#colin firth x ofc

[drymushroomfics]

•○•♡•○•Fanfic Masterlist•○•♡•○•

A/n: Still in the process of uploading all of these so not everything has links yet

○Sandor Clegane

• Fraye Hill of House Lannister

• Too Many Questions

• Reminiscing

○ Rory McCann

• Boat Ride

• A Gift

○Colin Firth

• Proof

• Time

• Thanks, Stan

• Lust For Life

• Hope Springs

○Kingsman

•Eggsy's Plan

• Reciprocated Feelings

• First Words

○Till Lindemann

• Changes

[sobeautifullyobsessed]

A Different Kind of Magic - chapter one: a quiet beginning

a Doctor Strange x OFC fic

(based on roleplay with @doctorstrangeaskblog)

summary: A fascinating stranger enlists the help of librarian Beauty Lincoln for some research he is doing on a some haunted pieces of property in New York City's Hell's Kitchen. They eventually strike up an unlikely friendship, which strengthens once he decides he can trust her, and she inadvertently discovers his day job involves magic and mysticism. And all the while Beauty is falling in love with the charming, albeit enigmatic man. Will Stephen Strange catch on to the many ways she tries to tell him what she's feeling--and will he someday come to feel the same way for her? This story is based on an ongoing role play with a Doctor Strange blog, @doctorstrangeaskblog. Occurs pre Infinity War.

characters: Stephen Strange, Beauty Lincoln (OFC)

rating: general audience

word count: 2.1k

Alone in the fourth floor stacks at the end of her work day, Beauty’s mind had gone woolgathering, thinking about the very handsome, very distinguished looking gentleman who had so well occupied a portion of her afternoon.  His interest in those reference books-–which she was now shelving–-had been both rare and unusual, piquing her curiosity as to exactly what he’d needed them for.  Those particular texts were some of the oldest in the Library, and as such, they could not be lent out, let alone be removed from the fourth floor.

Moreover, the man had seemed to understand their intrinsic value without needing an explanation or word of caution, and he had handled them much more carefully than most patrons she had previously assisted with similarly aged materials.  Beauty realized this was due in part to the tremors evident in his badly scarred hands–-but she believed it was more out of respect for the age and nature of the books themselves.  Which, of course, would have been enough to make her like him-–even if their initial interaction hadn’t already intrigued her.

She’d been typing up the monthly figures on patron usage and materials circulation, when a man stepped up to the desk and cleared his throat to get her attention.  “Ms. Lincoln?” he had asked in a deferential tone (having read the name plate on her desk), and she had looked up from her laptop screen into a pair of blue-green eyes that immediately struck her as both wise and patient.  And which had somehow made her sit a little straighter in her chair, as though she wanted him to see that she was worthy of her title as Head Archivist of the main branch of The New York Public Library.

Her fingers paused their tapping of their own accord as she turned her full attention on him.  “Yes, that’s…that’s me.”  The left corner of his mouth ticked up into the precursor of a smile, and that made her want to smile back.  “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Yes, please…” he had begun, and Beauty had listened to him describe in detail what he was looking for.  Even as her mind began to formulate the search parameters she would need to locate what he required, she was watching him, surprisingly entranced by the fine crinkles at the corners of his remarkable eyes and the extraordinary angles and planes of his finely chiseled face.  Intelligent, well-spoken, exceptionally polite, on top of being tall, dark-haired, and handsome–why she couldn’t remember the last time she’d encountered a man in this hodgepodge of a City that ticked off so many of the qualities on her wish list, and on first impression, no less!  

The streaks of white at his temples and his meticulously trimmed mustache and goatee added an air of sophistication that reminded her of the romantic leads in some of her favorite romance films.  Olivier’s Maxim de Winter.  Plummer’s Captain Von Trapp.  Colin Firth in just about anything.  And even Branagh’s Roman Strauss from the 90′s flick, Dead Again.  Beauty could only hope those very uncharacteristic thoughts did not flit across her face.

She had nodded once he had concluded, confident that she could gather the reference books he wanted in short order.  She already had a fairly good idea of the general area to look, and hitting the search bar on her laptop confirmed her hunch.  She closed her computer and stood up as she explained, “Those stacks are for library personnel only, Mister…”

“Strange,” he replied, without missing a beat,

“…Mr. Strange,” she continued, a little surprised at his unusual surname, “But you are welcome to wait here while I track down what you’re looking for.”  She motioned to a set of four, evenly spaced tables at the center of the room, only one of which had been currently occupied.  “While I can’t allow the materials to leave this floor, as long as I or one of my assistants is manning this desk, you can study them at length”

“Sounds perfect,” he nodded, and this time he did smile--crookedly, genuinely, and in Beauty’s humble estimation, quite charmingly.

“This will probably take me about ten minutes or so, Mr. Strange--if you’ll excuse me?”

“Of course.”  He had tilted his head as an acknowledgement and headed over to take a seat at the table nearest her desk.

It had actually taken Beauty a bit longer to collect the books than she had expected, including two trips up the five step, rolling access ladder to retrieve items from the top shelves of separate rows.  No one’s looked at these in years...at least not during my tenure, she thought, wondering if Strange’s interest in the buildings in Hell’s Kitchen was architectural.  She couldn’t imagine any other reason, except that his request for land ownership records going back before the American Revolution didn’t fit with that theory.

Task accomplished, she wheeled the small book cart containing the materials out to the public area of the Reference Floor, where she found Strange perusing a recent copy of The Lancet--which he must have found in the unbound periodical section.  That seemed curious--unless he was a 21st century version of a Renaissance man, with interests and skills in multiple areas of study.  

Beauty parked the cart beside Strange’s table, and then laid a pair of white cotton gloves before him.  “If you wouldn’t mind,” she told him, eyeing the dark network of scars marking his hands.  Hands which otherwise would look like an artist’s--a sculptor’s, a painter’s, or perhaps even a surgeon’s--leaving her to wonder what sort of accident or event could have wreaked that level of damage.  “Some of those pages are quite fragile, and we like to keep them protected from even the slightest contact with the oils occurring naturally on skin.”

“Right,” he said quietly, almost to himself, picking up the gloves, “A wise precaution...”

Although he had looked determined to follow her request, Beauty quickly realized the gloves she had provided would be a tight fit, “Oh...hold on a moment, Mr. Strange.  I think I’ve got a larger pair in one of my desk drawers.”  She moved swiftly to check the bottom drawer, and was relieved to find exactly what she needed, returning to him with a fresh pair, wrapped in cellophane.  “These will probably be better for you,” she told him, offering a conciliatory smile and tearing open the packaging to save him the trouble.

Strange looked up at her gratefully as she handed the gloves over, though he also looked a little sad, “Thank you, Ms. Lincoln...for everything.”

Beauty’s heart went out to him; she supposed his days must be filled with little moments such as this, when someone overlooked that his injuries might require a different approach to everyday tasks.  “You’re very welcome, Mr. Strange--and please don’t hesitate to ask if there’s anything more I can do for you.”

“Will do.”  When he smiled this time, it seemed to Beauty as though sunshine had broken through cloud cover.  She could well imagine there were few women--like herself, anyway--immune to that sort of easy charm.

Over two hours later, her newest patron appeared to be finishing up his research.  While going about her work, Beauty had been sneaking occasional looks his way, checking on his progress as he’d been taking notes on a small legal pad.  Now, Strange set his pen and paper aside, and stripped the gloves from his hands; he’d closed his eyes and was stretching his neck to either side after being hunched so long over those old texts.  She meandered over, on pretext of collecting several periodicals which another patron had discarded on a neighboring table.  They were now the only two people in the room.

“So--were any of those materials helpful?”

He opened his eyes, and even before he answered, Beauty could tell he was pleased with the results he had gotten.  “Absolutely--exactly what I needed,” he stressed.  “You know, far too many people think that everything can be solved with a quick Google search.  But I’ve found that--old-fashioned as the concept may be--books really are irreplaceable.”

She had grinned, exclaiming, “Right? Too few people get that these days.”  Beauty perched on the edge of the table, close enough for a cozy conversation.  “I get at least a half dozen kids a week--college age and high schoolers--who have no idea that Wikipedia isn’t the be-all, end-all of research.”

“Well, they’re missing out,” he agreed, “There’s a lot to be said for the tactile sensation of book in hand, as opposed to studying off of a computer screen or even a tablet.  And something quite comforting about the idea of generations of students before us having succeeded by using the very texts we hold in our hands today.”

Here was a man speaking intelligently about one of her passions--however was she too resist?  Beauty wanted to know more about him.  “It sounds like you’ve experienced that close at hand.”

“Oh, yes,” Stephen chuckled, angling his chair to face her more comfortably, “Years and years.  Undergrad.  Medical school.  And years later...a, uh...well, let’s just say an unexpected change in careers.  All made possible by the knowledge collected in countless copies of these...”  He patted the pile of books on his table.

Hmmmm...well that explains The Lancet...but he also said ‘change in careers’.  Intuition told her that such a change might have had something to do with his hands--and about that, Beauty felt it would be poor of her to pry.  “Well then...Doctor Strange...”  He favored her with a wee, sideways smile.  “I’m very glad for the opportunity to have helped you today.  Especially considering that you have such an honest appreciation for the written word.”

“And I’m glad to know that the City has such a savvy, dedicated guardian for some of its most valuable--albeit hidden--treasures.”  Strange stood up, and extended his hand to Beauty.

She felt a sudden flush color her cheeks as she realized he was likely offering a unique opportunity.  That given the way his hands shook, and that their disfigurement might also come with some level of discomfort, his proffer might be a rare thing indeed.  Beauty smiled shyly and gave a little shrug before gingerly taking his hand.  “You’re very kind to say so, Doctor...”

Quietly amused, he leaned a little closer to her, his voice dropping low and confidential, “It’s Stephen...please...”

“Of course...Stephen.”  Beauty lowered her eyes; she felt a little breathless, with such a charming, handsome man so close to her.  So close, and with her hand still softly cradled in his.  No need to let go, anytime soon, she was thinking, this is really...really...nice.  She dared look back to him, and could have sworn from the look in his mesmerizing eyes that he had caught a drift of her thoughts.  “Um,” she swallowed, “Please do come by again if there’s anything...anything more I can do to help.”  And maybe we could grab a cup of coffee in the cafe downstairs...

Strange gave her hand a little squeeze before releasing it.  “You can count on that, Ms. Lincoln,” he grinned, “If not for research, then perhaps we can talk books some more.”

Beauty had nodded, feeling a little tongue tied, and he had turned to go--but at the elevator just outside the glass doors past her desk, he turned around and gave a little wave, an she waved back.  A quiet departure, to be sure, but one that left her rather wistful and wishing with all her might that this fascinating gentleman would have a reason soon to revisit the sanctum of the fourth floor.

Having finished returning his materials to their proper places, Beauty saw that there were only minutes left to closing time.  Her preoccupation with Doctor Strange (Stephen, she reminded herself dreamily), and wishing that she’d had the actual courage to invite him to join her for coffee, had caused her to lose track of time.  Back at her desk she began to shut down for the evening, planning to hit the lights just before she locked up.  She took one last look around, to be sure that everything was in order--and spotted a yellow legal pad sitting on the table that Stephen had vacated.

Well now, isn’t that lucky for me?  I suppose he’ll have to come back sooner or later to collect his notes.  She picked it up, vowing not to be nosy, though she did notice his note-taking appeared rather sparse--and in the tradition of doctors, barely legible.  More hopeful than curious, she tucked his notepad in the top drawer of her desk, grabbed her handbag from the bottom drawer, and headed off for home.

To be continued...and yes, Beauty is her actual name.

My heartfelt thanks to @doctorstrangeaskblog - for all the fun we have together and for providing a Muse for this story. Oh- and for the gorgeous edit of Stephen and Beauty together, at the top of this post. Don't they make a handsome couple! xx

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[sirius-archive]

Could I get an imagine where the reader is a muggle American and she’s on vacation in London with her family and she somehow lost her family and she’s like freaking out and then she runs into Sirius on the streets and he like helps calm her down and helps her find her family? Sorry if this is a weird request

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader, James Potter x Lily Evans (mentioned) 

Warnings: Swearing, stranger danger too, I guess. 

A/N: so sorry this took so long! I loved the idea and I hope I did it justice. I might add to it later on or revamp it bc I love the idea but it’s a big maybe at the moment bc I’m so busy with uni and work and also my other wips. I hope you enjoy this though. Also I changed the request quite a bit bc I forgot what you originally wanted! So sorry!! 

just want to add that I did something o probably shouldn’t and included my real life friends! With their permission, ofc. I also made a modern reference even tho it’s supposed to be the seventies but I liked it too much so I left it in ha ha. Also…pls don’t talk to strangers. This is fanfiction people not an advice column. 

****

It’s another uncharacteristically warm day in London.

The sun showers blankets of warm golden light over the city, guilding skyscrapers and warming the sweet, honeyed breeze. Sparrows are chirping sweet, morning songs, dancing in the air with surprising grace. Squirrels scamper across lush green grounds in a park nearby, happily bidding you a good morning.

And not one of these motherfuckers are going to help you find your friends.

You wander aimlessly past the same park monument you saw just half an hour ago. Your legs are already aching, your feet are forming blisters that hurt the more you think about them, and the sun is slowly drilling into your soul.

You think you might die of thirst before you find your friends.

In retrospect, it wasn’t entirely Sophie’s fault. While it was her dumb shit idea to tag along with the sexy British tour guide, you, Matt, Aaron, Riley and Reuben had been far more interested in touring the British Museum. So it wasn’t at all surprising when Sophie rushed off with knockoff Colin Firth to have a jolly high tea or whatever it is British people do on dates. Still, it gave you an opportunity to visit the museum.

You hadn’t even walked through the front gates when Matt, Aaron and Riley wandered off to have a deep and meaningful (you had warned Riley that coming on the trip with Aaron would cause some tension between your group. Thing between you and Aaron were a lot more complicated than the five-night-stand you’d shared last year). Reuben, being his usual womanising self, started flirting with the hot receptionist and not wanting any part of that (last time you wing-womaned for Reuben, the chick thought you were seeking a third), you stepped out for some air.

Now, you’re trying to navigate through the urban maze that is London by yourself, struggling to find your friends who are scattered all over the city.

Slumping against a park chair, you take a deep breath and study your map again. A part of you is screaming at you to swallow your pride and ask for directions but you’re a stubborn New Yorker and if you can effortlessly find your way through the Big Apple, you can tackle London.

“You’re not from around here…” says a masculine voice behind you. You sit up straight, whipping around in the direction of the voice.

Holy fucking cucumber sandwich.

The most handsome man you’ve ever laid your eyes on leans against the trunk of an old oak tree, observing you with a mixture of amusement and intrigue. He looks like he chomps down magical donuts that grant him sexy powers. You stare.

A cigarette hangs from his kissable, smirking lips. His hair falls gracefully around his face, framing glinting gray-blue eyes, high cheekbones and a strong jaw. He’s wearing a leather jacket and exudes all types mysterious-sexy-bad boy vibes. You’d bet a hundred bucks that he rides a motorcycle too.

Boys with motorcycles are usually trouble.

Your mouth goes a little bit dry.

“Please don’t be a serial killer,” you mutter and the stranger cocks a perfect eyebrow.

“What was that?”

You shake your head, “I mean — Is it that obvious?”

Sexy bad boy stranger shrugs, “I know a lost tourist when I see one.”

“Is this what you do, then? Lurk around parks waiting for lost tourists?”

Bad boy chuckles — a deep growling sound that rumbles at the back of his throat, “Maybe. Maybe I was just walking past and thought I’d help out a pretty girl in need.”

It takes all of your willpower not to blush now.

“So you’re just a Good Samaritan, then.”

“I’m whatever you want me to be.”

“What if I want you to go away?”

The handsome, young motorbike guy takes a deliberate step forward, “I think we both know that’s not true.”

You swallow. He’s good at this game. Something tells you that you’re not the first victim of his play-boy charms.

Desperately trying to reclaim your composure, you fold your arms across your chest and glare at him.

“What makes you think I need your help?”

British James Dean thinks for one attractive moment, “Well, you don’t have to accept my help but something tells me that if you don’t ask for directions soon, you’re going to end up wandering around London forever.”

He makes a good point.

You stand up from your seat, arms still folded across your chest, “Hypothetically speaking, If I were to accept your help, how would I know that you’re not a perverted serial killer who wants to collect my spleen and leave me in a ditch or something?”

Sexy stranger takes another step forward, “That’d be a shame. You’re too beautiful to kill, and I’m just beginning to like you.”

“That’s exactly what a perverted serial killer would say.”

“Touché. Alright, how about this: I drop you off at your hotel straight away, no detours and no taxi fees that you have to fork out to greedy muggl— erm, I mean, drivers.”

You consider this. He certainly doesn’t seem like a serial killer. Still, it’s hard to trust a charming stranger, especially one as handsome as he is. Then again, if he’s smart — which he definitely is — he’d never kill you in broad daylight in the middle of London.

You uncross your arms and hold one out for him to shake, “Alright, deal.”

Sexy stranger takes your hand and shakes it. His hand is strong and firm and electricity sparks in the warm space where your hands are clasped together.

“Sirius.”

“What?”

“Sirius.”

You blink at him, “Is that some kind of fungal STI that I need to be aware of?”

Sexy stranger chuckles again, “My name is Sirius.”

Sirius? Who the fuck calls their kid Sirius? You have to admit that the name suits him, and the way he says it — in a husky, velvety murmur — gives the name an alluring sex appeal, which sums him up completely.

You consider giving him a fake name but ultimately decide against it. That’s just weird and you can’t lie for shit.

“I’m (Y/N).”

Sirius repeats your name, tasting it on his lips. A more carnal part of you wishes he’d say it in a completely different context.

“Alright, (Y/N),” Sirius smiles, and he practically glows with charisma, “Lets get you home.”

***

You were right, of course. About the motorcycle.

Sirius’ carefully-polished motorbike is almost as sexy as it’s owner; gleaming in the sunlight and flaunting a sleek black paint job with plush leather seats. Several passerby’s stop to admire it (or Sirius, you can’t exactly tell), though Sirius doesn’t pay them any mind. One dudebro with a repugnantly bright tank top gawks at the motorbike while his girlfriend stares hungrily at Sirius.

“I’ve…never ridden a motorcycle before,” you bleat nervously.

Sirius hands you a helmet and smiles.

“Just hold onto me and you’ll be fine.”

Sirius mounts his motorbike and you awkwardly slide in behind him. You’re not sure where to put your hands so you place them on his shoulders. You think you hear Sirius laugh behind his helmet.

Sirius turns the ignition, revs the engine, and kicks the bike into gear.

“You alright back there?” He calls over the roar of the bike.

“Uh—yeah.”

“Hold onto my waist,” he orders, “You’ll be more secure.”

You’re about to protest but then Sirius takes off and you find your arms flying to his waist, gripping on tightly.

It’s exhilarating. Liberating. Intoxicating.

As Sirius weaves between London traffic, you feel a rush of adrenaline pulse through your veins. The air whips past, fluttering around the ruffled trim of your dress. Your hands soak in the warmth of Sirius’ body, his muscles firm beneath your touch.

You pass familiar landmarks and stores you passed when you and your friends took the double-decker bus from your hotel room. You recognise the buildings around you and realise the hotel is just a few kilometres down the street, on the right.

Suddenly, Sirius veers off to the left and zooms down a street you don’t recognise.

“What are you doing? The hotel is up that way!”

“I just have to make a quick stop,” he shouts over his shoulder.

“That wasn’t part of the deal!”

“Don’t worry, it won’t take long.”

You clutch onto him, apprehension beginning to claw away at your lower belly. Where is he taking you? How could you have been so stupid to trust an extremely attractive stranger to follow through with a deal?

Sirius slows the bike down until it rolls to a stop and flicks the engine off, climbing off sexily. He helps you clamber awkwardly off the bike and you tear your helmet off, taking in your surroundings for the first time.

You’re next to a footpath with a view of the The Thames, lined with large ornamental pear trees. Its quite a romantic spot with a view of the entire city sitting pretty behind the flowing River Thames.

Sirius tells you to wait by the motorbike and stalks away, rushing toward a boy who looks about your age. He’s tall, has messy black hair, and half-frame glasses. He looks like a sexy professor with the body of an Olympic swimmer that all the girls have crushes on.

Why are all the men here so insanely attractive?

You’re just about to sink into a delightful fantasy of sexy Professor feeding you grapes when Sirius comes up behind you.

“Ready to go?”

You ignore his question, “Who was the god — I mean — guy that you saw?”

Sirius arches an eyebrow. You notice for the first time that there is a scar knitted into it, “That’s James. He’s a total prat, by the way.”

“Sounds like you two have that in common,” you quip and Sirius mocks offence.

“Anyone tell you that you’re cruel?”

“Everyday of my life.”

“Here I was thinking you were just another hot little American bird.”

For one half of a millisecond, your brain snags on the word ‘hot.’ Did he just call you hot? You heard that right? You recover with grace, grinning wickedly.

“You’ll get over it.”

A teasing smirk flirts around the corners of Sirius’ lips, a little crookedly, slanting lazily in a way that makes your cheeks warm. He looks amused by this verbal tug-of-war but also a little turned on.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel the same way.

“You ever walk along the River Thames?” Sirius asks, sliding his strong, sexy hands into the pocket of his sexy leather jacket. He begins to follow the footpath, leading you past the knots of pigeons and moonstruck lovers.

“No,” you sigh, “Admittedly, I just came along for the underage drinking and the hot British guys.”

Sirius laughs, “How’s that working out for you?”

You shrug, teasing him with a flirtatious smile, “I’m still working on it.”

“If you want,” Sirius begins, clawing at the nape of his neck, “I can help you out with that.”

You quirk a carefully-manicured brow, “What, you know any hot guys like your buddy James?”

Sirius snorts, “I wouldn’t go saying that around his girlfriend.”

“Why, is she the jealous type?”

“No, she’s the ‘try-not-to-make-his-fat-Head-even-fatter’ type.”

You chuckle, intrigue plucking at your mind, “She’s my type of girl.”

“Lily is everyone’s type of girl.”

“Well now I just have to meet her.”

Sirius raises his brows, a spark of hope in his eyes, “Is that your way of telling me that you’re taking me up on the offer for free beer?”

“You never said it was free before.”

“I’m feeling generous.”

“Aw, and they say chivalry is dead.”

Sirius laughs easily in a way that is completely carefree, as though laughter bubbles just beneath his skin, itching to pour out. It’s mesmerising how he doesn’t seem to take life too seriously.

“You are something else,” he says, letting his eyes catch and linger on yours for a quiet, suspended moment.

A gust of warm, summer wind brings peach blossoms raining down. The gentle coo of a skylark echoes in the distance. Time slows to a stop to stare at the two of you.

He steps forward, like he’s about to kiss you.

You let him.

He tastes like liquor and rebellion, a little wild in a way you’ve never realised you’ve wanted, you’ve needed. His hands are strong as they wrap around you, pulling you flush against his chest. Your fingers roam through his hair, tangling, tugging, earning a low groan from the back of his throat. You feel drunk on him, your head spinning and your heart thumping, as though it’s trying to tear through your chest and leap into his strong, capable hands. Suddenly, you realise how weird this is. He’s a stranger you’ve known for an hour or so yet now you’re kissing him. It’s as though you’re somehow drawn to him, to his energy, to the way he seems to know you intimately, in ways you hardly know about yourself. You break away, taking a step away from him. Sirius looks like he’s five again and has just had his favourite toy ripped away from him. 

““Are you—?”

Slap

Before you even realise what you’re doing, you’re slapping him across the cheek, not hard but he feels it. You kissed a stranger. That is a thing you did. You also slapped said stranger, partly because of impulse and partly because you’re terrified of how quickly your feelings are beginning to stir for someone you hardly know. Sirius is stunned, silent, staring at you with shock and hurt that stings you more than it should. You stare back, drawn in by every fleck of colour in his eyes, suddenly aware that, sure, he may be a stranger but that doesn’t mean he has to stay one. Obviously, you have a connection.

 So…connect.

 You crash your lips against his again, throwing your arms around his neck. 

Your friends can wait. You’ve found yourself a new tour guide. 

[drymushroomfics]

"Thanks, Stan."

Colin Firth x ofc

Blaire is a makeup artist on the set of Supernova. She has a bit of a crush on Colin Firth. Colin is a bit akward and his co-star and friend, Stanley Tucci comes to the rescue as the perfect wingman

 Blaire awkwardly knocks on the cabin, waiting for someone to answer. The smile that greets her couldn't be brighter.

"I'm glad you're here, Blaire.", Colin says, letting her in.

Blaire looks over, seeing Stanley in his element, cooking away.

"How long has he been cooking?", she asks, shimmying off her coat.

"About an hour. I'm practically ready to take a bite out of the plate.", he teases.

"Impatients gets you nowhere, my friend.", she hears Stanley say.

He takes Blaire's coat, hanging it on a rack.

"Is Julie still coming?", Stanley asks.

"Um... I think so. May just be a little late. Takes her forever to get ready, in my experience."

"You clean up quite nicely... You always look nice, really...", Colin says, scratching the back of his head.

She notices Colin giving Stanley a look.

Chiming in, Stanley says, "He means your face... It's amazing how quickly you can paint yourself up like that. It would take both of us a week to even figure out eye shadow."

"Should've seen when I started. Looked quite like a racoon, actually. Pretty bad."

Julie eventually arrives when the food is ready. Everyone sits at the table, eating and discussing their busy day on set.

"This is quite good.", Colin tells Stanley.

"I don't think so... It's pretty shit." Julie laughs and Blaire agrees with Colin.

"No, I definitely like it too.", Blaire says, "I can barely cook a bloody egg."

Stanley laughs, "That just means that you need good cookbooks and a great teacher! Luck for you, I can supply both!"

"He's quite full of himself, isn't he?", Julie laughs.

After dinner, Stanley busts out some more wine.

"Where's the ice?", Blaire asks.

"Should be around back in a freezer.", Stanley says, smiling at Colin.

"Yes... Would you like me to go with you.?", Colin asks.

"You don't have to.", Blaire replies.

"I don't mind. It's surprisingly not raining at the moment. We should probably cease the opportunity."

She nods, grabbing her coat. They walk outside and head around back.

As she opens the door to the freezer, Colin stops her.

"Is everything alright?", she asks him.

"Yes... Um... I- There's something I'd like to ask you."

"Okay... I'm all ears."

"You may not be interested and I may look a bit pompous for it but I would like to ask if you-", he's cut off by her kissing him.

She pulls back. He looks at her, confused.

"Would you like to have dinner in my room tomorrow night? I can't cook like Stanley but I can order food just as well."

"I'd quite like that actually."

As they're walking back, Blaire asks, "So is this why you and Stanley kept giving each other looks all night?"

"Was it that obvious?"

"Yeah.. um... kinda."

"He's the one that encouraged me to say something to you."

"But I beat you to it."

"That you did."

They walk back inside with the ice. Blaire walks over to Stanley.

"Thanks.", she whispers.

For what?", he asks.

"Pushing Colin."

"He did it?"

"Dinner tomorrow night."

"I'm on it. I'll make something and bring it over."

"I owe you."

"Yes you do but I'll remember for future favors."

"Fair enough."

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

   Blaire opens the door to Stanley holding various containers of food.

"You're welcome for this.", Stanley smiles as she lets him in.

He sets the food on the table, uncovering everything.

"Everything's still warm. Just drizzle this over this and you'll be fine.", he explains, gesturing.

"I really do appreciate it.", Blaire thanks him.

They share a quick hug, "Colin's nervous but I've noticed pushing him a little can bring things out quite easliy."

"I'm nervous too, if I'm honest."

"It's going to be good. And, you look fantastic. I won't be surprised if I see him doing the walk of shame in the morning."

"Stan!"

He laughs, "Alright. I'm gonna head out. Have a good time, dear."

It's not long before Colin arrives.

"You look nice.", she smiles as she lets him in.

"It was odd not to shave. I usually always shave for occasions.", he replies as she pours him a glass of wine.

"I like it. But you are one of those people that looks good clean shaven or not."

"You look wonderful, by the way.", he tells her.

"Thanks. I don't get much of a reason to dress up."

He smiles. They sit down at the table and eat the food Stanley made.

"I'll make sure to thank Stanley.", Colin chuckles, "So you really can't cook?"

"It's not that I can't cook. It's just that I'm not good at it. I tend to either under cook everything or overcook everything."

He laughs, taking a sip of wine.

After dinner, she takes the plates to the sink. She turns around and he's standing next to her.

"Well, maybe I can teach you some things."

"Like what?", she asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Well... What would you like to learn?"

"We're still talking about cooking right?"

They both chuckle.

"I believe so.", he replies, itching the back of his head

"Besides, is there really anything else you could learn from me?", he asks, teasing.

"I don't think so but... I um... think Stanley was right."

"About what?"

"He said you'd be doing the walk of shame in the morning."

"Right... Well... I-"

She cuts him off with a kiss. His arms go around her waist and hers goes around the back of his neck. He pulls her close as they kiss.

Needless to say, his walk of shame the next morning was anything but shameful.

[drymushroomfics]

Eggsy's Plan

a/n: This is just a quick little one shot. Enjoy!

     Harry knocks, waiting for his closest friend to answer the door. His face falls when the door opens and Eggsy appears.

"What are you doing here?", he asks, clearly annoyed.

"Trying to talk some sense into Blaire.", Eggsy whispers.

"About what?"

"You."

They get cut off by Blaire.

"Harry...", Blaire says, smiling.

She pushes Eggsy out of the way and hugs him. Harry's been gone for a couple of months on a mission. He hasn't had any contact with anyone from Kingsman except tech.

"I've... I've missed you.", she says.

He wraps his arms around her to return the hug.

"Let's go inside.", Harry says, feeling nervous.

She nods and lets go of him.

Blaire, Eggsy, and Harry all sit in the living room. Harry tells them about his mission.

"Merlin  told me you'd gotten shot. I was worried sick... Always getting shot...", Blaire says.

Her words tug at Harry's heart. Eggsy keeps looking in between them as they talk, knowing that he has to get them together. He's thought up this plan and is decided to do it now.

"So um... I wanna show you something.", Eggsy says, interrupting them.

"What are you talking about?", Blaire asks.

"I added something to your bunker."

"My bunker? Why?"

"Thought it needed a nice touch. C'mon."

They both curiously follow Eggsy down underground.

"Here we are.", he smiles, letting them step in front of him.

There's a small frame on the wall that says 'gotcha'.

Before they can turn around, Eggsy's running up the stairs locking them in.

"Eggsy! What the hell are you doing?!", Harry yells.

"I'm tired of watching you two aimlessly stare at each other like love sick puppies! You're both awkward and weird and you need to work this out. I'm determined!", Eggsy replies before walking away.

Harry feels his face turn red as he walks back down the stairs.

"Well... It seems we're stuck.", she smiles, knowing well that a Kingsman could get out of here easily.

"This is childish.", Harry says.

"Harry... He's just trying to help."

"Why? So I can be humiliated..."

"Humiliated... Why would you be humiliated?"

"You've never looked at me as anything more than a friend. I've made my piece with that."

She stands up, walking over to him.

"For someone so intelligent, you can be quite daft."

She pulls him down by his suit jacket to kiss him.

"I've been in love with you since the moment I met you.", she smiles.

"I... When Valentine shot me, the last thing that flashed through my mind was... you... I knew that I loved you... I never thought I'd get the chance to tell you.", he admits.

She finds herself grinning from ear to ear as he leans down to kiss her again.

"We might be in here a while... He probably will expect us to take a long time.", she smirks.

Harry notices the bed in the corner and blushes.

"I think I have a few ideas on how to pass the time.", he smiles, taking her hand and pulling her onto the bed with him.

She pushes off his suit jacket. He lets it fall to the floor before pulling off her top. He leans down and starts to kiss and suck at her neck. She lets her head fall back, enjoying the feeling of his touch. Her hands blindly manage to un-do his tie and unbutton his white button-up shirt. She pushes his shirt down and off his arms. The shirt falls behind him. They lay back on the bed, allowing him to crawl on top of her. She moans when his right hand starts massaging at her covered breasts.

"Holy shit! I leave you guys alone for ten minutes and you're fuckin'!", Eggsy says.

Harry, flustered, covers Blaire with his discarded shirt.

"I hate you.", Blaire says.

"At least my plan worked. You should thank me."

Blaire picks up the closest thing to her and throws it at him. He quickly runs back up the stairs.

Harry laughs.

"Maybe when we're alone.", Blaire says.

He nods.

"Maybe another few minutes though.", he says, pulling her close to him.

She bites her lip as he leans in to kiss her.

[drymushroomfics]

First Words

Harry Hart x ofc

Harry looks down at his palm, the words 'Fuck Me' in all capital letters are designed there.

He shakes his head, still unsure how the first words his soulmate will say to him can be that.

He can't believe he even has a soulmate. He's always been alone. No attachments. That is what his job requires.

Things have changed in Kingsman; Eggsy's married.

Maybe he can find someone...

He never longed for someone before being shot by Valentine. It scared him the way he didn't have anyone to miss. He had nothing in his mind when he was shot.

He finishes getting dressed before heading into the mission.

"Location.", he says, asking Merlin where his target is located.

"left room. Be careful. Their captive is feisty.", Merlin replies, chuckling.

Harry sneaks inside, looking around the corner cautiously. He sees three men trying to keep their captive down. Merlin wasn't kidding. He checks his target who is standing in the corner, smirking at the scene.

"Bastard.", he mumbles to himself.

He prepares himself before going in,  guns a blazing. He manages to shoot all three in the blink of an eye.

When he looks at the captive, his mind seems to flat line.

He forgets about the target until he hears the cocking of a gun. He turns around, mentally cursing himself.

"Kingsman. Always fucking up my plans.", he says, aiming it at Harry.

Harry is trying to think of every possible way out of this situation.

He jumps in surprise when a bullet goes through the target's head. He turns to see the captive holding a gun.

"Fuck me.", she says, as he walks over to her.

He stops when she says it. He looks down at his palm as it turns red..

"I killed him... I've never even shot a gun before.", she continues.

He holds out his hand to her, "My name is Harry Hart."

She stops rambling and looks at him.

"Holy shit... You're Harry..."

She rolls up her sleeve, revealing 'My name is Harry Hart' on her wrist.

"It's you", she says.

"It appears so but right now, we need to leave."

She nods, wondering if anyone else is going to show up.

She follows him out the door when they both hear gun shots.

"Shit. How many more, Merlin?", he asks.

"At least a dozen. Get out of there Harry!"

He quickly grabs her hand as they make a break for it. They run down the hall and make a left. They notice the all clear and run toward the car. They get in as quickly as possible before driving off.

As Harry catches his breath, he looks over at her.

She laughs. He looks at her oddly.

"I can't believe this... I was kidnapped, found my soulmate, and ran from 12 men with loaded guns..."

He doesn't know what to reply. But he's equally as shocked. He didn't expect her to be the one. Yet here she is, sitting next to him with his name on her arm.

  Once they make it back to Kingsman, he takes her straight to the infirmary.

"I'm fine. Really.", she says, sitting on the bed.

"You are covered in abrasions and welts.", he says.

"It's not as if I've been shot or stabbed."

He turns his head, feeling oddly enamored by her.

"That is besides the point."

He waits outside while she is being treated.

He turns around quickly when the door opens. She's standing there, bandaged and clearly annoyed.

"So... Where are we?", she asks as they walk down the hall.

"Kingsman Headquarters."

"Okay... So you're a secret agent? Like James bond?"

He nods, "I've been doing this for quite a while."

"Um... Since this is your profession, I'm assuming you know everything about me already."

He nods again.

They walk into Harry's office. He offers her a seat before shutting the door.

"Um... So what does this mean...?... We're soulmates... And...", she says, trying to bring up the obvious elephant in the room.

"I'm almost fifteen years older than you... Does that bother you?", he asks, sitting down.

"No... I've always liked older men... Does it bother you that I'm younger than you?"

"I don't particularly seek younger women... Well, I don't seek anyone actually."

"Have you ever been in love?"

"No... I've haven't dated anyone since I joined the army."

"...Sounds lonely."

"It is I suppose..."

"Do you want to be in love?"

He looks at her and for the first time, he decides to be open and honest.

"Yes... I would like to share my life with someone..."

"What changed you?"

"What do you mean?"

"You've spent all this time ignoring a whole part of life... Does it have something to do with your eye?"

He turns his head away.

"One of my missions went wrong... I was shot..."

"How did you survive?"

"In the U.S., there is a secret agency. They found me and with their technology, preserved me from death but... right before I died, I realized that I was alone. I didn't have anyone to miss me and I had no lost loves.."

She brings her hand up to touch his.

"I've never been in love; not really... I've dated only a few times but I'm open to exploring this... Your name is permanently on my wrist so it's not as if I can forget about you anyway."

"Do you want to forget?"

She shakes her head, "No... I think you're worth exploring. After all, you did save me."

"Actually I owe you. You saved me,"

"Well you could take me to dinner. That'd be a start I think."

"I'll cook something special, then."

"I'd really like that, Harry."

[drymushroomfics]

Reciprocated Feelings

Next

Chapter One (1/3)

"What exactly are you up to, Eggsy?", Harry asks walking into the small room.

"Just... stay here. Please.", he replies, leaving him alone.

He sighs and wonders what ridiculous thing he'll be succumbed to today.

His eyebrow raises when he sees Blaire and Eggsy on the other side of the two way mirror.

"We have to talk about this.", Eggsy says to her.

She sighs, sitting down.

"There's nothing to talk about.", she replies, not looking at him.

"There is definitely feelings that you're hiding from him. Why not tell him?"

"Harry... Harry's not a romantic. Everyone knows that. He's spent his whole life neglecting that.... Besides, he'd never feel anything more than friendship for me."

"You really believe that?"

"Of course, I do..."

"Ya know something?"

"What, Eggsy?"

"Harry's always looking at you... He's always asking about you too. He fancies ya.. I'd even say he more than just fancies ya."

"You are delusional."

"How can you not see it?"

"Like I just said, Harry's priorities aren't romance."

"What do you even see in him?"

"Why does any of this matter? Honestly, are you trying to upset me for absolutely no reason?"

"I just don't get it."

"... Harry's...  I've been attracted to him since the first time we met... but there's something about his personality. I know that he plays such a reserved person but I feel there's so much more to him that he refuses to let anyone see... It's like... when he looks at me, my whole body heats up and I get nervous and I fumble a lot..."

Eggsy looks over at the mirror, smiling. That's when everything clicks.

She stands up, "You're an absolute prick for doing this to me.", she shouts before stomping out of the room.

"I can't believe him.", she whispers.

She starts walking down the hall when she sees Harry. She turns around and starts walking the other way.

"Wait.", he says.

She stops and forces herself to turn around.

"Don't.", she says, trying to walk away.

"Blaire!", he says, grabbing her wrist.

"I do not need your lecture, Harry Hart! I am well aware that you feel me beneath you and you'll never care for me."

She pulls her wrist from his grip.

"So don't make me feel more like a fool than Eggsy already does."

She stomps off, leaving Harry standing there. He's unsure of what to do in this situation. He doesn't know how to show her his true feelings. He isn't sure who to talk to about this. Eggsy's made quite an ass of himself so he is most definitely not going to talk to him.

Then the thought hits him, Agent Tequila. He's always picking up various women after missions. Maybe he can help.

He finds the agent eventually, asking him if he can discuss a more personal matter.

"What'cha needin'?", Tequila asks.

"Well, I'm in need of teaching."

"Teaching'? Teaching about what?"

"R-romance."

"It's Blaire innit?"

"Has it become that obvious?"

"'Course it has. She loves ya man... What's the problem then?"

"Eggsy has pulled a rather ridiculous stunt and now Blaire feels a fool of sorts. I'm not sure how to approach her... I tried after but she wouldn't let me speak."

"Does she know your feelings?"

He shakes his head, "As I said, she wouldn't give me the chance... She believes me to possess feelings the opposite of hers."

"Right... Okay... You gotta do something' special. Show up at her house. Don't give her the chance to push ya away again."

"Are you sure this is the best approach?"

"If anyone knows how to get a woman, it's Tequila."

 He stands in front of Blaire's door, nervous. He has felt this nervous since his first Kingsman mission. He knocks, straightening his back to look his best.

Blaire opens the door. Her eyes widen at the sight. Harry's never been to her home. She's also wearing the worse possible thing right now.

"Blaire... I... Did I come at the wrong time?", he asks, looking at her wardrobe.

She's only wearing a very big t-shirt, covering to the top part of her thighs.

"Sorry, I um... wasn't expecting you... I thought you might've been the delivery man."

"I'm very sorry, Blaire... I need to confess something to you."

"Harry-"

"No!...um... What Eggsy has done is absolutely ridiculous. He hadn't any right to put you on display. When he put me behind the mirror, I had no idea what was going on. But, after, you immediately assumed my response and emotions."

"Harry... I didn't think you would ever find out about my feelings and I don't expect you to reciprocate them."

"But that's just it, Blaire.... I do... I, very much, reciprocate your feelings...And, as much as it paints me to admit it, Eggsy is correct... I tend to always find myself glancing your way... You are, without a doubt, very beautiful..."

"I... I'm... "

"I have managed to develop romantic feelings since my first sight of you as. I understand that I have never had romantic attachments previously but Kingsman has changed. Eggsy is married now and I... I knew you would be the one I wanted... I know you are the one I need, even..."

She stares at him, dumbfounded. She walks out of her doorway, stepping onto the porch. Without warning, she grabs his tie, pulling him down to kiss her.

His arms go around her waist and hers around his neck. Their lips move in perfect sync and passion. The long months of pining are shoved into one long kiss. When they pull away, they smile at each other.

"Harry... I want... I need you."

He can't help but smile brightly at her words.

"'scuse me miss....", they hear behind them.

They pull away, turning toward the voice. It's a younger boy, holding a pizza.

"Oh, right..."

Harry grabs the pizza, handing the boy money from his pocket.

"Keep the change.", he says.

He stares at them, confused before walking away.

"Harry...", she says.

"Can I come in?", he asks.

She nods, taking the pizza box from him.

They walk inside and she sets the box on the table. 

"Ya know... We should fuck with Eggsy a little.", she smirks, turning to Harry.

"What do you have in mind?", he asks.

"His little plan may have actually worked but what if it had the opposite effect?"

"Alright... We can pretend to hate each other, for a little while, that is."

He wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her close.

"I think this will be fun."

[drymushroomfics]

Reciprocated Feelings

Previous Next

Chapter Two (2/3)

"So...?!", Eggsy smiles when he sees Harry.

"So what?... Do you mean that little shit show you put on?", Harry says.

"You fancy her though..."

"What would give you that idea? I barely think of her as a friend."

"What?... Are you fuckin' with me, Harry? I know you like her!"

"Why would I? You've made her look like a fool. Poor girl."

"Harry... You can't be serious."

"Of course I am serious. I don't find her remotely attractive and we have nothing in common."

Blaire walks into the room and glares at Eggsy.

Eggsy stares at both of them, unsure of what to do before leaving the room.

Harry chuckles before sitting down.

She walks over to him, pulling up a chair next to him.

"So... Does he believe you?", she asks.

"I do believe so."

He takes her hand in his.

"Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?", he asks.

"I'd love that.", she smiles, "At your home?"

He nods. They pull apart when Merlin walks in. He looks at them oddly before going about his business.

  She knocks on the door, feeling nervous and excited all at once.

"Come in.", he smiles after opening the door.

She steps inside. He shuts the door and they walk to the dining room.

He pulls the chair out for her and she sits.

"I'd just finished plating dinner so it may be a little hot.", he says sitting down as well.

"It looks good. I'm not surprised that you can cook.", she replies.

They eat with comfortable small talk throughout.

As he's putting away the dishes, she stands up, looking around.

"Something the matter?", he asks, walking up behind her.

"Of course not.", she turns around, smiling.

"I wasn't sure what to do after dinner so I took the liberty of picking out a few films."

"That sounds nice."

They walk into the living room. They settle on Pretty Woman. He presses play before sitting down next to her.

Harry glances over at her, realizing that they're not sitting very close. He starts getting nervous. He hasn't experienced a date in a long time so the feelings of fear start creeping in. He takes a chance and scoots closer to her. She smiles at him, leaning closer to him. His arm goes around her and her head rests against his shoulder.

As they're watching the film, Blaire wonders if he plans to 'go farther' tonight. If he's not ready or doesn't want to, that's fine. But if he does, she doesn't want to wait. She glances up at him to admire his features.

"He's always wearing those glasses.", she thinks, unaware that she said it aloud.

"People will stare if I don't.", he replies, not looking at her.

"Sorry... I was just thinking out loud I guess."

He looks over at her, "It's not a problem. Most people wonder."

"Oh... I didn't mean anything negative by it.", she says sitting up.

"I just meant that it hides your face... I don't think you should hide your face."

He turns to her and smiles.

"May I?", she asks.

He nods slowly. She softly removes his glasses, looking at the scar. She brings her hand up to touch his cheek.

He would never say anything but he does feel worry toward letting her see him like this. Eggsy and Merlin did not act well toward it.

"I don't think you have anything to hide really... Especially in your own home.", she says before leaning forward and kissing next to the scar.

"I think you're still handsome.", she says, kissing him.

He melts at her touch. She's everything he's been missing in life and all he wants is her.

"Harry...", she whispers as they pull away.

"Yes?", he replies, opening his eyes to look at her.

"Can we... can we go to your bedroom?"

He smiles, feeling like his heart could implode at any moment.

He stands up, taking her hand. They walk up the stairs to his bedroom.

He opens the door and lets her in. Feeling more confident, she pulls him by his shirt, closer to her. They kiss once more. She's quick to unbutton his white shirt. He slides it off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. She runs her hands up his chest, resting them on his shoulders.

"May I?", he asks once they pull away.

She nods, turning around.

He unzips her dress, letting it pool at her feet. She steps out of it, along with her heels.

She turns, sitting on the edge of his bed, looking up at him. "I think you're still a little over-dressed.", she smirks, make quick work of his trousers.