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biteofcherry · 6 months ago

Note

POV — something that’s already happened, retold from another character’s perspective

TTD Steve's POV of meeting princess for the first time? Pretty please 🥺

Thanks for sending one of these asks, Jaqui ❤️

ahh, that dark mafia Steve holding our panties hearts in his clutches 😏

Touch The Darkness Masterlist

dark mafia!Steve Rogers x female reader

warnings: none; Steve is a hot bastard; he's also dark;

Steve was used to being bored, or annoyed by people he faced. Especially people who found themselves toe to toe with him. But there was something different in the way the noses of your pale heels touched his dark boots and your eyes shone simple determination as you strained your neck to look up at him.

It wasn't bravado that he read from your body posture, rather some inner pep talk boosting your confidence to confront him.

It was that moment he realized you were completely clueless about him.

Judging by the way you moved as you walked into your office, you weren't a bold razor type of professional, who cut through the business with balls of steel.

No, you were someone who worked on maintaining your composure.

Which only made him itch to strip you of it.

Of that boring pantsuit, too. It was very chic, not some ugly piece hiding your curves, but it was so proper and bland. As if you were void of any spark.

“Please sit, Mr Rogers.” You tilted your chin up, after closing the door to your office.

Steve waited for you to reach your chair, before he sat down himself. He could be a ruthless mobster, but nowadays to run an empire as successful as his you had to also know how to play to what people expected.

Not that Steve played those games for long.

No, he entertained it to assess the opponent. Then he stroke however he deemed necessary. Usually in brutal ways.

“I’m sure you’re a busy man Mr Rogers,” you forced your jaw to relax. Another sign of you controlling the way you appeared, which Steve noticed. “So I assume your need to see me goes beyond simply wanting to meet the new director of the center.”

Ah, so you do have a spark! Steve felt a surge of wicked elation, hearing that undertone of impertinence, despite your best attempts to remain simply professional and stern.

“It does, but you are a curiosity.” He leaned back in his chair.

“How so?” You raised an eyebrow.

His gaze didn't stray from your face, reading the way the cogs in your head had to turn with possibilities. You were probably mauling over the fact you weren't a socialite, nor a star type of a doctor who usually mingled around Starks and their alike.

Again, thinking of your appearance and all things proper. Not even considering that he could find you a curiosity for how you were not who.

“A pretty, shiny fish being dropped into a tank full of sharks and swimming through it all calm and confident.”

It wasn't meant to be a compliment. Steve, despite his sudden fascination, was clear in his intention of getting exactly what he wanted, no matter if he had to watch you shiver in response to his threat.

There it was - your back going ramrod straight and your hands falling to your lap. You were holding yourself so hard to maintain composure and not claw at him.

Which was good. If you raised your hand, as amused as Steve could be by it, he would not let you get away with it. You were not in his circle to gain any privileges of forgiveness.

Not yet, anyway.

“If you mean dealing with health care system moguls, I assure you I have experience in that." You replied, tone barely restraining the annoyance bubbling inside of you. "Managing donations for a privately based center won’t be much different than wrapping pharmaceutical companies around a finger.”

Steve grinned, entertained with your attempt to cover a shiver as you held his gaze.

“That’s not what I mean at all.” He drawled with a slight chuckle.

“What is it that you mean, then?” You huffed, once again changing the position of your hands.

Though he was tempted to push that button harder, to see you truly snap and reveal something other than bland, clueless naivety, Steve couldn't allow you to treat him like an average demanding client.

“You have no idea who I am, do you?” He tilted his head to the side, adding a tone of ice to his voice.

It was best if you learned fast that he wasn't one to play those polite back and forth games for long.

“One of Howard’s benefactors?” You swallowed nervously, while still trying to remain calm on the outside.

And Steve found himself the more annoyed with it. He needed you obedient, but he wanted you to submit while being you, not some persona you were playing.

But he didn't provoke you further, more intent on driving to the point.

“Of sort.” He replied. “I’m someone who has all of those benefactors under my thumb. As well as other people.”

Your eyes ignited with realization, though Steve assumed you were suspecting it earlier, but simply didn't accept it fully. Probably thinking that a nice, unthreatening woman like you simply couldn't find herself face to face with a mobster.

There was no rule book about dealing with someone like him. You had to scramble for defense and self-preservation instinct to continue.

“What do you want exactly?” Your voice returned to the softer tune, the slight tremble in it inaudible.

But Steve was skilled in reading signs of fear. Like a predator sensed its prey's heartbeat and scent.

He saw the little gulp. The widening of your irises. The twitch in your fingers. And found it a different kind of potent thrill for his tastes.

He wanted to keep you on edge: a little scared, a lot of shocked.

Steve wondered, if he could push you to break out of that shell and do something that he'd have to meet with an iron grip and a blade at your throat; and how you'd look at him then.

“A lot of things,” his grin was sharp and threatening, “but now, from you? I want this place.”

Your face again showed that astonishment and clueless confusion. Steve knew there's no way you would be aware of the potential this place had, but there were other possibilities to think of. Well, at least people who grazed the grey area, or were business moguls with a lot of dirt under their carpets, would come up with some ideas.

“You want to run a health center?” You asked slowly and Steve felt his glee rising at the prospect of staining that silly light bubble you were keeping around yourself.

“Not at all.” Steve shook his head, his grin not disappearing. “The grounds it stands on are of value to me.”

He wasn't sure which aspect of it exactly did it, but he triggered your response.

That wild outburst, which stirred his cock with interest as you abruptly stood up and raised your voice at him.

“I am not going to hand over this place, robbing people in need of the help they only recently received, just because you wish to broaden your show-off territory.” You circled your desk in swift steps, standing in front of him with your hands on your hips.

As if you could scold him, or intimidate him.

“I won’t ever sell it. Or hand it over. No!”

Steve remained seated, simply watching as realization of your own behavior dawned on you. He wondered, if you were more scared of his retaliation for yelling at him, or if you were more appalled that you didn't remain this dead statue of professionalism?

“You haven’t yet heard my offer.” His fingers clenched on the armrests.

To restrain himself from touching you. Not in violence.

Well, not in painful kind of violence...

“I’m not interested in it.” Your reply was softer and your eyes widened as you hear yourself resist further, despite what your brain had to be advising you.

“You should be.” Steve slowly stood up.

You made a step back. Of course you did, anyone would. But when Steve followed you, crowding you against your desk, he didn't feel hunger for your blood and broken bones.

“See, I’m not the only one who will show interest in this place. Word goes around, especially in this city. Others will reach out to you, too, when they find out I’ve shown interest.” He clenched and unclenched his fingers, warming them up, though he hasn't decided yet for what. “Sooner or later. For your sake, I hope it’s too late for them.”

Steve noticed the change as he spoke. It was minimal, but telling.

The way your breath hitched as he neared and the look in your eyes flicking from fear to glimpse of need.

It was soon gone as you trembled at his approach, but Steve recognized that tread - that craving for something dark and dangerous.

Honestly, a few minutes ago, when he laid his eyes on you for the first time, Steve wouldn't suspect you hid desires for depravity.

You pushed it all down into your proper box, but you couldn't help your body reacting to the fire of annoyance mixed with fear that made you tilt your chin up defiantly.

“If it’s so desired by many, as you claim, why should I take your offer instead of others?”

Steve leaned closer, catching a whiff of your sweet scent punched up by your heightened temperature due to the rush of adrenaline.

He slowly dragged his gaze down your body and up, thinking of the nice clean cuts he'd make to those dull fabrics you wore.

“Because-” he made his voice softer and warmer, studying your face and chest for reaction- “I can protect you from them. But no one can protect you from me, Princess."

The pet name rolled out on his tongue instinctively.

It fit you so well. Your sweet, proper aura, just begging to be conquered and debauched.

“There’s no need for condescending names,” you blurted out, but it was breathy.

Steve noticed the way your breasts raised in reaction, how your arms dropped to your sides defenseless and your fingers twitched.

There was no hate for that pet name, though he expected you would rage at it later, once he left you to gather your wits.

“Condescending?” He inched even closer. He slipped his hands to rest on your desk, caging you between him and the sturdy furniture.

“A Princess is a title of a royal family’s member,” he lowered his head to catch your gaze. “You may not be connected by blood, but you are now an heiress to Stark, who has been treated like royalty for decades.”

“A Princess-” Steve moved one of his hands and brushed it along your hip- “is also a girl deserving to be spoiled.”

He didn't think of pretty gifts for you, but there were other ways to spoil a woman.

If he was to spoil you, it would be with his mouth between your thighs while your naked body shimmered with gems he boldly stole as youth.

But you'd have to earn it.

For now you gave him merely a few minutes of entertainment. Steve wanted more. He wanted the center and he was going to get it. You'd better accept the fact and comply, before he lost his patience.

“Seize the opportunity while I still consider you deserving of it.” Steve pulled back, ignoring the tilt of your body following his warmth for a split of a second.

“You can keep your center, I don’t need it locked down. But you will sign the property over to my name.” He served you the cold, unyielding tone.

“You have twenty four hours to consider. This time tomorrow, I’ll come to hear you say yes to me, Princess.”

#jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x you #dark mafia!steve rogers #dark mafia!steve rogers x reader #touch the darkness #no excuses writing meme

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boxofbonesfic · 9 months ago

Text

Title: Return to Sender [5 of 7]

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Dark! Andy Barber x Reader, Ari Levinson x Reader

Summary: Andy Barber promised he would never let you go, and come hell or high water, he's going to keep that promise.

Warnings: Dubcon/Noncon, Kidnapping, Minor Violence, Gaslighting, Basement Wife Trope, Manipulation, Stalking, Obsessive behavior, Possessive behavior, Smut, MORE TAGS TO BE ADDED

A/N: 👀 is… is anyone still there? i promised i’d update this this weekend, and i delivered. an hour before midnight, but i delivered. 😅 i know it’s been a while for this fic, but it hasn’t been forgotten about. i really hope you all enjoy this latest installment, and please don’t hesitate to let me know what you think! as always, comments are great, reblogs are golden. thank you for reading, and mind the warnings. ❤️ divider by @firefly-graphics

Where am I?

You stare blearily at the distant ceiling, dull and rusting metal beams criss-crossing over exposed brick. You reach out for Dove, and when your fingers meet empty air, your throat tightens as you remember.

Pronge walking away with your baby, and Ari—

You sit up, your fingers knotted in the thin blanket. The repurposed garage office is still and silent, the springs creaking quietly underneath you. The air smells like old motor oil, singed rubber and citrus-scented antiseptic, and it burns your nostrils. You’re almost afraid to shatter the fragile silence with the sound of your movement, but it can’t be helped as you shove your feet back into your sneakers. The office is long abandoned, the desks all pushed up against the sides of the room to make space for the bed.

The hallway is slightly better, boxes of papers and car parts lining both sides, lit by old yellow florescent bulbs that give off less light than they should. There’s a dusty, unlit neon sign that reads Gary’s Auto-body, leaning against the wall. Down the hall, you can see that the light is on in the garage proper, this one bright and brilliant white. You squint as you pass through the doorway, spots dancing in front of your eyes as they slowly adjust to the light.

In its previous life, this place had been a car mechanic’s garage, but now it serves as something like a speak-easy operating room. The car lifts have been mostly dismantled, and sitting on the concrete in the rusted outline of where they used to be are two operating tables. Ari is on one of them, speaking quietly to the man winding a length of beige bandaging around his right shoulder.

Zemo. Ari called him Zemo.

“Mouse, you’re up.” You cover your mouth with both hands to stop the surprised squeak from reaching him. Guiltily, you peer around the door frame, waiting for a reprimand that doesn’t come. The “doctor” regards you with cold, calculating eyes.

“So this is the young woman Mr. Barber is tearing the city apart to find,” he says. “How nice to finally meet you.” Andy’s name sends a cold shiver down your spine, and you clutch yourself. Zemo’s welcome feels less like kindness and more like tolerance. It makes you wonder how long you’ll be staying here.

“You know Andy?” You ask, careful to keep your face as neutral as you can manage.

Zemo scowls. “Well enough to know we do not get along.” He shakes his head, before regarding you with a cold smile. “Your husband has just as many enemies as he does friends.” Beside him, Ari sits up on the table with a pained grunt, swinging his legs over the side.

“We can trust him, Mouse.” Ari offers you a watery smile. Nervously, you step closer, skirting around the now defunct counter as you attempt to give Zemo as wide a berth as you can manage. He either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, cleaning his tools with a cloth before dropping them with a loud, metallic pap into the metal tray next to the table.

“Are you okay?” You ask him in a quiet voice as you approach, fingers dancing nervously around the gauze. You shake your head, closing your eyes as you blow out an exasperated breath. “I mean, I know you’re not okay, but—” Ari places a warm hand over your own, a quiet laugh rumbling in his chest.

“I’m okay.”

“Lucky for you Pronge is a terrible shot.” Zemo quips. “He missed bone.”

“See?” Ari says, squeezing your hand tight before letting go. “I’m just fine.”

“You’re not fine. You have a six millimeter hole in you.”

“Semantics.”

“Keep activity to a minimum. I shouldn’t have to tell you this,” Zemo replies dryly. “And keep it clean, I’m not going to do it for you. This isn’t a hospital.” You watch him pack up his tools, ferrying them over to the deep sink on the other side of the room. Ari slides off of the table with a grunt, and you watch him press his lips together as he stands upright, gritting his teeth against the pain.

“Yeah, yeah, I got it.” Ari mutters, cutting his eyes at Zemo over his shoulder. “Six millimeters.” The doctor tosses him a worn looking cloth sling. Ari tries to fit it over his shoulder, and you rush to help him. “Thanks, Mouse.” Your cheeks warm with an uncomfortable heat. “I could have done it myself.”

“This is all my fault,” you mumble angrily, shaking your head. “I have to do something.” You step back from him, tucking your chin. He rests a warm, comforting hand on your shoulder.

“No it’s not.”

“If I—If I hadn’t—” Guilt is an achingly heavy cowl about your sagging shoulders.

“Mouse, what good is this going to do you?” The gentleness in his touch makes you flinch.

“As much as I am enjoying this conversation,” Zemo clears his throat. “I have my own wife and son to be getting back to.” You watch as he places his cleaned tools back into his bag. “Do remember what I said about your… hole.” He gestures to Ari’s injured arm with a grimace. “I’m rather keen on not amputating.”

“You and me both.” Ari says. The two of you watch as he makes his way over to the front of the shop, pulling the metal garage door up enough to slip underneath it. “What time tomorrow?”

“Noon.”

The garage door slams down hard onto the concrete, and then there is silence. You stand there awkwardly, twisting your t-shirt in your restless hands. They’re so used to holding the baby, without her sure weight in them they feel… useless.

You feel useless. Adrift.

And it isn’t just Dove—it’s everything. Despite what Ari says, you know this is your fault. He’d never have been hurt if you hadn’t been so fucking helpless. And it’s your own fault, you’d let your guard down, let Andy back inside, let him make a home inside your head, and it was your fault.

“What are you thinkin’ there, Mouse?” Ari’s voice interrupts the self-depreciating internal monologue running rampant in your head. “I hope it’s about getting some sleep, you need it.” Again, his earnestness puts you on edge. You don’t know what to do with it—it feels alien to you now, almost like you’d prefer Andy’s smug cruelty—at least then you know what to expect.

You don’t want to admit that you’re blaming yourself, thinking about all the ways you could have prevented this exact course of events just by being better.

“Yeah,” you lie. “I’m exhausted.” If anything, you’re too awake, recalling last night’s events with perfect clarity. You can’t even look at Ari as the two of you silently make your way back to the repurposed offices, shuffling along beside him as your insides squirm. You feel too much to go to sleep, so many warring desires it feels like you’re being torn apart from the inside out.

You suppose that’s one thing you sort of miss about Andy—you didn’t have to think, didn’t have to feel. He did it all for you. You arrive back at your “room”, fidgeting nervously before you cross the threshold. You don’t think you can sleep in here now, now that the adrenaline has worn off. Now that the terror has been waylaid by your other earthly concerns.

Ari notes your hesitation.

“I can stay with you util you fall asleep, if you don’t think you can.”

You duck your head, shaking it emphatically. “I should be looking after you,” you reply, shooting him a look over your shoulder. “You should, um, rest.” Ari looks around, raising an eyebrow. Oh. There’s only one other bed—and it’s current occupant is currently snoring so loud you can hear it in here.

“You sleep here, and I’ll—” You look around. “I’ll sleep in one of the rolly-chairs or something.” He laughs softly at your sudden determination.

“You know I’m not letting you sleep on chairs, Mouse.” Ari rests a hand on your shoulder. “You take the bed.”

“You got shot, Ari!” You hiss. “I-I-I can’t—”

He holds up his hands placatingly, like he can see you working yourself up. Hell, he probably can.

“Okay.” He threads the fingers of his good hand through his blond hair. “I’ll sleep on one side, you on the other. Fair?”

“Y-yes. Fair.” Your words shock the both of you, and you feel your face heat as he regards you with a look of pleasant surprise before you look down at your feet.

“You don’t have to agree if you aren’t comfortable, Mouse. You know that. I wouldn’t—”

“I know.” You grip your own forearms tightly as you speak, like you’re afraid saying the words out loud will make them untrue—like speaking the name of your demon will bring him down upon you. “You’re not Andy.”

Ari takes the left side of the bed, and the springs creak under his weight. You crawl in beside him, holding yourself as stiff as you possibly can to avoid even brushing him by accident. The truth is, you are scared—but not of Ari.

And that frightens you, too.

He’s a man, a stranger, wearing a face too similar to the one you’re running from. Now, though, when you’re brave enough to peek at him, you see Ari—not Andy. And the longer you’re here, the clearer you see him.

You lie there in the dark, your arms held painfully stiff over your chest as you search the dark with wide, glassy eyes. The ceiling is far enough above you that your brain begins to construct patterns and shapes on it’s popcorn-textured surface. Grinning faces, tall, shadowy figures—

“Mouse, are you sleeping?”

You hesitate. “…No.”

“Go to sleep.” You swallow against the thick lump in your throat, blinking back hot tears.

“It’s… It’s hard without Dove.” It’s so silent without the baby, the darkness uncomfortably quiet without the sound of her sleepy burble. She’s probably awake right now, wailing for you. You press the heels of your palms against your eyes like you’re trying to hold the tears in.

“I know.” The mattress creaks, and you feel Ari’s weight shift. The weight of your loss settles in on you, then, the crushing vacuum of your daughter’s absence sucking the air out of your lungs as you gasp for it. You can’t keep quiet anymore, your hiccoughing breaths rising in pitch until you’re sobbing, hot tears streaming down your cheeks to soak your hair and the thin pillow beneath.

“Hey, hey, come here.” Ari’s touch is hesitant. He lets his fingers linger on your shoulders before he hugs you, like he’s waiting for you to rebuke him. You don’t. Instead, you curl into his chest, your wails muffled by his body as you tangle your fingers in his over-shirt. You cry so hard it hurts, your throat raw and aching.

Ari’s hands don’t stray. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t murmur false platitudes or make promises he knows he won’t be able to keep. He just…holds you, his breath steady and heartbeat slow and even under your ear.

And then, finally, you fall asleep.

—

In the light of day, Irene looks terrible. Her left eye is swollen black and purple, a patchwork of burst blood-vessels and yellow bruises spread out over cheek. The other side of her face is not much better, the other eye open but blood red, and her nose swollen. It’s obvious she took a beating, a bad one. Still, she seems to be in higher spirits than last night as she shovels the last of her cereal into her mouth. You’re doing the same thing, hungrily crunching down the contents of your own bowl.

“We need to talk about next steps.” Irene draws the back of her hand across her mouth, her one good eye focused on you. “We need to move.”

“I’m not going anywhere without Dove.”

“That isn’t an option anymore.”

You clench your hands into fists on the table. “I’m. Not. Leaving.”

“We will figure out a way to get her back, but right now? You cannot go back to Boston, he is never going to let you go, do you understand that?” It’s like you’re speaking two different languages, talking around one another in dizzying circles. You shove yourself away from the foldout table, knocking over your plastic chair.

“I’m not fucking leaving without my daughter!” You haven’t felt like this in months, and something about it feels freeing as the hot rage pools in your chest. No, it isn’t that you haven’t felt it, you haven’t let yourself feel it. Anger was hopeless with Andy, firm and stone faced in the hurricane of your rage until you exhausted yourself, your freedom, your life still frustratingly far out of your reach.

You storm away from the table, kicking aside one of Zemo’s silver trays, and his tools skitter across the concrete. Behind you is the sound of Ari’s voice.

“I’ll talk to her.”

You don’t know where you’re going, but you know you need to be away from them. Alone. The bathroom is on the far side of the garage bay, and you slam the door behind you, your chest heaving. You can’t leave without Dove, you won’t.

You won’t abandon her.

You grip the porcelain edges of the sink hard as you blink back fresh tears. You turn on the water with a fierce jerk of the knob, and begin to rinse last night’s tears from your face. This is the cleanest room in the building, fresh towels stacked on on the shelves, and medical supplies arranged neatly in the glass cases across from the standing shower.

It’s probably the only room Zemo actually uses.

As you’re drying your face, a knock sounds at the door, and you glare at it as you huff.

“What?”

“It’s me. Can I come in?” You chew your lip.

“Fine.”

You unlatch the lock, and fold your arms across your chest as it opens. Ari peers around the door.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” You repeat, and he chuckles, stepping fully inside as the door swings shut behind him. “I’m not leaving without Dove.” You say it firmly, watching his shoulders sag with his deep sigh. “It’s not happening.”

“Mouse. Look at me.” Reluctantly, you drag your gaze from the air over his shoulder. “Your husband—”

“We’re not married.” You spit, and Ari rolls his eyes at the technicality.

“He’s dangerous, Mouse. You know that.” Ari places gentle hands on your shoulders. “You know that as soon as you step foot back in that house that he will never, ever let you go again.” Your stomach twists at his words.

“I can get out again.”

“Will you want to?” His bluntness feels like a slap across the face, and though Ari hadn’t struck you—would never—your cheeks smart anyway. You know what he’s implying—Andy scrambled your head all up inside, and half the time now you don’t know up from fucking down.

But it still hurts to know he knows. Knows how changed you are, even though he never got to see the before, just the after.

“Fuck you!” You snarl. “I am not leaving her! And if you won’t help me get her back, then I’ll—I’ll go back my fucking self!” For the first time since you’d met him, Ari actually looks angry at this, his eyes darkening beneath his furrowed brows. “If you don’t care about her—”

“I let Leah go back.” It takes you a moment to realize who he’s talking about, what he means. “I let Leah go back, and then I had to bury them both.” Ari’s hand is a pale, trembling fist on the bathroom sink. His next words are hoarse. “I didn’t know they made coffins so small.”

“Ari…”

“I care about Dove.” The words are heavy, and you hate that you know he means them. “We are going to get her back.” His eyes are shiny, but he doesn’t cry. “I fucking swear we will get her back, but you are not going to do that. Okay? You’re not.”

“You promise?” Your mouth trembles.

“I promise.” Ari wraps his pinky around yours, holding your entwined fingers up at eye level. “And you aren’t going back.”

“I-I won’t.”

“Promise.” His dark eyes burn so fiercely you want to look away. “Promise.” He repeats it firmly.

“I promise.”

And then he’s kissing you, cupping your chin with his good hand as he presses his lips desperately against your own. Your heart pounds in your ears as you go stiff in his arms. Ari breaks away, releasing you with a soft curse.

“Fuck. I’m sorry, Mouse, I—I didn’t mean to do that, I just—” For once, he’s flustered, his cheeks ruddy beneath the shadow of his beard. Ari cards his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry.”

The moment hangs between you in the air, held like a breath.

Your body stays tensed, like you’re ready to fight, or run, like it remembers Andy’s strict instructions. Except… Andy isn’t here to deliver them himself.

“It’s…” You don’t know what to say, hell, you don’t even know what you’re feeling. Everything is all mixed up, the emotions all biting the tails of the ones they’re chasing—you’re terrified, you’re exhilarated, you’re nauseous and scared and happy and—

“I’ll go. I should go.” Ari mutters the words more to himself than to you. You’re moving before you really mean to, leaning up on the tips of your toes to press a clumsy kiss on the corner of his mouth.

“I—I don’t want you to go.” With a sigh, Ari melts against you, resting his forehead against yours. You know you have done this before—many times, even just with Andy—but somehow there is a marked uncertainty as you lift your own hand to Ari’s face, stroking your thumb along his stubbled jawline. He hums, turning his face into your palm, and you feel the press of his lips.

Ari wraps his good arm around your waist, his fingers pressing into the meat of your hip through your pajama pants. His right arm flexes, his fist clenching and unclenches in the sling like he wants to move it, but he knows better. Instead, he buries his nose in your hair, the tips of his fingers creeping up beneath your t-shirt to stroke at your belly. You tense at his touch and then relax again, shivering.

“You tell me to go, I go.” Ari repeats softly, nosing down the side of your jaw. “I won’t be angry.” You look for the pool of cold dread that usually sits in your belly whenever Andy touches you, the reluctant fear that you stamp down to please him but find it entirely absent.

“You don’t have to make me happy, you don’t have to do what I want because I want it.” You have to stand on the tips of your toes to wrap your arms around Ari’s broad shoulders. There is undeniable excitement uncurling in your belly, warmth skipping under your skin at his touch. You want Ari to touch you.

“What if… it would make me happy?”

Ari huffs out a breathy laugh, his lips curving against your own. “That’s all I seem to want to do.” He takes your mouth again with a fervor that leaves you pleasantly breathless. Ari tangles his fingers in the curls at the nape of your neck, holding you still. His teeth tug at the weight of your lower lip and you gasp, opening for him. Ari tastes faintly of cinnamon sugar and something distinctly him that makes you shiver.

“Been wanting to do that for a goddamn week.” He sighs the words against your mouth. He smooths his hand down the back of your neck, tracing a gentle finger along the length of your spine. You don’t know you’re holding your breath until you release is as his palm skirts over the curve of your ass. He chuckles. “Is this okay?”

“Y-yes.” Ari palms your ass in response and you gasp, tangling your fingers in his over-shirt. It feels strange to be asked what you want, to even consider your own feelings as worth listening to. Andy tells you what to want, what to think, how to feel—Ari simply…allows you to be. Just as you are.

“I wanna touch you, Mouse,” he breathes. The admission sends a sharp bolt of electricity straight down your spine. “Can I?” You can’t avoid his eyes anymore, reluctantly meeting his gaze with your own. The words stick in your throat.

“You have to tell me, Mouse.” He strokes your trembling chin with the pad of his thumb. “I’m not him.”Andy always played at giving you choice, but you know Ari isn’t. That if you tell him to, he’ll walk away, and he won’t punish you for it.

You close your eyes hard, pressing the lids shut till they hurt. You don’t want to think about Andy right now, don’t want to think about Dove without you—you just want this. It feels like you have to reach down your own throat to find it, pulling your own voice up and out through your mouth with force.

“Please?”

Ari groans, plunging his hand into your loose sleep-pants to wrap around your thighs. He’s strong enough to lift you one-armed as you adjust. You wrap your legs around his waist as a reflex and he hums approvingly, his fingers sinking into the meat of your hips.

The hard planes of his body press against yours, and your face heats as you think of the new weight that has settled around your hips and belly, but Ari does not seem to notice its presence, his fingers skimming appreciatively along your skin. You can feel the bulge of his cock pressing against your core, and the breathy, surprised noise you make in the back of your throat at the feel of it prompts a chuckle.

Ari grips your hip hard as he takes a few long strides backwards until you feel cool tile beneath your back. He holds you there, pinned comfortably between his body and the wall as he grinds into you. He ruts against you with a groan. The thin, stretchy fabric between you offers little protection, considering, you can practically feel him throbbing through his zipper.

“See, Mouse?” He says lowly. “All for you.” Ari releases you, and your feet have barely touched down on the tile before he’s pulling at the hem of your t-shirt.

“Let’s take this off.” You nod, tugging it up over your head breathlessly, unaware of where it lands after Ari tugs it from your fingers. He drops to his knees, hooking a finger under the elastic band holding up your pajamas. You tense, remembering the last person who had been between your legs, but Ari grounds you, his lips brushing over the curve of your hip.

“Don’t.” His mouth moves softly against your skin. “Stay here. With me, right now. Don’t go anywhere else.” Ari peels the layers of clothing back from your skin, his hands roaming hungrily over each newly revealed inch. You step out of them and then quickly scoot off your socks. Ari looks up at you from between your thighs, making hard, heavy eye contact as he places a hand beneath your knee.

“Can I do this for you, Sweetheart? Can I make you feel good?” God, you want to let him. Everything’s out of you control—Andy, Dove, your whole life, but this? This is yours. This, you get to choose.

“Yes.” Even the act of consent feels unfamiliar. “I—I want to.” You don’t know how to describe the way you see the relief leave his body, his broad shoulders relaxing as he widens your stance, pushing your thighs apart till he can kneel between them properly. He squeezes the back of your thigh reassuringly before slowly lifting it to rest on his good shoulder. Ari holds your gaze as he leans forward to place a kiss on the chubby curve of your vulva through your cotton panties.

His mouth is warm and soft—reverent as he mouths at your swelling lips through the fabric. Ari strokes your hip as he catches the fabric with his teeth, before pulling it aside to marvel at your bare pussy. You want to look away but you don’t, your mouth dropping open as he delivers a sloppy kiss against your slick folds.

“O-oh,” the sound falls from your lips unbidden, and you feel his mouth curve against you. He pauses briefly to shrug out of his flannel, and dimly you are aware of the sound of his zipper before he’s back, his face thrust hard into the soaking place between your thighs. You mumble his name.

“Ari, Ari, Ari—”

He rolls the pearl of your clit against the roof of his mouth, circling your entrance with one finger. You press your head back against the tile, staring unseeingly at the ceiling. You do not remember threading your fingers through his hair, but as you tighten them, tugging, he moans, throaty and low. When you chance a look down, Ari is staring at you with lidded eyes. He flicks your clit sharply with the tip of his tongue, humming appreciatively as you jackknife.

“Go ahead and cum, Mouse,” he murmurs the words against your slick, twitching skin. “It’s okay, Sweetheart, I know you need it.” One hand remains buried in Ari’s hair, tugging on it helplessly as the other scrabbles for purchase against the tile, looking for something—anything—to hold onto. You push against the hot water knob, and the pipes rattle as water rockets through them. You are tangentially aware of the spray of warm water from the shower head—but only barely. You whine helplessly, hips rolling against Ari’s face as you cum.

He presses the tip of his finger into your cunt, groaning at the feel of you, wet and swollen and sucking at him. He gently lowers your leg, and your trembling knees nearly buckle. You watch as Ari wraps his fist around his cock, pumping it slowly as he stares at the sticky, messy spot at the apex of your thighs. It’s thick, veiny like his forearms. He sweeps his thumb across the tip, spreading the dewy drop of precum gathered there.

Ari stands, fishing his wallet out of his back pocket. From inside, he produces a wrinkled—but sealed—condom. He tears into the packet with his teeth before discarding it. He fumbles with one hand, nearly dropping it, but you help, gingerly pulling the condom from his fingers. Ari stands stock still as you roll it slowly down to the base before he grasps your chin, his mouth crashing against yours. You can taste yourself on his tongue.

This time when he lifts you, he uses the wall to leverage your weight, sinking you down slow as you lock your ankles behind his waist. Ari’s head lolls, his lips parting in a silent “o” as he draws his hips back, and then fully sheathes himself inside. The air in your lungs escapes in a sharp, needy whine.

“F-full.” You don’t even realize you’ve said it until Ari hums in agreement.

“Feels good, doesn’t it Mouse?” He breathes. “Shit, you’re squeezing me so nice,” he breathes, drawing back until your cunt is sicking at the tip of him before driving all the way back inside. You manage a nod, your hips rolling greedily into his.

“I-I—fuck—again—” The words don’t want to leave your tongue in any sort of sensible manner, but Ari understands them, grinning hungrily as he picks up the pace. He skims your clit with his thumb, and you can feel the sparks skittering up your spine and you gasp as he does it again and again—

“Come on, Sweetheart, you’ve got one more in there for me, don’t you?” He mutters, angling his hips up into yours as you writhe against him. “Wanna feel it on my cock—mmm, fuck—” You do, leaning forward to bury your face against his chest as you wail, your cunt clamping down around him like a fist. Ari curls his massive body over yours as he empties into you, his hips pressing softly against yours. He holds you there, his cock jerking and throbbing inside of you as he mumbles soft ‘mm’’s and ‘yeah, fuck yeah’’s into your hair until he’s done.

You stay like that, your body buzzing as the warm water streaming down over you. Eventually, when you can no longer feel the hammer of his heart against your cheek, he pulls out, and you press your lips together in embarrassed amusement at the crinkle of latex. He knots it off before tossing it into the trash bin. Your cheeks burn as Ari cleans between your legs, cupping your swollen cunt with an appreciative hum. He slides his fingers through the folds of your sticky sex, and your breath hitches.

“I’m just cleaning you up, Mouse, I promise.” He’s true to his word, there’s hungry, lustful intensity in his touches, only care. You str heady yourself against his shoulder, and your heart drops at the sight of his bandages. The center is tinged with a pink circle, and as you stare at it, it darkens a little.

“You’re bleeding.” Ari looks down at his shoulder and grimaces.

“Occupational hazard, Mouse. I’ll be fine.” He attempts to reassure you with a smile, but it doesn’t completely do away with the cold feeling in your belly.

“We’re going to need to change these, at least,” you say, fingering the edge of his wet bandage. “I think Zemo will be mad if we don’t.”

“He’s always mad.” Ari replies, and you laugh. “But yes. We’ll change them”

It somehow feels more intimate to stand there in the shower with Ari, slowly washing off the events of the last day and a half. He shampoos your hair, rubbing it in gently at the roots with the tips of his fingers. When you’re finally done, he helps you towel off, before producing a generic grey sweatshirt and pants from one of the cupboards after a bit of rummaging.

When the two of you return to the garage, dewy cheeked and differently clothed, Irene snorts.

“Had a good time, did you?”

—

Dove won’t stop crying.

Andy isn’t a bad father, he knows he’s not, but for some reason, he can’t get her calmed down. Her little fists are clenched tight, beating the air above her head with a frustration Andy as her father, cannot seem to quell. He bounces his daughter tiredly as he paces around the nursery, mumbling soothing baby speak as he rubs circles on her back.

She’s been wailing practically nonstop since Pronge had delivered her, his expression grim as he’d handed her over.

I couldn’t get your wife.

Andy had wanted to rage, then, and he almost had, itching to slam the whiskey glass in his hand into Robert’s face for the trouble—but Dove’s fussing had provided a sufficient reminder that it might not be appropriate to do so. She cries herself to sleep, hiccoughing in his arms until her breathing evens. Andy carefully lays her down in the crib, stroking his hand over the curve of her cheek. He closes the door to the nursery, and to his disgust, Robert Pronge stands in the hallway, the decanter of whiskey from his office held in his hand. He takes a swig from it.

“Who else was with her?”

Pronge grimaces. “Irene. And her new assistant. Fucker’s as big as a goddamn house. Name’s Ari Levinson, he owns some shithole bar.” Andy’s eyes narrow.

“Get out.” He shoulders past the killer in his hallway, not bothering to take back the bottle.

“And do what, exactly?” He sneers.

“Finish your goddamn job, and find my wife.” Andy waits to hear the sound of the front door before returning to his office. He’d had you—and you’d slipped right through his fingers again. You wouldn’t want to be apart from Dove, at least, that much he could be sure of. You’re a good mother, regardless of the doubts he knows he’ll have to plant in your beautiful head to get you to stay.

Ari Levinson.

The name is unfamiliar, and a search through both Massachusetts and New York state databases return no results. He does, however, get pings on basic search engines.

Ari Levinson. Dishonorable discharge, tried for murder, dismissed as self defense.

Now that is interesting.

It’s after midnight when he finally decides to turn in for the night, and as he closes his office door, he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. He reaches for it, frowning at the unfamiliar number—but then his eyes widen at the caller I.D.

Albany.

“Hello?” At first, there’s only grainy silence on the other end, until finally, you speak.

“I’m ready to talk, Andy.”

He smiles. “Oh, Honey. I knew you would be.”

to be continued…

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Thank you for reading! Please check out my masterlist for other, similar works, and follow my library blog, @box-of-bones-library for updates. ❤️

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solomons-finest-rum · 2 years ago

Note

Welcome back! I have been enjoying your writing but never sent you request before. Would you write maybe Alfie and a younger reader and he likes her. He wants to marry her but she is not ready so he tells her he would wait forever and it's really sweet and patient. something like that I don't know. you can decide if you like it. Thank you!

“Libretto” — (Alfie Solomons x fem!Reader)

SUMMARY — Age difference between you be damned, Alfie was quite happy to wait for you forever.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — Thank you so much for the request! ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ Feedback is always much appreciated.

WORD COUNT — 1,678

Masterlist

The first time you met Alfie Solomons was purely an accident. At least, you had to lie and swear to the police that it had all been an accident, if only in order to wriggle yourself out of getting arrested.

Now, had you known the man you nearly ran over with your brother’s car was the gangster boss of Camden Town, you could have been persuaded to drive a little more carefully. Especially since the car had been “borrowed” as well.

But, of course, how could you have known? Which was precisely the reason why the first words you uttered to the man were:

“Watch where you’re fucking going!”

All due credit to Alfie Solomons, he couldn’t have been more shocked.

Now, you have to understand that a man like Alfie Solomons, a particularly dangerous man like Alfie Solomons, usually wasn’t shocked by much. It was not every day, however, that he met a girl with eyes so full of rage, driving a fancy Bentley so obviously outrageous and most likely stolen. It was more than enough to get his interest.

“Well?!” you shouted again as you got out of the car.

It wasn’t until two police officers approached you, however, that you changed your tune. Immediately spotting your confusion, it was time for Alfie to enter the game.

“Alright, Mr. Solomons?” one of the policemen asked, feigning concern, though both of them were so obviously in Alfie’s pocket that they would have arrested you on the spot—had Alfie still not been so mesmerised by your outburst. And so, to your astonishment, they simply awaited his orders.

To Alfie’s absolute delight, you tried your best not to show how scared you were at that moment, so Alfie took his sweet fucking time before saying:

“Right, gentlemen, thank God you’re here, ‘cause there I was, mindin’ me own business, yeah, an’ there she comes, driving like the Devil’s on her tail, hair a mess—!”

“I beg your pardon, my hair is not a mess!”

“Right now it is, yeah.”

“No, it is not!”

“Are ya suggestin’ I should lie about what I saw, Miss?”

“So you… want us to arrest the lady, sir?” one of the policemen interrupted that exchange, incredulous at the interaction between you and Alfie.

It served Alfie right, however, since his reputation had always been one to take care of the women in his community. As things were between him and the law, that charity probably remained the only thing between him and the noose.

“Nah, ‘course not,” Alfie waved his hand dismissively. “She’s clearly in a hurry, ain’t ya, luv?” Alfie asked you, with a smirk so devious you felt your cheeks going hot.

“Yes,” you said meekly, then saw Alfie make a face to encourage you to keep going. To spin the tale.

“I… You see, it’s my grandmother,” you said smoothly and Alfie’s smirk only grew. “That’s my brother’s car, he let me borrow it to fetch the doctor. It’s consumption, you see. Overtakin’ her as we speak.”

As the cherry on top, you stifled a fake sniff.

“Now you see, gentlemen, it’s a case of utmost emergency!” Alfie shouted, waving his cane about and obviously taking great pleasure in participating in your lie. “Thank you for your service, lads, there ya go.”

As the policemen gladly accepted a not-so-discreet bonus to their payment, you saw your chance and started to get back to the car.

But you thoroughly underestimated Alfie’s game.

“There now, I’ll drive ya, luv, you can never be too careful in these parts,” he said and quickly, quicker than you anticipated for the man, he made himself comfortable in the driver’s seat.

“Wouldn’t want any more accidents on the way, now would we, luv?” Alfie grumbled as he promptly handed you his cane and proceeded to fumble with the breaks and the accelerator as if he was trying to tame the car, not run it.

“There we go,” he announced as the engine sputtered and roared and you two sped along the street in a no less reckless manner than you had been driving before.

“Watch out!” you shrieked as Alfie almost drove straight into a flower cart on the corner.

“Don’t worry, luv, I know the way!” Alfie replied, then made a sharp turn towards London Bridge.

“You do?!”

“Right, not exactly, no, but it’s plain as day you’re not from Camden, luv.”

“What gave it away…” you sniped.

“Now, don’t get cocky, right, ya still almost ran me over an’ I have to tell ya, luv, that takes balls, right! ‘Cause as things stand, the bounty for me is as high as they go.”

You paled at the notion and when Alfie glanced at your expression in between the turns, he roared with laughter.

“Naaah, luv, don’t be like that! Just pullin’ your leg.”

“Very funny.”

“I like to think so, yeah.”

Obviously too pleased with himself to notice, Alfie missed you paying close attention to the cane you were still holding. It was definitely heavy and so well-used that you had trouble distinguishing what used to be the shape of its head.

“Right, seein’ as you almost ended me on my own bloody street, luv, you might as well give me your name,” Alfie interrupted your musings, not too pleased about your close inspection of his personal belongings (even though the contradicting bastard gave it to you for self-keeping himself).

But you gave him your name regardless and he remarked he thought it pretty. When you also gave him your address, he drove you straight home and even got out first to open the door for you. You thanked him quickly for what you supposed was straight up hijacking the car, but seeing as you had done so first to your brother, you thought the deeds even. You only prayed no one would see you with Alfie through the window. You knew your sisters would never let you forget it had they seen you two together.

You couldn’t have known that wouldn’t be the last time you saw Alfie Solomons. Somehow throughout the following weeks you seemed to have more chance encounters together than the Fates could possibly allow.

He was always pleasant about it, though, and sometimes even brought you flowers. Then he started buying you lunches and somehow it turned into a little tradition just between you two. You ate lunch together every Thursday.

You weren’t stupid of course, you knew what Alfie was after, but truth be told… You wouldn’t exactly mind giving it to him.

He never outright proposed, but he hinted at marriage enough times that it became just one more piece of the regular fun little puzzle between you.

“An’ how’s my favourite girl this mornin’?” he would ask you when he met you for a stroll.

“Very well, thank you, Alfie,” you’d reply, your tone thoroughly overdone on the casual side.

“Not too cold?”

“No.”

“Not too hungry?”

“Don’t think so.”

“So how ‘bout you marry me today, luv?”

“Oh, I can’t, Alfie!” you giggled as you looped your arm through his and let him lead you around the park. “I’m—”

“Right, let me guess,” he smirked. “Got my shirt inside out again?”

“No, the shirt is very clean today. That’s very unlike you.”

“Well, that’s a first.”

“Well, I told you not to fire your housekeeper, haven’t I?”

“Yeah, no harm done, I offered that old bat her bloody job back,” he grumbled and you giggled again.

“You’ll thank me later, Alfie.”

“I’m sure I won’t, luv.”

“You’re one stubborn man, d’you know that?”

“Yeah, can’t say I’ve never been told that one before.”

“So why can’t I marry you today, Alfie? You promised to guess.”

“Right, how’s about you’re too cold?”

“No, the weather’s quite nice.”

“Too hot?”

“Not really.”

“Too old?”

“Close.”

“Too young?”

You paused and so did he, because he somehow sensed this time it wasn’t just a game between you two. This time it wasn’t just banter; it was real.

“Luv, if I’m makin’ you do anythin’ you wouldn’t want to—”

“No!” you interrupted that train of thought as quickly as possible and took his hand in yours. “No. It’s just that… I don’t think I’m ready to be a wife, yet.”

“Right, in what way?”

“In… In every way, I suppose. I have no idea about running a household or ironing shirts or…”

“Right, thankfully yours truly has already been told he’s a slob.”

“Alfie, this is serious!”

“Right.”

He looked at you expectantly. You still haven’t let go of his hand, which he thought was rather promising.

“I just think I’d make a lousy wife, Alfie.”

“Yeah, that’s that then, luv, right, ‘cause look at the pair of us, I’d be a real lousy husband.”

That got him another giggle out of you, which he thought might have boosted his chances a little.

“Luv, if your parents don’t approve—”

“My parents don’t give two shits, Alfie, I’m not a princess or an heiress,” you chuckled. “I have two younger sisters and two brothers, as far as my chances stand I’d be happy if I scored a baker or some sort.”

“Right, funny you should say that…”

“A front doesn’t count, you madman!”

Even though you knew you crossed a line there by the way he looked around you two, he never did anything to chastise you or show his disapproval at the revelation you just uttered at full volume. In a way, it already told you everything there was to know about the man, had his previous behaviour not been proof enough that he cared about you a great deal.

You already knew you wanted to marry him, age difference between you be damned. So what were you so afraid of exactly?

“Luv, you already know I’m happy to wait for you forever if—”

You shook your head and got on your tiptoes to kiss him mid-speech, since you already knew that a speech was coming. The answer was, with Alfie by your side, you wouldn’t be afraid of anything.

#peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders x reader #alfie solomons fanfic #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons imagine #tom hardy fanfic #tom hardy imagine #tom hardy x reader

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dreamwritesimagines · 2 months ago

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Long HC request of hot Uncle Jamie being added to the list of people allowed to pick up Theo from the mansion and then meeting Logan.

"Have a good weekend, Mr Logan!"

"You too, bub. I'll see you- who the hell are you?"

*he knows exactly who it is*

"Oh hey, James. Here to pick up the little guy, Y/N got held up at work."

"This is my uncle I was telling you about, Mr Logan!"

"The doctor, yeah. Do you have a permit to pick Theo up?"

"Well-"

"That's a no. Theo, let's go."

"I'm registered on his file, his mother wrote down I'm allowed to come get him when he was enrolled."

*cue to Theo nodding emphatically, adorably unaware of the tension brewing. Logan's jaw has been twitching since he saw the man pull up.*

"Mommy says uncle Jamie is the hero that saved me when I was in her belly and we've been family since!"

"A hero?"

"I was an intern. It was a complicated C-section-"

"And you do years long follow up with all your patients or was this one a special case?"

"It was. Though I'm sure I don't have to tell you that, don't I, Mr Logan?"

DSDGJJKL DARLIIING! 😍❤️

Oh I absolutely love this, this is such a great idea! ❤️ And the dialogue is amazing, you're so talented! 😍

First of all, James being a doctor that was there in Theo's birth and then later on making friends with Sunshine?! Aaaaaaa this is canon, this is so canon! 😍

"Do you have a permit to pick Theo up?"

"Well-"

"That's a no." LOLLLL Logan would have zero patience for him 😂

Theo nodding emphatically I can see this scene, this is adorable! 😂

"Mommy says uncle Jamie is the hero that saved me when I was in her belly and we've been family since!" And he would be so excited to tell Logan that and he would be smiling so wide!🥰

"Though I'm sure I don't have to tell you that, don't I, Mr Logan?" SHOTS FIRED 😈😏

Lolll they'd both be glaring at each other while Theo is all smiles, because he looks up to them both so muuuch❤️

Btw when Logan and Sunshine get together, Logan will insist on getting his name on Theo's file as well "to pick him up when necessary" and Sunshine will be like "Logan, you literally live there??" 😂

But Logan and Jamie will HATE each other! 😏 Logan would be glaring at him and Theo will be like,

"Uncle Jamie!"

"Yes buddy?"

"Mr. Logan has knives coming out of his hands whenever he wants!"

"Oh does he now?"

"Yes!"

"No need to be nervous doc."

"I'm not nervous. I'm in the business of fixing people rather than hurting them so maybe you're just not used to the idea, that's all."

"And he's-he's super strong too!"

"Theo bub, do you want to go with Uncle Jamie or do you want to stay a little? I heard your friends are going to play in the yard."

"Wait really!? Uncle Jamie-"

"Are you serious right now?"

"What? He loves to play with his friends, or has he not told you that?"

"I've been around since he was a baby, Mr. Logan. I think I know him better than you do. You've been around for what, couple of months?"

"Uncle Jamie, please?"

"You know what bub? Go ahead and play with your friends, uncle Jamie will wait. Won't you?"

"...Sure. I have all the time in the world buddy. And Theo, when you're done, you and me and your mom will get ice cream, how about that?"

"Yay!"

"I'd invite you too, Mr. Logan, but it's kind of a family thing and as Theo said, we are family."

#sunshine hcs

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thedepthsoffandomminds · 9 months ago

Text

Episode one - the Yankee Dodge

Loved the the middle daughter oneshot.

can i request Jack Dawkins x Belle's older sister!Reader story (I have not seen any sister!reader) same thing as the oneshot instead of Belle being sick, the reader is. Reader is strong-willed, smart and stubborn as Belle, and Belle being a concerned sister to Reader, almost mothering her. Of course, Jack being an overprotective lover. I just want the story to stay the same way as the The Artful Dodger series is, just following the story only replacing Belle with Reader

A/n: I will do this as a long series following each episode per part. ❤️❤️

You follow your youngest sister into Belle's bedroom, Fanny jumped seeing her in the plague mask.

"Don't do that!" She gasped. You laugh from behind her.

"What?" Belle took the mask off and dropped it on her desk.

"Whatever that is." Fanny huffed, you passed behind her and slid onto the chaise lounge.

"You stormed in on me." Belle reminded her sister.

"What's that ungovernable stench?" Fanny scrunched up her nose. You started to lose interest in their conversation, a tightening of your chest took your attention.

"Your perfume?" Belle joked, "No, it's ether. The new Lancet reports the most extraordinary thing. You can give the patient ether, and they don't feel a thing. I mean, you can perform surgery without pain. It means we could finally help-" she had turned to face you finally seeing you clutch at your chest. Both of your younger sisters came darting to your side.

"y/n, what is it? Do you need a doctor?" Fanny scrambled.

"No, no I'm fine. I just need to lie down." You rest back against the couch and close your eyes. Belle reaches behind you to loosen your blouse and corset. You breathed slowly as Fanny once more tried to get Belle to meet a suitor. She had long given up with you, at six and twenty you were already considered a spinster.

The afternoon was spent much the same. Your mother insisted you take a small walk around the gardens. That would clear your lungs and head in her opinion. It only formed to make your legs ache if anything.

Soon after Fanny had you all standing outside the door waiting for the suitor she had found for Belle. The pompous dandy slid out of the carriage and started resiting awful poetry. You had to stifle my laugh.

You walked down the staircase that afternoon daydreaming to yourself.

"Belle?" You whisper. She shushes you and pulls you against the wall to listen. Your mother was talking about a surgeon, a navel man. Belle had that hopeful look in her eyes that always made you feel sad. She wanted so much to help you, had dedicated her life to finding a cure for you. Even when the numerous doctors told you it was nothing and you'd be healthy soon you both knew different. The strange pumping of your heart kept Belle's nose in the medical texts. A plan was forming in her mind, you could see it.

Your mother and father ushered you both into the parlour were Mr Smales was sat reading. Fanny followed you all in. Lady Jane all but shoved Belle to the chair beside Smales and he began reciting more poetry to her. He asked if she'd like to play the harp, little did he know that it was only you who played the harp amongst your sisters. Belle had once played the violin but it had been years since she had picked it up.

My sister huffed and marched across the room. Your mother stopping her.

"talk to him about hospitals." She hissed.

This finally peaked her interest.

"Come, we're going to see the hospital. I've never been, and I've always wanted to. We should take Y/n as a chaperone." She sent you a grin. You followed her out to the carriage with Smales tottering along behind you both.

"Belle, what are you playing at?" You whisper to her.

"I just want to look at it." She grinned once more

As we rode along Smales kept trying to talk with her.

"do you like to dance?" He asked.

"No." Belle's voice was flat.

"Croquet?"

"Snore."

"Fox hunting?"

"Very much, no!"

"Oh. Why?"

"It's mindless, barbaric, and cruel." You interject. Smales turns up his lips at you.

"What about you? Chemistry? Geology?" Belle asks.

"Oh, yes. With the maps." Smales said animatedly.

"No, the rocks, but close."

You hear the Carriage rider urging the horse.

" Anatomy?" Belle continued.

"Poetry?" She suggested in a tired tone.

"Yes!"

"Yes! Anyone other than yourself and Wordsworth?" She groaned.

"Such as?"

The Carriage Rider shouts for someone to Move aside, but you all feel the tell tail bumping of someone going under the carriage.

Both you and Belle are quick to jump out. A young boy is on the ground his leg broken open with the bone protruding from his skin. The poor lad was screaming. As Belle checked the wound you kneel behind him and place his head in your lap, attempting to comfort him.

"Help! We need a doctor!" Belle called out.

"Okay. Um, you're okay. You'll be all right. You're doing great." You hold the boy's hand.

"Coming through, coming through! Here." A tall, thin man came rushing up with a leather bag.

"Thank God. I've put a tourniquet on." Belle explained.

" It's not tight enough. I need something to tighten it with. Um... " he looked around, Charlie, the boy whimpered. The doctor put a hand on his face, his fingers brushing yours.

" It's all right. I'm gonna sort you right out."

"Can you fix it?" You ask.

"I'll need to amputate."

" What about Bircher's procedure to save it?" Belle pulled his attention

"Miss, please."

"M'lady." She corrected him.

"To do that, I would need to drill into his leg bones, and insert pegs to knit them back together again. He would die of shock and pain." The doctor explained hurriedly

"Not if you take the pain with ether." Belle said. You shot your eyes between them.

"The Yankee Dodge? That is unproven." He bit back at her. As they argue you quickly run to your driver and speak with him before going back to the doctor.

"lift him into the carriage, he cannot stay in the street." You command him. The doctor looks up at you and nods. He scoops Charlie into his arms and you help get the child into the carriage. Your sister climbs in after you both and the carriage pulled away. The pair continued to argue with each other as Charlie squirmed on your lap.

"for goodness sake, will both stop your squabbling. This child will not be losing his leg today. You are the surgeon we have heard about and as such I assume you will be able to do the operation." You say commandingly.

"the prof does not allow it." The doctor finally admitted.

"well, we aren't going to the hospital." You smile as the carriage pulls to a stop.

"Why? He doesn't have much time." He looked out the door, "What are we doing here, you ridiculous woman?"

" This is the Governor's residence." You say.

"Oh, God. You're the Governor's daughters aren't you."

"yes. Belle go in and make sure the way is cleared." You tell your sister. She nods and runs off to the house.

"This is completely arrogant of you both." The doctor growled. "I can't perform an operation here. I need surgical equipment."

You turn round to him, causing the doctor to retreat back toward the carriage.

"there is no need to threat, Doctor. My sister has all the supplies you could need." You say with a finger in the middle of his chest.

"oh, hello looks like we're good to go." Fagin said pointing behind you.

The doctor and Fagin grabbed the boy by his legs and arms, carrying him into the house. Belle had her arms full of her equipment. You can hear your father and his guests beginning to descend the staircase.

"There's no time. We're gonna have to do it here. Set him down." The Doctor said.

" What?" You and Belle said together.

"It's not ideal... Fagin, clear that table. It's all right, Charlie. Okay, all right. It's all right."

In a moment of panic you stepped away from the doctor and addressed your father's guests.

"Ladies and gentlemen! The entertainment. For our main event, I have a very special treat for you." You look over your shoulder at the trio, "Dr. Dawkins will perform an operation, never been done before. Where an inferior cowardly surgeon might just simply remove the leg, Dr. Dawkins will make a thousand years of history by trialling surgery with no pain. The Yankee Dodge!"

A murmur of adoration waved through the crowd. The Doctor's eyes locked with yours for a moment. You nodded to him and he began his work. Fagin, the older man with him, tiptoed away from you all, up the stairs. You step closer to the table stroking Charlie's hair as he whimpers again. Dawkins lent closer to you and Belle.

"If I get hanged for this I'll haunt your every waking moment. I'll be that face you see in your nightmares and trust me, you will only have nightmares."

You can't help but smile.

"Do shut up and ether the patient." Belle quips. You stay at Charlie's head letting your sister address the crowd.

"Watch closely, everyone. As Dr. Dawkins anaesthetises the boy, takes his pain..."

"You're fine." Dawkins reassured the boy.

" ...and then operates with no sensation." Belle had a flare for the dramatics you thought to yourself.

Holding the either mask in his hand Dawkins spoke once more to Charlie, "Now, just breathe. There, we go. That's it. Good lad. Right."

The operation began

Belle was able to find an ivory stick to use as the pin for the bones. You had to admit he was impressive in his work. The crowd oohed and ahhed at his every movement. When he was done and the wound stitched Dawkins reached up to Charlie's face, " Now, ladies and gentlemen, can we rouse him from living death? Charlie? Come on, Charlie. Charlie. Come on, Charlie. Come on. Charlie. Charlie. Come on, Charlie boy."

You were all beginning to panic, your eyes flicking to your father's disapproving face.

"Don't cut me, Doc! I need me leg!" Charlie called out. You released the breath you were holding and smiled at the Doctor.

There is a moment where the room is in awe, every man and woman there thought to congratulate the Doctor until one woman spoke up. Her ruby necklace had been stolen from around her neck. You sighed, knowing instantly what had become of it. Captain Gaines began searching people. Your chest tightened and you put a hand on the table to steady yourself. The Doctor took hold of your arm.

"You all right?" He asked his professional concern showing.

"Yeah. Yes, it's just the ether fumes. Take me upstairs?" You say leaning into him.

" I've got you." He says beginning to lead you away.

"All right. I'm sure you won't mind if I search you?" Gaines says to Dawkins.

Belle steps between them, "Captain Gaines, move aside. My sister is not well. Move aside."

You pant and rest more of your weight on Dawkins. Gains reluctantly stepped aside allowing Dawkins to escort you upstairs to your room. Belle hot on your heels.

"Are you well? Who's your doctor?" Dawkins asked once in your room.

"Prof." Belle answered.

"Has he ever examined you?" He helped you to sit in a chair.

"He's too scared of my father to get it wrong." You say, your hand is still in his. Dawkins glances back at Belle.

"Take off your dress. I need to listen to your back. Take off your dress."

Belle comes over to help you remove your clothing until you were in only your bloomers and chemise. She grabbed a stethoscope from your table and handed it to Dawkins. The doctor sat behind you on the lounge sofa, placing the cold metal to your back.

"Now, just breathe steady. Just breathe with me. In," his voice is low and soft, his breath fanning over the back of your neck, "And out. Good. Again. In. Out. Okay. Gonna come around the front. Once again. In. Good, and out. In. Out."

Belle frowned, she knew what he was hearing.

"You're a common thief. Shall I call Captain Gaines now or later?" You say glancing back at him.

Dawkins drops the stethoscopes "No. No, no. Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait." He runs to stop Belle from leaving the room, "Darius cheated me at cards. He's gonna take my hand if I don't pay him a ludicrous debt."

"Then pay him with your own money!" Belle argues.

"With what money? I get paid in pennies and thimbles." He is almost begging.

Footsteps can be heard down the corridor.

"You've got two options. I yell "guards" and you get hanged." You begin.

"Not ideal."

"Or you make my sister the first female surgeon and we keep your secret. That or the noose." The door knocks. "Well?"

" I'm thinking."

Part two soon.

@fandomfan-102

#fanfiction #jack dawkins x y/n #jack dawkins x reader #jack dawkins #the artful dodger x reader #the artful dodger #oliver twist #norbert fagin #fagin #lady belle

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calaisreno · 3 months ago

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Déjà Vu, Chapter 6

💕 Meeting, at last. Also: Mycroft faces a terrible truth.

Excerpt:

The nurse pulls the curtain closed behind her, rolling her eyes as she passes John. “Another superhero.”

He’s smiling when he pulls the curtain back. “Good news, Mr Holmes.”

Looking up from the scan, he freezes. His eyes remain on the patient for a long moment: dark, curly hair; pale eyes, pronounced cheekbones. Handsome, in an eccentric way.

Reclining on the bed, long legs stretched before him, one elevated and bearing a cold pack, he’s looking at John with an expression of bewilderment.

John is equally bewildered. He’s seen this man before—not in life, but in dreams. That’s happened many times, even before he returned to London.

And he’s hallucinated him once before, in this very place. That time, it was a stab wound.

This doesn’t feel like an hallucination.

By habit, he slips into professional mode, begins to examine the ankle. “I’m Doctor Watson. You’ve stated that you fell from a second-storey window. Can you tell me how that happened, Mr Holmes?”

“Is it relevant?” The pale eyes are studying him warily.

John suppresses a smile. “Might be. And I’m simply curious.”

“I didn’t fall. I dropped, strategically.” The voice is as he has heard it in his mind a thousand times. Resonant, warm, amused.

Thank you for reading / reblogging! ❤️

#bbc sherlock #johnlock #my fics #déjà vu #off-axis series #parallel reality

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imagining-in-the-margins · 1 year ago

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CM Damsel/Dude in Distress Fics

Hey everyone! I want to start by saying thank you so much to everyone who participated - it was so much fun to write alongside you all, and I can’t wait to share everyone’s hard work. You are so appreciated, and the diversity only makes these events better.

Without further ado, here are all of the entries + recs for the Damsel/Dude in Distress Challenge!

S.R. SFW Fics (Fem!Reader)

Kryptonite by @foxy-eva: Spencer asks you to rescue him from a very scary spider in the bathroom

Safekeeping by @/foxy-eva: Spencer is there to protect you when a situation gets out of hand.

Funny Thing Fate by me: Reader is tipsy and lost in D.C. when she spots a man she thinks might be able to help.

Rib Cage by me: Spencer realizes Reader is the one, but it might be too late. He has to find her.

I Choose You by @ofwilliamandwalter: What happens when the lowly stable boy, Spencer, and the royalist of princesses, Reader, fall in love?

So, a Wedding? by @ssahopelessly: Reader had the invitation for nearly three months, but she didn't take the time to find a proper date.

The Found Part of Lost by @ssahopelessly: When on the way back to the station, you and Spencer find a friend on the side of the road.

Explosion by @c-m-stuff: Reader and Spencer are married. When Reader risks her life, Spencer is relieved she's still breathing.

Rose Coloured Lens by @alleyholls: Reader cuts her finger while cooking and Spencer bandages her up.

But it's Better if You Do by @fortheloveofwonderland: The absolute last thing Spencer needs is to fall for you, the magnetic exotic dancer who Morgan and Luke pay to give him a birthday dance.

More fics below!

Assorted SFW Fics

Never Let Me Go by @/foxy-eva: [Tara/Reader] Who knew how easy it would be for Reader to find comfort in Tara’s arms.

The Friendship We Have is a Rare Find by @/cherubcurls (Ao3): [Spencer & Penelope] Penelope and Spencer agree to meet up to have a study session before finals, but they end up not studying at all.

Peas and Love by @/masterwords (Ao3): [Hotchgan] Hotch hurts his back and Hank takes very good care of him.

I'll Do It by @tobias-hankel (Ao3): [Hotchreid] Hotch saves Spencer from an interrogation gone wrong.

He'll Say He's Just Not the Same by @spencer-reids-adventures (Ao3): [Hotch & Spencer] Spencer suffers a depressive episode, and Hotch comes to check on him.

Who's Afraid of the Bogeyman? by PandorasDreaming (Ao3): [Spencer & BAU] When Spencer is kidnapped by Mr. Scratch, they must race against time to save him before his mind breaks.

Saved from the Rain by @leahseclipse: [Spencer & 10th Doctor] Spencer has an encounter with a strange man who saves him from the rain.

I Get By by @/GarlicBreadforJuliusCaesar (Ao3): [Gen Fic] The one where Spencer has a fight with a vending machine, and the BAU chip in to help.

Co-Creator Bonus List!

SFW Gender Neutral Reader

Kitten Love: Spencer’s vet begrudgingly agrees to an emergency house call.

Diamonds: Spencer comforts Reader when they have a bad pain day.

Rotten: Reader struggles to feel at home in their body following a trauma.

Melancholia: Reader has been acting weird lately, so Spencer makes a much needed wellness check.

Storm: Reader has a panic attack.

Bruises: The team is concerned when Reader shows up with bruises on their neck.

SFW Female Reader

Astraphobia: SSA Reader and Spencer share their most embarrassing fears.

Different Dialects: Autistic!Reader. Spencer is trying to tell Reader he likes her, but it feels like they speak entirely different languages.

Porcelain: Autistic!Reader has a meltdown in the cafe. Luckily, there is a Dr. Reid nearby.

Baggage Claim: Autistic!Reader is having a hard time at the airport.

Stranger Danger: Reader is a single mother having a very bad day.

From the Tree: The kidnapping case becomes personal when Spencer and Reader get a call from their nanny.

NSFW Female Reader

It’s Too Cliché ❤️: Reader and Spencer are the worst at friends with benefits. After an exchange of gifts & nasty words, the two reunite on a very eventful NYE.

Cupid & Psyche ❤️: Reader and Spencer get kidnapped by a rather romantic matchmaking unsub who demands they perform for him.

Big Bad Wolf (Part 1, Part 2): Spencer is overwhelmed by the apparent innocence of an elementary school teacher he meets on a case.

Thank you for writing and reading with me.

Let me know if you'd like me to add your story to this list!

#spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fic #criminal minds smut #criminal minds writing challenge #sorry this is like two months late oops #ive been having a rough time #hope yall understand #i should have the family challenge list done soon enough

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rescue-ram · 4 months ago

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Is Hawkeye a pacifist?

Time for some slightly disorganized musings on the subject

Firstly- Hawkeye never actually calls himself a pacifist. To the best of my knowledge, he's called this twice, once obliquely by Frank ("It's a little late in the war for pacifism, gentlemen.") and once by Charles ("You'd love that, wouldn't you, Mr. Pacifist?"), both times intended as mockery.

Hilariously, Charles comment is preceded by Hawkeye threatening to fight him ("Why don't we settle this outside, man to victim?")

The main things that point to "pacifism" in Hawkeye are his refusal to carry or use a gun, and his hatred of the war

However, his opposition to guns seems more related to personal convictions as a doctor- he's here to help people, not the kill them.

Speaking broadly for a moment, among real life pacifists an important bifurcation is between those who were willing to collaborate with the state/military non-violently (ie as a doctor or medic) and those who opposed military service of any kind and endured imprisonment or execution instead.

One thing I think MASH portrays really well is that non-violent collaboration with the military is not uncomplicatedly morally good; Hawkeye's despairing sarcasm about "being in weapons repair" and his struggle with healing people just to send them back to the front lines to kill or die is pretty well explored. But at the same time, to refuse to cooperate is to let people suffer or die, and Hawkeye can't bring himself to quit- his own morals compel him to keep aiding a system he's appalled by because he's confronted by the harm it's causing.

Additionally, we know Hawkeye is opposed to the suffering and death he sees around him, he doesn't see a point to the conflict, and is opposed to war as a general concept. But most people are opposed to killing on general principle- the question is is there such a thing as a "just war" or is it ever justified to kill someone else. That deeper question is not really explored in the show.

Further, even if we grant that Hawkeye is an unsophisticated pacifist, there's a big difference between being anti-war and being totally ahimsa and opposed to all violence

To the contrary, we see Hawkeye physically attack others, defend himself, be verbally mean, do harm to others (especially in defense of what he sees as a just cause), and sometimes fuck around just for the hell of it.

He doesn't try to persuade soldiers to stop fighting or to defect. He often berates higher ups for the stupidity or pointlessness of the war, but that's not exactly an objection to war itself. He also sometimes praises them, tries to butter them up, plays along, etc.

In conclusion, I don't think Hawkeye is a committed pacifist, I think he's a very committed doctor. In as much as he is a pacifist, it's on a pretty basic level that he (correctly) judges war to be an engine of death and suffering and the Korean War in specific to be causing (much) more harm than good. I don't think he's fundamentally opposed to violence in an ideological level, because he canonically threatens violence or acts violently towards others with varying levels of justification or jocularity behind his actions

(And also in conclusion, for this reason if he and Trapper were for some reason pitted against each other in a physical fight, Hawkeye would punch him in the face ❤️)

#i also have thoughts on klinger as a conscientious objector but those are even more scattered and varied than these fkskjdkdk #idk why that poll is niggling at me so much but it isssssss lmao #let 👏 hawkeye 👏 hit 👏 people 👏 lol #mash

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thewarmestplacetohide · 1 year ago

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Dread by the Decade: 1920s Horror

👻 You can support me on Ko-fi ❤️

Das Cabinet des Dr. Caligari (1920 | Germany): a carnival somnambulist foretells death. ★★★★½

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1920 | USA): a doctor transforms into his dark side. ★★★½

Körkarlen (1921 | Sweden): Death forces a man to revisit his sins. ★★★½

Häxan (1922 | Sweden): a documentary about witchcraft. ★★★½

The Headless Horseman (1922 | USA): a schoolteacher encounters the Headless Horseman. ★½

Nosferatu – Eine Symphonie des Grauens (1922 | Germany): a solicitor helps a mysterious count move to Germany. ★★★★★

Orlacs Hände (1924 | Austria): a pianist has his hands replaced with a murderer's. ★★★★½

The Monster (1925 | USA): a surgeon abducts people for his experiments. ★

The Phantom of the Opera (1925 | USA): a mysterious figure stalks an opera singer. ★★★★½

Faust – Eine deutsche Volkssage (1926 | Germany): Mephisto tries to corrupt a good man. ★★★★

Der Student von Prag (1926 | Germany): a student makes a dark deal for success. ★★★

The Cat and the Canary (1927 | USA): the family of a millionaire gathers to read his will. ★★★★

La chute de la maison Usher (1928 | France): a man is obsessed with painting his sick wife. ★★★★

The Man Who Laughs (1928 | USA): a man with a permanent smile learns he is of noble birth. ★★★★

The Skeleton Dance (1929 | USA): skeletons rise from the grave to dance. ★★★★

#Dread by the Decade #master list #1920s #1920s horror #reviews #horror

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goblinselfshippr · 10 months ago

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part 2/2 of my mom rating my f/os

Simeon-

6.5/10

I don't think we would tell her that Simeon is an angel because idk how she'd react to that. She likes that he's kind, well-read, and definitely capable of taking care of himself. So why only a 6.5? Sometimes, he says really fundamentalist-coded stuff, and it stresses her out. She's like "bro I left that a longggg time ago. There is no way in hell we are doing that AGAIN." And he doesn't quite understand. She's high key worried he's gonna try and lure me into a cult. Likes Luke, tho. Luke has to have a crash course of shit he absolutely CANNOT SAY in front of my mom for the same reason.

Albert-

9/10

These two get along really well because they can (and will) talk for fucking HOURS about medical anomalies and marine biology and SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UPPPP (<- squeamish and terrified of fish). -1 point because she thinks he can be a little stuck up sometimes.

Le vi-

4/10

Dear god. These two are mortal fucking enemies and it is SO HARD to deal with. Two short people duking it out over how tea should be prepared. I really think they're just too similar and different enough that it only leads to more resentment. Can and will argue about anything. Really, his only redeeming quality in her mind is that he's clean and able to fend for himself. Plus he does find some really good tea. Definitely an "as long as your happy 🙃" situation rip. Although they do have similar pasts, so they might eventually be friends? Idk guys he's a Capricorn and my mom is an Aries, if that helps lolol

J/afar-

7/10

Surprisingly, they get along fine. He's got enough sense to know there are some things you absolutely can't say in front of your mother-in-law, and chooses his words very carefully. Still appears a little stuck up sometimes though. She doesn't really like the age gap, but I think at this point she expects it lmao. They 100% send each other weird alchemy/magic stuff to try.

Scarab-

7/10

Smug asshole, but she thinks he's just socially awkward, so it's fine??? He only appears in his human suit in front of her, and she's pretty sure he has a good job. He never gives her any definite details though, so she also probably thinks he's a mob boss or something lmfao. They're pretty civil but don't really interact if I am not there.

#❤️[Kannst du die Engel sehn?]#❤️[Mr. Doctor Man]#❤️[Under the Willow]#❤️[Out of Body]#❤️[Innards]

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birdkeeperklink · 1 month ago

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Totally here for the exes vibe in Horror Express, so much that my brain's been rolling it around since I watched it a couple of weeks ago

So a possible backstory I've come up with while mushing it around in my mind like Silly Putty:

Saxton and Wells met when Saxton needed a doctor to consult on a paper he was writing. They collaborated to great success and worked well together, so they did another project together.

They fell in love 💕

Wells embraced it.

Saxton, Mr "it's called bribery and corruption, which I will never do, instead I choose violence," did not.

The internalized homophobia was real, and he brutally rejected Wells, hurting both of them (emotionally, I can't see him actually choosing violence against Wells no matter how angry he was).

Wells still loves him and is grateful that Saxton didn't turn him in - but he's also a little bitter and heartbroken because he's convinced Saxton loved him back but just wouldn't admit it (he's right). Since Saxton still respects him professionally, Wells is always looking for excuses to talk to him about whatever he's working on, because even if it's shop talk, it's still talk, hence his interest in finding out what Saxton had in the crate.

Saxton, meanwhile, refuses to admit that the reason he's so unhappy is because he's heartbroken, too, and convinced himself it was moral repugnance at finding out that Wells' feelings were more than friendship. He's one repressed sad boi 🥺 Because he's an upstanding, law-abiding man, right? And returning Wells' feelings would be the opposite of that....

And they're both being very British about it, lol.

Anyway, I just can't escape the idea that Saxton is tormented by an internal conflict over his feelings versus how he 'should' be. 🥺💔

Throwing this out there because this movie is living in my head rent-free and maybe people will talk at me about it (even to tell me I'm dead wrong and clearly this is not what happened, lol 😂) 🙏❤️

#horror express #alexander saxton #paul wells #christopher lee #peter cushing #just some thoughts #not very good or insightful ones #but sad puppy saxton thoughts

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bearsbeetsbeskar · 1 year ago

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Somebody to Heal, Somebody to Hold

(Joel Miller x dispensary! reader)

Chapter 2: Silver Haze

Chapter 1 here || Chapter 3 here || Main Masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x dispensary! reader, AU (no outbreak) Word count: 5.6K Rating: 18+ minors DNI, will be changed to explicit in future chapters (slow burn, eventual smut), swearing, explicit discussions of drug use, age gap (reader is early 20s and Joel is late 40s) Summary: Joel can't rely on pills anymore for his back pain, so his doctor prescribes him medicinal marijuana. But he's not happy about it. A/N: PEEPAW IS FINALLY GETTING HIGH Y'ALL. 🍃 🔥 💨

This chapter was fun to write and I'm really pleased with how it turned out. Thank to you anyone who has expressed interest in this silly little story and wants to see more. I doubt my writing capabilities pretty much every single day on this site, and often wonder if it's worth it to keep writing, but I still wanted to indulge in this story. Mostly, cause I'm selfish and would throw myself in front of a moving vehicle if it meant getting to smoke weed with Pedro, and more specifically our grumpy texan gentleman, Mr. Joel Miller. An enormous thank you to @iamasaddie for beta'ing, and your constant words of encouragement when I start to doubt myself in the slightest, you are my heartbeat ❤️

Hope y'all enjoy, please comment, reblog and let me know what you think! 😇

It’s been less than a day. 18 hours to be exact, since he came home from the dispensary with his illicit, but also legal drugs. The bag filled with the package of joints sits in the middle of his kitchen table. He eyed it as he leaned up against the counter drinking his coffee, and while he ate his breakfast at the table in contemplative silence that morning.

This shouldn’t be such a big deal. He’s a grown man for crying out loud. He can buy drugs if he wants to. Not that he necessarily wanted to. Purchasing medicinal marijuana was the furthest thing from Joel’s mind when he ran through possible options of dealing with his pain problems. Really, he is just surprised with himself that he actually went through with the doctor’s suggestion.

He doesn’t know if he should feel relieved, or guilty, or a little curious. Maybe all of the above.

He wished he could have someone to talk to who has personally tried it before. Aside from Doctor Barclay, he didn’t really have anyone at all. His buddies would probably either: A) tell him he just needed to sleep off the pain, drink something heavy to knock himself out or work through the pain- which, if he’s being honest with himself, is precisely what he would have done if not for that sharp twinge in his back that makes him want to curl up in the fetal position. Or B) they would try to get him to take something stronger and undoubtedly more illicit. He doesn’t know how, hell he doesn’t wanna know how, but some of his buddies manage to get their hands on cocaine or acid. Sometimes they don’t even bother till they get off the jobsite after a long day, often snorting up or popping pills in their truck and then driving to a shitty dive bar they plan on occupying for the rest of the night.

Nope. He didn’t need that. He felt like enough of a delinquent already. He stops drumming his fingers on the table and sighs, tilting his head to the side contemplatively.

“Ah fuck it”

He grabs the bag and reaches into it, pulling out the carton with the pre-rolls, leaving the receipt in the bag. The label reads ‘Back Forty’s Moonberry’ in an almost psychedelic font, with deep purple letters. Turning the little box over in his hand, he squints at the description on the back.

“Back Forty’s Moonberry Rolls are powerful hybrid cross pre-rolls that offer big hits of flavour and an even burn. A nice, mellow and sweet way to start and/or finish your day, relaxation is guaranteed with these. Packed with a re-sealable film to ensure freshness after multiple sessions or on-the-go. Take a trip and relax with the Back Forty.”

“Take a trip and relax?” Joel huffed. That kind of trip sounded anything but relaxing. Anxiety starts to claw its way up his throat.

What if something happened? What if he reacted badly to the weed or ended up taking more than he should? There were no specific instructions. What if it just didn’t fucking work in general?

The doctor's words rang loudly in his head. He knew this was an option, an ‘alternate method’ as Dr. Barclay so delicately put it. But if this didn’t make the pain go away and he couldn’t take more prescription medication, what then?

He leaned back in seat and groaned, staring up at the ceiling. He could try one. Just one. But if it tasted like shit or he didn’t like it, then what? He didn’t want to be stuck with the whole pack and he doubted there was much of a return policy on opened products at the dispensary, seeing as the merchandise was already consumed.

Before his thoughts could snowball any further he snatched the carton of joints and shoved it back in the bag. “Fuck this,” he grumbled, grabbing his coat off the back of his chair as he made his way to the front door, the tiny plastic bag clutched in his other hand.

—------------------------------------------------------

It didn’t take long for Joel to reach the dispensary. When he pulled into the parking lot, he turned off the ignition and sat in his truck for a minute. One minute turned to five minutes as he bit his lip, his left hand still firmly holding onto the plastic bag. He felt like he was forgetting something. Reaching into his coat pocket absentmindedly he felt his wallet and his phone. Digging into the other pocket he paused as he felt his fingers run over a small tactile shape. He pulled it out and held it upright in his palm. The free lighter you gave him.

He rolled it over in his hand, looking at the store name printed on shiny cheap plastic, his thumb running over the rounded edges. He flicked the lighter once, and with a crisp snap, a small flame erupted, burning brightly.

His mind drifts to you. You were kind and patient with him, despite probably thinking he was a creep or some kind of fucking narc with how awkward he was. He feels heat rise to his cheeks as he recalls your soft eyes and warm, inviting demeanour. Maybe it's possible you were working again today. If that was the case he could just go in, explain to you that there was a mixup and return the pre-rolls, then buy a bottle of Tylenol on the way home, and wash it down a handful with a double whiskey, sealing his fate.

Fuck the weed. Fuck the back pain. Fuck the cholesterol. End of story.

His palm curls around the lighter as he steels himself and gets out of the car, still holding onto the plastic bag. He strides through the front door and is surprised to see the check in desk is empty, with only the '18+ ONLY PERMITTED ENTRY' sign on the desk.

At this point, he would be content to just drop the bag off at the register and head back out with his pride still in tow. Forget getting a refund.

“Hey! Back so soon?”

He looks up as he walks through the second set of doors into the shop and slows in his tracks as he sees you.

“Joel, right?”

You’re fixing a display case off to the side. He can’t help but let his gaze wander down your body. When he came in yesterday you were standing behind the register so all he could really see was the nondescript black t-shirt you wore with the dispensary logo over the chest.

Today you’re wearing the same shirt with plain black leggings that hug the curve of your hips and your ass. Nothing special, but still Joel feels his mouth go dry and the blood starts to rush south in his body.

He pauses and squints slightly. Wait, you remembered his name?

“Uh yeah. How’d you-”

“Photographic memory, thanks to being the doorman.” You reply simply.

You head back behind the register and lean your forearms on the counter, flashing him a dazzling smile. “So, what can I help you with today? Looking for more pre-rolls? Some edibles?”

At this point you could sell him anything and he would buy it, with the smile you’re giving him. Hell, you could give him 15 more of those cheap tiny lighters and he would happily take them. Maybe he doesn’t really need to return the pre-rolls, he could always just leave them.

You spot the small bag clutched in his hand before he can hide it and raise your eyebrows at him.

“Actually, I uh,” he pauses, “I wanted to return these, if that’s okay.” He places the bag on the counter and pulls his hand back quickly, as if it burned him, his eyes flitting to yours before looking away again.

“Oh sure, no problem.” You pull out the unopened pack of joints and the receipt. “Were you not a fan of these, or did you maybe want to try something else?”

“Uhm, just wasn’t a fan of them, didn’t think I’d like them..” He mumbles and shoves his hands in his coat pocket.

You’re in the middle of reversing the transaction at the register when your finger hovers over the keyboard, mid-type. “Didn’t like them? It looks like you didn’t try them though,” you quirk a brow at him and tilt your head to the side. “How do you know you don’t like them if you didn’t try them?”

“Well I, uh-” he frowns as he tries to think of a response.

Christ. He’s not getting out of this without swallowing his pride and admitting the truth. His anxiety hits him full force, and you must see him start to backpedal cause you speak up again.

“Hey it’s okay, you can always try something else. How do you feel about edibles? Or drinks?”

No. He just wants to forget that this entire situation happened.

“No, no it’s okay,” he vehemently shakes his head and starts to back away from the counter, “I’ll just look into some other options.” Even as he straightens his back and starts to retreat, he feels that nagging pinch shoot up his spine and he clenches his jaw.

“Joel, have you never smoked before? It’s okay if you haven’t” You’re looking up at him intently with those bright eyes, concern etched into your features.

Well, there’s no way out now.

He sighs in defeat and looks down at the ground. “No, I haven’t. Guess that much is obvious,” he remarks as he puts his hands on his hips, chewing the inside of his cheek.

“That’s completely normal, trust me” you reassure him as you lean closer over the counter, planting your palms on either side of you.

He snorts. “Yeah right.”

“It’s true! Before you came in the other day I cashed out a kid who looked like he was barely legal. He came in looking like a deer in headlights. We get customers every day who have never consumed marijuana a day in their life, not just potheads.”

He eyes you warily, still biting the inside of his cheek.

“It’s not a big deal Joel really. Is… Is there anything you’re worried about happening?”

He’ll have to tell you now. Tell you that he’s really just a big middle-aged wimp who’s too afraid to get stoned and deal with his pain problems.

“I.. I’ve just never tried it before, that’s all,” he shrugs plainly, “I don’t know what to expect. I mean, I know you said it’ll help with the pain and all, help me be more relaxed but I’m just worried I’ll get addicted or overdose, or somethin’ will happen…”

“Jesus,” he runs his hand over his face, “it’s fucking stupid.”

“No, no it’s not.” You cut him off before he continues. “Those are perfectly reasonable things to think about, if you’ve never smoked before. Many people worry the same thing.”

“First of all, it is possible to get addicted,” you explain cautiously, “But you would have to be consuming it nearly every day, all day before it reaches a point where you can’t function without it. And that usually happens with strains that are high in THC, the psychoactive stuff that gets you high.”

“But,” you emphasize upon seeing him tense up, “these pre-rolls you purchased are pretty low in THC, so it’s very unlikely you would get addicted, even if you smoked 'em everyday. You don’t have to worry about that.” At that he relaxes and shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

“Secondly, it is not possible to overdose on weed. Not even the strongest weed. I mean, I’m no fucking scientist and they haven’t conducted any studies on it or anything, but there have been no reported overdose deaths due to marijuana consumption,” You wink at him.

He huffs out an exhale, giving you a hint of a smile. “That makes it a bit better.”

“If you’re still really worried about it, I could show you if you want. To smoke that is,” you add on quickly. “I know it’s nerve wracking to try it on your own for the first time, and it can be better if you’re with someone, y’know, just in case something happens or you don’t like it.”

“Really?" He looks at you expectantly with rounded eyes. "You’d do that?”

“Yeah, I get off my shift here at 5 so I could do it after?” You bite your lip and look up at him bashfully. He tracks the movement, watching your tongue peek out to soothe your bottom lip.

“Sure, that’d be great. Where should we meet?”

“We could always go to a park or something nearby. But even though weed is legalized, I feel weird smoking it in public places around families and young kids and stuff. And you’d have to drive home afterwards, which is not a good idea.” You scrunch your brows and bite your lip again as you try to think of other spots.

Joel tries to ignore how cute you look with your brows pulled together like that. He also tries to ignore the way his pulse kicks up as he watches you bite your lip, imagining other scenarios that could cause you to bite your lips like that again.

“Uhm, you could come to my place?” Immediately he sees the hesitation wash across your face and realizes how that sounds as soon as the request leaves his mouth. You aren’t stupid. He’s a complete stranger to you.

“Sorry. I mean,” he backtracks. “It’s just me and my daughter at home, although she’s away at college right now. My neighbors aren’t particularly nosy but they’re usually not home either. We can go on the back patio, it’s covered and I got tables and chairs and stuff. ”

And stuff. Jesus.

It’s like he’s 18 years old again, with marbles in his mouth, unable to form a coherent sentence.

Something about mentioning Sarah seems to put your mind at ease as he sees your shoulders lower as you shift your weight from one hip to the other. You chuckle and give him a smirk.

“That sounds good. I can meet you there, does 5:30 work?”

“Yeah, yeah that works. Thanks.” He ducks his head and gives you a small smile.

“Alright well I’ll see you then.”

He turns to leave before you call him again, holding the small plastic bag up. “You’ll still need these, otherwise we won’t get very far,” you wink at him.

“Right. Yeah that would help,” he chuckles and runs a hand through his hair. “I’ll see you then.” He grabs the bag from you and gives you one last smile before he heads out the store.

—------------------------------------------------------------

Surprisingly, Joel didn’t live that far, probably a 12 minute drive from the dispensary. That didn’t mean that you took your time though, going the speed limit and dragging out the drive as it dawned on you how weird this scenario was.

He was a customer. And he was way older than you. Something that should have bothered you more than it actually did, which is to say not that much at all. It just made you hopelessly more attracted to him.

As much as he seemed sweet from the two interactions you had, plus the unmistakable way you caught his gaze raking over your body, the rational part of your brain still questioned what you were doing. He didn’t live alone, not technically. You were surprised to learn he had a daughter, but he also didn’t mention having a wife or a girlfriend. Not that it was any of your business. Nevertheless, you tucked that piece of information into the back of your mind as you pulled up to his place.

He had a nice, modest house, at least from what you could tell when he answered the front door with a soft smile. He led you around to the back to the surprisingly large backyard, but what impressed you the most was the wooden deck which featured a nice patio set, complete with overflowing planters, a cute coffee table, and outdoor string lights that were hung up overhead.

You noticed some plastic butterfly fairy lights hanging off of a few deck posts and railings, their colors faded after years of weathering. Running your fingers along the molded ornaments you looked at him and smiled, “nice touch.”

He smirked, shaking his head. “My daughter, Sarah, insisted on putting them up as soon as we finished the deck a couple years ago.”

“You built this?” You look around incredulously. “It’s really nice. Like straight out of a Home Depot catalog.”

At that he puffs out his chest slightly and shoves his hands in his pocket. “Eh, I don't know about that. When I’m not working a job and got spare time, I try to do stuff around the house. This was a quick project one summer,” he shrugs noncommittally.

“A quick project? You built a whole new part of your house Joel,” you raise your eyebrows at him as you sit down on the couch. Still, he brushes off the compliments and asks you if you want anything to drink. Moments later, you’re both sitting on the couch, two glasses of water and the pre rolls on the coffee table, along with the lighter and a small ashtray you brought. Another small cheap item from the dispensary with the logo on it, that no one would likely notice had gone missing.

He shuffles beside you momentarily. You can feel his nerves creeping back as he fidgets and leans forward, resting his arms on his knees.

God he’s so .. big. You can feel the couch cushion dip underneath his weight beside you. His shoulders dwarf the space between you. It doesn’t help that with him being this close you can faintly smell him. The lingering scent of sandalwood, and a sharpness to whatever body wash he uses swirls together in a heady concoction that has your brain short circuiting.

You already knew he was attractive from the moment he walked into the dispensary. But now, getting a chance to drink him in, you’re incredibly flustered. His deep brown eyes are easy enough to get lost in, as are his high cheekbones, aquiline nose, and strong jaw. A jaw peppered with gray stubble and a few sparse patches, that he’s currently tensing as he looks down in front of him. Your gaze follows his to the opened package of joints that are sitting on the coffee table in front of you.

“So what do we, uhm, where do we start?” He looks from the stuff on the table to you.

“Well, there’s really only one step with these pre rolls, you just light 'em up and inhale, and let the relaxation kick in.”

“Seems easy enough,” he gives you a small smirk.

Reaching forward, you pluck one of the slim joints off the table and you grab the lighter as well. The free lighter you gave him.

“Have you ever smoked a cigarette before?” You hold the joint between your index and middle finger, turning to look at him.

He scrunches his face slightly and his brows furrow. “Yeah, long time ago though, not since college. Back when this stuff was still illegal anyway.”

You can’t really imagine young Joel in college. He must have been handsome. That much you were willing to bet money on.

“So basically the Woodstock, hippie, peace and love era?” you ask him with a smirk.

“Now, I may be old but I ain’t that fuckin senile” he squints his eyes at you, but there’s a small smile pulling at the side of his mouth. You bite your lip and smile at him.

“Well, not much has changed since then. You light it, and start to inhale as the flame catches and the weed starts burning. Don’t inhale too much but try to hold that smoke in your chest for a couple seconds, don’t exhale right away. The longer you hold in your breath, the quicker your body absorbs the cannabinoids in the weed.”

He looks at you intently as you explain it to him, but you can still see a bit of confusion on his face, so you elaborate.

“Cannabinoids meaning the THC and CBD, the stuff that cause you to feel relaxed and high”

He nods and you place the joint between your lips, raising your hand to light it, as you inhale deeply, the faint crackling sound of the paper and herb burning. The smoke slowly fills your lungs as they expand, and you let your eyes go heavy as you savor the earthy, fruity taste of the herb as it burns.

You pull the joint away and let your mouth fall slightly open, holding some smoke in your chest as the rest of it falls out of your mouth in an opaque cloud, curling out into random tendrils before it disperses in the air. Exhaling, you turn to Joel and reach your hand out, offer the joint.

He blinks at you a few times. There’s something in his gaze, something heated that you catch, before they refocus and he looks down at the joint in between your fingers. You can see him hesitate again as he stares at the joint.

You duck your head slightly to meet his eyesight.

“Hey, you can take as much or as little as you’d like Joel. Start off with a small pull and see how it feels.” You say, not pressing him any further than that, as thin wisps of smoke curl upwards between you two from the joint.

He looks at you again, his eyes are big and round, like the cutest fucking puppy dog ever. The crease between his eyebrows disappears, as does the frown that seemed permanently etched on his face. It’s almost like he’s asking you for permission. You tilt your chin upwards slightly in encouragement and smile.

“Alright.” He takes the joint from you, mimicking how you held it, bringing it to his lips and looking at you as he inhales. His eyes squint and he frowns slightly as he pulls from it, his broad chest puffing out a bit, the embers at the lit end of the joint glowing. He heeds your instructions, holding the smoke in his chest for a few seconds before exhaling, and you nod in approval.

Fuck.

You expected that maybe that he would wrinkle his face in disgust right away, or start coughing obscenely the moment the smoke entered his lungs. The usual things that beginner smokers do.

But what you’re definitely not expecting is how fucking attractive Joel looks while smoking. Or rather, how attractive he makes smoking look. Either way you’re mesmerized by the way he casually holds the joint between his thick index and middle fingers, the way the smoke pours out from between his lips. Even the way he turns his head away from you so that he doesn’t exhale in your direction. He smokes like he’s done it multiple times before.

You snap yourself out of your daze when he raises his eyebrows at you, his hand stretched out to you offering the joint. Narrowing your gaze at him, you take it from his hand, your fingers, brushing against his.

“You smoke like a veteran Joel. Are you sure this is your first time?” Eyeing him suspiciously, you bring the joint to your lips and pull from it again, this time holding the smoke in for a bit longer, allowing it to fill your lungs.

You can feel the moment that the high starts to creep up on you. The moment that the THC starts to permeate your bloodstream. Everything slows down, flooding your system with a hazy warmth and lightness. Your head is a bit light and you feel your body begin to buzz, as if every part of you is vibrating with mellow energy while you exhale.

Joel makes the sign of the cross over his chest and leans back, settling into the couch.

“I promise darlin, first time.” He replies in that warm fucking Southern drawl.

Darlin.

God. The word slips out of his mouth like molasses, caressing your skin, as you feel your body heat up ever so slightly. You wet your lips, the dryness of cotton mouth hitting you with full force as you watch Joel spread his legs, the further he reclines back and relaxes into his seat.

The downright thirst you’re experiencing for this man however is something else entirely. It must be the Indica. Just the weed, nothing else.

You sit back into the couch as well and pass the joint back to him. “Well, in that case I’m honored to have taken your weed virginity Joel Miller.” Pressing your hand to your heart, you give him a cheeky grin and bow your head.

At that remark his eyes widen and he actually does start coughing harshly mid-inhale, sputtering and hunching over as he shoves the joint back into your hands. You anticipated he would have coughed up a lung anyways with it being his first time but you can’t help the laugh that you let out at his misery.

“Oh shit! Sorry man, are you okay?” The concern in your voice is genuine but you’re still giggling as he gathers himself, slamming his fist against his chest a few times while his coughs die down. He grabs his glass of water off the table and takes a few sips, still breathing a bit heavy as his lungs try to suck in more air.

When he opens his mouth to speak, you’re caught off guard by how husky and deep his voice sounds. Deeper and more raspy than it usually is.

“Jesus, I’ve been called many things before but being a weed virgin, that’s a first.” He chuckles softly and looks at you. “Besides, I bet you say that to everyone who smokes with you for their first time.”

You shake your head with a small smile as you take another toke from the joint. “Actuallyyyy,” you drag out the ‘y’ as you glance up at him from under your lashes, “you’re the first one.” As if admitting that to him is some kind of secret that you’re embarrassed to share.

His eyebrows scrunch together again in disbelief. “No fucking way, c’mon”

“I’m serious." You giggle through your words and draw a cross over your heart, mimicking him. "None of my other friends smoke, the only other stoners I know are my co-workers.”

“Plus, I know it can be a big deal, trying it for the first time, and ideally people want to smoke with someone they trust, whom they know they’re gonna have a good experience with. So I’m grateful you let me share that with you.”

You try to ignore the way your pulse quickens as Joel’s gaze softens while looking at you. You clear your throat and look down at the lighter in your hand, picking at the plastic label.

“I should be the one thanking you. For your patience, and showing me the ropes with this stuff.” He gestures to all the paraphernalia on the table in front of you both and sighs. “I wasn’t keen on trying marijuana. Regardless of whether it was ‘medicinal’ or not.” He huffs as he makes the little air quotes with his hands.

“When my doctor suggested it for my back pain, I was about ready to get up and walk out of the office, but he also made it pretty clear there weren’t many other options. Had to swallow my pride and give it a go. So thank you,” he leans into you a bit with his shoulder, giving you a playful shove, “For making this a good first experience for me.”

He gives you a sheepish smile. Your body begins to heat up at his close proximity.

“Anytime, Joel. Really.” You angle your upper body towards him and look up at him. Your gaze flicks from his deep amber eyes, down to his lips, and back up to his eyes again. You almost miss how his eyes track yours, dipping down to your lips for a millisecond before he blinks.

Jesus. You need to get a grip.

“Uhm, how do you feel right now?” You switch the subject in an attempt to shut your cavewoman brain off.

He pauses for a minute and he looks off to the side like he’s running an internal diagnostic scan. That crease in his brow deepens slightly before his expression softens and he looks back at you with wide eyes. “I actually feel pretty good. A little out of it but pretty relaxed.”

“And the back pain?” You tilt your head at him.

He shifts a bit in his seat and leans forward, straightening and stretching his spine, twisting from side to side, gauging the movement. A baffled expression crosses his face. Actually, flabbergasted might be a better word to describe it.

“Holy shit,” he mutters, “barely any pain at all,” he laughs in disbelief as he looks at you with bright eyes.

“That’s amazing Joel! I’m glad it could help” You beam up at him, still mindlessly puffing away at the joint. You slowly let the cloud of smoke fall out of your mouth, as it spills out you start to inhale the opaque cloud through your nose again.

Joel’s smile falls faintly, and his expression morphs into fascination as he watches the smoke disappearing up into your nose. His eyes are rounded. Like a child who just watched a magician pull a coin out of their ear.

“That’s fancy,” he murmurs.

“Huh?” You exhale the rest of the smoke in a large plume towards the ceiling, and look back at him. “Oh. What? This?” You mimic the action again, pulling from the joint and allowing the smoke from your mouth to disperse into the air, as you inhale it again through your nose.

“It’s a French inhale, nothing fancy. More of a force of habit,” you chuckle dryly. “I don’t even realize I’m doing it half the time, but it was the first trick I learned.”

You look at him sideways but he’s still watching you. The fascination is gone, replaced by a darker expression. Hunger.

Was that weird? Does he think you’re pretentious for trying to look cool in front of him?

“Tricks eh?” He repeats after you and tilts his head slightly. All of a sudden you feel like prey, under his predatory gaze. As if he’s assessing you, sizing you up, about to devour you. You feel your throat start to go dry, and this time you doubt you can blame it on having cotton mouth.

“That’s pretty cool. Can you do any others?” He asks.

Aside from the French inhale, there’s really only two others that you can do. The ghost and doing the classic O’s or rings.

“Uhm, a few others yeah but I’m not that great at them.” You blink a few times and look down at your hands.

“Now that I’ll call bullshit on,” he quips. He relaxes into the couch, draping one arm over the back while spreading his legs wide, his other hand in his lap.

His gaze pierces yours as he murmurs. “C’mon. Show me.”

You’d hardly call it peer pressure but the way his voice gets even deeper and he takes up more space with his position, convinces you.

Resistance is futile at this point. He could ask you to do anything in that fucking tone of voice and you would do it.

You exhale shakily as if you’re about to put on the biggest fucking performance of your lifetime.

For whatever reason, you want him to be impressed by you. Fascinated by you. So you steel yourself and hold his gaze as you take another pull from the joint as it starts to burn out.

Holding the smoke in your mouth, you slowly tilt your head back and pout your lips slightly, making an O shape with your mouth, pushing the smoke out in brief pauses. The first few that come out are a bit small and wonky, but as you keep going, the rings of smoke become thicker, forming perfect O’s that float upwards, dissipating into the air.

You exhale the rest of the smoke out in a rush, stubbing the joint in the ashtray. “I’m a bit rusty. It took a while to teach myself how to do them.”

You add that part onto the end, to stroke your own ego mostly, but also because you selfishly want to elicit more praise from him. Which he willingly gives you.

“Don’t seem that rusty to me at all darlin’. That’s pretty damn cool.” He rubs his jaw with his thumb and index finger, brushing his thumb over his bottom lip.

“You’ll have to teach me some tricks, some other time.” His hungry expression falters as he gives you a genuine smile, not before it’s interrupted by the quietest rumbling sound. His eyes widen slightly before he clears his throat and starts fidgeting a bit more, flexing and flexing the hand in his lap.

You hum and grin at him deviously.

“Hmmm, it sounds like the munchies have kicked in at this point.” You return the playful shove but he barely moves an inch, his broad shoulder feeling like a solid wall. “You hungry?”

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