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dcxdpdabbles · 4 months

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There are so many fics out there where Danny is either adopted by or the biological son of Bruce. In many of these he might have an existential crisis but other wise he is fine and happy to be part of the BatFam. Where are the ones where he fights against this just doesn't want to connect with Bruce of the rest of the family.

One: Bruce is a billionaire and Danny has had some bad experience with Vlad trying to adopt/get him as a son. So even if Bruce is one of "the good ones" Danny does't like billionaires.

Two: Danny for the most part grew up in a mostly normal family and home, with two Parents and a sibling. Most of the BatFam were only children and parents are dead or came from dysfunctional homes. I think Duke is the only one who really had a normal childhood.

Three: The Fenton family is pretty openly affectionate with each other and are pretty normal emotionally. Danny has a great relationship with all of them (Danny went evil in the timeline where they all died). Most of the Batfam is emotionally constipated.

Four: Danny is used to his boundaries being respected. I don't think that the Batfam is great at that. With Bruce needing to know everything, Tim's stalking tendencies, Barbra's hacking, just to name the obvious.

Danny knew that he was adopted into the Fentons. His parents had never hidden it from him, but they never treated him as anything besides their child.

He had come into their lives one day when one of Maddie's old high school friends had called, bawling that she had gotten pregnant and that her husband wasn't the father. He had discovered the truth and thrown her out, leaving her pregnant and alone on the streets of Gotham.

Maddie had been furious at the affair- she hated disloyalty- but had decided to help her only for the baby's sake.

She had driven over multiple state lines back to her home city to pick up the friend only to find out she had taken her life and left her newborn son to Maddie. While Maddie had been able to escape the hellhole that was Gotham, Rebecca never got the chance, not with her average intelligence.

In high school, the two were as close as sisters until Rebecca fell into the whisky bottles her father carelessly left around. She blossomed into a beautiful woman upon their graduation- more so than Maddie-, turning from a sweet homebody into someone who got into exclusive parties and powerful men.

Maddie had slowly drifted away from her, so far away at college, and Rebecca fell further and further into the party scene. It was a surprise that she settled down for marriage and Maddie truly believed that she had been happy with her husband.

That's why Danny was such a surprise. Maddie did not know who Danny's biological father was, but she did not care. Not after they placed the sobbing infant into her arms, and she realized that she was his mother now.

She immediately phoned Jack to tell him what had happened, and he told Jazz she was a big sister before the call ended. They told him the story about when he started to learn his colors. Not with her taking her life, of course; that was when Danny turned fourteen. This was only a few days before Danny revealed he was Phantom to them.

They were first shocked, but then they became supportive. Phantom now had two proud ghost hunters following him, shooting photos instead of guns.

It was embarrassing, but it was also nice of them.

And that was that. Danny is a Fenton, adopted, but a child of Maddie and Jack Fenton all the same.

He never gave his biological parents a thought. In fact, he all but forgot about them until Sam convinced him to take an ancestry test. He had allowed her to swipe his mouth, package his DNA, and send it off to see where his people came from, completely forgetting that he would not match with Jazz, who had done the same thing a month prior.

His results were shocking, to say the least.

Somehow, someway, Rebecca Silver had been in the system of DNA samples, and they had matched him to her alongside his biological father.

Bruce Wayne. Rebecca had an affair with Bruce Wayne, arguably one of the wealthiest men in the country, and they had sent him a message to let him know he matched with his son.

An eccentric billionaire has just been told that Danny was his. He knew that song and dance well, and it was never fun to dance to. Danny could only stare at the results with dread as Sam apologized profoundly.

"Maybe he won't see it." Tucker tried. "I mean, Wayne is probably so busy with rich people stuff he doesn't have time to even look at his emails. Especially ones that will come in spam since it's comersolized."

"Yeah, Maybe" Danny doesn't think he's that lucky.

A month later, the Fenton's home phone rings. His parents are working on a new invention on the dinning room table, Danny is stretched out in front of the TV watching a mindless cartoon and Jazz is crocheting in the love chair.

It's a typical Tuesday night where everyone is doing their own thing but close enough to each other that they can call it family time. Jazz is the closest to the house phone so she picks it up with a cheerful "Fenton house, this is Jasmine."

Her smile slowly slips away as all the blood drains from her face. Alarmed by her reaction, Danny sits up. "Jazz? What's wrong?"

His words have his parents' heads snapping up, zoning in on their daughter's rapidly growing destress. Yes, they get distracted often with their work, but the Fentons have always been loving parents.

They quickly spring into action.

"Jazzy-pants?" His dad says, walking up to her and taking the phone from her slack hand. He covers the speaking end of it, not paying attention to the call as his mom hugs his sister. "What's the matter?"

"It's... Bruce Wayne's lawyer," Jazz says faintly. "He's calling about Danny. He said that Mr. Wayne has been attempting to take Danny back and that they are going to take us to court soon."

The room goes dead quiet, and Danny snorts. "He can't do that without a letter or something. Come on Jazz, it's obviously a prank."

Someone at school likely found out and thought it would be funny to make "the biggest loser of Casper High" Danny Fenton, think a billionaire wanted him as a son. Honestly, he wouldn't put it past the A-listers.

He laughs to show how stupid this prank is, but neither of his parents joins him. Instead, his mother closes her eyes and whispers, "We received his court papers weeks ago. We've been trying to get a lawyer."

What.

She pushes Jazz into his dad's arms, where his sister is slowly panicking. His dad tries to soothe her as his mom opens the drawer under the TV, pulling out three orange envelopes. She looks remorseful as she hands them to Danny. "We didn't want you to worry. I'm sorry we didn't tell you sooner. Vlad said he would help, but he wasn't sure what he could do against such a powerful man"

And there, in overly complicated terms, is clear as day. Bruce Wayne wanted full custody of Danny Fenton and was willing to take the Fentons to court to get it done.

The man- who has never so much as met Danny, much less have a right to say what happens to him- was accusing his parents of child abuse and child neglect! He not only was trying to take Danny away but Jazz as well!

Where did this man get the audacity!?

"I don't want to go with him!" He shouts rage, making his eyes glow green. "I don't even know him!"

"I know, sweetie. I won't let him take you" His mom says, yanking him into a protective hug, and he realizes that her shirt is getting wet with his tears. Tears that fall just like the woman who raised him. "Everything will be alright."

It won't be, he knows, but he won't tell her that. He just lets his mother hold him, and when his sister and father crash into the hug a second later, he holds them just as tight.

He's not sure how they will win against Bruce Wayne, but Danny will fight his biological father every step of the way. He will not be his son.

______________________________________________________________

Bruce stares at the photo of Danny Fenton- his son. His boy, whom he wasn't aware was alive until a month ago- and the reports from concerned teachers and whatever information Barbra could pull from his classmate's social media.

Dramatically dropping grades.

Clear signs of sleepless nights.

Flinches whenever his parents pull out "ghost hunting" gear.

Strange bruises and cuts along his arms and legs.

His small stature is no longer growing properly like his peers.

It all pointed to one thing. The Fentons were abusing his son and Bruce would bet the sister was suffering from the same treatment if her own grade dropping, sleepless eyes, and desperate race to adulthood were any indication.

Bruce laces his hands, resting his chin on them as the Batcomputer slowly flips through various reports being quickly dismissed by incompetent social workers who all claim it was Ghost Hunter related and not a cause for concern.

Those same social workers all seemed to have gotten quite generous donations from one Vlad Masters, a well-known family friend of the Fentons.

He hates corruption that allows children to be hurt, more so when it;'s his own children.

"When do we go retrieve Brother?" Damian asks, green eyes narrowing in rage as the reports scroll slowly. Ever since he found out Danny is a blood sibling, all Damian has been talking about is getting his elder brother home. "I am displeased with how long it's been, Father."

"Soon," Bruce promises, aware the rest of his children gather around him. They don't speak, but he feels their protective rage at what Danny has gone through, and he knows they will use every last bit of their training to get Danny home. "Either through the courts or in person. Danny will be with us come summer."

"Good," grunts Jason. "I'll have a little chat with his adoptive scumbags when we get him."

"I'll help," Dick tacks on.

"I'll make it look like an accident," Tim says, voice leveled but eyes blazing as the reports get to the neglect section. He has personal issues about that.

Bruce has never been so proud. "Court date is set for three weeks. They can't weasel their way out of it this time."

Don't worry son, he thinks to Danny, I'm going to save you.

#dcxdpdabbles #dc x dp crossover #Rescue Mission Au #misunderstanding #TW: mention of suicide #Off screen but there #Danny is just ghost fighting #But Bruce thinks his son is being abused #Tw: Assumed child abuse #Danny will not be a wayne #The Waynes think he needs a hero not that he is a hero

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allenaustinbishop · 2 years

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Love on the rocks, is whiskey on the rocks #whisky #MalMasion #Charterhouse #Clerkenwell #SummerDays #poet #creatives #London #writer #creativewriting #vocalists #singer #England #London #maidavale #littlevenicelondon #Stjohnswood #Words #wordsmatter #jazz #jazzsinger #jazzvocalist #musician #muscianslife #TheWoodisMyHood but #BoutiqueHotels (at Malmaison London) https://www.instagram.com/p/Cfjn89UsM8V/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

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fraugwinska · 10 days

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Hello, wait are your requests open? 😅

If yes - i have an idea? :)

Per Charlie's decision everyone goes out for a night out in the town. You stay at the hotel as you weren't feeling well. Thinking the hotel is empty you carelssly leave your room and head to the bar and lounge area. To your surprise it's already occupied - Alastor is drinking whisky and listening to jazz on his old radio. He is already tipsy as he starts slowly dancing with himself. You don't want to interrupt but before you can go back he calls to you and asks if you want to join him. I just really need some tipsy and more relaxed Alastor thay slowly openes up to the reader. Bonus scene: you two fall asleep on the couch and wake up to the whole group staring at you two with the wildests reactions lol

This was such a cute prompt - Thank you for suggesting this, dear Anon! It's a little shorter, but I really like it - hope you do too! :>

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

More than words

Thirsty. You are thirsty.

That's the first thought you had when you woke up from your nap. Hell really had eternal suffering, with migraines being just as annoying and painful in hell as they were on earth. You had woken up with pain behind your eyes, and you knew in that exact moment you had to tell Charlie you wouldn't be able to go out tonight, because knowing yourself it would last the whole day and leave you exhausted by the evening.

You peeled yourself out of bed, realizing with relief that the pain and the dull pressure were gone almost completely. One or two glasses of water and a strong espresso, and maybe you were even able to get a good night's sleep. So you threw a cozy, fuzzy cardigan over you and headed to the kitchen. You had expected creepy silence, since it didn't happen often that everyone went out all at once, so you were surprised to hear the faint sounds of pianos, trumpets and drums when you were halfway down the staircase. Maybe Charlie or Husk had left the radio on? Without real reason to you tiptoed the last steps down, peeking around the corner of the corridor leading to the bar. What you saw made you both speech- and breathless.

Alastor, with a glass of whiskey in hand, humming along to Boogie Man by Sid Phillips, eyes closed and dancing just for himself – tipsy, slightly uncoordinated swing steps that might've looked impressive if he wasn't... drunk? At least a bit buzzed, that was for sure.

You watched him in fascination, tapping and twirling, while you contemplated what to do. The only way to the kitchen was through the foyer, which meant you had to pass the bar, ergo Alastor. But you weren't sure how much he would appreciate you catching him in this... state. Yes, you were on good terms, you would even go as far to say you were friends, but that stage of relationship was far too fresh to risk changing it by angering him. You decided that your bathroom sink had to provide the much needed water and fuck the espresso, you turned around to sneak back to your room.

„Oh, I didn't know there was an audience for my show!“

Fuck.

You glanced over your shoulder – Alastor looked you straight in the eye, swaying a bit, grin loose and eyes a little clouded. He sounded more amused than angry, something you didn't expect, but were fucking grateful for.

„Sorry, Al... I didn't think you were home, I just wanted to get some water and head back to my room.“ „Ah,“ Alastor took a sip of his drink, golden brown liquid leaking from the corners of his mouth down to his chin. With careless fingers he wipes it away. „So eager to leave little ol' me hanging...“ He pouted. Alastor, the radio demon pouted. You asked yourself if you might have migraine-incited hallucinations.

„Alastor, are you... okay?“, you ask, carefully turning to him.

„Fantastic dear, just fantastic.“, he muttered, eyeing his now empty glass, „Although drinking in company would certainly be more pleasurable than drinking alone.“

He walked back behind the bar, steps still a little wobbly, and poured himself another, giving you an opportunity. It was the deers crude way of handing you the choice - You could leave now, if you wanted.

Instead, you wrapped the cardigan tighter around yourself, suddenly very aware of your lack of decorum, and with a few steps, you were in front of him, sliding onto one of the stools. Alastor tilted his head at you as you leaned on the counter, both elbows on the slightly sticky surface and face in your hands, sighing.

„Alright tapper, as long as you don't bring my headache back, pour it away.“

----------------------------***----------------------------

„... and wouldn't you believe it, the next time this idiot saw me he just ripped off his whole arm and threw it at me!“

Alastor laughed, loudly and boastfully, slapping his thighs. You joined in with your own laughter, more like a cackle, tongue and restraint loosened by his choice of drink for you – mint julep, apparently one of the only cocktails he knew how to mix, being a favourite from his time in the 1920's. The fresh and cooling drink went easily down your tongue, and both of you had been chatting away for the last hour, mostly Alastor telling you funny anecdotes and you laughing at his stories till your mouth went dry.

While you drank slowly, Alastor rushed every drink down his throat like a parched man. With wonder you watched him, amazed by how much he could take, word unslurred and speech still crisp and transatlantic. The only indicator of his drunkenness: his choice of words became more and more crass. It made you giggle uncontrollably whenever he used profanities that were so unlike him.

“Can you blame him? That poor man probably didn’t want you to rip it off again - might just do it himself and save the trouble!” “I didn’t even get to the best part, darling - He owned a fucking second hand shop! Ha Ha HA!” He bellowed with laughter,looking more like a mischievous school-boy than a terrifying overlord and you slapped his arm. “Alastor, stop, you’re making this up!” “Absolutely not, it’s the irony that makes the story even more comical.”

You shook your head, stirring the mint leaves in your glass.He was much more easy-going than normal, his cheeks tinted in a pretty shade of red. The biggest difference was his everlasting smile. Tight and wide normally, it had become a loose, content one, playful without the malice it usually carried. He looked even more handsome that way.

“A penny for your thought, cherie.”, he chuckled, arms crossed on the countertop and leaning in closely. The proximity brought the smell of bourbon, warm wood and nutmeg with hints of vetiver. The stronger version of his natural scent. Tasty. The thought shuddered through your mind and you swallowed it quickly with the rest of your own drink. “I just thought about a Chaplin quote that came to mind.” He leaned on his hand, blinking in curiosity, half-lidded eyes telling you to continue - you and him had a thing for his movies, you've watched City Lights together multiple times. “A man's true character comes out when he's drunk.” You mirrored his gesture with a smile of your own, bringing your face even closer to his, which seemed to startle him. “And I gotta say it’s a shame you’re not drunk more often.”

Alastor pulled back, grasping for the whiskey bottle as he avoided your gaze. You were confused - had you offended him? You sat yourself upright, ready to apologize, when he cut you off.

“Better not to reveal this kind of secret to just everyone, my dear. It’s only the ghost of a man long gone, anyways.” He sighed at the bottle in his hands, realizing it was empty. You scoffed, rolling your eyes at him. “Please, you may tell that yourself but I’m not a medium. That man isn’t gone. He's only hiding, deep down in there.”

Foolishly your brain didn’t remind you that Alastor didn’t like to be touched. You reached out, putting your hand flat at his chest, right where his heart would be. As for Alastor, his alcohol-dazed mind couldn’t catch up with what you were doing fast enough. Your palm pressed down, receiving the soothing, soft warmth he always radiated through your sensitive skin, like an old radio that had been left on for too long. His eyes widened, you felt him inhale sharply, yet it took another few seconds for him to react, flinching back.

His barstool wobbled, swinging dangerously, and like in slow-motion he fell backwards, only letting out a small, ulfiltered “Shit!” before he disappeared behind the bar. You jumped up, stuttering “Sorry, sorry, oh fuck, I’m so sorry!” while you hurried behind the bar to help him up. He was sprawled out on the floor, almost like a starfish, his chest shaking and an arm thrown over his face. “Alastor, I’m so sorry, are you hurt? Did you hit your head? Fuck, I’m so….”, you stopped abruptly when he burst out laughing. He wheezed, shaking with laughter, and you fell to your knees beside him, relieved and at the same time unnerved. He sat up, still holding his chest with one hand and patting your head with the other.

“Moments like these remind me why I like you so much, darling. Such a blue-eyed, air-headed doe you are.” You met his gaze, ready to banter, but the sad tint in his expression made you decide against that. Instead you shuffled nearer to him, slowly sitting up on your knees, to give him the option to push you away. He didn’t, only watching you closely. You wrapped your arms around his head, pulling him close, his cheek resting on your chest, tight enough he had to hear your heartbeat.

You held him like this until you felt his hands on your back, returning the embrace. HIs breath was warm and heavy on your skin. If you didn’t know better, you’d say he was holding back tears. Maybe he was. You just stayed like this, holding him in your arms. Words were unnecessary, unwanted even. Him and you weren’t close enough yet to bring everything he should share into words. But you would be there, whenever that moment came, and for now, this was the right way to express what couldn’t be said. Much more even.

When he pulled away, he did it gently, a soft and thankful smile on his lips. “I think the bar has run dry, my dear.” He stood up, offering you his hand to help you up. You took it, and he left your hand in his as you stood face to face. “How about a warm nightcap to end our day?” ----------------------------***----------------------------

“... You are seeing this too, right? I’m not trippin’?!” “Shhhh! Don’t wake them up.” Charlie hissed at Angel, her eyes round like saucers, staring over the backrest, as did the others. “How can this creep still smile even when he’s sleeping?!”, Vaggie whispered loudly. Angel gave her a sly smile. “You’d smile too if a hot girl slept in your lap like that.” Husk groaned, pulling a paw over his face. “It’s too late and I’m too sober for this shit.” “SSSSSSSHHHHHH! Leave them alone, go! Go to bed, quietly, all of you!”, Charlie shushed them again, shooing them away from the sofa.

She quickly ran to the nearest cabinet, pulling out a thick blanket which she carefully draped over your and Alastors body. She took a few heartbeats to internalize what she everyone saw when they came home.

You looked like a couple. Of course Charlie knew you weren’t. Alastor - half-laying, half-sitting asleep on the sofa - had his arm around you, his head resting on the top of your head. You were serenely slumbering while nuzzled against his chest, legs pulled up and looking like you were mended to his side. You, too, were smiling. On the cofffee table in front of the sofa were two cups of what looked and smelled like hot milk with honey, the porcelain still faintly warm to the touch and the liquid barely touched. She suppressed the squeal she wanted to squeal.

After she was done, she quietly took a few steps back, scanning that you were both still fast asleep, then she took Vaggie’s hand and together they headed to their own room. Charlie knew you weren’t a couple. But she also knew that was only a matter of when you would become one, not if.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #angel dust #charlie morningstar #fraugwinskawrites #quick fic #vaggie hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin hotel angel dust

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stillnotyourmusebitch · 2 months

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So I adore the Huskerdust overlord au with all my heart but now all I can think about is Husk singing smooth Jazz as a once a month deal at his casino.

Of course the show is a sold out affair each time. Because Husk rarely indulges the crowd with his singing voice. He would sing about five songs before he leaves and the regular performance acts resumed.

When Angel sees his boss performance for the first time. It's like an outer body experience.

The spotlight on Husk seems brighter and the crowd melts away until it feels like he is only singing for his Angel.

Time slows down when Husk is singing sweet love songs the whisky in his clawed hand is swirled gently as he all but croons out the classics. Angel's cheeks are rosy but not from drink. The warmth in his stomach seems to wash through his whole body.

When Husk gets to the last song he locks eyes with Angel and sings 'My funny valentine' which has the spider swooning for the Overlord more than ever.

When Husk is finished with his set he thanks the audience and then sets off to his office. Angel watches him go, wanting nothing more than to follow him but he thinks better of it.

---

I just love them so much

#jamie talks #hazbin hotel #huskerdust #overlord au #hazbin husk #hazbin angel dust #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin hotel angel dust #husk hazbin hotel #angel dust hazbin hotel #i just love them so much

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zablife · 2 months

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You're No Good For Me

Tommy Shelby x OC Satine

Summary: When Tommy comes into possession of a new club, the Shelbys want to know more about the beautiful and seductive performer working there. What happens when Tommy confronts her about her hidden past?

Author’s Note: Requested by @goodnightkatherine who wanted to see Tommy with a jazz singer men are obsessed with.

Warnings: language, mention of drinking, violence, possessiveness, hints of dark!Tommy, PTSD, mention of a weapon

“Bloody hell, the tits on her! Didn’t I tell ya?” Arthur asked, a wicked smirk curling around the edges of his whisky glass. His eyes never left the stage where a voluptuous ginger haired beauty leaned over the crowd. As her gloved hand seductively slid along the curve of her hip, a slight shudder ran through Arthur. He shifted in his chair, adjusting his trousers just as her ruby lips parted once more and she purred the last line of a lovesick ballad into a golden microphone.

“They’ve got a little perch for her up in the rafters and she swings on it like a bird. Last night she even did an act with red silks where she tied herself-“ Finn started, excitedly.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Arthur cut him off. “Shouldn’t he be working the door?” he rolled his eyes toward the table, irritation visible in his clenched fist.

Tommy leaned back in his chair, studying the effect she had on his brothers and every other man in the club. “Go on, Finn,” he ordered with a jerk of his chin.

As the number came to an end, he placed his cigarette between his lips and clapped stiffly, the deafening noise drowning out the huff of a laugh that escaped before an honest assessment. “So this is why you want to stay in London, eh?”

“S right,” Arthur affirmed eagerly as he poured another round. “You need someone to keep an eye here.”

“On the club, Arthur,” Tommy reminded his brother with a sharp note of warning.

“And she’s part of it, ain’t she?” Arthur grumbled.

Tommy shook his head warily, “Remember what dad used to say, brother. Fast women…”

“And slow horses…”, Arthur interjected with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I know, I know, Tom!”

Tommy held Arthur’s gaze for a moment as he finished bitterly, “Will ruin your life.” He stamped out his cigarette in the ashtray, glancing back toward the empty stage. “I’ve things to do first, then I’ll give you my answer,” he replied, abruptly ending their conversation.

“Go on then. Don’t let me keep ya,” Arthur bellowed with a sweep of his arm. Allowing the king to exit in grand fashion, he remained at the table unwilling to allow his baby brother to spoil his evening or his plans for the future.

———————————-

The passageways beneath the stage were dark and winding, causing Tommy’s chest to constrict unnaturally. It didn’t bother him when there was chatter from the girls, but now it had become eerily silent save for the rush of blood through his ears. Tommy made haste to the dressing rooms, forcing his boots to thud upon the concrete floor a bit harder than necessary.

Soon he came upon the room he sought, breathing a sigh of relief at the glow of pale orange light seeping from beneath the door like an outstretched hand saving him from the smothering darkness. Like a beacon it called to him and he pushed the flimsy panel open without knocking, any pretense of formality forgotten.

“I need to speak with you,” he informed the woman sat at the vanity. The redhead looked up with a look of bored detachment, powdering her nose as she raised her eyes to meet his in the mirror.

“Can I help you?” she asked with a foreign lilt he immediately recognized as French.

“You don’t know who I am, do you?” he asked incredulously.

“Are you an admirer?” she asked with a sly smile. Tommy cocked an eyebrow at her, but she only giggled in return. “I have many of those.”

“No, love, I’m not here to throw roses at your feet,” he confirmed.

“That’s a pity. I like roses,” she pouted.

“So I’ve heard from your previous employer, but there’s going to be a new arrangement. You see, as of last week, I own this club,” Tommy informed her as he clasped his hands behind his back.

She turned slowly to face him, head tilted to catch a glimpse of his shadowed face beneath his cap. “Are you here to fuck me?” she offered breathlessly.

Tommy shook his head. “No, nothing like that," he assured her, removing his cap slowly and placing it on a nearby chair.

“Then this job will be easier than I expected,” she purred, standing to her full height. She was easily a foot taller than Tommy and she carried it with a casual elegance.

“What’s your name?” he asked, fishing his cigarette case from his pocket and turning it over in his palm.

“Satine,” she replied without hesitation, a smirk playing on her lips mischievously.

Tommy laughed mirthlessly, the sharp note of annoyance clear as he rolled his eyes. He took a moment to light his cigarette, the flame of his lighter flashing in her cat like eyes. “Your real name,” he pressed in a low, dangerous voice, taking a step closer to where she now stood.

In such close proximity she was able to scan the details of his face, pale skin still youthfully freckled but the sunken cheeks and dark circles beneath his eyes bore the passage of time. She looked away before he could glimpse the recognition hidden in her gaze, but she’d already lingered a moment too long.

Tommy seized on it immediately. “You think I don’t know you behind a few rhinestones and hair lacquer,” he taunted, exhaling a large plume of smoke toward her. Leaning in to capture her face in the palm of his callused hand he hissed, “Say your fucking name.”

She tried not to recoil, but the tight lipped smile that tugged at her mouth gave away her discomfort. “Why do you need this?” she asked, jerking her chin away in defiance.

“Cos I want you to admit what you are...what you did,” Tommy spat, hand flying to her delicate neck as he forced her against the opposite wall.

Red nails clawing against his wrist, Satine shook her head. “I-I did nothing…” she sputtered.

“Yeah, you did nothing," Tommy nodded in agreement as he emphasized the last word. "Left me for dead," he seethed, tightening his hold until she was left gasping for air before him.

Her eyes welled with tears as they had that final night spent together, tucked away in her tiny flat making promises of a life together after the war. Back then he didn’t care that she fucked Barney first, knowing he would be her last. She’d promised him she’d be his forever. She said, "I'll wait through any storm to be by your side."

It was that thought alone that drove him to dig after the tunnel collapse, clawing his way from the depths of the blackened earth to seek her embrace. There was nothing but emptiness waiting in her flat, however, the neighbor apologizing with sorrowful eyes when forced to recount the man come to collect her. For the better part of a year, he chased a ghost before returning home to Birmingham alone.

As the memories washed over him in quick succession, Tommy allowed the rage to consume him. He watched her head loll and her eyes roll back in the moment before losing consciousness. A low whimper from her pulled him out of himself, the intoxicating sound of her causing his hands to shake uncontrollably. With that, he released his grasp and backed away to the center of the room as nausea gripped him.

Satine fell forward clutching her chest, a coughing fit descending upon her as she struggled for breath. “T-tommy,” her desperate voice called out. The sound echoed around him like the beating of the shovels inside his skull and he turned away clutching his head.

“You’re no good for me,” he reminded himself as he screwed his eyes shut. But I want you still, his tortured mind replied, fingers fumbling beneath his jacket for the cold comfort of his revolver...a decision to be made.

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

Tag List:

@peakyswritings

@evita-shelby

@shelbydelrey

@alanadetigy

@wandawiccan60

@severewobblerlightdragon

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#Tommy Shelby fanfic #Tommy Shelby imagine #Tommy Shelby x OC #Tommy Shelby

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jackiepackiee · 3 months

Text

“May I have this dance?”

Chuuya x reader

(ft. The Flags)

Warnings - none

Type - Fluff

Word Count - 798

A song for you by Donny Hathaway. The slow jazz filled every inch of the old world pool hall, seducing the ears of every resident that found themselves inside. There were only seven, but that's how it always was. Every other night, when no missions were to be had. Albatross, drinking some fruit-based cocktail while teasing Chuuya. The latter gritting his teeth at his friend, although any passersby would think he hates him. Iceman enjoyed the music, as well as Doc as he both sipped on some heavy whisky. Pianoman and Lippmann were in a very intense game of pool, tied the entire run. Then, you. Changing the record to some more up beat jazz.

“We should dance! Doesn’t that sound fun?” You had always been rather energetic with a bit of alcohol in your system. It’s not like this place had a limit or carded anyone.

Lippmann looked up at you, a bit surprised. “Dance? Since when did you dance?”

“Since forever! Come on~ I love dancing, it’s only natural.” She explained.

On the other end of the hall Albatross teased Chuuya’s hair, before whispering into his ear.

“Go dance with her, you know you wanna~”

You didn’t realize this teasing, thinking Chuuya’s red cheeks were only from some overly expensive wine. Little did you know he hadn’t had a sip all night.

“No way! Anyways she’s talking to Lippmann, I don’t wanna bother her.” Chuuya said, pushing away Albatross. Not enough to hurt him of course.

Lippmann was having the same idea, no way he’d pass the opportunity up to play matchmaker.

“Very well then. Hmm, I’m not sure… you shouldn’t dance with Doc, wouldn’t wanna knock over his IV.”

Pianoman joined in, putting his pool stick down.

“And not Iceman, he’s a whole lot bigger than you with all that muscle.”

Pianoman said, easily concealing his playfulness.

Doc leaned into the trio of you, Lippmann, and Pianoman.

“And not Albatross, I’d bet he has two left feet.”

You.. you were not understanding what this was leading to. But still giggled at Doc’s little joke. Luckily Albatross couldn’t hear.

“Well, then who? You, Lippmann?”

Did she have to be so dense?

“No! I mean uh- I’m not very good at dancing, and neither is Pianoman!” Lippmann tried to turn it on Chuuya.

“But Pianoman, I’ve seen you dance on a mission before?” She spoke, curious as to why it was said he couldn’t dance. He shook his head, lying for a good cause.

Albatross walked over before she could ask any more questions, Chuuya in tow.

“You know, Chuuya could dance with you! Isn’t that right?”

She perked up, happy someone would dance with her. She smiled, and he melted. How could he ever say no to her?

“Sure… will you dance with me?”

He asked, gentlemanly as he always was with her.

Iceman, quiet as he always was, was still listening. He picked a record, it was from New Orleans. Jazzy and fast pace, probably from the 1930’s. He knew she loved this style. Swing dancing… Chuuya was in for an absolute treat, as well as the rest of the flags. Since they knew damn well he’d be faking it till he made it.

“Of course I’ll dance with you! Let’s go!”

She took his gloved hand in hers. It was surprisingly soft leather, though the real hand would be much nicer to hold and feel. Even if neither would admit it.

“You ready, Chuu?” God, his heart would give out if she called him that nickname ever again. But, he wouldn’t complain. What a lovely way to die that would be. Damn it, he got distracted.

“Chuuya? Ready?”

She was so patient.

“Yeah, I’m ready. Umm.. what do I do?”

She laughed, not in a mean way. It was cute, that’s what he thought anyway.

“Sorry sorry.. we can start with the basics. Okay, hands in mine.”

He took her hands. Unbeknownst to her, the flags gave him grins and thumbs up. “Your nails… They are painted red. That’s my favorite color, they’re lovely.”

“It is? Well isn’t that perfect, and thank you.”

She started to sway to the music. He followed suit, thanking his past self for learning how to keep rhythm.

“Can I spin you?”

She agreed, spinning while holding his hand. She was smiling, eyes beaming while looking into his. Was she?… she had her doubts before, but she definitely loved him.

Iceman, with his knowledge of records, changed the music to play a slower song. Meaning Chuuya could hold her close. He did not need five wingmen.

He pulled her closer by the waist.

“The music slowed down, so we should too.”

“Since when did you know about dance?~”

He made a faux annoyed expression.

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Part two?

#chuuya nakahara x reader #bsd chuuya #chuuya x reader #chuuya nakahara #chuuya stormbringer #bsd stormbringer #16!chuuya #albatrossxreader #iceman x reader #doc x reader #lippmannxreader #pianomanxreader #bungou stray dogs stormbringer

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cillianmesoftlyyy · 4 months

Text

At the Cabaret Pt. 1 | Tommy Shelby x fem!character

Summary: Lenore is a dancer at the Birmingham Cabaret when she's approached by an estranged neighbor and notorious gangster, Tommy Shelby, with a business prospect. Seeing him again brings up old feelings and new conflicts that they must navigate in the topsy turvy world of Cabaret.

Warnings: Heavy misogyny (1920s Cabaret... I mean), mentions of sexual assault, and objectification. Please don't read if these topics are upsetting to you- I'm writing from a historical perspective and some of the elements I write about are disturbing. Take care while reading. This story only gets worse from here lol. I use a few modern songs in the story but imagine them in a 1920s style (aka Post Modern Jukebox). I really recommend listening to the songs I have listed below because I reference them in the story.

word count: 4125k

Come with me- Preservation Hall Jazz Band 🎶

Ain't That a Grand and Glorious Feeling? - Annette Hanshaw 🎵

Last Nite- The Strokes 🎶

PDA- Interpol 🎵

Not proofed- my b folks!

She felt powerful when she stepped on stage. She felt untouchable. She performed five days a week at Birmingham’s Cabaret Club during the late night slot when the wealthiest clientele slipped in through the backdoor to huddle around the stage. She was lucky that her life had ended up like this and not working the streets like so many girls she knew had to after the war years. She tried to get them jobs in the Cabaret but their addictions to uppers and downers and strong cocktails made it hard for them to follow the routine of Cabaret. It required discipline to arrive at the club everyday at three in the afternoon and work new routines until the doors opened at eight, and they worked hard. She wasn’t an especially good dancer but her energy and confidence on stage won her the best slot of the night and the notoriety that nicknamed her “Lady Lenore.”

Her shows were sensual, sure, but mainly they were performances. She sang and sparkled onstage with her elaborate costumes. And sure, men often followed her backstage, seeking an encore in not so polite terms but she was the master of her own image. She was allowed to say no when she wanted to because she was “Lady Lenore.” She wasn’t a stranger to male guests coming by to visit her at night and many times, she allowed them to join her in her dressing room shared with the other performers, offering him whisky and resting her feathered head against his chest. But these were the boys she recognized from the factories her father had worked in, that her brothers had worked in before the war. She flirted with the rich cats who came by to seduce her but only the boys with coal grease still stuck in the curves of their muscles made it farther into the reaches of her corseted costume. She had a preference and she didn’t care who knew it.

What won her fame, besides her voice, were her costumes. The early twenties offered an exciting new spread of style that she latched onto like Vicodin. She loved red, so she dyed most of her costumes a deep scarlet with millions of beads sewn onto the surface. She pulled on the red bodysuit, fixing the ropes of red beads draped around her shoulders and bare thighs. She didn’t have large breasts so the front stuck tightly to her chest but elegant bodice distracted disappointed eyes. Her blonde hair was bobbed around her heart-shaped face. Lucy, one of her friends, secured the devil cap on her head, the strap going beneath her chin. The horns were stuffed with couch stuffing to stand up straight. She under-drew her lips, creating a heart with red lipstick. The rest of her makeup was minimal, making the lipstick stand out. She buckled her nude-colored dancing heels across the top of her foot and shook out her arms nervously.

She could hear the announcer out on stage with his squeaky voice. She pulled on her red satin gloves and made her way slowly to the curtains offstage waiting for her cue. Johnny the club manager squealed, “and now, the girl you’ve been waiting for, the queen of our hearts and the sweetheart of Birmingham, Lady Lenore!” He ran off stage and a spot opened against the curtain.

She lifted her lips into an innocent smile and stuck her arm out through the slit in the red velvet curtain. She trailed her finger down the fabric, teasing the slit beneath the hot spotlight. The audience cheered loudly, feet stomping on the bar floor.

“Aw come on out, darlin!” A man hollered from the audience and she laughed quietly behind the heavy fabric. Whistles followed his brave shout and she shook her finger naughtily at them, still obscured by the curtain.

“Now, now boys. That’s no way to ask a lady. I was gonna be real nice to you tonight, and I mean real nice.” The men whistled again and slammed their hands on the drinking tables.

“Please, honey!”

“Come on, love!”

She slipped her arms back behind the curtain and giggled.

“Oh, boys! You really do know how to make a girl feel so good!” She squealed, “open the curtain, Johnny!”

The curtain swung open on its tracks and she placed her hands on her accented hips. Her bare thighs warmed under the hot spot. She switched into her Lady Lenore facade, apologizing raspily, “sorry about that boys, I was a bit nervous.”

Men howled in the audience and stood to whistle. She put a dramatic finger to her lips, biting it gently.

“Gee, thanks. Now let me show you what I can really do.” She chuckled darkly and nodded to the band beside the stage. “Hit it, honey.” She called with a smile. A ragtime track began and she twirled, pulling the hair from her shoulders to show off the back of the costume, her butt just peeking out beneath the underwear-like bodice. She strutted across the stage with a flick of her leg, turning into a jumpy great-vine, tap dancing without the loud clacks. She reached out her gloved hand to the audience and gasped when the music jumped, smirking as she took quick steps backwards. She did the same to the otherside, each action dominated by the sexual squeal of the trumpet. She took slow steps downstage to the drum beat and lowered herself slowly to her knees, playing with her long strand of pearls.

“I just feel so good tonight,” she bit her lip and shook her shoulders and lay back, still on her knees, her sparkly crotch exposed to the roar of the crowd. When a man wolf-whistled she sat back up quickly, an innocent smile pulling at her painted lips. “Oops!” She giggled and crawled forward on her hands and knees. She reached the end of the stage and swung her legs over gracefully. She went over to the fat cat at the first table and stroked his long white beard.

“Say, you look like a good boy,” She purred and sat abruptly on his lap, “now what do you want for Christmas? Or more importantly what do I want?” She pouted out her lip, thinking. The men in the audience laughed.

“Anything you’d like sweetheart.” The man chuckled and she smiled.

“Ohh, Daddy! That’s exactly what I wanted to hear! But say, aren’t you gonna ask me if I’ve been a good girl?”

“Well, have you?”

“Hmm, one second, Daddy,” She stood up from his lap and cleared her throat loudly. “Do you boys think I've been a good girl?” She asked the room and smiled when she received stomps and applause. “And do you think I should get anything I want?” She added, biting her lip.

“You’re all I want, love!” One man yelled from the bar and she clutched her heart.

“That’s the right answer, boy!” She called back and laughed, returning to the lit stage. A microphone had been set up centerstage while she was in the audience. She shimmied up to the microphone.

“Y’all ever been to New Orleans?” She quipped in her best southern accent and winked at the band who burst into, “Come with Me.”

A line of feathered dancers came out onto stage, flirting with the audience with their scandalous dance fan dance.

Come with me to New Orleans

I'll show you a great time

All your dreams will come true

A' With me by your side

Her raspy voice echoed out into the small club. She scanned the crowd, her fingers cupping the wide microphone. The men in the crowd smoked cigarettes and cigars, separating them by class and income. The day-laborers sat with crushed cigarettes in ashtrays while the fat cats still smoked the same cigar they had light when the night began.

Come with me to the' New Orleans

I'll show you a great time

All your dreams will come true

A' With me by your side

She smiled as she sang, looking down at the audience through her eyelashes. She adjusted her red velvet garter, her fingers trailing up the fabric on her crotch to her stomach. The dancers behind her dipped their fans to show their cleavage.

Come with me to New Orleans

I'll show you a great time

All your dreams will come true

A' With me by your side

She finished the song with a low voice and the audience roared once again. She took an extra fan from one of the dancers and held it in front of her body. With the large fan, she did look naked, tricking those who were drunk in the audience to believe she was nude like a game of peek-a-boo. “Ain't that Grand and Glorious” marked the beginning of a new musical number and she started singing, traveling to either end of the stage. She moved her fan to her back like a peacock, pushing what cleavage she did have forward with her arms.

Now is there any one present

Who was ever in love

If it’s so you know how

I’m feeling right now

Everything is so pleasant

She broke out into a brief timestep combination and moved the fan to her chest, just showing her legs and face.

You’re so full of bliss

You just feel like knocking wood

She planted and shook her hips to the knocking noise.

And when you naturally say yes

Ain’t that a grand and glorious feeling!

She spun around and planted the fan on the top of her butt, bending over to show off her ass to the audience who cheered. She spun again and did a quick Cincinnati step during the instrumental break.

I’ve got something to say

When that band starts to play

She raised the fan above her head, showing off her costume once again, as everyone in the room sang the last line with her:

I get a grand and glorious feeling

“That’s all!” She smiled and the spot went out. She hurried off-stage with the others and ducked into her dressing room, returning hugs and hollow laughs with the other girls.

“You were wonderful, Nore!” A dancer hugged her around her stiff waist and she let out a repressed breath.

“Thank you, thank you. Gee, I’m happy it's over with. Father Christmas in the front row got a little too excited if you know what I mean.” She rolled her eyes and the girls laughed. Clara patted her on the back and slipped through the dressing room door to go on with the following act.

“Break a leg, Clara babes!” She teased warmly and she tittered her thanks. They could hear the crowd grow impatient as they waited for the next round of entertainment. She sat down at her place at the makeup counter and removed the horned cap from her head. Lucy slipped into the dressing room, closing it quietly behind her so the sound wouldn’t carry onstage.

“Nore, great job as always.” She sat beside her and intertwined her fingers with Nore’s. The dancers switched their tops and bottoms, each barely covering anything of their anatomy.

“Thanks, Luce.” She wiggled in her seat and slid the large rings off her fingers and put them in her pink jewelry box.

“Johnny wanted me to tell you that there’s a fella in the audience that wants to see you.” Lucy grimaced.

“I have another show tonight, I can’t.” She sighed and fixed her lipstick.

“He said it’s important.”

“He always says that.” She laughed curtly.

“Sure but I think he means it this time, Nore. I would do it.”

“Why? Is it a cat?” She raised her eyebrow at Lucy and frowned, “He is isn’t he?”

“It's Thomas Shelby, Nore.” She whispered close to Nore’s ear and sat back again, biting her lip anxiously.

Her heart fell into her stomach and she looked at Lucy through the mirror for a moment. She cleared her throat and looked down at her red gloves.

“So? He doesn’t own me,” She tried to sound brave.

“No, but he owns half of Birmingham.” Lucy retorted and started again, “and besides, he used to be a factory boy, you remember don’t you? He used to live on our street!”

“That was before the war, Lucy. He’s changed since then. We all have.”

“Wasn’t your brother friends with Thommy?” She asked carefully, not wanting open old wounds.

“Like I said, Luce, we’ve all changed. I haven’t spoken to her in ages. The war was hard on everyone, even the Shelbys.” She sighed. Lucy looked down at her naked thighs pressed against the chair and took in a deep breath.

“You’ll do it though, won’t you?”

“If I don’t have a choice…” She shrugged and stared at herself in the mirror, “then I guess I will. Help me out of this corset, won’t you please?” She stood and Lucy undid the tough clasps on the back that insured the piece wouldn’t fly open during the act, no matter how many hands probed it. She shrugged the top off, her breasts sitting back against her chest. She put on the white satin bra and short set laid out for her second performance. She rolled on her stockings and clipped them into her garters to keep them from falling down. Lucy fastened a tulle train onto the back of her shorts and fixed the edges. She buckled her heels and fit the glitzy headband around her forehead. Someone switched her pearls for a necklace with small gold stars, and her red gloves for blush pink. She brushed a little kohl behind her eyes and sprayed herself with perfume, sticky and sweet.

Her second number was more choreographed and started like this:

She and the dancers entered with chairs. The chairs were arranged with her on center stage. The audience applauded and whooped and the girls smiled as brightly as they could beneath the white hot spot. “Last Nite” strikes up with the jumpy stutter of piano. It was a straight-forward dance. The hardest part was singing as she moved, bicycle-kicking her legs above her head in the chair. She abandoned the chair half-way through the song and scat at the microphone, accompanied by the instrumental riff.

They don’t understand

No, girlfriends, they won’t understand

A cheer went up from the crowd, beer spilling from raised glasses.

Last night he said

“Oh, baby, I feel so down”

“And it’s turnin’ me off when I feel left out”

So I, turned around

She turned slowly, kicking the tulle train back out as she did with her heel. Her arms were raised above her head, smiling wide.

“Oh darling no care no more

I know this for sure, I’m walking out, I’m walking out that door

And ain’t gonna understand

She winked and blew kisses to the growing crowd in the audience. She scanned the faces at the tables for Peaky Blinders. Then she saw the tell-tale peaky cap pulled down over his face. She couldn’t see his face in the darkened house but the way his table was separated from the rest in the club, and completely empty save the man sitting there with Irish Whisky told her enough. The crowd’s applause came to an end and she snapped back into character, curseying and raising her hand to the band.

“Thank you!” She twirled once more to show off her ensemble and curled her finger at Johnny who was still standing off stage.

“Oh, Johnny!” She called him out on stage and when he waddled over she put her chin on his shoulder, “Get these wonderful men a drink huh?” She smiled innocently. The crowd exploded with hoots and hollers. “That’s for making me meet with Shelby without asking me first, Johnny.” She growled beneath her breath and smiled at the crowd, “sweet dreams, boys!” The men waved from the audience and the girls scurried off stage.

She was too distracted to speak to anyone right after the show. She went straight to the dressing room and removed the tulle train from her shorts, grimacing as she did though it caused her no pain. Tommy was too smart to fall for her Lady Lenore act and she silently cursed herself for making the character such a staple of her success. He would be able to see through her confidence to her fear wallowing in her eyes. Some of the girls helped her quickly slip into a blush pink dress, the drop waist brushing against her hips. She changed into her normal heels, shiny black mary janes, and pulled off her headband. She left the star necklace around her neck but removed the gloves and extra jewelry. Lucy wiped off her bright red lipstick, changing it for a more casual color. One of the younger girls, Lily, ran in and called for her.

“Nore, Johnny said to take the spare dressing room.”

“Got it, thanks.” She nodded and exhaled loudly, pushing air through her nose. “He has everything fucking planned out,” she cursed below her breath. “Is he going to undress me for him too?” She grumbled and wiped kohl fallout from beneath her eyes.

“He may not want that.” Lucy offered.

“That’s what men always want, Luce.” She responded and sighed. With one last smile, she opened the door into an adjoining room called the spare dressing room. It was called that but it had never been one. There was a bed against the back wall with wood bed-frame and carved posts. The bed was dressed with clean sheets everyday and draped with a heavy red quilt to keep out the December cold. This was the nicest room out of the lot and it was reserved for our best clientele. A table and chairs separated the bed from the main door to the hallway. A bar cart sat idly against the side wall, stocked with cheap liqueur and towels. On the opposite side was a lounge in dark red fabric to hide stains. The wood floors were cold without the heaters and she could feel the chill even through her heels. She perched herself on the arm of the lounge and settled, waiting for Tommy Shelby to arrive.

He didn’t know when he came in, he wasn’t worried if he happened to walk in on anyone, and he just didn’t care. He avoided her eyes as he stepped into the room and closed the door, loud voices carried down the hallway like the smell of cigarette smoke. When the door was firmly closed behind him, he finally caught her eyes.

“Hello Mr. Shelby.” She didn’t move to stand.

“Miss Panning,” he gave her a curt nod, “or shall I call you Lady Lenore?”

She smiled and rolled her eyes. “Miss Panning unless you’d prefer to call me Lady Lenore.”

“Well Miss Panning,” he walked to the table and lit a cigarette, dropping the lighter and cigarette case on the table, “I’m sorry for disturbing your evening.” He gestured loosely to the direction of the stage, talking around the cigarette.

She sighed and stood, taking a cigarette that Tommy offered out to her. She held the cigarette between her lips as he flicked open the lighter and the cigarette caught. “Did you like my performance, Mr. Shelby.” She smiled, blowing out the smoke. He looked down at his shoes and exhaled a cloud of heavy gray smoke, his hands in his pockets. When he looked up his smile was pained, his brows furrowed.

“Eh, not really my thing.”

“Mmm of course. From what I’ve heard you like it quick and dirty. You’re not one for a performance, are you?” She teased darkly and moved to the bed, sitting at the end. He watched her, his eyes calm and unfazed. She flicked the ash of her cigarette to the floor and crossed her legs, the slit in her dress showing her thigh. He stared at her thigh, puffing on his cigarette.

“What do you want, Mr. Shelby?” She asked him bravely. He tore his eyes from her exposed leg and looked into her eyes. Exhaling and pulling the cigarette from his lips he rubbed his thumb across his thick lips.

“I want us to be friends, Nore.” He said finally, his voice restrained, holding back a layer of information he wouldn’t easily give up.

“I’m Nore now?” She almost sneered.

“We were neighbors once if you remember.”

“Those days are far behind us now, Mr. Shelby.” She tucked her hair behind her ear and looked down at the ground.

“Tommy.” He inclined his head slightly and stubbed out his cigarette. “And maybe they are but that doesn’t mean we can’t become friends again now, does it?

He’d said something like that years before when she was fifteen, he was seventeen, and best friends with her brother. Her brother told him that she had a huge crush on him and he’d treated her kindly, offering to be her friend, though nothing more. Hearing him now brought her back to that moment in the alley between their houses, ducking beneath the laundry lines. He’d told her that maybe when she was older… but he went to war and never came back the same. He hadn’t spoken more than a few sentences to her since, plagued by guilt. She’d lost her brother in the war.

“Why do you want to be friends, Tommy?” She asked slowly, fighting the images of her brother that entered her mind when she looked at him.

He lit another cigarette and pulled it from his lips.

“I think we can help each other.”

“Oh?” She switched legs, letting the fabric slide slowly over her skin. He watched, his jaw clenched, in what she read as distaste.

“I need someone who’s willing to be my eyes and ears inside this club. I know Billy Kimber and his men meet here.”

“Does this job require more than ‘eyes’ and ‘ears,’ Tommy?” She looked down at her cigarette.

“It would require anything that gets them comfortable to talk to you, you can fill in the rest.” He looked over at the whiskey. “Whisky?” He asked and she nodded.

“Yes, please.”

He took two thick crystal glasses from the cart and poured. He rounded the table to hand her a glass and she took it, looking up into his blue eyes. He took a deep drink from the whiskey and sighed. She drank and swirled the caramel liquor around in the glass.

“You know, Tommy, I don’t sleep with all of my clientele. Believe it or not but I prefer working boys over men like Kimber. I’m still a Small Heath girl, Tommy. That’ll never change, no matter how many rich men come in here promising me globs money in return for a quick fuck.”

He looked down at his shoes and nodded, thinking. He downed the rest of the whisky and cleared his throat.

“Will you do it?” He asked.

“What do I get in return?” She sighed.

“Money and protection, of course.” He put his glass on the table and leaned against it, sucking on his cigarette.

“Anything else?” She smiled softly.

He looked at her, expressionless, trying to determine what she wanted from him.

“What else would you like, Lenore?” He asked softly.

She swallowed the rest of her whiskey and smiled sweetly at him, taking from her character.

“Well, if we’re really to be friends, I want you to come to my shows.” She stood and reached around his waist to the ashtray and stubbed out her cigarette, looking directly in his eyes.

“And besides,” she continued softly, “men like nothing more than competition. If Kimber learns that you fancy me, he’ll do whatever he can to get with me.”

She took a step back and took a second cigarette from Tommy’s breast pocket. He lit it for her without a word.

“Alright,” he nodded, his face unchanging, “anything else?”

Her eyes softened and she fought back weak tears.

“Look after my father, Tommy. Make sure he’s safe too. If not for this, for James.” The mention of her brother stilled something in him. He nodded and cleared his throat. He turned and walked to the door to the hallway.

“Tommy,” she called from the bed. He paused with his hand resting on the door handle, “you know he’s going to kill me before they tell me anything you want to hear.” She said softly, almost sadly.

He said nothing for a moment and inhaled, looking over his shoulder though his eyes didn’t meet hers.

“I won’t let that happen.” He said evenly and left, the door closing loudly behind him. She tried to still her shaky hands, dragging on the shrinking cigarette.

_______

end part 1 here :)

#cillian murphy x reader #cillian x fem!reader #peaky blinders #thomas shelby #tommy shelby #cabaret #burlesque

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sofasoap · 8 months

Text

Jazz club

Pairing: John Price x F!Medic! Reader (call sign : Chameleon)

Summary: Sometimes it's hard to keep focus.

Warning: M Theme. Innuendoes. Alcohol use.

A/N: as mention previously in my Little secret series, Reader is from immigrant/non-Caucasian background. I know nothing about military.

Part of the Memory in a Fragrance series Part of Little secret series

Series masterlist

Master list

Flood light dims, spotlights illuminate the lone figure standing centre of the stage.

Soft intro chords on the piano were joined in by your soft yet powerful voice cutting through the droning chatter of the room. Sequin on the dress shimmering with the sway of the hip, your hands softly grasping the microphone on the stand as you moved into the chorus, pouring all your emotion of the song.

All attention was on you. The conversations came to a halt. One by one, heads turning towards the stage, club patrons were entranced by your performance.

Including a man hidden in the dark corner of the room, a cigar in one hand, tumblr glass filled with some sort of liqueur in another, you noticed his eyes fixed right on you the moment you stepped onto the stage.

You tried hard to focus on the audience in front of you, scanning across the room, searching for someone. Yet you couldn’t help yourself coming back to the man, Even from a distance, the intensity of his stare flip a switch on inside you, lighting a fire in your core.

Your eyes close as you reach the end of the song, letting the audience's applause and cheering wash over you.

Sound of the band starting with the chattering noise arising again in the club, pulling you back into the zone, you decided to make your way off the stage, approaching the man.

He seems to be slightly surprised with the way his eyes widened for a split second, and composed himself, ready for your approach.

“Hello stranger. Here alone?” Tilting your head down slightly, you flash him a sultry smile as you come to a stop right in front of him.

“I am waiting for someone.” Man in the dark corner rumbled in his husky baritone voice, not giving much emotion away, or at least you think he is trying hard to keep his composure.

Putting on an exaggerated pout and tapping your lip with your finger, “who might that be?” you asked with feign innocence.

“My wife. She promised to join me for a drink later on. Once she is finished with her… official business.” Voice is still controlled and steady, but his unabashed desire is evident as he scans your body up and down with ocean blue eyes.

“Oh. I am sure she wouldn’t mind you having some company in the meantime.” Not waiting for his reply, you lower yourself into his lap, looping your arms around his neck.

As you lean closer to him, the heady smell of the cigar and whisky hits your senses, mixed with his leathery yet sweet smelling cologne. You hummed as you moved your hips around, trying to find a comfortable position, also teasing him. “You have a very beautiful voice.” He purred as you felt one of his hands pull you in tighter against him, the other slipping through the split of your dress, sliding in towards your inner thigh, edging closer towards your dripping core.

“So does my husband say, especially when I call out his name in bed.” Undo the top two buttons, you slip your hand into the gap, scratching lightly on his chest and play with his chest hair.

“Chameleon. Price. Time to stop ….. Whatever little game the two of you are playing. Enough of the teenage flirting and get on with the mission. Target spotted on the other side of the room, in the VIP booth. ” Ghost’s voice crackles through the comm, annoyed.

You threw your head back with a laugh. Leaning closer to your husband’s neck, to speak into the microphone, you feel the goosebump and slight shiver of his body as you deliberately ghosting your lip over his ear lobe;

“I am sorry Ghost that you are not enjoying this little show we are putting on, Surely someone else will entertain you more at home.” Hearing other team members’ cackling and Ghost’s grumbling as you pull your own ear piece off and give your husband a light kiss on the lip before standing up, demeanour changes as you switch your focus to the mission.

“Bravo 5-6. Going dark.”

Tag list: @a-small-writer-in-a-big-world

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the-soliloquies-of-sadists · 1 year

Text

#343

“When I told you that you could move in my spare room in my basement, when your parents threw you out for being gay, I knew you had no money. I said I’d figure something out. Well pussy-fag, I figured it out. Every morning your job is to eat my shithole….

“Bitch, don’t act so surprised. I know you are a pig. I know you like what you see; your towel is not hiding your rock-hard pecker. I’ve known for a while you’ve been into men. I heard from a buddy that you frequent the bushes at the river front boat launch, not just frequent, but you suck or get fucked by a number of fishermen, dads, hell any man that makes his way into those bushes. I asked Coach James about you, and he said that he caught you getting cornholed by quarterback Jenkins. The only reason why nothing came of that is that Jenkins turned 18 and you were still underage, and he didn’t want his prize quarterback in any trouble. I’ve known for some time—well before I saw you walking on the road to town—that you were a service minded faggot. Now drop the towel and get that tongue to service my shitter.

“Oh fuck! You can lick the crack on occasion, but I need for your tongue to spend most of its time inside my hole…. Like that. Fuck.

“I know you had the hots for me for some time. Every time I would go into the Starbucks you work at in my Deputy uniform, you failed miserably to mask your lust for me. It’s so easy to spot a hungry sperm burper with a cop fetish.

“I knew you were still underage. So I waited and watched over the next couple months, casually asking key men about you. Once you graduated and turned 18, I made sure that your conservative parents knew that you were a pole rider who frequented the boat launch. Then I waited for you to make that long walk into town from their farm. That’s when I picked you up and brought you here.

“Fuck your tongue feels so good inside. You do have experience tongue fucking a man’s shithole. Every morning, I want you to service me with your tongue. Then every time I get off work, you will help me undress and meticulously fold and store my uniform. Afterwards, we will go into the playroom through that door.

“Here pull back. Let’s go in there now…. Leave the towel on the floor. I want you naked at all times from now on. Follow me. Now you can look at the meatiness of my ass and appreciate it. In this room, I have all the toys and equipment that it takes to satisfy me. You look terrified. Good…. Don’t worry, it’s going to take you time to get you ready for all this. Hell, it’s going to be a while before you actually see my dick, not just over-flowing in my jock.

“Ha! That made you look down. Go ahead stare at it. It’s fucking huge, and it’s not even hard.

“Your service to me is going to come in stages. The first thing, see that chair in the middle of the room? Next to it you see the table with the whisky and a cigar. I want that ready to go before I get off shift. After you undress me and put away my uniform, we will come down here.

“That cabinet over there is a humidor. It holds over 4,000 cigars, but right now I have about 1,200 in it. You will be trained on everything cigar related. Every day you will select one for me to enjoy and set it on that table next to the chair.

“That is a wet bar over there. You will pour me a whisky from one of my dozen or so varieties. Again, you will be trained on everything whisky related. A double on the rocks will need to be placed next to the cigar and the TV remote.

“I have over three thousand porn videos. You are to select one and have it playing when I come in. It should be muted. I would also like voiceless smooth jazz playing over the speakers. You will get to the point to where your selections of cigar, music, whisky, and porn all work together for my enjoyment.

“When I come in here, it’s to relax after a long day at work. I want to hear soothing music, a nice cigar, some smooth whiskey, while watching hot porn, and a faggot’s tongue worshipping my shitter. See that hole in the seat? Your face is going to be under it when I plant my beefy ass for you to clean.

“Go on, around back and climb under it. This chair was specially made for me by this rim chair designer who lives in the mountains with his slave. Your head should fit snug but fine. There should be neck support.

“You look like you always belonged there. Before I sit, I am going to show you my cock. It’s not going to be hard, but you can appreciate its size. Open your mouth. You ever drink piss? No? That’s going to change right now. I don’t expect you to swallow it all at once, but do make an effort. You won’t get my dick until you have earned it by drinking my piss and cleaning my shithole.

“Oh fuck. You really must want my dick. You aren’t freaking out like most other boys. Swallow as you fast as you can, then open up for another piss load. That’s good. Don’t worry, I’ll have you well trained in no time. Now it’s time for my ass.

“The best part of this chair is that you cannot pull yourself out if I am sitting on it. There’s very little movement side to side. Your mouth is perfectly aligned with my shithole.

“You are to clean it, regardless of condition. I don’t care if it stinks of sweat or piss, you clean it. I don’t care if there are skid marks, you clean it.

“It’s dark hunh? You will find that the claustrophobia is rather liberating. Focus on two things, my shithole and your mouth. There is nothing in this universe other than those two things. Going forward, you will put a blindfold on and noise cancelling headsets. Again, it all comes down to my shithole and your mouth.

“Now it’s time for me to relax, truly relax. Oh, that just slipped out. Consider that me blowing you a kiss.”

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amethystfallenangel · 11 months

Text

jazz bar (ethan hunt x reader)

"You like jazz?" You hear a hoarse voice behind you, and in the warm lights of the bar, you see a familiar figure, standing amused with a whisky in hand. It was Ethan. You smile incredulously, scoffing in amusement as the agent sits opposite you on the leather sofas, the jazz playing softly in the background. It was a cosy bar, with low lights and little booths as the slow hum of cars whirring in the streets outside had almost rocked you to sleep until Ethan had showed up.

He exhales lightly, leaning over his drink with that tight-lipped smile he always has tugging at his lips. You give him a once over: his hair has grown, uneven layers. It looks quite nice.

You clear your throat.

"What are you doing here, Ethan?" you hum.

He clenches his jaw ever so slightly, still calmly sipping his drink.

"Ethan..." you repeat, your voice a whisper.

He purses his lips and looks up, his eyes softening slightly. He answers with a sleepy voice, seeming unbothered.

"You mean in a jazz bar?"

"Very funny. I mean in New York." You lean forwards over the table. "You working a job?"

He chuckles lowly, tilting his head.

"I could ask you the same. Last time I checked, you work for Mi6, same as Ilsa. You're not here on holiday either, are you?"

You sigh, falling back into your seat.

"You're stubborn, Hunt."

He smiles warmly into his drink, swishing the liquid around, as if lost in thought. The music changes, as the band begins playing 'While We Were Young' by Wes Montgomery. For a moment, the bar seems quiet. People are whispering and chuckling. The soft sounds of glasses and footsteps are mixed with the slight smell of earthy tobacco and roses. A few people walk off into the garden at the other end of the jazz bar.

After a minute or so, Ethan turns to the band, leaning over the back of the sofa to watch them play. You've never seen him so laid back before. Somehow, he can feel your gaze on his face, and he turns with a little grin.

"I'm not working a job, actually. Not yet, anyways."

His answer takes you by surprise. Why would he be here?

"There is a job that Hunley has for the IMF, but I thought I'd come ask for your help."

You chuckle.

"Really? But why?"

"Because I just came back from the meeting, and as I was passing this bar, I saw you through the window."

"So you thought you'd just impulsively ask me to join your mission?"

"...Unless you're working a job."

"I actually just finished a job." You smile, looking down into your lap.

"Perfect then."

You look up, shaking your head. It had been two years since you last saw him. You'd actually met him through your colleague, Ilsa. The two of you ended up dating for about three months, but you decided to part, simply because it was too complicated. You were a British agent. How often would you really see him? You were glad to have parted on good terms, though.

He signals to the space beside him on the sofa. You chuckle, getting up and placing yourself next to him.

"What are you doing, Ethan?" you breathe out.

"I wouldn't mind your company again for a while," he answers, his breath soft and steady, close to your neck.

You turn to him, gazing into his eyes.

"It always ends up bitter sweet, hun," you sigh, offering a sheepish smile.

He says nothing, only nuzzles your hair ever so softly, his lips parted as if he had many things to say, but could not.

You lean into his touch, burying your head into the crook of his neck, even though you know that it could never last forever.

The band begins to play 'Rain in My Heart' by Frank Sinatra, and you smile with a sort of melancholy.

You mumble into his neck.

"How's Benji? And Luther?"

"They're good. They miss you."

"I miss them too. Ilsa misses you all, by the way."

He nods and the wraps his arms around you, playing with a strand of your hair.

You sigh, delicately running your hands over his chest, settling his silk dark blue shirt. He always looked very elegant in this shirt.

"You'll take the mission then?" he whispers, kissing the top of your head.

Your only answer is to lift your head, moving closer, so that your lips are brushing against one another. You shouldn't, but you close the distance, as you feel him softly move against you, humming into the kiss.

You pull away, as his lips still linger tenderly right below your bottom lip.

"Damn you, Ethan," you chuckle, "I missed you."

He smirks playfully, raising an eyebrow.

"Likewise," he replies, his voice as comforting as the first time you heard it. You grab his neck and kiss him again, more passionately this time, and his hands drop to your waist, tugging slightly at your skirt. His mouth moves gingerly against yours. He was always gentle with you. Gentle and patient.

He cradles your head in his arms, as you fall into his chest, with a giggle.

"Shall we go to my apartment," he mumbles into your hair. "I've got my bike. Benji and Luther can meet us tomorrow."

You caress his cheek, then his forehead, admiring his features as if it had been a century since you'd last looked into his eyes. You raise your eyebrows and laugh.

"Of course, Ethan."

#mission impossible #ethan hunt #tom cruise #mission impossible fallout #x reader #ethan hunt x reader #fluff fic #comfort character

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