to stay in London. She had Ada who seemed happy to keep her distance from the family business too. Although these days she found herself more involved.

Tommy called Ada frequently to make sure Ella was safe and doing okay. He snuck small amounts of money into her bank account, just enough that she wouldn’t get suspicious. He just wanted to feel a little less guilty. Tommy missed his youngest sister but he had to carry on. He just thought she’d be back in Birmingham by then but four years later and she didn’t show any signs of giving in.

Ella opened the envelope and furrowed her eyebrows when she read the invitation.

Cordially invited…Wedding…Thomas Shelby…Grace Burgess.

“What?” Ella whispered under her breath. She shook her head in disbelief and left her apartment to walk to Ada’s.

~~~~~~~~~

“Married? I thought Grace was just the barmaid at the Garrison, what on Earth?” Ella shook the invitation at her sister. “What is he trying to pull?”

“El, it’s not some master plan,” Ada assured her. “Sit, I’ll make you tea.”

Instead, Ella threw the invitation on the table and followed her older sister into the kitchen. “Ada, he wrote Shelby on the envelope!” She exclaimed. “I told him…”

“He misses you. They all miss you.” Ada interrupted her. “You know how much they care about you.” She started the kettle and pulled out two teacups.

Ella huffed. “Why is he marrying her?” She asked suspiciously.

“They have a child together now. He only thought it was right and I think he really does still love her.”

Her mouth fell open. “A…what? A child?”

Ada sighed softly. “You’ve been away from Birmingham for longer than you think.”

“I…” She scoffed in disbelief. But the shock of the news hit her in the heart. She hadn’t known her brother was a father now. She didn’t know her new nephew even existed. “When’s the wedding?” She asked quietly.

“Next month,” Ada answered and poured her sister a cup of tea, adding in the milk and two sugars she always requested. “I think it would mean the world to him if you were there.”

Ella looked at her feet and sighed. “I know.”

“He’s got a lot on his plate right now. The Oddfellows, the Soviets, the London outfit.” Ada listed off and went to sit down in the parlor.

She sat on a sofa and slowly stirred the milk into her tea. She wrestled with the idea of attending her brother’s wedding. Could she really be heartless and refuse to go? Or would she be protecting herself? She had hardly any clue what Ada was talking about anymore. Used to be her brother only dealt with the other gypsy families, the police, and the people in Birmingham. “The London outfit?”

Ada waved her hand with a shrug. “Other gangsters who work from London. The Italians, the Jews.”

Ella had a sinking feeling in her gut. If Tommy was getting involved with firms in London, then she was more open to being victimized by his enemies. “Are we safe?” She asked.

Her sister nodded. “Of course. Tommy knows what he’s doing.” Both of the Shelby girls weren’t completely sure about that but he always seemed like he had a plan for any possible scenario. “I would just stick to the areas you know. Stay out of Camden and don’t trust anyone who says they’re a fucking baker.”

Ella stared at her. “A what?”

“A baker. Usually means they work for a distillery in Camden Town.”

“Oh…” Ella felt her chest tighten. Had she come into contact with one of her brothers' enemies? Was that why he asked her last name? He thought she was a Shelby because of her blue eyes. She had just lied to a very dangerous man and now she could only pray she never came into contact with him again. Even though she had thought about his playful eyes all night and how her heart had skipped a beat when he called her beautiful. A fucking baker. Tommy would have a fit if he found out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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#alfie solomons #alfie solomonsxoc #alfie solomons x oc #alfie solomons imagine #peaky blinders #peaky blinder imagine #peaky fookin blinders #peaky blinders fanfiction #fanfiction #ofc #oc #shelby #tommy shelby #ada thorne #ada shelby #tom hardy #tom hardy character

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aka-indulgence · 4 years

Text

Who Ever Said Mafia Life is Easy?

Commission for @werelywrites!

Thank you for commissioning me! ^^

Click here for the Ao3 link!

(Mafiafell Sans/Reader)

You just found out what kind of "job" the man you love had. You ran away as soon as you found out, and you've been stalling to confront him about it.

... You don't know how to feel about him anymore.

You’re a chambermaid, working in Clarkson Hotel, a 5-star hotel in your city, and you clean up the topmost rooms- the fanciest rooms in the fanciest hotel around.

You were cleaning up your last room of the day when your phone buzzed from the pocket of your apron, spreading fresh bedsheets over the bed.

You took it out (no one needed to know you were looking through your phone inside these rooms), checking what message had come in… And you quickly put it right back into your pocket, deciding you could deal with it later.

On the screen of your phone was a name of a man that’s had your head spinning lately.

Sans.

Sans Gaster.

A handsome, dapper skeleton monster. With his expensive suits and his sharp look, always looking ready to head into an important business meeting. He is a gentleman that seemed interested in you, and one who always reminded you that he was. With just a few words, he could make your knees go on the verge of buckling, and was always so… Magnetizing.

It was a long time ago when you first met him… Simpler times. You met him in a café while you were waiting for a cup of coffee. He practically took over the room with his presence alone, sauntering in with an air of power around him. Wearing an expensive three-piece suite, all black except for the red vest he was wearing. Red lights made up his eyes, eyes that pierced wherever he looked. A killer smile with rows of sharp teeth, with one of them a shimmering gold. He was a daunting monster, and you started to sweat when you saw he was the one next in line after you, stepping beside you, waiting for his espresso shot.

It’s when he greeted you that you started to feel at ease with him. Despite his intimidating features and that deep, rich voice he had that seemed to rumble in your chest when he spoke close to you, he had a way of making you comfortable. He’d invited you over to the tables to chat that day. You did, and you found yourself quickly charmed by the large, handsome skeleton, and you were glad that wasn’t the last time you saw him.

You hadn’t even planned on meeting him when you saw him again- having crossed paths. Sometimes, he’d just be… There, near you at the perfect time. He’d tell you that he’s just gotten off work or taking a break, and say he wanted to spend time with you. Because apparently… he liked you. He’s never gone as far as asking you to be his significant other or anything, but he always made his attraction to you clear. And boy did he know how to make you feel like a special little lady when you went out with him.

You had always taken him as a rich, powerful kind of man, but you never really realized to what extent until he took you on your first restaurant date. Already he was wearing a suit that looked like expensive enough that you were afraid to touch it… But when you saw the kinds of meals that were on the menu the first time he brought you to a restaurant, you knew Sans had bank. Then… He’d always tell you how pretty you looked, or how soft your skin was when he held it in his, his one hand almost engulfing yours when he gripped it. His voice alone made you shiver, and even worse, he’d notice, and use it to its full potential. By the end of dinner, you’d completely forgotten how much everything cost when the bill arrives and Sans puts a fat stack of money on the table, your cheeks a steaming red.

… You’ve kissed him before, on the lips. Everything he says… The way he’d hold you when you were with him… It felt like your heart was tugging in his direction.

But then… Things changed when you visited him in his office one day.

You never really knew what his work was.

You had gone on a toilet break, and when you came back, you heard him in a phone call. Your steps came to a halt in front of the ajar door, Sans’ voice low and grim. Nothing like the voice that complimented you and soothed you.

“sean might be able t’ help ya with that… it ain’t hard, ben. jus’ put a gun to his face and he’ll give ya what he owes us. i know that bastard’s got it… i saw him throwin’ money around city square just two days ago. now get it done before i go there and do it myself, you useless sack a’ shit.”

You were frozen. It didn’t take a genius to know what Sans was after hearing that particular phone call. And after you heard “Ben” reply to him in a terrified, squeaky “Yes boss,”, your heart sank to the ground.

Sans wasn’t just part of the mafia… He was the boss of one of the most notorious mafia groups in your city.

The realization that you had been so close to a boss for so long hit you like a train.

It made sense why the staff of the restaurants you went to always remembered you and seemed almost… Afraid of you whenever you passed by, with or without Sans.

Sans saw you from the room that day, eyes meeting from that crack in the door frame. The skeleton that always made you smile and blush… Now made your blood drain from your face. You didn’t know what to do. He’s been hiding the fact that he’s a boss, and realizing what he could do, you did the first think you could think of.

You ran away from him, not turning back when Sans had ran after you, shouting a pleading “wait!”

He hadn’t said a word to you since.

… Until today.

You bit your lip when you take out your phone to look at the message again. Your stomach turned like it always did when you thought of Sans since that day. You wanted it so desperately to go back like how it used to be when you were with him… When you could be near him and rest your head on his chest as he stroked your hair, your heart beating wildly in your chest. Hoping he’d ask you to be something more with him.

Now… Thinking of him just gave you a headache.

sans: sweetheart

sans: (y/n).

sans: i’m sorry about last week.

sans: i didn’t mean to scare you.

sans: can we talk?

It was like your heart clenched on itself. You didn’t know what to answer him… Didn’t want to answer him.

You shove your phone back into your pocket. You could deal with it later. Right now, you’re just glad Sans hadn’t put a hit on you or something. You didn’t know exactly how the mafia works, but you’re pretty sure anyone related to the mafia has a substantially higher chance of getting in danger.

As you walk down the hallway, you hear footsteps in the staff room. As you enter, greeting you is a slim, tall man with blond hair and smart eyes, smiling when he sees you.

Dan Clarkson, owner of the hotel with his family name on it.

“Hey, how’s my favorite worker doing?” He greets you, and you roll your eyes at him.

“Hey, Dan.”

Despite being the owner of the hotel you worked at, Dan was always humble around you- brushing off the fact that he owns the place. He visits you at work, invites you over for lunch, and just generally… Being a nice guy to you. You don’t know what a chambermaid’s got him interested in, but he’s always nice company to have around.

“What are you doing here?” You ask him while you put your supplies away, closing the staff door. “Aren’t you supposed to do your owner-stuff done or something?”

“Hahah, real funny. I have a real job, (Y/n). And what, it’s not like I don’t visit you often.” Dan answers, putting a firm hand on your shoulder and playfully shaking you. “No… it’s just… You know about the anniversary coming up this weekend?”

You nod. The… something-something-years anniversary of the hotel. It was going to be grand and extravagant as the hotel itself.

“Yeah, so… How about I ask you to come?”

“… Wait what?” The question completely catches you off guard, and Dan laughs. “But why?”

“I just wanted you to come! Just take it as a treat from me. You’ll get to see the hotel ballroom in all its splendor, and I promise, you won’t have to really talk to anyone there. “

You make a mock thinking face, and Dan adds in a sing-song voice, “There’ll be lots of free food there…”

… Alright. That’s a solid argument of why you should definitely go.

You click your tongue in defeat. “You just had to mention that, huh?” You shove Dan aside playfully to get to the elevator. “I’ve seen the restaurant advertised in that elevator Dan, I’ve been wishing to try it sometimes.”

“Exactly! So you better come.” Dan pushes the button for you, smiling at you… Then frowning. You turn your head to Dan, confused, and he just looks concerned.

“… (Y/n).” He leans a bit closer to you. “… You seem kinda tense. You alright? Was the room that bad?”

“Oh, nothing like that.” You assure him, but your face sours as you remember the real cause to your stress. “There’s… This man. I’ve got… Complicated feelings about him lately, and he wants to talk. I just… I don’t know what to say to him.”

Dan’s brows furrow, and it looks like he wants to press for more, but you quickly brush him off. “It’s fine, Dan. It’s nothing for you to worry about, I’ll just… think about it when I get home.”

He accompanies you until the first floor and you wave him goodbye as you head for the lockers and he returns to his office. As you leave however, you miss the look he gives you, as his eyes trail from your head down to your… Lower cheeks.

He’s wanted you for awhile now… Practically ever since he first met you.

He knew who you were talking about, though you were obviously trying to be vague.

… Sans Gaster. A man after your heart like Dan himself. But unlike Dan, Sans was in the center of crime and violence.

Dan wanted to take you away from that… From someone like him.

If you were with him, he could keep you away from someone as dangerous as Sans.

———————————————————————————————————

You stand there, stalling your time as you watch guests with their long sparkly dresses and tuxedos enter the ballroom, walking from their expensive cars past the garden to the entrance.

… It was an intimidating sight, to say the least.

What you’ve got on you is the only nice dress you could find in your closet, one that…

… Sans gave to you.

You had fought with yourself deciding whether or not to wear the dress gifted to you during one of your dates with him.

Sitting in the park one night. He had an arm around your waist, and when you almost fell asleep looking up at the sky, Sans had silently placed the box on your lap.

You opened it at home to reveal a stunning golden dress that felt silky to the touch with various ribbons and a touch of lace here and there, no sleeves, running from your shoulders to your ankles.

At the end you decided to wear it anyways, since it was the best dress you had. You knew how up-scale the anniversary party was going to be, and while you didn’t want to think about Sans for awhile, you’re glad you wore this dress. Any other and you’re sure you’d feel under-dressed, looking at all the guests there.

You finally enter the room after enough dawdling, and after a short speech from Dan himself, the party officially began. You greeted him, the room starting to get filled with music and chattering. Dan was just happy he got to see you that night, telling you how “I got really worried that you wouldn’t come.”

You’d thought the same too, but… you had invitation, and again, free fancy food was hard to pass up on. Dan already told you you didn’t need to talk to all of these people anyways. So you just tell him “I smell some mashed potatoes and salmon over there. I think I have very good reason to come here, Dan.”

He laughs, and you finally let yourself try the things they’ve got in their buffet, and… Oh yeah. It’s amazing.

You’re glad you didn’t decide to snub the man currently busying himself with greeting and chatting with the ‘important’ people of the night. You were someone he could take a breather with, and seeing him go around from guest to guest and seeing the tired look in his eyes, you’re pretty sure he’ll need all the rest he can.

You had to fight your way to get somewhere to sit. When you finally finish up trying every main course they had (from lamb chops to truffle carbonara fettuccine), you finally get to the desert and drinks section, grabbing yourself a glass of punch, avoiding the alcoholic drinks.

You take the punch in your hands, stepping backwards and watching the water so it wouldn’t spill- you bump into someone (noticeably much bigger than you are) on the way.

You turn around, an apology already on your tongue… Then you see his eyelights.

Red like blood, staring into your eyes.

… Sans.

He’s wearing a pressed black shirt with a red vest coat, black tie, black trousers and polished dress shoes. Golden rings on his phalanges glimmering into your face. No hat this time.

Time stopped. The music faded into white noise. Everyone else in the room disappeared. You could only keep your eyes on Sans Gaster. You didn’t even notice you’ve spilled some of your punch.

A similar look was on Sans’ face- his trademark grin had turned into a frown, and you see how his eyelights shrunk until his sockets were nothing but black voids. Apparently he was talking to someone, but Sans didn’t turn back to them after your eyes met his.

…

Of course he’d be invited. He’s a mob boss.

Why didn’t you think of that? The thought of Sans appearing in the party had completely eluded you.

In your panic, you turned, planning to just get away from him now- you weren’t ready to confront him yet, it’s too soon!- but already a strong, bony hand had caught your relatively thin arm, and your heart leapt into your throat.

“w-wait, sweetheart.” Sans stuttered, his grip firm yet gentle. “jus’… jus’ hear me out.”

———————————————————————————————————

You didn’t realize it in your own state of panic, but Sans was panting, silently. Breathing heavily as he felt your delicate, tiny arm in his hand.

He was careful not to break it.

Sans didn’t answer his “business partner” when they tapped Sans on the shoulder. He couldn’t stop staring at you, in that golden dress he gave you all that time ago. You were stunning in it, and Sans’ soul couldn’t help but leap when he saw you were wearing something he gave you. But then… He saw the look in your eyes, wide with fear, and his soul broke.

He never wanted you to look at him like that.

A fire started sparking in your eyes all of a sudden, your fearful face changing that to indignation. “Let go of my hand, Sans.” Before he could even plead to you again, you added, “Talk to me, Sans. I’m waiting.”

You fully turned your body to him, tugging your arm in his hand to make your point. He nods, and slowly, he lets go of your arm, suddenly afraid that that was going to scare you away too.

Sans gulped when he looked at your face, waiting for him to speak.

fuck… He practiced what he was going to say to you since the moment he lost you, chasing you out the building before you disappeared from his sight. He knew where you lived… He knew everything in this city. He could’ve just teleported there, waited for you to come and talk to you then. But no. You know what he is now, and he didn’t know what he could do to convince you that you’d never be in harms way, that he’d never hurt you. That the fact doesn’t change how he feels about you, or that he’s any different. He’s rehearsed in his mind over and over, talking to you. Maybe he could say hello to you after you’ve finished work, maybe invite you to go to a café (you always seemed at ease in cafés) and try to explain himself.

But now that you’re in front of him… His mind went blank, his skull empty.

He brought you a bit further from the drink section, avoiding eyes and ears. Thankfully you obliged, and you went to a corner in the ballroom.

Sans took a breath, then he spoke. “look darlin’, i jus’ wanna tell you…”

“Tell me what, Sans?” You snapped, surprising him. You’d never snapped at him before. You always used a soft voice when you spoke to him, sweet and mallow. A pleasant sound to listen to, a break from the yelling and angry voices in his line of work. The look in your eyes when he complimented you, when he held your hand while you walked with him. Smiling, those red cheeks always tempting him to kiss or bite you.

Seeing this… hostility from you was really getting to him, more than any gunshot or slice of the knife could do to him.

“That you’re a criminal? That you threaten people for their money?” You ask, gritting your teeth. Sans doesn’t realize he’s got his hands up almost in a surrender pose, like your words could physically hurt him. “You know I heard your phone call, Sans, I know what you are now. I don’t know what else you want to talk about.”

“n-no, please, sweetheart, i just-“ He holds his hand out, not even sure what he wanted to do… Until he sees the tears pooling in your eyes even in your angry face, your cheeks starting to steam in a different way than he’s used to. Your scowl quivered, and your eyes were starting to get glossy. Apparently he stared at you for too long, because you made a small start, embarrassed. You blinked and turned away from him, trying your best to erase your tears before they even fell.

“… darlin’… are you ok?” He asks, his floating hand close to turning you around, but you make a small hiccuping noise, keeping his hand away.

“No no- just keep talking.” You say, turning back to him

Sans sighs, feeling a mix of emotions in him that amounted to nothing but hurt.

“i’m… i’m sorry.” Was what fell out of his mouth. Obviously this wasn’t what you were expecting, because you uncrossed your arms in front of your chest, your furrowed brows easing up. “i… i am all of those things you said. i ain’t gonna deny it. i’m definitely working on the other side of the law.” He says, for once feeling shame in his ribcage as he said so. “i do ask people fer their money. and i ain’t afraid to use a bit of violence when it comes down to it.” He admits, fisting one of his hands. But he quickly looks to you, his eyelights dilating.

“but… i didn’t mean t’ hide it from ya because i wanted t’ trick ya, sweetheart.” He took your hand, and he doesn’t notice it- but he was shaking. He was so scared. “i didn’t mean t’ trick ya. i just…. i was afraid of… this.” Sans gestures to the air around him. “i didn’t want ya to know because… i was afraid ya’d turn away from me. i know yer a gentle, sweet thing, (y/n)… i know this isn’t something you’d want.” His thumb rubs the back of your hand, steadying his breath. “i jus’… i couldn’t bear the thought of ya leaving me, (y/n), because… i love you.”

It was something he wanted to tell you for the longest time now. He just… Hadn’t been sure of his feelings, didn’t want to rush it. He was looking for the right time.

But as soon as he was reminded of the fact that he could lose you… The realization hit him like a truck. You were something he wanted in his life- needed in his life. He loves you.

He meant it all. You were the most beautiful, sweetest person he’s ever met… He wanted to cherish and love you like you deserve.

“… i didn’t mean to hurt you. i never wanted to hurt ya, (y/n). i’m sorry.” His head hung, looking to the floor. He couldn’t look at those sad eyes anymore.

You look at him, eyes wide, your breath stuck in your throat as you look up at him.

god… yer so small…

Slightly, he feels your hand start to curl up in his, and you open your mouth to speak.

“… I-“

“Oh, (Y/n)!” A different voice suddenly cuts you off, interrupting the moment. Sans felt a snarl building up in his chest. The only thing saving the guy from Sans’ temper was your fearful face when you saw the lightning-fast change in his expression from pleading and adoring to anger and irritation. Sans turned to the guy- Blond hair, brown eyes. His slim stature making him look taller than he really is.

“D-Dan.” You stuttered the prick’s name. Sans knows what he thinks of you, and his presence definitely didn’t help the fragile moment.

“I see you’ve met my friend Sans!” Sans grimaced internally at the utterly fake expression the hotel owner was wearing as he greeted the both of you. “I’m glad to see you two getting along pretty well.”

You looked bothered by him as well (though for a different reason than Sans’), cringing, holding onto Sans’ hand subconsciously. While Sans did enjoy the feeling, Sans felt like punting Dan in the sack and pushing him away- Sans was having a moment with you.

“Sorry about this, (Y/n), but I’ve got to talk a bit with Sans for a moment, uh- why don’t you go and get some more punch? You spilled a bit on yourself there.” Dan pulls out a handkerchief, and you pull your hand away from Sans’ to let him wipe it for you. The gesture made Sans’ chest burn like no other, and after thanking him silently, you move away from the two men.

… Sans turns to Dan as he does the same. Sans knows what he’s here for.

“clarkie.” Dan winces when he hears Sans’ little nickname for him while Sans puts hands out for the man in question, eyelights dimming considerably.

This bastard… He’s been eyeing you ever since you’ve started working at the hotel with his name on it. Sans knows he’s into you… But he’s never really done anything to ‘pull you in’ so to speak, so he never really paid him much attention…Though his possessiveness did threaten to cut ties with one of his richest “clients”. Sans didn’t know you were coming to this party, didn’t expect Clarkie there to invite you.

“what an honor it is t’ have the host himself come to greet me.” Sans spits, his grin becoming tighter by the second. His hand automatically searches his pockets for a cig to smoke, but as he grabs a stick, he remembers that he couldn’t do that indoors. Not here, anyways. Sans’ grin turns into a scowl for a second, realizing he’ll have to talk to this asshole without a cig to ease his nerves.

He takes his hand out of the pocket and smiles to Dan. “why don’t we… go somewhere else, shall we? somewhere… quieter.”

The men move from the corner into an empty hallway that lead to the bathrooms, its lights off.

Sans leans on the wall, with his hands having nothing to do, he crosses them, staring Dan down.

“… Why are you after her?” Dan asks, a hard look on his face telling Sans that he wasn’t expecting an answer. Sans didn’t grace him with one- it was a stupid question. “You stay away from her Gaster. She’s not for the mob life and you know it.”

“please.” Sans replies condescendingly. What kind of idiot does this human take he is? “i ain’t tryin’ to pull her into the mob life, danny. unlike you, i love her because she deserves to be loved because she’s just…” Sans’ expression turns soft as he looks back to the ballroom, eyelights instinctively searching for you. “she’s jus’ perfect.”

When Sans’ eyelights dart back to Dan, all traces of that soft look disappeared. “not like you, jus’ looking fer someone to fuck.”

Dan hisses, his hands fisting. Sans knows they’re not going to fight… Dan’s got a useful deal going on with Sans, and Dan knows that he’s definitely not going to win any fights with him.

Though Sans does smile a little thinking of snapping this guy’s neck for even thinking of having you.

“I’m not out here just to fuck her.” Dan scowls, stripped of all his fake politeness. “Even if I was, I know you want her in bed just as bad.”

Sans just smirks, chuckling a bit as his grin turns predatory. “oh, she knows.” He says, remembering the times when he’d tease you about it, and the most adorable shade of red that’d come across your face. He always had the urge to bite your cheek when it happened.

“but, heh… ya speak fer yerself, clarkie.” Sans looked Dan up and down, his voice filled with fake innocence. “ya tell me i’m in the mafia but yer the one who asked t’ kill that one guy from-“

A hand goes onto Sans’ suit, and Sans’ fake pleasantries drop completely as his mouth turns into a snarl at the stuck-up human.

“I paid you not to mention anything like that, Sans Gaster.” Dan growls out. Sans thought his attempt at being intimidating was laughable, but he held it in nonetheless.

“what? afraid someone’s listenin’? it’s just you and me, buddy.” Sans smiles at him, but nothing about it tells Dan that Sans is enjoying their conversation as he grips Dan’s wrist hard enough that he winces in pain, taking it off his expensive suit.

“just you and me.”

Dan rips his hand out of Sans’ when he didn’t let go.

wasn’t even tryin’ to do anythin’.

Dan rubs his wrist, and when he looks at Sans, a condescending look fell on his face. “Yeah, well… It’s funny you think you still have a chance with her.” Dan steps back from Sans, “Because judging from what I saw earlier, she knows what you are, and she’s not into that. You can’t force someone to love you, Sans. and you shouldn’t keep her from anyone else just because you can’t get to her.”

Dan’s words struck Sans right in his soul, “hitting a nerve”. Sans feels his sockets empty, his magic already starting to form a bone in his hand as his teeth part, a growl in his chest-

“Mr. Dan Clarkson? Would Mr. Dan Clarkson please come onto the stage for the evening toast.”

Both mob boss and hotel owner turned their heads to the stage, all the way on the other side of the ballroom.

“I’d love to stay and chat some more, Mr. Gaster, but unfortunately I’ve got a job to do.” Dan says, brushing his hair a bit after it got messy in his frustration. “See you later.”

Sans watches Dan’s back leaving him, and his anger starts to die out as he thinks of you again… Quickly replaced by panic.

Dan Clarkson. Handsome, rich, has a good relationship with you… And wasn’t a notorious mob boss known for his methods.

An image of Dan sweeping you off your feet when he tells you his feelings… You wouldn’t want to be with criminal Sans Gaster.

He scans the room for you, spotting you near the entrance on a bench, alone. He didn’t teleport- instead running across the room towards you.

i can’t lose you.

i can’t lose you to anyone else.

… please don’t leave me, (y/n).

———————————————————————————————————

You start when a large figure run towards you.

In front of you was Sans again, the man you’ve been thinking about… ever since you met him, now that you think about it.

He looked like a mess, he was sweating and his vest, earlier pressed clean to his shirt was now slightly wrinkled, a button off.

He doesn’t say anything. His brows only slant, and he opens his mouth- but nothing came out of his mouth.

… You spoke first.

“… Sans.” you say gently. Your heart starts to beat remembering what he said to you, having thought it over and over sitting here. And even in this situation… You couldn’t help but blush. “I’m… I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier.”

Sans’ sockets widens in surprise at your apology.

“I-it’s just… I don’t like what you do, Sans. You press people for money and… hurt them.” God, you didn’t even want to think what he did to people who didn’t pay him.

“… but…”

You stood up, surprising him again when you took his hand. “… Hm.” you giggle a bit. “You… You really know how to make a girl feel special, Sans.” You say shyly, rubbing over his joints, your hand looking like a child’s compared to his. “You said you’d never hurt me, and that you love me, and I…”

You look away for awhile, biting your lip before you continue.

“… I’m in love with you too, Sans.” Your voice came out quietly, almost a whisper. “I can’t help it. You already took my heart, Sans… I can’t change that. I love you. You’re still the same loving, caring guy behind horniness and that smirk of yours.” You tilt your head up at him, grinning, mouth opening when you see him blush as red as his eyelights.

… It really helped you see past that mafia boss perception that had been dominating your mind lately, and reminded you the kind of guy Sans is. When he wasn’t busy trying to impress you with gifts and dates to up-scale places… He was genuine and always kind and gentle to you. He never hid his intentions- he wore it on his sleeve the fact that he wanted you. But he never told you he… Loved you. And now that he’s said it with that wrenched look in his sockets… You’re sure you could tell that he’s been genuine all this time.

“… so… yer not… mad at me anymore?”

He sounded like a child asking their parent, you couldn’t help but laugh at him. Here was a man that could kill you with the snap of his phalanges all decked out in his expensive clothes- and he seemed almost afraid of you.

This is definitely the man you love.

“Well, I wasn’t really mad at you, just…” You played with your foot a bit, stalling. “… I just want to go back to how we used to be. I… I missed you, Sans.” You look away, hiding your reddening face.

Finally with those words, Sans smiled again, and when he did, you silently note how he does look his best with a grin on his face. His sockets lid and he stands up straighter, his eyelights big and fuzzy as he looks down at you. You smile at him, and you don’t notice when Sans’ eyelights go over your head, looking at the man speaking up on stage right now…

Dan.

He tripped as he spoke, having caught you and Sans from the crowd, holding hands, with you looking at the skeleton with forgiving eyes. Dan starts to lose focus, repeating his sentences as he couldn’t stop looking at the human-skeleton pair near the entrance of the ballroom, unable to hide his shock.

… Sans smirks, nothing kind in his eyelights as he makes eye contact with him before he looked away and back to you- Someone that deserves his attention.

“i missed ya too, dollface.” He pulls you to his chest, your warmth an instant relief to him. “… more than you’d know.”

As he strokes your hair, his eyelights go to the garden outside, the one surrounding the ballroom. There were no windows in the ballroom apart from the ones on the doors.

perfect.

“hey, sweetheart… how’s about we go somewhere a bit quieter, hm? jus’ you an’ me.”

“… That sounds nice, Sans.” You smile up at him, enjoying the feeling of his sturdy arm around you as he walks you out, always the gentleman who always had that look in his eyelights that held so much adoration for you. As you walk into the crisp, cold air of the night, the door swinging closed behind you, Sans leans in to kiss you on your crown.

… You’re just so happy you get to be held by Sans like this again.

#commission #werelywrites #mf!sans/reader #female reader #mf!sans #i hope you enjoy ;u;

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uppercuts-and-undercuts · 4 years

Text

Harry Hart, Eggsy Unwin, and Hartwin Fangirl/Rant/Headcanon dump

I seriously have so many feelings about these two, I don’t even know where to start. I’m talking full-on emotionally compromised. I can’t even. I am unable to can. Ever since I watched TSS, I’ve been reading and re-reading everything I could get my hands on. Even things that really aren’t my usual preferences. I’ve read everything from time-travel AUs, to fics with kinks I absolutely don’t have (and ones I absolutely do have), ones where Harry is a dragon, or Eggsy gets temporarily turned into a dog... angels/demons, A/B/O, bakery AUs, coffee shop AUs, same age!AUs, soulmates, serial killers, vampires, domestic, PWP, fluff, and essentially every trope I can think of - and probably a good few I can’t even remember. The point is? I love both of these dorks, and Hartwin.

I even force myself to keep reading when things descend into heavier angst than I expected. Too much angst leaves me a total mess. Hence, I try to stay away from anything with tags indicating an enormously bumpy ride. That being said, I’ve fought through a fair few heavy angst pieces, partially because they’re so well written, and partially because I’ve been invested enough to want to see everything work out. Believe me when I say I avoid the ‘unhappy ending’ and ‘major character death’ tags like the fucking plague (unless the MCD tag is accompanied by another tag like ‘but not really’, or ‘temporary’).

But what gets me the most about them, and Hartwin? The many different characterisations all these authors have given them, separately and as a couple, and the fact that they (mostly) just work. Some of them are contradictory, technically. But if you’ve got enough imagination, most of them even work together, even the seemingly ‘opposite’ ones. Some give you the fuzzies, some leave you fanning yourself, and some spark loads of daydreams. It’s gotten to the point where I don’t have a favourite characterisation, or even a complete list of favourite characterisations, because there’s too much! However! I’m going to rant giddily about some for a bit, because I have literally no friends.

Harry Hart:

Brutal elegance in a gorgeous suit

Sarcasm and polite disdain hiding a heart of gold

Morally dubious and manipulative

Daddy AF

Dapper gentleman who says ‘fuck’ a lot

Tall, dark, handsome, and will fuck you up without breaking a sweat

Sex on long legs

Loves all dogs, no matter what size, but weak for the tiny ones

Smoother than smooth

Awkward dork

Has no time for your classist bullshit

Actual tailor

Soft gent with so much love to give

Stoic gent who has no interest in relationships - until a cheeky chav with a heart of gold saunters into his life

King Harry

Makes love gently, coaxing, lovingly

Fucks like he’s being paid for it

Like, seriously, fucks

King of dirty talk

Gently murmuring praise

Loves fiercely

Incredibly possessive, and not even slightly ashamed of it

Repentant dirty old man

Unrepentant dirty old man

Certified Little Shit(™)

Gives zero fucks

Harry Hart-breaker

Super spy

Harry Fucking Hart

Above all, completely gone for Eggsy Unwin

Eggsy Unwin:

Vulnerable smol egg

Heart of gold

Smart-mouthed brat

Experienced street scrapper

Thicc AF

Bloodied knuckles and bleeding heart

Way smarter than people assume

Would literally die and kill for the people he cares about

Friend to animals everywhere - literally a Disney princess

Don’t talk shit about JB, he’ll defend his wheezy baby to the death

Just wants to be loved

Not afraid to tell it like it is - loudly, bluntly, and unashamed

Will ram that silver spoon even further up your arse, if you aren’t careful

Certified Little Shit(™) in training

Plays the idiot so everyone underestimates him

Just as at ease in a bulletproof bespoke suit as he is in trackies and trainers

Just wants to be loved

Prince of parkour

A total nurturer, just wants to take care of the people he loves

Unexpected virgin

Fucks like a champion

Keeps his heart behind heavily fortified walls - until a handsome gentleman in a bespoke suit beats the shit out of his tormentors

Never asks for anything for himself, yet sees Harry and wants

Actually very well read, that you very much

Sugar baby, and proud

Independent and works his ass off to stay that way

Hidden talents - archery, ballroom dancing, circus skills, etc.

Weak for soft older men

Eggsy Unwin, bitches

Head over heels for Harry Hart

As a couple

Disgustingly in love

Domestic husbands

Murder husbands

Both secretly spies

Harry being just as likely to kiss Eggsy’s hand as he is to rim him into next week

Eggsy constantly gets eyed-up by women and (worse, in Harry’s mind) other men. Harry is a jealous little shit, and loves to rub in the fact that Eggsy is completely oblivious to his admirers. Eggsy, of course, is oblivious to his admirers because he’s far too busy admiring Harry

When Harry gets jealous, he’s partial to getting Eggsy into bed (or over his desk, or against a wall, or even on the floor) and fucking him so good he cries. If Eggsy eventually realises what causes those occurrences, it’s only to his benefit.

Eggsy would be jealous over all the people who can’t help but admire Harry, if not for two facts. Firstly, that while he’s oblivious when people are giving him the eye, he’s definitely observant enough to realise that it’s what sets Harry off. Secondly, Harry is so obviously and completely devoted to him that it would be pointless to feel jealous. Why should he worry when he can feel Harry’s big hand settled warmly against the small of his back, brown eyes gazing down at him adoringly, and the smile that he only ever gives Eggsy on his lips?

Harry can’t help but give Eggsy pet names. It began when he first started to become fond of Eggsy it began. My boy, dear boy. Darling boy, eventually. And then, as Eggsy’s cheeky little thieving fingers began reaching out to steal his heart, they came thick and fast. My dear, dearest, darling, sweetling, my love.

Eggsy wasn’t one for using pet names, but he loved when Harry used them for him. For Eggsy, nicknaming was something he did without thought, usually to annoy or amuse. Even Merlin wasn’t safe from his sometimes regrettable attempts at nicknames, Gandalf and Dumbledore being Eggsy’s favourites. But his other half, the love of his life, only had one name Eggsy called him. Because he was Harry. and to Eggsy, Harry meant all the love in his heart, with every breath in his body

Everyone assumes Harry will be the sensible, restrained one of the two. Partially because of their age difference, partially because he always just looks so put together - of course he’d me the more mature. They assume incorrectly. Eggsy is surprisingly good at organising and doing what needs to be done, and can absolutely be serious when he needs/wants to be. Harry, obviously, can’t resist teasing him and making his life difficult during those times. He also finds it hilarious when Eggsy tells him off in front of people who don’t already know their personalities and dynamic

Harry spoils Eggsy whenever the boy lets him. Attention, affection, baths together, cooking for him, bringing him flowers, buying him things, trips and holidays, mind-blowing sex, everything he can think of. Eggsy never asks for anything at all, but Harry would never deny him anything if he did. Harry honestly just wants to give him the world anyway. He would tear the stars from the sky, if he thought Eggsy would like them.

#harry hart #eggsy unwin #harry hart/eggsy unwin #harry hart x eggsy unwin #hartwin #Kingsman #Kingsman: The Secret Service #headcanons #fangirl #rant

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torialeysha · 5 years

Text

Birthday Girl.

A/N: This is a Reggie request from one of my wonderful readers @anrm1 Thank you for being so patient with me. I hope this ticks all your boxes and hopefully a few more 😜❤️

Oh NSFW by the way

Songs:

Elvis - Can’t help falling in love

Timi Yuro/Duffy - Make the world go away.

Walking hand in hand down Wilton Street you should have known where you were headed. But you were too busy enjoying the snowy December weather. Distracted by the pretty snowflakes that danced around you, falling softly from the sky. You held out your free hand, collecting the icy crystals in your palm, admiring their unique feathery patterns as they glistened beautifully in the bright lights of the West End. “Still not as beautiful as you.” Reggie whispers in to your ear. Your heart swells at his words, a fuzzy warmness pushing out the wintery cold that bit at your skin. You didn’t think anything could bring you down from the happiness you felt in that moment. That’s when you saw it, Illuminating the bustling street completely blue. It’s huge sign overpowering the other clubs and bars that lined the cobbled road. Your face drops. “Esmerelda’s? Really, Reg?” You stood in the cold blue neon light from the club that the Krays owned. You frown disappointedly up at the fancy scrawl surrounded by stars before scowling at Reggie. “Yeah, I thought we could pop in, ya know, just for a minute.” He hides a smile. You’re speechless, unimpressed with where you have ended up. It was your Birthday and Reggie had insisted on taking you out and treating you. Esmereldas Barn was not what you had in mind. You shouldn’t be ungrateful, you were just happy to be spending time with Reggie. He had been so busy with business lately that you wondered if he would even remember your birthday at all. He did, of course.

You bit your cheek, mulling the idea over in your head. You suppose it wouldn’t hurt to ‘pop in’. Just for a ‘minute.’ But you knew what Reggies minutes meant. Not that it was his fault. Being who he was, everyone would want to speak to him and take photos. Not forgetting to mention the groups of Women who would flirt outrageously with him, touching his chest and arms, squeezing his muscles. Parading their busty cleavages and whispering for him to call them. Just the thought of it makes your blood boil with jealousy. Reggie would pay them no mind or attention though. His eyes would always be on you as if you were the only person in the room. However the female attention still bothered you. You let out a huff, your bottom lip jutting out into a pout.

“Come on, Tutti. Don’t be like that.” He pulls you into his arms. Calling you affectionately by his pet name for you. Tutti fruitti was cockney rhyming slang for Beauty. Reggie shortened it to Tutti and it’s stuck ever since. “The lads will wanna wish you a happy birthday.” He tries his best to persuade you with that irresistible East End charm of his. Tugging gently on your hand that rests snugly in his own. You notice oddly how there is no security on the door and no queue of impatient punters waiting outside. That’s strange you think, Saturday’s usually their busiest night. Maybe it won’t be so bad after all. “Ok.” You sigh before adding sternly. “Just for a minute.”

As ever the perfect gentleman, Reggie opens the door for you. It’s unusually quiet inside. The hall and stairwell that is normally packed with intoxicated party goers is bare. You don’t get time to query the emptiness. Being pulled by Reggie to the main hall of the club instead. He pauses outside the big double doors. “Right, you stay here a minute.” He stops you from entering. “What are you up to, Kray?” You purse your lips, narrowing your eyes at him suspiciously. He winks at you before disappearing through the doors. You shake your head with a smile. A shiver runs down your spine as the minutes pass by. Something feels off. Then it dawns on you. There’s no music. No cheering crowds. No friendly banter and howling laughter from the rowdy groups that would normally congregate at the bar. Just silence. You begin to feel uneasy. You give Reggie another minute to return. Pushing through the double doors when he doesn’t. “For God sake Reg, what’s the-“ You trail off, your voice echoing around the empty hall. A clatter alerts you to the one and only table in the middle of the hall, it’s loneliness highlighted by the warm glow of the little lamp that adorns it. “Bollocks.” You hear Reggie curse at what he’s just dropped. He looks to you, quickly recovering from his mishap. “Surprise.” He says through a smile, his arms outstretched. Your eyes scan the hall, there’s a big hand made banner hanging across the stage saying ‘Happy Birthday Y/N’ You could tell from the writing it was Rons handy work. Colourful balloons garnished either side of the message. You walk over to Reggie and the solitary table. Noticing two metal cloches lay on top, along with a bottle of champagne chilling in an ice bucket. Only one set of cutlery graces the table, the other on the floor that Reggie has just dropped. “I should have known you wouldn’t have waited. Happy Birthday Princess.” You look at him dumbfounded “Where’s every-“ “I know, that there are a thousand other places I could have taken you other than here.” He cuts you off. “But where else could I spoil you and have you all to myself at the same time.” You think for a moment at what this meant - A night with no interruptions. No celebrities, no scantily clad women throwing themselves at Reggie. No Ronnie. “Just me and you?” You ask. “Yeah.” He nods, raising an eyebrow trying to read your thoughts. “We can go somewhere el-“ you cut him off by kissing him. The last of his sentence lost against your lips. “This is perfect!” You tell him. Rubbing your nose affectionately against his own. You can’t believe he has closed Esmeralda’s just for you. “But all the customers. All the money you’ll lose.” You signal around the empty hall that would usually be full to the rafters of people gambling, dancing and having a good time. You can imagine Ronnie wouldn’t have been keen on the idea of closing the club for your birthday.

“Don’t you worry about things like that. This is your night. Now, Give me your coat.” You let Reggie slip the coat from your shoulders. Revealing the dress he had bought for you to wear along with the necklace that sparkles around your neck. The dress clung perfectly to your curves. A little too perfectly in fact. Reggie stands there gawking at you. “Wow...you look-beautiful.” He tells you, your coat hung over his arm forgotten. “Well you have good taste.” You run your hands down the smooth material. It definitely accentuated your assets. “I didn’t realise it was that revealing when I picked it though.” He frowns. “Lucky it is just me and you or I’d have ended up in a punch up.” He goes to discard your coat by the bar. “Oh, shut up.” You chide him playfully. His possessiveness reassured you and soothed the jealousy that still lingered from earlier. You believed him about getting in a punch up. Reggie was a natural fighter, protective when it came to the people he loved. Anyone who would so much as look at you in the wrong way would be waking up with a broken jaw in the morning. “These are for you.” He returns handing you a huge bouquet of peonies, your favourite. “Thank you, they’re lovely.” you say burying your nose in to the thick, ruffled blooms, inhaling their sweet scent. “Now you take a seat here.” He pulls your chair out for you. “I’m going to go and sort the music out. But first things first. Are you hungry.” You look up at him, looking incredibly dapper in his suit. You lick your lips. “I’m hungry.” You say. But not for food, you thought. He removes the metal dome from the plate in front of you. An aroma that you recognise rises from the plate. “Carbonara from Pellicci’s.” He tells you as if you didn’t already know. It was your favourite food from your favourite restaurant. “How did you..” You were about to ask how he managed to get Pellicci’s from Bethnal Green to Knightsbridge, but that would have been a silly question. He was Reggie Kray after all, anything was possible. “You tuck in and I’ll be back in a minute.” You do as he says. Letting out a moan, savouring the creamy pasta. Reggie climbs on to the stage and disappears to the side fiddling with the controls behind the curtain. Elvis rings through the speakers startling you. You recognise the words of ‘Can’t help falling in love’ Yours and Reggie’s song. Goosebumps prickle across your skin, your eyes connecting with Reggie’s. He climbs off the stage and saunters towards you.

“You’ve thought of everything haven’t you?” You smile at him. “I wanted this to be special, ya know, to show you how much you mean to me.” He takes his seat facing you, pouring you both a glass of champagne “Are you not hungry?” You ask him, “Na...Not for food.” He tells you, reading your thoughts from earlier. You glance up at him. His gaze hot on yours. The air was thick, sexually charged around you both. Heightened by the fact that you hadn’t seen Reggie properly in over a week.

You stare at him mesmerised. Sometimes it hurt to look at him, he was so handsome, a beautiful soul, of course he had his demons but didn’t we all. Reggie was the missing piece to your puzzle you felt empty and incomplete without him which is exactly what you had been lately. You frown at your plate. Suddenly losing your appetite. “What’s wrong, don’t you like the food?” Reggie asks sensing the shift in your mood. “No...it’s not that...I” You loose the words, unable to express how you feel. “What’s wrong Tutti? You can tell me.” His brows knit together worriedly. “I just-I-don’t want this day to end.” You can feel your voice breaking, he notices it too. “Oi, now I ain’t ‘aving tears on your birthday.” He stands up, moving his chair so he can sit next to you. Putting his arm around your shoulders. You snuggle into him, linking your left hand with his. He kisses the top of your head. “I’m sorry I ain’t been about much lately. What with business, striking up this deal with the Americans, it’s been a bit manic, init. But I’m doing this for us. I wanna give you the world.” He tells you. You want to tell him that you don’t want the world. All you want is him. “One day.” He caresses your hand. “You’ll be Mrs. Kray.” He lifts your hand and places a kiss on your ring finger. His future intentions send a rush of excitement through you, leaving you giddy.

“Now how about a dance?” He asks, trying to cheer you up, knowing how much you loved to dance. “Ok.” You smile. He rises, pulling you up with him and into his strong arms. The song has changed to ‘Make the world go away’ by Timi Yuro. You smile thinking how appropriate the song is. “Thank you.” You tell Reggie as you both sway gently side to side. “I’ve had the best Birthday.” “Anything for you, Princess.” He whispers. “I love you, Tutti.” You look up into his eyes. “I love you too, Reg.” You push yourself up on tippy toes angling your face to his until your lips lock. Your heartbeat accelerates. His tongue tracing your lips to deepen the kiss. You open your mouth letting him in, sucking on his tongue seductively. He groans, tightening his grip around you pulling you closer. Your lips move against each other’s with an urgent need. Kissing like your lives depended on it. You finally pull away both gasping for air. “I want you Reggie.” You’re flushed, hot with a passionate yearning, an unquenchable desire. You always needed Reggie. Could never get enough of him. No matter the time of day or where you was. The desire would overpower you, taking away all rationality. Replacing it with a carnal need. “You’ve got me.” He says confused. “No, I mean I want you.” You emphasise ‘want’ by pressing your body suggestively into his. “Well, who am I to deny the Birthday girl what she wants.” You heart races in anticipation. “Turn around.” He commands you. You do as he says. He begins to kiss your neck. You throw your head back against him giving him better access. His fingers go to unzip your dress. “Shit.” He stops halfway. “My mum made you a cake. She’ll go spare if I tell her I didn’t give it to you.” “Really Reg!” You moan incredulously. “We’ll just lie.” You tell him, pushing back against him urging him to continue. “I can’t. She put a lot of effort into it. It won’t take long.” He pulls away from you.

You moan at the loss of his body heat. Letting out a huge sigh. You go to sit back down at the table, tapping your nails impatiently against the hard, table-clothed surface. Reggie returns with the cake, already lit with candles. He brings it over to you carefully, singing happy birthday. You want to roll your eyes at him but you can’t help the silly smile that creeps it’s way to your mouth. He places it in front of you. It was beautifully decorated. Covered in white icing with pink buttercream swags that hung delicately around the sides. The top was decorated with a bunch of buttercream roses and a plastic happy birthday sign. You notice there’s a slice missing from it already. You raise a brow to Reggie who has sat back down and lit a cigarette. “That was Ron.” He explains sheepishly scratching his brow. “By the time I realised, it was too late for me mum to bake you another one.” Typical Ron you think smiling.

“Don’t forget to make a wish.” He tells you angling his chair so he can watch you blow out your candles.

Licking your lips seductively You lean down pursing your lips. You pin Reggie with your heated gaze blowing slowly, extinguishing the candles, and igniting a fire in Reggie. You knew the look he was giving you. Scooping some of the frosting with your finger, you bring it to your lips to suck off the sweet cream. “Mmm.” You let out a moan your eyes never leaving Reggie’s. He sucks in a sharp Intake of breath. Your skin flushes under his hooded gaze. The swirling smoke from his cigarette made him look even more dreamy. “Wanna taste?” You ask him seductively. He lets out a little laugh putting out his cigarette in the ashtray. “Come ‘ere.” He moves the chair backwards from the table, patting his thigh for you to take a seat on his lap. You don’t hesitate. You sit across him, his arm snaking around you securely. He nuzzles your neck. inhaling your scent deeply. Your finger collects another helping of frosting. “Here then.” You hold out your cream covered digit to his luscious lips. Just as he opens his mouth to taste you quickly swipe it across your chest, careful not get it on your new dress. “Oops. How clumsy of me.” You lick the sticky residue from your finger “You’re fucking naughty.” Reggie smirks knowingly at you. “What?” You ask innocently. “I can always wipe it off.” You rise from his lap to grab a napkin from the table. Gasping when he grabs you, pulling you back down on him. His mouth is on your chest. You inhale sharply feeling the wet heat of his tongue lapping at the buttercream. Your body tingles at the thought of all the other places you could put the sugary frosting. “Mm-tasty.” He finishes, licking his lips. Another idea comes to you, reaching over to grab your glass of champagne. “How about something to wash it down?” You take a mouthful of the golden, fizzy liquid. Placing your lips to his. You let the fizz pass from your mouth to his. He swallows quickly so he can kiss you. You let out a hum of appreciation against his mouth. Savouring the remnants of champagne and the sweet sugar on his lips, mixed with his own delicious taste. His tongue moves past your lips, sliding sensually against yours. Engrossed in his kiss you drop the glass of champagne you were holding. It smashes as it hits the floor but neither of you care. You move to straddle him, your dress rising up around your hips to accommodate the parting of your thighs. You grind against the growing bulge in his trousers. His own arousal spurring you on. His hands slide down your back to grab your bum, pulling your hips against his in a slow rhythm. Your hand moves between you to undo his belt and trousers.

He pushes up from the chair so you can slide them down, along with his boxers. All the while not breaking the kiss. Your tongues still in a passionate battle. You lift up from him, sliding the slick fabric of your underwear to the side. You angle yourself. Positioning his cock so it’s crowning your entrance. You moan, sliding down onto him slowly, taking him inch by inch. He breaks away from the kiss. Groaning in pleasure. You whimper into his neck, the delicious bite of him stretching you as you sink down on to him. You hold on to his shoulders as you begin to move up and down. His hands are on your hips commanding your rhythm, tilting his own hips to thrust up into you. He tries to take your lips again but You’re unable to kiss him properly, a constant string of moans leaving you struggling for air. You look down at him, his jaw clenched his eyes burning into yours. The look of lust on his face enough to drive you over the edge. You couldn’t focus, your legs going weak. “I can’t- I need you- on top.”

He doesn’t hesitate. His hands reaching round your back, holding you to him. He rises from the chair in a swift movement, still inside you. He steps forward, forgetting that his trousers are pooled around his ankles. He trips, staggering forward. You fall backwards on to the table causing the plates to clatter.

The Carbonara and cake you’ve just landed on squishing and splashing underneath you. “My dress.” You exclaim. “I’ll buy you another one.” He groans slamming into you deeply. A breathless cry escapes your mouth, your ruined dress forgotten about. You pull on his tie bringing his lips down to yours. “Fuck.Fuck.Fuck.” He growls against your lips, rocking his hips hard into yours. “Y/N” He speaks your name with so much love and adoration it sends you spiralling into ecstasy. You cry out. Reg’s fingers flex against your waist holding you still as he rams into you. You’re surprised the table hasn’t collapsed under his pounding thrusts. He tenses, his orgasm tearing through him. He shudders collapsing on top of you. “Fuck.I love you.That was amazing.” He pants. “That was the best birthday present.” You breathe, coming back down the Earth. He smiles back at you. “Well, Birthday girl..” He checks his watch. “You’ve got 2 more hours of your day left. What do you wanna do now?” He presses his lips to your forehead. You wrap your arms around him. “I don’t care as long as it’s with you.”

#reggie kray x reader #reggie kray fanfiction #reggie kray imagine #legend fanfiction #legend imagine #legend #tom hardy imagine #tom hardy fanfiction

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famousbeyoncefans · 6 years

Photo

‘Oh, my God!’: Shrewsbury woman’s shocked reaction to seeing Beyoncé was posted to the singer’s Instagram

When Beyoncé smiled at Susan Monaghan, as the singer lingered in the hallway at a New York hotel the night before the Grammys, a sudden feeling came over the Shrewsbury resident’s body.

“I swear,” Monaghan said, “I felt like I was hugged by an angel.”

She also went into shock — and a picture of her reaction shows it.

Beyoncé posted a series of photographs from the big event this week to her official Instagram account. One picture showed Monaghan, her mouth agape, eyes bulging, as Beyoncé and her husband, Jay-Z, pass through the Sheraton New York Times Square hotel, holding hands.

The image has since gone viral, garnering more than 4 million “likes” on the Grammy Award-winning singer’s account, and a slew of reactions from fans who said they can relate to Monaghan’s look of complete and utter astonishment in the presence of Queen Bey.

“I think it’s hysterical,” Monaghan said during a telephone interview about the picture. “Strange things happen to me.”

Monaghan said she was in New York City with her family last weekend for her granddaughter’s gymnastics competition and to celebrate the birthday of her daughter, Jenn Hiitt. It was pure coincidence that the family was staying in a hotel where celebrities were gathering for a weekend of events related to the annual music award ceremony.

Monaghan’s run-in with the influential power couple began like this, she said: After returning to the hotel from dinner in the city, she decided to take the elevator up to her room on the eighth floor while some of her relatives stayed in the lobby.

When Monaghan exited the elevator, she started to make her way down the hallway. Suddenly, an entourage of security guards and photographers came waltzing towards her. She stood to the side — there wasn’t much room to go anywhere, she said — as they approached. It was then that a “handsome” gentleman looked at the slightly-out-of-place Monaghan and said, “’You look familiar,’” she recalled, ‘”Do I know you?’”

That dapper individual turned out to be rapper Jay-Z, who was up for several awards that weekend — though at first, Monaghan couldn’t place him.

“I’m thinking in my mind, ‘Who is this?’ And I looked at him and he looked tall, and thin, and had curly hair, and was really good-looking,” she said. “And I’m thinking.”

Then, when she looked to her right, she spotted an elegant woman with radiant beauty: It was Beyoncé.

“I was like ‘Oh, my God!’” Monaghan said. “I looked at her and all I could think was, ‘No one is going to believe me. No one is going to believe me.’”

She even started saying it out loud.

That’s when the singer flashed her a smile that said, “Don’t worry, it’s going to be OK,” according to Monaghan.

“It was so calming and so surreal,” she said. “And then I realized, and I turned back, I was talking to Jay-Z. It was really funny.”

As the group left, Monaghan went back to her room before she headed back downstairs to tell her daughter, Hiitt, and granddaughter about what happened.

At first, they didn’t believe her, said Hiitt. But then the next day, while at the gymnastics competition, Hiitt got a text that Monaghan’s picture was circulating online.

“We started dying laughing,” Hiitt said. “And she’s like, ‘I told you I met them!’”

With the Grammys long over, Monaghan has had some time to process the whole incident.

When asked why she thinks Beyoncé included the picture of Monaghan’s shocked face in the background among those posted to social media, she came to this conclusion: “I think she posted it for me,” she said. “So people would believe me.”

#The story behind the viral photo #Beyoncé

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rassilon-imprimatur · 6 years

Text

The Master, Surviving Elemental

As she got nearer, Miranda got a good look at him. He was of average height, and looked very smart in his black suit and pressed shirt. He had neat black hair, greying at the temples and a small, pointed beard. But that wasn’t what Miranda concentrated on – she was struck by his eyes. They were black, but they burned into her, like he could read her mind. Like black lasers.

He smiled, but there was no warmth in it. “Hello, Miranda, my dear. I am the Headmaster.”

[...]

The Doctor was disappointed to find himself in a perfectly ordinary Headmaster’s Office, or at least something doing a very good impression of one.

A large oil painting of the current Headmaster in academic robes glowered down at him as he began a quick search of the room. There was a grandfather clock in one corner… but there was something odd about it. Something wrong with the way it had been made – it didn’t look quite finished.

Opening the desk he found a glowing sphere, the size of a cricket ball. Space twisted around it.

‘A dimensional stabiliser,’ the Doctor heard himself saying. It was responsible for moving the office into the fifth dimension. No-one native to Earth could possibly enter the room while it was active.

He picked it up, found it responding to his thoughts. He could hear it talking to him. Yapping, like a loyal dog.

The Doctor asked it to go into standby mode, then slipped it into his pocket.

He quickly found a set of official school notebooks, like registers. But they were full of mathematics symbols, what looked like Greek writing, and a number of very interesting drawings. One looked remarkably like a scale diagram of a black hole. Another was a spiral, like a five dimensional whirlpool.

The Doctor scowled – he knew he should be able to read this, but he couldn’t. If it had been Greek, it wouldn’t be a problem. And he wasn’t sure he could ever decipher it – very few of the symbols were repeated. If it was an alphabet, it was a huge one.

‘It’s called the omegabet,’ a voice told him. ‘It has a million letters…’

‘…but only five vowels,’ the Doctor completed.

‘So you do remember?’

The Doctor frowned. ‘No…’

Then he turned. The Headmaster was there, covering him with what looked for all the world like a laser pistol. ‘

I knew you’d track me down, my dear Doctor. But you’re in the same boat, aren’t you?’

‘Boat?’

‘Where are you from, Doctor?’

‘I don’t know,’ the Doctor admitted.

‘Not this planet, though?’

‘No…’

‘Neither am I. We’re from the same place. Something’s happened to time. Something’s happened to… to…’ The headmaster squeezed his eyes together, tried to concentrate. ‘Wherever we came from, it’s gone.’

‘Gone?’

‘It never existed. That’s my theory.’

‘Of course it existed. Otherwise, how could we exist?’ ‘It’s paradoxical, it’s mindbending and upsetting. But… it’s exciting. Liberating. Full of potential. We can push things further, how far only depends on us.’

The Doctor looked at this strange man. He wasn’t a tall man, but there was something about him – his bearing, those eyes. He was a born leader.

‘And where do you want to “push things”?’ the Doctor asked, already suspecting what the answer would be.

‘If we don’t take control, someone else will,’ the headmaster insisted. ‘This is a perfect opportunity.’

[...]

The Doctor was edging back towards the door.

‘We can’t do this alone. We have to recruit other… other people like us. We’d also need to root ourselves into this reality. I don’t know how yet, but we don’t have long. I don’t think there are many of us left. It’s why you’re special. It’s why your daughter is so special.’

‘Miranda’s adopted, she’s -’

‘I know who Miranda is, Doctor. I know the truth. There’s no need to hide it from me. I know.’

The Doctor tapped his lip. Until the Headmaster had mentioned Miranda this had been a game. But he was threatening her, now.

‘And you’d be our leader?’

‘We would have a universe, Doctor. A whole universe. The whole of space and time. Even I don’t think I could rule all that alone. We’d need an army, and what better place to raise an army than here on Earth?’

‘Then we’d divide up the universe between the three of us?’

‘Four. There’s another.’

‘Another time traveller?’

‘Someone else like us.’

‘But you said yourself that you don’t know what we are.’ ‘Precisely. But I know what I am not. I’m not a slave, not a servant, not a subject. I was born to rule, as were you. It’s our birthright, Doctor.’

- “The School of Doom,” Lance Parkin

Standing before the iron door – a still definitively and solidly locked iron door – is a dapper, sardonic-looking man dressed in a pristine dinner suit. His jet-black hair is slicked neatly back with oil. He is leaning, nonchalantly, on a silver-handled cane.

‘Who. . . ?’ Anji’s voice falters with a curious mixture of relief and trepidation. ‘What. . . ?’

‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous,’ says the man. ‘You know perfectly well who I am. In a certain sense, anyway. And as to what I did. . . ’ He blows on the nails of his free hand. ‘You know how it is when you have any number of pets. Familiars, chimeras, creatures of hideous, diabolical and slitheringly unutterable evil, that sort of thing. One has to let them out occasionally. One has to keep them fed. It’s a bit of pain, sometimes, to tell you the truth, but it is rather expected of one.’

Abruptly he becomes brisk. ‘Well, I really should be going, for the moment. You’re swimming busily for the surface, I can see, but you still have a way to go yet. Never does to rush these things.’

He essays a formal little bow and shoots out a well-manicured hand. Anji has no time to lurch back in alarm before she realises that he is merely proffering her (as if for her inspection) a small pasteboard card. Still in something of a daze, she takes it.

‘Feel free to drop by,’ the man says. ‘When you feel up to it. Any time at all.’

With that, he lays his cane over his shoulder, slides past her and strolls out of the alley, whistling a complicated little tune that Anji has never heard in her life, and will never hear again – though it strikes a chord somewhere inside her, some part of herself vaguely recalling troop trains and soldiers packing problems into their old kit bags and smiling, smiling, smiling.

- The Slow Empire, Dave Stone

According to Scarlette’s journal – though not Lisa-Beth’s – during the fight one of the male denizens of the tavern edged his way through the violent crowds and quietly seated himself at Scarlette’s table. Though no name is given for the man, Scarlette says that he was ‘a gentleman of distinguished nature’, clean-shaven and dark-haired, and at first she thought he might have been in the market for business. She does note, however, that on the lapel of his black clothing he wore a rosette in blue-and-white. It would have marked him out as a member of the Opposition, but nonetheless he was quite gracious and civil.

[...]

Assembling a picture out of all the accounts, he’s described as a cleanshaved, dark-haired man in distinguished middle age, handsome in some respects even though to some of the British witnesses he came across as ‘swarthy and difficult to place’. He was slim and well turned out, and he made an impression on the island by always dressing in tight, straightforward clothing of prim black. . . apart from the rosette of blue and white which he wore on his lapel. He would often be seen simply standing in the vicinity of the other guests, hands folded behind his back, observing intently without becoming involved in any of the visitors’ many disputes. Whenever people would ask each other about him, in muted whispers, the dark-haired gentleman would simply bow his head to them. His accent was English, although some said they detected a little Latin in his features.

[...]

DOCTOR: Have we met? I’m sorry, my memory isn’t what it was. I shed most of it a long time ago.

THE MAN: Met? Oh, I’d say so. Believe it or not, we used to know each other quite well.

DOCTOR [with recognition?]: Good grief.

THE MAN: Ah. Spoken like the man I used to know.

DOCTOR: You’ve lost that terrible beard, then.

THE MAN: But of course. I have whatever it is you lack. And vice versa. Have you forgotten? Oh, I’m so sorry. You’ve forgotten everything, haven’t you? [Irony?]

DOCTOR: You’re behind all this? No, of course you’re not. Not your style at all.

THE MAN: Here, Doctor, I’m simply a guest. Thank you for the invitation, by the way. Most touching. Admittedly, I would have preferred something more personal. . .

DOCTOR: And would you mind telling me what that rosette’s meant to be?

THE MAN: A sign of my allegiance to the great Whig cause. I’ve become an exponent of democracy.

DOCTOR: Why does that not sound convincing?

THE MAN: My dear Doctor, I’m telling you the truth. I told you. I have to offer the universe whatever you can’t. If you’ve decided to take on the colours of your new sweetheart, then it’s up to me to side with the Opposition. Perhaps one day you’ll consider destroying the universe. Then I’ll be in the awkward position of saving it.

DOCTOR: You don’t expect me to believe that, surely?

THE MAN: Your friend in red came closest to the truth. What does she call you, again? Her ‘elemental champion’? Very perceptive of her. There are only four of us left now, you know. Four of us in all of the universe. We have certain standards to uphold.

DOCTOR: Then I suppose you’re going to say that you don’t want to kill me.

THE MAN: It’s hardly the time for that any more, wouldn’t you agree? While our kind still walked tall, we had the whole of space and time as our battlefield. These days, I’m afraid our little duels would be utterly meaningless. You’ve met Sabbath, of course.

DOCTOR: Yes. He reminds me of you. I think.

THE MAN: How interesting. He reminds me of you. Our replacement, Doctor. The new breed. All our kind in one, and a mere human being, too. We can hardly return to our old routines, with his kind in charge. Can we?

DOCTOR: I’m sick. I’m helpless. You must know that.

THE MAN: I rather think that’s my point. Do your duty Doctor. However tedious it may be. Save the universe. Become King of Time. Go after that irritating black object in the sky. Whatever you think is necessary. Once you’ve done that. . . well, perhaps the universe will be ready for us again, who can say? Then we can set about destroying each other properly. Otherwise, I’m afraid this is hardly our arena any more.

- The Adventuress of Henrietta Street, Lawrence Miles

‘There were four of us left, apparently. You’d be number five.’

Marnal rounded on him. ‘Left after what?’

The Doctor hesitated. ‘I don’t know. Some disaster. I’ve picked up hints, seen the odd vision, but I was never able to follow up on anything.’

Marnal leant over him, sensing a moment of weakness. ‘Weren’t you, now? Not terribly enterprising of you. So you have no idea?’

The Doctor shrugged apologetically. Marnal raised his hand, and the Doctor thought he was going to hit him. Instead, Marnal touched the Doctor’s temple with a fingertip.

‘Contact.’

For the briefest moment, the Doctor saw himself as Marnal saw him. Then back to vice versa. Then rapid alternations between the two viewpoints. It was dizzying.

A man with a sallow face and small, pointed black beard, who wore a blue rosette; a young woman with long blonde hair in an extraordinary piece of haute couture; a tall man with a bent nose wearing a cravat and holding a pair of dice; the Doctor himself with close-cropped hair, sitting on an ornate throne, a newborn baby girl in his arms.

- The Gallifrey Chronicles, Lance Parkin

#Eighth Doctor Adventures #The Slow Empire #The Adventuress of Henrietta Street #The School of Doom #The Gallifrey Chronicles #Lance Parkin #Lawrence Miles #Dave Stone #Anji Kapoor #The Master #The man with the rosette #long post

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jenniferfaye34 · 3 years

Text

#Giveaway + Excerpt ~ Dreaming of Tomorrow by Michelle DeBruin... #books #romance #readers

On Tour with Prism Book Tours

Dreaming of Tomorrow By Michelle De Bruin Christian Historical Romance Paperback & ebook, 317 Pages November 10, 2020 by Scrivenings Press LLC

Love leads them to a lifetime of commitment where the dreams they have held onto for so long start to come true.

Popular and eligible, Logan De Witt must convince the women in town that he is engaged to be married. A quiet, simple ceremony is what he has in mind for his wedding day, but when the date and time of his bride’s arrival is published in the newspaper, the whole town joins in the celebration proving to Logan and his new wife their sincere friendship and support. Added to the excitement of Logan’s marriage is the question of what the congregation should do with the unexpected donation of an orchard.

Karen Millerson is counting the days until her long-distance engagement comes to an end and she may travel to Oswell City to marry Logan. More than anything, she wants to share in his life as a help and support, but keeping a house and finding her place in the community requires much more work than she ever expected.

Learn, laugh, and love with Karen and Logan as they start a new marriage and work together ministering to the citizens of their small town.

(Affiliate links included.) Goodreads | Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Book Depository

Excerpt

Karen stood with Aunt Fran beneath the chandelier in the foyer of the Millerson home. Her dress of blue brocade satin swished around her feet with every movement she made. She loved this dress with its square neck and tiers of fabric gathered at her waist by a rosette. Aunt Fran’s maid had helped her with her hair by sweeping it up into an elegant puff of curls. Karen felt like a queen in her gorgeous dress and hairstyle. All she needed was a crown to complete her royal look.

People streamed into the house, shaking her hand and offering congratulations.

“This is Pastor Logan De Witt from Iowa,” she introduced him over and over again, as the guests shook Logan’s hand and received his sunlit smile.

Whenever a gap occurred in the line, Karen took a step back. She really didn’t need to move out of her place in the receiving line at all, but it gave her a better view of Logan. The borrowed tuxedo made him look positively dapper. The long tails and crisp cut of the jacket accentuated his height. The white shirt beneath and the white bow tie gave him distinction and also spoke of his natural appreciation of the finer things.

“That tux looks nice on you. No one would ever know it belongs to Arthur’s father.” Julia gave his shoulder a playful punch when she arrived.

“It’s the most formal suit I’ve ever worn. I hope I don’t spill something on it.” Logan brushed at the jacket while his brow furrowed.

“A damaged suit wouldn’t affect your looks any. You’re too handsome for that.” Julia offered him a smile and followed Arthur down the hall.

The frown stayed in place as if Julia’s compliments confused him. But Karen knew the truth. A farm boy he might be, but the Logan she had grown to love read classics and history. He spoke with charm and intelligence. Wisdom abided in his soul, and depth of character expanded beyond his six-foot frame. The tux outfitted him in just the right way to bring to the surface what might otherwise remain unseen.

At the call to dinner, Logan offered her his arm and escorted her into the dining room as if he were a king.

Floating along on the arm of such a gentleman, Karen might as well be royalty. No one else loved her as gently or honored her so nobly. He pulled a chair out for her at the long table and then settled in next to her. Arthur and Julia sat across the table.

“This is all so exciting!” The pride in Julia’s smile seemed to release its own energy.

Other Books in the Series

About the Author

Michelle De Bruin lives in Iowa with her husband and two teenage sons. She has a bachelor’s degree in Religion with a Christian Ministry emphasis, and in Music. Michelle is the spiritual services provider for an organization that offers services for people with mental and physical disabilities. She has been a member of American Christian Fiction Writers (ACFW) since 2015. Michelle writes inspirational historical romance about people who live in rural communities. Characters that bring to life the delights of farm and small-town living, whispers of Dutch heritage, and Christian faith make Michelle’s stories distinct. A romantic at heart, Michelle is always on the lookout for glimpses of God’s love through the window of a good story.

Her first book, Hope for Tomorrow, released in 2018. The sequel, Promise for Tomorrow, released November 2019. The third book in the series, Dreaming of Tomorrow, releases November 2020.

Tour Giveaway

One winner will receive a $20 (USD) Amazon Gift Card and a copy of Dreaming of Tomorrow (winner can choose print if in the US and ebook outside the US)

Open internationally Ends November 25, 2020

ENTER HERE

#Dreaming of Tomorrow #Michelle DeBruin #romance #Prism Book Tours #Hearts & Scribbles

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castawxayaway · 6 years

Text

not your average night

collection of writing

just to make this clear as otherwise, it might be a bit confusing- this is set in 1920′s during the prohibition. I’m aware there was not a prohibition in the UK, so interpret it how you want. there is a lot of slang used that I believe is predominantly American. but I’ve been wanting to do something like this for ages and am pleased with how it worked out!

(also I might as well include translations for some of the words that are less than obvious to figure out to save confusion- also they may not be 100% accurate but all the words came from one website so good as we going to get!)

bluenose: killjoy Mrs Grundy: uptight hotsy totsy: attractive/ pleasing to the eye don’t take any wooden nickels: don’t do anything dumb eggs: wealthy people with extravagant lifestyles zozzled: shitfaced Oliver Twist: extremely good dancer Iron my shoelaces: be excused Four-flusher: gold digger handcuffed: engagement ring dewdropper: wallflower ossified: drunk jake: okay/fine gasper: cigarette Sheba: sexually desired woman wurp: buzzkill

All I could hear was the roaring jazz play from inside, the place where secrets were kept hidden whilst the sun slept along with most of the city. But, there were those invited along, or in my case had many connections to events like these.

“You sure it’s sl’right?” I grab onto my brother's arm, causing him to turn and face me. He smiles softly, fixing my diamond headband into its place and brought my curls forward, framing my face.

He glances behind him and I watch as girls in flapper dressers of golds, blacks and silvers walk by, a fur wrap around their arms as their small heels click almost in sync along the pavement to the descending staircase. “Why wouldn’t it be? Stop being such a bluenose.” I scoffed at his response and punched his arm lightly.

“I’m no bluenose! I’ll show you.” Walking ahead of him I straighten my dress as the frills sway around my knees and wear a small, but inviting smile on my face. Ought to show him, calling me a bluenose that Mrs Grundy.

Walking down the stairs I can hear him calling my name, but I focus solely on the music as it fills my ear. The sax that blends with the trumpet and the occasional piano. My feet can’t move quick enough as two large men stand either side of the doors. “Aren’t you a hotsy tosty.” One of the guards speaks up, and I laugh it off as they open the door.

“Bet you say that to all the ladies.” I wink at him and he pulls on his suspenders, making them snap against his large chest. Another man inside pulls back the beaded doorway and I politely nod, unaware of the sight before me and how vast it could be compared to what I had pictured.

Before me down the entrance was a large stage where the band performed, all in white suits and red bowties playing their instruments as a ground danced below. Yet in centre stage was a microphone, vacant of a singer leaving the gold curtain backdrop exposed. “Where is the performer?” I turn to ask my brother, sensing his presence to my left.

He links my arm with his as we walk down into the crowd and I look around, allowing myself to take in my surroundings. To our left is a wall long length bar, nearly every set is occupied as I see various bottles being lifted from behind on the glass shelves. My eyes follow the bartenders who mix various liquids and shake them before pouring it with grace into the glasses. “You wouldn’t even know it were the prohibition here.” I joke to my brother and he manages to crack a smile.

“I’m going to get a drink, want one?” Nodding in response his arm slips from mine, “Don’t take any wooden nickels!” I roll my eyes at his remark, what bad can I cause by standing on the spot? Glancing to my right to see a series of red velvet booths with gold lining the fabric with wooden tables in the centre.

In one booth, rather blatantly sit six eggs. You could sniff ‘em from a mile off based on their choice of suits and their suit vests that match their jackets and trousers along with their hats as they smoke. Clouds of grey disguise their faces and I turn away, not wanting to be caught staring and giving off the wrong impression.

“Wanna dance?” Someone places their hand on my forearm and I turn around to face them, assuming it were my brother with one drink in his hand from having drunk his at the bar. He’s always eager, coming home from these places completely zozzled.

Facing the stranger I was pleasantly surprised, and without a second to spare I pulled his arms towards mine and backed into the crowd of couples dancing. As we begin to dance the music becomes more lively, “Time to Charleston.” He laughs and everyone positions themselves and we all dance in sync.

Watching the stranger dance he moves his feet with some agility but lacks the finesse I see others perform with. We join hands and dance together, and now I get a better glimpse of the stranger. Bright brown eyes and blonde hair with one of those suits on from earlier. “I mean you aren’t much of an Oliver Twist I’ll say.” I half-joked, wanting to dance with someone else as my dress’ frills swing from side to side, never remaining still.

Looking around as we danced I saw a young gentleman sat at the bar, watching the crowd dance. Unlike this egg, he seemed less dapper in deep blue trousers as opposed to black with a creased suit shirt and suspenders. Watching him eye the crowd I saw him take his glasses out, covering more of his face and I smile towards him, hoping for this stranger to avail me of this situation.

Zoning out from my dancer's chatter I laugh along, smiling to him as we dance all the whilst trying to gain the attention of the cat. “Excuse me, I just gotta iron my shoelaces.” The egg pardons me and I walk off slowly, slightly more sultry and in the fashion of a woman as opposed to the child my brother deems me as being.

Once the man is out of sight I find a vacant spot, conveniently next to the onlooker at the bar and order myself a drink. As it is presented before me I take a swig, feeling the burn slowly crawl down my throat and I resist the urge to cough forcefully as I wipe my mouth with the white silk gloves. “That’s a pretty dress you got on.” Placing my glass down I shift my focus to the gentleman next to me.

“Never worn it before, got it for tonight.” I tell him as we both look in different directions. He observes the dancing and I focus on my drink, not wanting to risk ending up zozzled like my brother on my first night out since the prohibition. “Do you dance? Or just watch everyone?”

I can see his feet bounce along to the beat of the music, “I can’t dance, no Oliver Twist like those guys.” He motions to the dancers who dominate the floor, the girls twirl and the frills of their dressers fly exposing their thighs for the short while as they laugh giddily.

“So you come for the drink?” Looking down a drop of whiskey fills his glass. “Or perhaps the music?” This time I see his eyebrow rise and he turns around, his knees clumsily knock mine.

Getting a better look at him I smile, behind his glasses he has warm blue eyes that wear hardship in his gaze. His jaw is lined with stubble and some marks of dirt whilst he continuously brushes his dark brown hair out of his face as it hangs down. “Don’t get a lotta music like this at the docks. Nights like these, take every chance to listen along.” He picks up his glass, taking the last sip before sighing as he places it down. No sooner is it cleared and replaced. “Gotta name doll?”

“Might do, how ‘bout yourself?” I ask as I sip my own drink and one side of his lips rise, a half smile forming playfully.

“Name’s Dan.” He picks up my hand, kissing my glove lightly and I chuckle at the action. “Not a lotta guys do that? You used to eggs I suppose.”

I shake my head, “Far from it. Don’t mix with what you aren’t worth.” Words my Mother always battered into me. “I keep on finding upstage guys, once a four-flusher who my brother highly disagreed of.” Thinking back I remember how my brother forced him out of the house as he eyed up our decor rather than me. “Short-lived relationship, no handcuff which I expected it’d end with.”

“So, you aren’t engaged? Single then?” He straightens up, a smile now being displayed.

“Do you see a handcuff on my finger?” Slipping my glove off he picks it up, his nails slightly dirty, but I don’t mind. He’s different from the guys I meet on my way to see my brother at work. He hasn’t thrown himself at me or called me names, he’s just sat here like a dewdropper. “There you go then.” I remark and take my own hand back, placing my gloves in my bag.

Whilst he stares at me with a smile I tell him my name before I take another more confident sip at my drink. “You gotta beautiful name.” He huffs and I smile in response. “So, what brings you here?”

“I wanted to come out, heard all about these places from my brother. Got a dress, used my Mum’s headband and here I am.” Motioning to myself I chink my drink to his, feeling less constricted and more free with him. “So, any of your dockers with you tonight?”

He begins to look around, pointing three others out to me as they remain dotted around the club. “We’re pretty tight, grew up with those guys. They’re always complaining ‘bout me, I wanted to sing you see.”

“So why don’t you? Ain’t too late to try.” He shakes his head in disagreement.

“See me?” He stands up, motioning to his attire and pulls on his suspenders and lack of tie. “I don’t fit the part. Can’t ‘ford such a thing anyway.”

Sighing in disappointment he turns around, back to face the bar whilst I stare aimlessly at the stage. Something clicks and I lightly smack his arm, “Dan, you, you should sing!” My eyes wide with excitement he laughs it off.

“Yeah, you sure are ossified.” He comments and returns to drinking.

“No, come on.” I stand up, a light buzz running through me as we make our way through the crowd and I approached the sax player. “How’re you doing handsome?” Working with what I’ve got Dan stands behind me, allowing me to take lead. The saxist glances down, clearly eyeing my attire I turn to face Dan. “We’re dancing, right now.” Taking his hands we begin to move, him with less ease but I focus on the saxist.

“What’re you after toots?” I move closer to the stage until we are next to it.

Pushing my hair out of my face I twirl one of the ends, “My friend here is a singer. And I’ve noticed your lacking one tonight. Come on, give him a chance?” I bat my eyes to him, knowing it’s one way to swoon a fella.

He rubs his lips together and Dan remains silent. The saxist turns around and Dan holds my waist, spinning me into him and I rest my hands on his chest. “What’re you doing? I can’t perform in front of all these people.” I can hear the fear mixed with the haziness.

“All they want is something to dance to, they’re not gonna focus on you that much. Everything’ll be jake.” I try to convince him, but worry swarms his blue eyes.

“Miss?” Glancing up the saxist motions to the mic. “Ready for ’im.” I face Dan and give a supportive smile.

“You got this.” I tell him, and I can see a spark grow from eye to eye.

The music continues to play and he tightens his grip on my waist, bringing me closer. He lightly kisses me before walking away onto the stage, standing in front of the mic with his eyes up, focusing on the entrance.

I laugh at what has just happened but remain slightly stunned. Touching my lips I can feel the roughness of a dockyard worker, the lust and desire he held in his kiss. He exchanges a few words with the musicians, and they begin to play another upbeat song. His hands grip the mic stand and he begins to move his feet. Around us everyone continues to dance, no one completely aware of the vacant spot being filled.

My eyes remain on him, and he glances down with a smirk on his face as he begins to sing. In that moment, it all comes to life. The entire room is ecstatic with life like a wildfire as the dancing becomes more excitable, the music has more thrill to it and I even see those in the booths nod to the stage.

As I dance along I feel a tug on my arm, and I start to be pulled out of the crowd and away from Dan. I watch his eyes follow but he can’t stop singing now, it’s his chance. Pulling away I see my brother and sigh loudly. “Really, now?!” I groan angrily to him and try to release his grip on my arm. “I know the guy on stage, I was getting along with him.”

My brother half laughs, “I know what getting along is with you. You think I’m going to allow that under my nose tonight?”

“It weren’t like that tonight!” Walking up the stairs we exit the club, the bitter chill hanging outside as I can feel the life draining from the music the further away we get.

Standing still with my arms crossed he begins to smoke, “Wanna gasper?” I shake my head as he continues to smoke and I simply pay attention to the music in the background. “I know you think I’m being harsh,” I scoff at his comment, but he continues needlessly. “but to him, I know you’re just a Sheba. You’ll have your fun tonight and then he’ll go back to his home in some alleyway an’ never see you again.” He takes a long puff and blows it to the left of us, “I’m just looking out for you, doll.”

“No.” I state and he removes his gasper from his lips. “You aren’t. I’m not a little girl anymore you can boss around. If I met some egg and introduced you, I bet you’d be happy. But because I met some fella who works in the docks and has dreams I’m not allowed to see him?” He remains silent, and I begin to walk away.

My brother angrily calls my name, “Don’t you walk away from me!” He yells and I stop.

Turning to face him he throws the fag on the ground, crunching it beneath his foot. “Dan has more of a personality, a sense of humour and bigger dreams than any egg I could meet. Earlier I danced with one and he was lifeless like a dewdropper so stop being a wurp and let me have fun.”

He sighs in defeat and I turn around. As I lift my eyes Dan stands there, the music continuing to play inside but he’s here. “So, I’m better than some egg, eh?” A smile forms on his face as he keeps his hands in his pockets, his sleeves now rolled up exposing more dirt on his arms.

Walking towards him I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him, this time I can taste the whiskey on his lips and savour it. Pulling away I smile, “Now we’re even. And you owe me a dance.”

He takes my hand in his and we head back down the stairs, back to where the life and fun are held. The music returns to my ears happily along with the warmth and excitement of tonight.

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the-marvel-imagines-blog · 7 years

Text

Requests are OPEN

Imagine…Steve picking you up for your first date and meeting your father, Logan.

Gif Credit: I found these on google image search because I’m old school, and I have no idea who owns these. I only know that they’re not mine.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 2,658

Warnings: Language, Minor talk of sex, Logan doesn’t get boundaries, Logan is the super dad

A/N: I have always wanted an onscreen Avengers/X-Men crossover. If I can’t have that, I’ll just write one. I don’t care.

Of all the days your father chose to stay home, he chose this day. While you weren’t sure of what Steve had planned for your first real date, but you were sure that he wasn’t planning on meeting your father. Introducing the man you’d been swooning over since before you can even remember to your…”rough around the edges” dad wasn’t a part of your idea of the perfect date. Hell, you weren’t even sure of how to bring up the whole, “my dad is the Wolverine” conversation in the first place, and you certainly didn’t know how to tell your dad that you were going on a date with the famed “pretty boy patriot” (your dad really loved those nicknames). He was always a quiet man, barely a sound emitting from him while he was in the comfort of his own home. After leaving the school and Professor Xavier behind him, he found solace in the simple things in life. He liked drinking, smoking cigars, collecting guns, and cooking. Boy, was he a good cook, too. You were sure that his talent was linked to the time he had on this Earth already, but it didn’t matter much because he could cook circles around you. There were often times when you’d hear him in the kitchen, humming quietly to himself, thinking that no one could hear him. You could.

You always could.

There were times when you’d run home from school, crying because the children made fun of you for being different. You’d hide away in your room, trying to muffle your sobs in the pillows of your bed, thinking-hoping-that no one could hear you. He did. He always did. Without fail, he’d knock on the door and wait for your beckon of approval for him to enter. With the grace of a dancer, he’d open the door just enough to allow his body to slip inside your room before closing the door behind him. Then, he’d sit on the edge of the bed and rub your back as you continued to bury your face in the pillow, not wanting anyone to see you cry. He did, though. He wouldn’t rub your back for long, though, because he always scooped you up into his arms, cradling your body-no matter how big-as you rested your head on his chest. Home was always in his strong arms, and they always encased your body, protecting you from all the dangers of the outside world. He never had many words to say, only reminding you that you were strong, his little warrior.

He was a quiet man, but on this day, he was too quiet. The house itself was nearly silent aside from his heavy boots padding along the hardwood floor downstairs. Often times, you’d hear him leave through the backdoor, and you’d glance out the window to see him making his way to the barn. He liked to tend the animals in order to ease any tension he was feeling, and he had been going back and forth to the barn all day while you prepared for your date with the handsome young man you met through a mutual friend, Clint. You waited upstairs, still trying to decide on whether or not to leave your hair up or down. However, none of it seemed to matter when you heard the doorbell ring and heavy footsteps on their way to answer it. You knew that he knew what was going on, which was a problem. It would’ve been so much easier on everyone if for once he was completely oblivious. You didn’t even tell him, but you were sure that Clint had informed your father of the date, knowing that you wouldn’t. Clint was the older brother you never had, so both men only wanted what was best for you.

You chewed on your bottom lip as you listened to the door swing open, debating on whether or not to intervene before your father could harass the polite young man who never failed to treat you like a lady. There was an almost audible growl coming from downstairs, “who the fuck are you?” the gruff voice of the man who raised you rang out. The harshness in his voice made you wince, and you wanted to run down the stairs to stop him from this regular occurrence. His harshness with any unsuspecting man who was taking you on a date would often chase them away. The boys when you were younger never talked to you again after meeting your dad, afraid of breaking your heart, which would lead to them suffering broken bones.

“My name is Steve” your date introduced himself, and you could practically hear that charming smile spread across his lips, “Steve Rogers” he added, causing the butterflies in your stomach to flutter around. You felt so weightless in a world that held you down for years. You had always been trapped, but Steve had this way about him that freed you. Wanting to see him-and not thinking of the consequences of your actions-you focused your energies and faded into the shadows, becoming completely invisible. Like a ghost, you glided down the stairs into the foyer that opened up into the living room. At the bottom, you saw the young super soldier in a nice suit and tie holding a small bouquet of roses. The choice of a suit wasn’t a way of showing off, but he wanted to look nice for the occasion. No matter what he wore, he would still be that handsome dork you met at the cafe, the one who couldn’t stop himself from smiling whenever your eyes met.

Your father changed his stance, crossing his arms over his chest, “yeah, I could pick out your pretty boy face in a crowded room. Everyone knows that face” he growled out one of his main concerns about today. Even though he wouldn’t tell you, you knew that he was nervous that you would be going out into the public with someone so recognizable. The only person who could be higher profile would’ve been Tony Stark. Your dad was just concerned for your safety, but it didn’t stop the clear shock in Steve’s eyes as he laid into the young man with flowers at the door, ”the question I should’ve asked is: why the fuck are you standing on my porch with roses? Are those for me? If not, and they’re for my daughter, I can guarantee that you’ll be picking thorns out of your ass for weeks”

Without flinching, Steve replied with a level of grace that didn’t surprise you one bit, “they actually are for your daughter, sir. I’m here to pick her up for our date, and I wanted to buy her flowers. I know that roses are her favorite flowers, and this shade of purple is her favorite color” he smiled, gesturing to the oddly but beautifully colored flowers.

Your father clenched his jaw for a moment, eyeing the young man up and down, still not impressed. It was also clear that he was stunned by Steve’s ability to let the aggression slide off his back, “well, come in and take a seat” he mumbled, stepping to the side to let the dapper gentleman into the house. As he closed the door and turned to lead Steve into the living room, his stern eyes caught yours. Somehow, he was just able to sense your presence even when you were invisible to everyone else. Even though he saw you and acknowledged your presence with a slight shake of his head, he acted as if he didn’t notice. Instead, he turned his gaze to the top of the stairs and called your name. Steve followed on his heels into the living room and sat with perfect posture on the sofa as your father sat adjacent to him on his usual chair. You had every intention of making your presence known, but that curious piece of you took hold, and you stayed hidden as you watched the two men interact with one another, “where are you planning on taking her?” your dad asked as he cleared his throat

Steve’s blue eyes stopped scanning the room that was decorated with pictures of you in some way, shape, or form. There were school pictures from your earlier years, pictures you had taken with your friends, or pictures of you with the most important man in your life-your dad. Each hung on the wall as a memory he kept with him because the only thing in the world that mattered to him was your happiness. In every photo on the wall, it was another moment you were happy, and it stood as a reminder for why he woke up every morning. It was apparent to Steve even if your dad didn’t want to believe it. As the question was asked, Steve’s eyes connected with the judgement filled eyes of your dad, “with all due respect, sir, I was hoping to keep it a surprise for her. I have quite the evening planned out, and it would be a shame for the surprise to be spoiled”

“Are you a virgin?”

Your father’s question left you taken aback, but you had no idea how Steve must’ve felt. You watched in horror as your dates cheeks turned a deep shade of red, “I’m sorry, sir?” he murmured, unsure of how to react in that situation. You were sure it wasn’t a question he was faced with often, but here he was, staring down the barrel of a metaphorical gun with your father on the other side. Great.

“You heard me, supersoldier! Are you a virgin? Have you had sex?” your dad asked, becoming impatient. Beating around the bush when it came to a simple “yes” or “no” question was one of his pet peeves. Even though you knew he wasn’t truly impatient with Steve’s shy nature, he was having one hell of a time watching the young man squirm.

“I haven’t been...in a relationship”

“That wasn’t my question” your dad stated, “I haven’t been in many relationships, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t indulged. Are you a virgin?” he asked again, stressing every word of the question.

Steve cleared his throat, “yes, sir” he answered, his eyes flickering away in embarrassment.

“Good. Now, you better keep it that way” your dad growled, “I expect her home by ten o’clock at the latest. Having her home earlier than that will earn you some brownie points. If she’s not home at exactly ten o’clock or earlier, I’ll be in that truck in the driveway, and I’ll be on my way to you. Trust me, you don’t want that. These claws aren’t for show, young man” he said, allowing the razor sharp adamantium claws to extend from between the knuckles on his right hand. Steve was visibly shaken, but you weren’t sure what pushed him over the edge. Was it your father’s grilling? Was it the claws? Were the threats too much? You weren’t sure what it was, but the intimidation was working the way your dad planned, “I expect you to walk her to the door, but if I see that you try to kiss her-and I will see everything-I’ll fucking kill you. That’s my baby girl, my only concern in this world. I love her more than anything or anyone else. If you so much as look at her the wrong way, I’ll rain down an unholy hell fire on you”

“You have my word that I’ll treat your daughter with nothing but respect, sir” Steve replied with unparalleled grace, not letting the threats slow down his charm. Then, there was silence. One would be able to hear a pin drop upstairs. Steve stared once again at the pictures on the wall and sitting on top of the fireplace. He smiled, trying to lighten the mood in the living room, “so, what was (Y/N) like when she was younger?” he asked, desperately trying to strike up a conversation.

“I don’t like you” your dad growled.

Steve sighed, “yeah, I was starting to pick up on that”

With yet another tense moment of silence falling between them, you decided it was better for both of them if you made your entrance as soon as possible. You understood that your dad needed to have that “dad talk” with your date, and you also understood Steve’s old school nature when it came to meeting with his date’s father before the first date. Still, leaving them alone for too long would only mean trouble. You tortured Steve enough for one day, and you knew that you owed him a kiss after him putting up with your dad. Even though your father promised to be watching, you would have your private moments with your supersoldier. Without a sound, you rushed up the stairs, stepping out from the shadows. You checked your hair, outfit, and makeup one last time before hurrying back down the stairs, “hi, sorry I took so long. I was just finishing my hair” you apologized, standing in the entryway of the living room.

Steve stood up as soon as you announced your presence, and your dad followed suit. Steve was the first one to speak, though, after recovering from his speechlessness, “there’s no need to apologize; it gave me the chance to meet your father. You look so...beautiful” he smiled, walking over to you with the bouquet of roses still in his large hands. He held them out to you, and you accepted them graciously.

Your cheeks became warm, and you bit your bottom lip in a desperate attempt to try to force back the smile and blush, “thank you for the compliment and the roses. They’re lovely, and you look rather handsome yourself” you blushed even harder as you complimented him. His cheeks also took on a deep red color to prepare for when he averted his eyes with that signature bashful nature. You smirked as you turned your attention over to your dad. He looked rather amused by Steve’s bashfulness as well.

You were antsy to leave, wanting to start the date that you were sure would kick off something very special. Steve was a gentleman-traditional and respectful. You had no doubt that this would blossom into something beautiful. Anxious to start along this journey, you placed the flowers on the coffee table and embraced your dad as Steve walked out into the foyer. Your dad held onto you tightly, realizing the journey you were about to embark on but not wanting you to leave. He would support you, but you had no doubt that it would tear him apart to watch his baby grow up, “he seems like a good kid. Be safe and make good choices. If he hurts you, rip his heart out, baby girl” he whispered, his voice muffled by your hair. He pressed a firm kiss to the top of your head before letting you go.

“I wouldn’t be your daughter if I didn’t” you smiled

He walked you to the front door where your date was waiting patiently for you. Though he wouldn’t tell you, your father tensed up because he just knew that in less than 2 years, he’d be walking you to Steve again, your arm looped gingerly through his, and he would cry. Steve looked at you the same way he would on that day, like you were the only woman in the world. As your father passed you off to Steve for the first-but not the last-time, Steve smiled, “thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Howlett”

“Thanks for showing your face, kid” your dad replied, truly grateful for Steve’s willingness to step into the lion's den. He shot one more look at you, “I’ll be right here when you come home”

And even though he didn’t say it, you knew what he was saying in the silence.

I love you.

#steve rogers #logan howlett #wolverine #imagine steve rogers #steve rogers imagines #imagine wolverine #marvel imagines #marvel #steve rogers x reader

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