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dollypopup · 1 year ago

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fuck it, gonna do it myself since the showrunners refuse to

Colin Bridgerton Background and Headcanons

+Colin was a chubby child, but became super lanky around his pre-teens, just before he went to Eton

+He would play piano with Francesca for Mum. He always wanted to play and sing for Papa, too, but Edmund was usually with Anthony and Benedict. Still, he and Fran would sit on the shorter velvet cushion so they could reach the pedals, and they would take turns singing silly made up songs, or church hymns

+Because of his age, he was always excluded from the 'Boys' club of the family. At ten years younger than his older brothers, and not an Heir OR the Spare, this is when he started getting particularly close with his sisters, El, Daph, and Fran. He and Daphne were almost inseparable growing up.

+Colin got SEVERAL makeovers from his sisters. They always said he was just as pretty as they were, and powdered him with too much blush, bribing him with extra snacks if he wore one of their dresses. He did, of course. Those Tea Parties were fancy affairs, after all. Once, Eloise tried to braid his hair for it, too, but it was just too short

+Of all his siblings, Colin is the only one Papa ever punished physically. After Colin hit Eloise and Papa saw, he horsewhipped him in the stable. Colin is a boy, soon to be a man, Papa said, he should never lay a hand on a lady, *any* lady. Colin wonders why he cannot hit a lady, but anyone can hit him. It's the start of his hero complex and his martyr streak, too. He does not matter in the scenario, others do. He can get hurt, but others cannot.

+It's not three months after Edmund dies that Colin is sent to Eton. He's the only boy in their entire family to ever go there, and the prestige of Oxford was just unnecessarily for a third son. The funds were already put aside, Colin's traveling trunk packed, and the first year paid out. He had no choice. As a lanky, scrawny, barely 5 feet tall 12 year old boy, Colin leaves everything he has ever known behind to mourn in private, on his own, far from anything familiar

+Eton has. . .to say problems would be an understatement. Colin is under the tutelage of the harshest superintendent of the century for only one year toward the end, but it is far more than enough. The treatment is horrible. (look it up, this is historically accurate!). 'Flogging Fridays' were so harrowing, the uprisings by the students ended in stalemates and fury. In that last year, Colin had long hit his growth spurt, and resented a bully deep, *deep* in his bones. In his last year at Eton, Colin broke so many windows in the uprising that for days after, he was picking glass shards out from his clothes

+His first year at Eton was hard. Colin was small and alone and had no one in his corner. He made friends with some others, but for the most part, he was an easy target for the older boys to pick on. His name couldn't shield him from that. Being so small, even when he tried to fight back, he wasn't very successful, and most times, they would report him for violence anyway, so his choices were two fold- sit down and take it, or square up

+Colin learns to box at Eton. It isn't encouraged, surely, but one of his classmates noticed how Colin was very much not having a good time and put two and two together. He was older, a bit fatherly, almost, even though he wasn't even 18, yet. It was his last year so he was less concerned with doing things as the world expected it. Colin followed him around like a little duckling. Everywhere James went, Colin went. They sat with each other to eat dinner, then would sneak off to spar and train. He was Colin's first crush. He never told anyone, but he *is* grateful

+When Colin comes home for the first time, he *knows* everything is different. There's already a rift forming. Colin becomes a haunt in the hallway, only there in the summers and for holiday breaks. Colin becomes a ghost, half seen, wandering Aubrey Hall. Mama is over the moon, of course, as over the moon she can be still deep in grief, as is Daphne, but Fran is quieter, now, and Eloise turns away from him, frustrated at his freedoms when she gets none. Anthony has no time for him, save to ask if his studies are well, and Benedict is busy taking care of the babs

+Colin's favorite place to be when he was home was with Hyacinth. He'd sneak into the nursery and gently hold her. Though there were nurses, Colin was there so often, they swore she never cried. The truth was, Hy cried often, but Colin would notice the signs and comfort her. It made him feel better, to know there was something in this world that might need him. No one else needed him. Not Mama, not his sisters, certainly not his brothers. So, he rocks the baby sister he barely knows, and he sings her lullabies, and he cries with her, sometimes, and he's just a little less alone

+He's 14 by the time he finally starts gaining height. A late bloomer, a professor or two teases. They thought it would never come, really. He'd been a been pole for as long as anyone could remember, ever since he turned 6, but all of a sudden, he looked almost skeletal. Shooting up near an entire foot was awful. For a lot of people in his life, this was the first they'd seen him be openly miserable and snappish. Sore and frustrated, Colin had the shortest fuse he'd ever had. Oh, he had a temper. Always did. But he typically knew how to reign it in. During his growing pains, it was impossible. This is the manifest of him not sharing his food- he was constantly ravenous, and lord help anyone trying to get between him and his plate

+Colin first meets Penelope when he's 16, filled out and coming into his own, an insta-crush for Penelope, but for Colin? First thing he thought after her bonnet knocked him off his horse is that she looked like a peach. All round and pink and in her yellow dress. Colin likes peaches. So Colin likes her. It was simple as that for him

+He never got into Eloise's rivalry about Penelope. Honestly, he didn't think about her very often. Penelope seemed sweet, but she was near silent. Eloise would tell him that she wasn't that way with her, as though bragging, and Colin just shrugged. He didn't have any real interest or investment in their friendship, but he did try to be polite. The one time, Penelope stood in front of him and tried to say something for an entire minute, only to squeak and thrust out a book at him, turning tail and making off. He found it surprisingly funny. She opened up to him slowly, got more comfortable in increments, but he thinks back to that moment and remembers that she's come a long way. Would be nice to see where they end up (forshadowinggggg)

+Colin doesn't like to drink. Never carried a torch for the taste, really, but other men did it, and only in drinking did they seem to have any semblance of closeness. Colin tries it for himself. It never really works out

+Charm becomes a second skin to hide himself in. Deflecting questions to other people, remembering details about them and bringing them up, asking questions and using humor. Funny how humor lands so much easier, now. At Eton, he had no protection. (No wonder he despises a bully) But now, he was grown. Now, he was a 'man'. A conventionally attractive man (he can't really deny it). He's tall and he's finally started filling out broad and big, and he uses it to his advantage. When he talks, in his mind, somewhere, he's still that 5 foot tall boy, crying in the carriage to an unfamiliar place or grinning and bearing it his first year at school. But this time, he has a cloak to wrap around himself. This time, yes, he's softhearted and tender, but he is also beautiful and knows how to focus on someone else, and he uses it to his advantage.

+Colin understands this privilege, because for a time, he knew what it was like without it. Colin sees what happens to those who do not have it, also. For Colin, charm is the sprinkle of honey over his bitter fears and concerns. For Colin, charm is the fun party hat everyone gets to see- not that he's sad, not that he's conflicted, not that he's unsure. He's pretty. That's enough for them

+But it isn't enough for HIM. Colin grapples with his purpose because the idea that he should be content to be attractive and well off and nothing else sits unpleasantly with him. Colin wants to be a self-made man, but he is denied the opportunity. So he tries to navigate the world as it is around him, having been pre-molded and determined to a certain outcome.

+So, Colin's arc is about becoming a Man, but he is not a conventional one, so he works from example. What do Men do? Colin certainly didn't have his father to inform him, so he relies on the other men around him. Well. . .Men visit brothels and have mistresses and drink whiskey and go to clubs, but Colin doesn't want to go to a brothel, and he doesn't desire a mistress, and whiskey burns when it goes down, acrid as the smoke thick and smoggy in the clubs. So. . .what else? Well, Men get married. Men take care of a family. Men are educated.

he can do THAT

+Colin attempts to marry in Season 1 not because he is fully infatuated (he likes Marina, sure, but his eagerness is not just rooted in such) but because he is attempting to find purpose. To find meaning. To be a Man, a GOOD man. And Good Men are married, so Colin will be married. Good Men take care of their family, so Colin takes care of his family, so Colin offers to BE her family. But because these are rooted in aimless endeavors (Colin wants to be A man, but not THE man he envisions for himself), they fall apart. Now, Penelope certainly has a hand in it falling to pieces, but Colin didn't really have the right motivations to start off with, so in season 2. . .

+He's depressed. It's odd to me that others would describe season 2 as an arc in which Colin is successful. The entire time, he is in a deep depression. Colin partakes in drugs, specifically to not think about the world, or to find peace and comfort. Colin claims that no one wants to hear his stories, even if he thinks he did everything right by traveling. (Remarkable. . .yes, in the sense that I have many remarks of it). Colin drinks even though he clearly hates it, gets migraines, hangovers, grimaces at the taste, because he is looking for ESCAPE

+But Colin cannot escape. Even on a different continent, even having run, there is no where to go. His escape is not from the ton, and not even necessarily from reality, but from his own insecurities. From what he feels are his inadequacies. Good Men are married, but in Colin's mind, he abandoned Marina. Good Men take care of their family, and Colin left his. Good Men are educated, and Colin is tripping on shrooms in the middle of Cyprus, looking at the stars, wondering what he's meant to do with himself. Colin's desires to escape are deeply rooted, but Colin doesn't want to escape a PLACE. He's done that for a long time. No, Colin wants to escape a PERSON. Himself. The himself he knows himself as

+So, instead, it's easier to be someone else. Himself is messy and sensitive and needs to rehearse what he says. Himself doesn't ever say the right thing (doesn't know how) and is boring to everyone else, besides. Himself is too painful, so it's easier to be Charming Colin. Helpful Colin. Colin taking down a scheme. Colin providing for others. Because he does not matter in it. They do.

+But he DOES. Season 3 sees Colin masquerading. Successfully, of course, but nonetheless. He's half settled into himself and half settled into the persona. When Penelope gives him the cold shoulder with no explanation? Persona. When Eloise avoids him? Persona. When Fran is getting trussed up like a calf for auction on the marriage mart? Persona. Colin spends so much of his life trying to be someone else

+And then he finds out Penelope is Whistledown, and the betrayal of it rips all his talent from him. He can no longer be Happy Colin, Smiling Colin, Here, I'll Help Colin- no, now he is just angry. Sad. Upset. Hurt. Conflicted. He can only be COLIN, and he does not want her to see. Does not want her to reveal it to everyone else, that the man they saw was a sham, that deep down, he is still that boy, that boy Marina said he was, that boy chasing dreams and fantasies, that boy curled up in the cupboard, sobbing about losing his dad, that empty, hollow boy, able to offer up nothing but charm

+But they will see. She will see. And he will see, too. Just who Colin really is. Just who he can be. And just how full and rich and wonderful the reality really is, mess and all

#colin bridgerton #polin #penelope featherington #bridgerton season 3 #eloise bridgerton #daphne bridgerton #violet bridgerton #francesca bridgerton #if you want it done you gotta do it yourself i guess #[cue mom voice]#no one helps me in this house #anyway hi yes it's me your resident colin fan feral for more of his content #i would say the water's just fine but girl we are STRUGGLING out here #penelope is his mess but he's ours and i love all of it

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slightlysadfilter · 1 year ago

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So Saltburn: a story of obsession and control

Warning: spoilers ahead

You bet I'm gonna dissect this mfing movie. It left me scarred at 3 am on a workday so here I am, giving my own personal interpretation. Enjoy!

So as I've anticipated, I think the entirety of the movie is a battle between obsession and control. Specifically, Oliver's need to control everything and anyone, and his very clear obsession with Felix. But how does it unfold? And are the two conciliatory, or is Oliver a walking oxymoron? Why does he fuck a grave? We'll get to that.

Part I: Obsession.

We know nothing of Oliver's past. We come to know, very shockingly, that he has a peaceful-looking family, in an alright neighbourhood. The only hint we might've been given about his past behaviour is how his mother immediately tries to soothe the situation when he refuses lunch and wants to leave. But still, too little, so for the purpose of this dissection, Oliver starts with Oxford.

I believe that, at the beginning of the movie, Oliver is more inclined towards obsession. He picks his god (Felix) and yearns to please him. Still, we also notice his need to control very early (actually we do at the end, but yk, early). The control aspect is apparent in his manipulations, this new reality he carefully crafts, but all of it is to appeal to Felix. "He's a scholarship guy who buys clothes from Oxfam", he clearly doesn't want to be that. He doesn't want to be part of the equation-spurting loner group, to be a kid from a boringly simple family and a modest, row-house neighbourhood.

He needs to appeal to Felix, so he takes control of everything. Here, obsession and control go hand in hand. The only reason Oliver is doing what he's doing, is to feel seen by his god. To seat at the "olympus" table with all the trendy, rich kids and their godly-like aura. He threads slowly at first: he knows he can't become them, so he plays the poor-guy part. Crappy family, no money, but still so, so generous and ready to listen. His god is surely pleased; not only that, Felix feels protective of him. He's gained a spot in paradise, albeit due to someone else. Then he makes a mistake, he gets too comfortable and lets too much of his desire of perfection slip. Felix gets annoyed and he's kicked out of heaven. Therefore, more manipulation, more offerings: oh no my dad is dead. Please Felix notice me again, make my tragic story part of your entertainment, let me in again to delight you further.

And so he does.

Part II: Control.

It is a gradual event, control eclipsing Oliver's obsession. For a while, the two co-exist almost equally.

It is very subtle at first. He appears shy, but he's not: I reckon runny eggs don't really make him sick. But he gets to order someone around and he surely takes the chance. For the first time, the reality he's crafted doesn't only need to appease a "superior being" but also, himself.

Then, we have Venetia. It's the first time we clearly see what a little of control does to him, his first true sliding through the cracks of Saltburn like termites. Control is a high for Oliver, fusing with arousal. He likes telling her what to do, to share his excitement and make her do his bidding with it. And still, he is entertaining someone: he's the guy who doesn't cower around period blood and actually plays with it. He's stepped up, but he's still surrounded by higher beings.

Of course, we can also see how obsession remains in how he, uhm, slurps some delicious bathwater and also readily denies having anything to do with Venetia. Felix is still his god after all, and the fake reality exists to appease him. Not Venetia. She gets thrown to the side.

Then, Farleigh, who is actively trying to sabotage him. He wants him gone, he looks down on him, he likes to remind Oliver just how ephemeral he is at Saltburn. They already had moments of tension at Oxford, but now it's pathological: Farleigh is a risk of getting kicked out again. And so again, Oliver deals with it through arousal. Being able to bend him to his will is exciting, control is exciting. He's getting a better taste.

Then, the tragedy. Felix finds out about all the lies. Oliver's god is enraged, outraged. He's still in paradise, but on borrowed time and clearly unwanted. But the worst of it all: Oliver's object of obsession can never, ever accept his offerings again. His entertainment. Though he tries to salvage it, it's gone, the sparkle; and he's been getting skilled at control. So the night of the party, last night in heaven, he kills his god. If he can't please him, he'll conquer him. If he can't obsess over him, he'll take his place. (the symbolism is also very strong in this one!!! Felix having wings, and Oliver antlers to represent horns, or perhaps just earthly beings.)

So why does he fuck a grave? Quite simply, in my humble opinion, he's weeping the death of his god and getting aroused by his conquest at the same time. That's what I mean when I say he's a paradoxical character, and the conflicting nature of him is more prominent in this scene than in any other.

Now that Felix is gone, the road is easy. He's taken one of the highest spots and he wants more. Farleigh? Gone. Venetia? Disposed of. The plan halts upon the father's ultimatum (who, though apparently soft, is still head of this paradise) but when he dies, it is back in motion. The mother is too trusting, too desperate for a friendly face. Oliver is now the one with power over her, it's so easy to kick her out. Her slow assassination is partially merciful, partially ecstatic for Oliver, once again. But he's won, he has complete control (and so, he thankfully doesn't fuck her comatose body.)

His crafted reality is now real. He does not only belong to paradise, he runs it. He has become the god he's killed, and his last funky dance shows how control has definitely taken over obsession. No need for that, he sits at the top.

#saltburn #jacob elordi #barry keoghan

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countessofravenclaw · 3 months ago

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I love throwing some uninteinal shade on German Castillo's face, when he is faced by his "peer" millionaires on parenting your child matters...

“How has Nina adjusted to the new house? This is quite a different area from where you used to live.”

“I think she has adjusted fine.” Ana answered. “This is an extremely nice area. If I could have, we would have always lived here.”

“It is extremely nice,” Isla nodded, “Properties here had grown in value immensely in the last ten years and so has the demand. We were so lucky that we were able to secure a few investment properties from around here a while ago…and I am gonna stop now before we get too far back into work talk. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it here and Nina will most likely like it. The rink and everything is so close now.”

“She has been happy about that, because she loves to complain about being picked up.” Ana nodded, “Blake is a little far away now, but that was solved quite easily as well, so everything sorted themselves out.”

“Gastón was so happy when he could drive her.” Marco noted.

“Oh yes,” German decided to join back in the conversation. “How long has that boy had a driver’s license?”

“Little over six months now.” Marco responded. “He took the test a day after his birthday, and passed it on the first try too.”

“Not that we thought he wouldn’t have.” Isla added, “He is so smart, so driving isn’t something he couldn’t have handled.”

“Don’t you think that a 17 is a little young for a child to start driving on dangerous roads…”

“Not really.” Marco shook his head, “I got my license when I was 17. It was much more convenient that Gastón would be able to drive himself to school and everything as soon as it was possible.”

“I see.” German nodded. “I do have to note, I wasn’t aware of him before he showed up at my door.”

“We know that you didn’t know.” Isla answered apointently. “We don’t talk about him, on purpose.”

“We have always wanted him to grow up and have his own life.” Marco nodded, “He was four when we moved here and had no idea what future had in store for us. More he is out of the limelight while being a child, the better.”

“Honestly we think we should only come out with the truth after he is done with college and everything.” Isla squeezed his hand.

“Does he have any options yet?” Ana asked. “I don’t think Nina has said anything.”

“A few. He’s probably gonna pursue engineering of some sort.” Marco looked at Isla. ��Taking after Tomas. School wise, there is concrete yet. He is one of the top at Blake, so most of the universities’ doors will be wide open to him, which is amazing honestly. It’s what we have always wanted for him.”

“We never got that choice ourselves,” Isla shook her head, “We went where we were able and we made that work. But Gastón, we are able to send him anywhere he wants to go. We kind of hope actually that he would get excited about going to Oxford. It would be far, but an amazing opportunity for him.”

“But we’ll see, there are a lot of conversations still to be had about this.” Marcon brushed some hair off Isla’s shoulder. “It’s his decision at the end of the day, and we would never try to stop him from doing what he wants, no matter what we want for him.”

“I don’t know what kind of people would want to prevent or forbid their children from doing what they are truly passionate about.” Isla shook her head, while German shifted uncomfortably—not that anyone noticed. “There is something seriously wrong with people like that.”

“I agree.” German nodded slowly, “But sometimes the children don’t know what’s best for them.”

“He won’t be a child much longer,” Marco remarked, “We only have about five months or so.”

“so much has changed to remind us that he is growing us so fast. Now with college looming and—” Isla nodded, before looking at Ana. “—and a girlfriend. I still can’t believe that you knew, and didn’t tell me.”

“We hadn’t talked in years, when I found out that Nina is after Gastón, who was your son. I only realized it when I saw him.”

“Okay, that is fair.” Isla shook her head laughing. “But you at leats knew, we had to gauge it out of Gastón, that he was seeing someone.”

“BUt was starting to be pretty obvious.” Marco added. “He started asking questions that he never would have wanted to know answers otherwise.”

“It was impossible to ignore the completely new light in his eyes.” Isla continued, while glancing at Marco, “got his eyes from his father, they can’t hide anything. It is clearly something special that they have. And just put it out there…we are paying for the wedding, when we get there someday.”

German started coughing. “Don’t you think it's a little too early to speak of things like that?”

“Obviously I would be years away.” Marcon stated, before looking at Isla, “But we do have quite an optimistic view on true love.”

“They are children, we can’t really speak of love, can we?” German laughed awkwardly.

“Who knows,” Isla shrugged, “We don’t really think it depends on the age. Everyone is different.”

#soy luna #gastina #soy luna fanfiction #violetta #Sure...we all know how Germna never forbidded Violetta form following her passions #He would ever do that; would he?

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khodorkovskaya · 1 year ago

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im a terrible friend and it's eating me from the inside

so there's this festival thing this weekend. like a big event by the lake with live music and everything. and i have a friend (let's call her the chemistry friend cos she does chemistry) who's been obsessed with it for the past 5 years. cos it used to be a yearly thing and then they cancelled it and this year they brought it back. so she created a groupchat with like 30 people and she sends messages everyday like "3 days left!!!!! let's gooo! daily motivation!".

and i was like woop woop let's go! cos i really like the chemistry friend, i think she's really cool.

but what bothered me is that there are a couple of people in the groupchat who i don't really like. and here's the thing, these people never did anything to me but ive been avoiding them. specifically, it's nik and this girl, let's call her luna. they never did anything to me, i shouldn't hate them, but yet i do. and it makes me feel terrible.

so i was like okay, the plan is, i go to the festival, hang out with the chemistry friend, maybe talk to a couple of people in the gc who are chill. and dance the whole night through and not socialise with nik and luna and anyone else. i added my zurich friend to the gc and that also made me happy i was like okay: chemistry friend, zurich friend, chemistry friend's chill friend, maybe that one cool guy from epfl is gonna be there, that's my plan. maybe my oxford bestie can make it and that way it'll be perfect.

but it was already stressing me out bc i feel like nik and luna don't deserve my hate. and why do i hate them? i don't know.

but anway, i was fine. and then!

my london bestie texts me that she's in town this weekend.

and i lost it.

i was like no.

no no no.

and i feel so guilty! because she's supposed to be my best friend! but i really don't want to see her. again, why do i not want to see her??? i don't know! i feel like a bad person! why do i hate my best friend? im supposed to be happy that she's coming, right????

then she said that her, the chemistry friend, nik and luna are going to see shrek together and they want me to come. and nik and luna are my london bestie's friends. so i can't just avoid them if im hanging out with her.

and i was like "eh idk, im more into the dancing vibe, i really wanna dance, but i'll see". and my london bestie was like "okay, chill, let's get shisha today". so we're getting shisha today, it's gonna be chill.

then nik texts me

nik: so shisha tonight, huh? 👀

me: yeah, with [london bestie]

nik: mind if i join? or do you wanna have one on one time with [london bestie]?

so i was like fuck nik loves inviting himself to things, he always does that, it's so annoying!

me: idk, as you want, but i wanted to have some one on one time with [london bestie]

nik: you've been avoiding me :(

me: we're gonna see each other on saturday anyway

and then he sends a whiny voice message like "yeah im gonna pass by to see you guys after work. but if you insist im gonna go home and be alone i guess :(((("

like broooo

i don't want to see him

i don't want to see any of them

adjhowzuehfoskflskds,hgklk;;;;;;;;,,,...

#and now im on the verge of tears #and im super anxious #like all i want is to go to this festival and dance and hang out with my zurich friend #and that's it

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thexhostess · 2 years ago

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A surreptitious romeo glances and peeks from behind an ancient tree. His wistul gaze emerging from behind summer ready, ambered bark. His wet hair drips. Sticks to his cheekbones. His hand crawls around the tree, grazing over the surface of the bark. His eyes dip and rise and he doesn’t speak. He watches me. I stop. Did he crawl out of that river? An opheliac wanting to drown. He rolls and turns and presses his back against the tree. Hiding from me. I have to go over. He’s barely undressed, slim jeans hanging onto his hips. And then that. I linger on the patterns for a bit too long. He sees. I turn away. Do you need help? Are you ok? I say. He is silent but his eyes smoulder searching my eyes in an unusual way. I speak again, but he presses back into the tree, shielding himself , form what? Can I? I say gently. I pull river weeds out of his hair. Are yo going to be ok? I ask. Ah ah,Ugh, maybe. He says thoroguh a dirty laugh. The depth of his voice is delicious. Are you drunk? Did you fall in? Omg can you get home? NAh im good. What are oyu doing back here? Why were you watchign me from back there? He looks down not responding. Just a laugh. He looks to the ground. When his eyes return to me theres a hopeful look in his eyes, heavy lidded and intoxicated too. You really are drunk, and youre soaking. Here. Throw this over your shoulders, , it’s cooler under the sunset. He looks at me and smirks. I can’t wear this, its yours. He holds it out to me. Yea it’s mine, and you should put it on, I don’t have anything else. Take it. I drop down to sit cross legged on the grass under the tree. Put it on, you dont wanna catch a cold. I dunno what you’ve bee nplaying at but you can’t walk home like that. Like what? And his accent is an almost perfect posh english accent. Wit ha hint of something. Like…I search for the words, so he doest look at me like im eyeing him up. I dont need to draw attention to that. I already noticed his cheekboned and his voice. You know. I glnace over and then away. Like whaat? He draws out and exxagerates his oxford accent with each syllable. Really? I say. So what happened? Umm, he fianlly pulls my hoodie over his head, covering the eye tattoos on his back before I get a chance to examine them. You don’t wanna know. He says. I hug my knees to my chest. Waht if I do? Youre wearing my hoodie, at least tell me your name? ‘Ville.’ He says in a distincly different accent. Hi ville. Im sinny.He smiles wistfully hugging hte hoodie arounf himself. Wow perfect english and a second language? What is it? Finnish. Beautiful. Thank you. He nods. Is anyone gonna walk you home? Im gonna wealk my self home. Really, youre in a state to wealk home? Its almsot sundown, you’ll get ill. Plus youll look like a tragic shakespearan personaaagee I drag the word. Maybe thats im goin for. Ah ah ha. Theres that laugh again. I cannot believe it. I squint my eyes, (does he laugh like that cause you’ve fallen in the deep end or is that oyur normal laugh. ) Thats not nice. He says matter of factly. Im teasing omg. I like it. I add softly. I side him to see a reaction. He pulls his lips into a smile. I don’t think youll like anyhting else. Anything else? I pry. About , me. He says. Why have you got a secret I can’t know about? I have a vampire lair but I can walk around in the sun like edward cullen. He teases. The britishness in his voice amplified. I don’t think so! Why you don’t think im good enough to be an eward cullen? Ino, I think, I think youre too good to be an edward cullen. Hmmm he laughs a little.

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ladyartemesia · 4 years ago

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TEASER: Kim Seokjin and the Mean Omega

Pairing: Nerd Alpha Kim Seokjin x Popular Omega Reader

Genre: A/B/O • Enemies to Lovers • (Sorta) College AU • Best Friend's Brother AU (Who is surprised? No one?)

Teaser Word Count: 3.6K

Teaser Warnings: A/B/O sexual dynamics • suggestive content

Rating: Explicit (18+) (Teaser is PG-13)

Summary: In the modern world, alphas are almost unheard of so why even bother learning about them? After all, as a spoiled (but reasonably kind-hearted) omega who is used to getting whatever she wants, you have better things to do. However, when unexpected circumstances throw you in the path of (extremely) nerdy and (probably?) shy Kim Seokjin, you're shocked to discover that he won't be wrapped around your little finger as easily as all the rest. Bringing that infuriating geek to his knees quickly becomes your personal mission in life... But it turns out that Kim Seokjin is not what he appears to be and the mean omega who eats beta boys for breakfast is about to get way more than she bargained for...

Author’s Note: This story would not be here without the love, support and friendship of my incredible support system. You talk with me, you laugh with me, you listen when I’m crying, and you read my chaotic drafts when I am ready to pull my hair out of my head in frustration. I love you all. @ppersonna @xjoonchildx @untaemedqueen @lemonjoonah. ALSO thank you to each and every one of you who encouraged me to post this story. This fic is dedicated to all of you as a token of my love and appreciation. Your support keeps me writing. Never doubt that for a second.

“...due to discriminatory anti-alpha policies in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century, alphas were nearly eliminated from the general population…”

You heaved a weary sigh and rolled your shoulders—stretching the buttons of your high-end Oxford shirt to their limit. The beta sophomore to your right whined audibly and you smirked.

“...despite efforts to restore the genetic balance of designations, alphas currently comprise less than one percent of the population…”

Your back arched slightly as you crossed your legs, letting the absurdly short hem of your skirt ride up even higher. The poor boy you were tormenting shifted miserably in his seat.

How was he supposed to focus on a Human Biology and Designation Studies lecture when the living breathing embodiment of every sweaty undergrad’s fantasies was twisting her fingers in her hair and wrapping her pretty pink tongue around a strawberry lollipop right there in the middle of class?

“...unlike betas and omegas, alphas possess enhanced strength and the ability to compel other designations with their voice. Unmated alphas especially were often baselessly feared and distrusted...”

You knew exactly how you affected boys like him. You were a shameless tease who relished their attention and the power it brought you. Who needed drugs when driving a man mad with desire was a rush more potent than any high?

“...and that’s all for today so please read pages 450-466 in the text over break and remember to turn in your essay on scent and consent in intimacy—”

That poor sophomore looked like he had finally worked up the courage to speak to you, but you were already out the door and tearing down the hall toward your beautiful (and entirely platonic) counterpart, Kim Taehyung.

“Do you think Professor Moore is unaware that class is over at 3:25 or is he just torturing us for science?”

Taehyung shrugged, falling into step beside you with practiced ease.

“I mean I would torture you for free so it’s hard to say.”

The corner of your mouth quirked up at his characteristic dry humor, but the irritation at being held in that sweltering lecture hall for an extra ten minutes had frayed your temper.

“It’s the last class before spring break, I’m sure he was on some sort of twisted power trip.” You dug around in your purse for some chapstick, ignoring Tae’s amused snorting, “Alphas barely exist anymore and none of us are likely to meet one. Why bother learning what they can do?”

Taehyung tilted his head in amusement.

“You might be surprised.”

The final party before the beginning of spring break was always a laid back affair.

Many people had already caught planes to their various destinations, but your flight was scheduled for early tomorrow morning—leaving you with some time to kill.

Taehyung pressed his newest experimental concoction into your hand within minutes of entering the house (a surprisingly neat bachelor pad owned by two seniors, Jung Hoseok and Min Yoongi) and then darted back to the kitchen to craft more questionable alcohol potions like a deranged party warlock.

You had just found a comfortable place on the couch and were contemplating whether sampling your best friend’s mad scientist elixir would be worth the probable damage to your body when—

“H-Hello...”

It was that sophomore from your Designations Studies class. What was his name again? Jungwoo? Jinwook?

“Jungkook,” you smiled, delighted to have remembered before it became awkward. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

You motioned to the empty cushion next to you and the man in question scrambled over like he’d won the lottery.

“I—I know we don’t know each other well, but I noticed you were absent during Professor Moore’s lecture on intimacy and scent consent so I—” he blushed deeply, “I wrote the essay for you—and I brought a copy on my flash drive if-if you want it.”

Your heart melted immediately.

“Oh my gosh Jungkook, that is so sweet of you!”

Your gaze darted over his muscular form and thick brown curls.

Sweet indeed.

“I don’t want to miss out on the learning though,” you pouted, placing a hand on his tattooed bicep. “Can you explain it to me?”

Jungkook nodded vigorously even as his wide eyes fell to where your fingers were sliding slowly over his chest.

Scent consent was a pretty basic and universally known concept, but you really were touched by the handsome sophomore's consideration.

Why not give him (and yourself) a little reward?

“Um so basically if two people are involved in...intimate activities��”

You leaned forward to nip his ear lightly and he whimpered.

“Like this?” you asked innocently.

“Y-Yes. Like that.” He gulped. “In an intimate situation consent or refusal can be smelled. The scent of refusal or reluctance in intimacy is strong, unmistakable, and has a high chemical potency.”

“Is that so?” you drawled, sliding over onto his lap. Jungkook’s eyes rolled back into his head and you bit back a grin.

He was adorable.

“Uh-huh—it—oh my gawd,” (you were nibbling on his ear again) “it can immediately block sexual arousal and performance in the other partner. Meaning, if consent is not present, then it becomes difficult or—ahh” (his voice began to waver under your continued attention) “—or even impossible to continue with intimate acts.”

Your hand slid up to his cheek, bringing him closer till your lips were almost touching.

“Then what does it mean if I’m still so turned on right now?”

“It means,” Jungkook shuddered—nearly delirious with your scent, “that I really really want you.”

Across the room, Park Jimin chuckled as he watched you seduce his enthusiastic friend.

Jeon Jungkook was such a sweet kid.

Hopefully he wouldn’t get too attached.

“Wow... Some people are genuinely born blessed I suppose.”

Jimin turned to see Jung Hoseok eyeing the dimly lit corner where you and the eager young sophomore were exploring each other.

It was a rather...provocative spectacle. Not quite raunchy (you weren’t truly an exhibitionist)—just insanely sexy.

Jimin’s gaze lingered on the smooth curve of your thigh where Jeon Jungkook was currently holding on for dear life.

Lucky bastard.

“Ah you know how she is,” he sighed. “That boy isn’t going to get any farther than anyone else.”

It was relatively common knowledge that you liked to mess around but rarely—if ever— fully hooked up with anyone.

Jimin asked you about it once during a drunken game of truth or dare and you had just shrugged, mumbling something along the lines of avoiding STDs (which—to be fair—was at least part of your motivation), but the truth was a little more complicated than that.

In terms of experience, you weren’t a virgin, but... you hadn’t actually had sex in years.

You loved the chase, the foreplay, the build-up—the game of cat-and-mouse between two people who were attracted to one another.

But the final consummation was always so…

Wildly unfulfilling.

Every encounter left you frustrated. Empty.

Grumpy—even.

So you stopped bothering with it all together. (That was what sex toys were for after all.)

At the end of the day you were perfectly content being labeled a tease—it meant that people tended to know what they were (or rather weren’t) getting into when they rolled the dice with you.

Besides…it hadn’t even put a dent in your throng of admirers.

You were sunny, spoiled, indulgent, almost universally adored—

And you loved every minute of it.

“You know…” Hoseok took a long sip of his drink. “I always thought she would end up with Taehyung, but it’s been three years.”

Like you, Kim Taehyung was a trust fund brat and it was only natural that two beautiful and absurdly privileged people would gravitate to one another. You met at a freshman pledge party and had been an inseparable (and formidable) dynamic duo ever since.

The undisputed king and queen of campus.

Yes—maybe the two of you were a little self-absorbed at times, but it was hardly your fault that people tended to instinctively cater to the force of your combined looks, wealth, and charisma.

And it didn’t hurt that neither of you were ever intentionally cruel or unkind.

Just... habitually thoughtless.

(Though not when it came to each other. If anything your friendship was one area where you were both a little more human.)

Jimin shook his head.

“Nah that’s never gonna happen.” He tapped his nose. “They’re scent-crossed.”

Hoseok’s eyes widened.

“Really?”

Scent-crossed pairs didn’t smell sexually attractive to each other.

Like. At all.

No matter how physically or visually appealing an individual might be, it would be near impossible to form a sexual or romantic attachment to them if you were scent-crossed. Alphas, betas, and omegas were all subject to their noses first and foremost in the realm of attraction.

You and Taehyung smelled like comfort and home to one another...

But you were more turned on by a crisp cup of apple juice than you were his scent and the feeling was quite mutual.

He might as well have been your actual brother.

“That explains so much.” Hoseok snorted as he watched a drunken Taehyung do a flying leap on top of both you and Jungkook.

“Why is sunlight so offensive?” you croaked, dragging yourself and your luggage toward the boarding ramp next to an equally miserable Taehyung.

“The next time I book a flight before 9 AM, please shoot me,” he grunted.

Your parents were celebrating their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary with a month-long European cruise so your best friend had graciously invited you to spend two glorious weeks of spring vacation at his family estate.

The invitation had actually come as somewhat of a surprise because—for all your closeness—Taehyung was uncharacteristically tight-lipped about his family.

Not that he was deliberately withholding information per se… It was just that he never really brought them up beyond an occasional passing comment.

The one time you did ask him about them directly he sighed and said—

“We’re very close, but… I suppose we’ve just gotten used to being very private.”

There was clearly more to the story, but you were confident that Tae would share it if and when he was ready.

“My parents are in Seoul opening a new branch of the company. They took my little sister with them and my older brother has his own house so it will be just us.” He snuggled deeper into the first class seat directly next to yours. “We’ll hang out by the pool and chill during the day, then hit up some of the new clubs or whatever at night.”

“So… No one from your family will be there?”

Perhaps the invitation was not so surprising after all.

“Nope. Just you and me and thirty acres of ocean front property.”

You grinned.

“Perfect.”

“Whose room is that?”

The two of you were lugging your bags down the main hall of Taehyung’s expansive mansion when a strange hint of...something caught you right by the nose.

Your friend turned to find you frozen and staring curiously at a familiar door near the balcony.

His eyes widened, but you were too preoccupied to notice his momentary concern.

“That’s just Jin’s room.”

A firm hand wrapped around your wrist and dragged you away, but your eyes stayed glued to the source of the mysterious scent until you were around the corner and out of sight.

Your suite for the next two weeks was right across the hall from Taehyung’s. There was a whirlpool, a full bath, a balcony, and an ocean view that would rival the cover spread of any travel magazine.

Tae headed for the shower (to ‘wash the airplane off’) immediately after showing you the room and you were thinking of doing the same except…

Your mind kept going back to that door and the hint of scent you detected.

There was something… different about it.

It was faint—and far from fresh (which made sense considering that one of the few things you did know about Kim Seokjin was that he hadn’t lived in this house for years).

But still…

The need to smell it again pressed insistently at the back of your mind.

Suddenly the sound of Taehyung singing raunchy lyrics in the shower carried over through the walls and you found your feet moving almost of their own accord.

What Tae doesn’t know won’t hurt him, you rationalized, making your way down the hall toward Jin’s door. Besides—it’s not as if I’m going to steal anything…

You just needed to find that scent again.

By the time your fingers closed over the knob every one of your nerves was strangely—acutely—alert but nothing could have prepared you for what was waiting behind the door.

Oh. My. Gosh.

“What a colossal nerd.”

The room was covered floor to ceiling in Nintendo memorabilia.

Bright primary colors assaulted your eyes from all directions in the form of action figures, posters, pillows, and every other conceivable merch variety known to man.

In the center of the suite stood a large king-sized bed covered in a custom black couture toile-style Mario-verse bed set (that looked every bit as expensive as it was geeky) and a mountain of high quality Nintendo character plush toys.

Everything was simultaneously luxe and nostalgic—a rare combination of sophisticated aesthetic balance and childlike indulgence.

And the scent was there.

It was faint and covered under layers of cleaner and air fresheners, but still lingering just below the surface—too weak for you to get a really good whiff, yet potent enough to torment you.

You moved forward unconsciously toward the strongest source of the hypnotic smell—the strangely inviting expanse of Kim Seokjin’s mattress.

Suddenly the urge to climb—no crawl—across the bed itself and roll around in it like a kitten in catnip gripped you out of nowhere.

“What the hell?” you muttered, rubbing absently over the mating gland at the base of your neck.

Something very odd was going on with your body.

Your restless gaze zeroed in on one of the stuffed toys piled atop his pillows. It was a cute little mushroom man your brain recognized as a Mario character named ‘Toad’.

Take it.

Your mouth dropped open in shock.

You need it.

“Am I going insane?” you wondered aloud.

You have to take it.

Muscles in your hand began to twitch involuntarily. You bit your lip.

Bring it back with you.

Several minutes later a freshly washed Taehyung wandered over to your room and found you sitting perfectly still on your bed while staring off into space.

His head tilted in curious concern.

“Everything ok?”

You started a bit at the sound of his voice, but recovered quickly.

“Never better!” you chirped—almost too brightly. “Let’s go get some dinner, I’m starving.”

Then you grabbed his hand and pulled him down the hall toward the kitchen—shutting the door before he could catch a glimpse of his brother’s stuffed Toad doll stashed underneath your pillow

“...a critical water main rupture in the city’s New Market district early this morning has forced several residents out of their homes as flood water swelled up to nearly two feet. The governor declared a state of emergency and ordered hotels around the city to accommodate the displaced citizens. Crews are still clearing the water and assessing damages. We expect—

“Hey!” you shouted through a mouthful of cereal, after Your best friend switched off the television, “I was watching that!”

“And what you should be doing is getting ready for the pool.” Tae snatched your cereal bowl and dragged you by your shirt collar toward the stairs. “It is the first morning of our vacation. I’m not trying to waste any time. Now go.” He shoved you forward, smacking your ass for good measure.

You swatted back at him half-heartedly as jogged back up to the room where you enjoyed a surprisingly restful sleep last night.

Kim Seokjin’s door glared at you accusingly as you shuffled past—unable to let you forget that you had kidnapped it’s little mushroom man in an unexplained fit of kleptomania, but that was a problem for your future self.

The you of right now was going to zen out in the Kim family's premium glass-enclosed indoor pool (it was still a little chilly for the outdoor pool) with her best friend and bask in the simple joys of good company and no responsibility.

...Or not.

A few minutes later you bounced into the living room wearing a simple black tankini with a cute floral cover only to find Taehyung on the phone with his head in his hands.

“Yes, sir. I understand… I...I know this is my responsibility...”

That didn’t sound good.

After a few more tense moments, Tae hung up and collapsed backward into the couch with a heavy sigh.

“That water main break you heard about on TV this morning was the last straw between the province and its current contractor. They called an emergency meeting for new bids.”

Your heart dropped as you sank down beside him.

“Your dad wants you to go...doesn’t he.”

Taehyung nodded miserably.

“He can’t leave the Seoul opening on such short notice and managing government construction contracts is part of what I’ve been training for. This could be huge for our company.”

“Well...why doesn’t your brother go?”

“Jin is the brains behind most of our patented gaming and tech innovations. He wouldn’t even know where to begin with this sort of thing. Besides,” his lips quirked up in a rueful grin, “my brother doesn’t have the patience to stroke entitled geriatric egos for hours on end—which is likely what I’m going to have to do.”

The two of you headed back to Taehyung’s room where you helped him pack some suits and toiletries for his trip.

Naturally you were disappointed but...this was a great opportunity for your best friend to prove himself in his chosen field and you both knew it. In fact, he was already starting to brighten a bit.

“The meeting is about a hundred miles north of here. My dad’s secretary already handled the flight and hotel room.” His eyes darted around the suite to see if he was forgetting anything.

It was clear he was nervous, though you were sure he didn’t need to be. Kim Taehyung was a trust fund brat, but he was also talented and deeply passionate about his family’s company.

Someday this would be the norm. The two of you were stealing time in college, determined to live a little before the expectations of your powerful families transferred fully onto your shoulders.

It was becoming more and more clear, however, that your carefree time was slowly running out.

Mother had already spoken to you about potential marriage alliances and your father expected you to intern with his Vice President this summer just as your elder sister had...

Taehyung’s voice suddenly interrupted your bittersweet introspection and you couldn’t help but smile at how grown-up he looked in his suit and briefcase ensemble.

Everything was going to change, but not quite yet.

“They estimate negotiations should take around a week or so…” He walked over and pulled you into a tight hug. “There should still be some vacation left for us when I get back.”

“Hurry back then,” you mumbled grumpily into his chest and he chuckled.

“I will.”

Taehyung had been gone for less than twenty minutes when you decided that the best use of your time would be to eat more snacks.

The last thing you expected when you skipped merrily into the kitchen was to find it occupied by a shaggy-haired homeless man in glasses.

Your first instinct was to scream which caused the homeless man to drop the apple he was biting right onto the floor where it rolled around for a small eternity before coming to rest at his ankles.

Your second instinct was to grab a butcher’s cleaver from the nearby knife block and wave it chaotically at the intruder while shouting something along the lines of—

“You’ve made a huge mistake! My boyfriend is the biggest, meanest mafia boss in Seoul! Leave now and he might let you live!”

The homeless man continued to stare at you with a mixture of confusion and shock, but made no move to run away in terror like you were hoping.

So you tried again.

“Didn’t you hear what I said?! The last man who touched me drinks his steak through a straw now! Do the smart thing and leave before my boyfriend comes down those stairs and it’s too late!”

Infuriatingly, the homeless man was still not fleeing for his life and frankly you were starting to get frustrated. You drew in a deep cleansing breath and were prepared to issue another grandiose threat when he finally spoke.

“I’m sorry, miss. I... think there’s been some sort of mistake. Who is your boyfriend?”

There was no rational explanation for what came out of your mouth next, but it rolled off your tongue so smoothly and you didn’t even flinch.

“Kim Seokjin.”

For the first time in your entire exchange, the intruder looked truly alarmed.

Now that’s more like it.

“You’ve heard of him I see. He’s a dangerous man and my body belongs to him.” You slammed the cleaver down onto the countertop with a (hopefully) menacing slash. “Kim Seokjin doesn’t like when other men put their hands on what belongs to him.”

There was a long, unpardonably tense moment of silence…Then the stranger slowly reached forward and picked up a mobile phone from the table in front of him.

His eyes remained locked with yours as he pressed a quick series of buttons, brought the phone to his ear, waited a few seconds and said—

“Taehyung… Would you mind telling me why there is a half-naked, knife-wielding omega in our kitchen claiming to be my girlfriend?”

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flosbelova · 3 years ago

Text

whatever you want us to be

florence pugh x actress!reader

summary: you’re an actress and florence pugh is one of your competitors. you’re both really good actors, but one tends to outact the other during auditions. this creates a small competition between the two of you. when you both get cast in a film where you both play a couple, your world turns upside down.

warnings: suggestive content

word count: 2.6k

after getting the call from your agent that you booked one of the lead roles, you screamed at the top of your lungs for about five minutes. you were so excited because this is your first time, finally getting a lead role. you would have gotten the chance to get the lead in other films, but the great florence pugh always beat you to it. well, you can’t lie, she’s a damn good actress. but now, you both have created this little competition between the both you.

your heart just about dropped out of your ass when you saw the Deadline announcement. florence pugh was playing your significant other. how fucking great.

it’s the first day of rehearsals and you made sure to get there just a bit early. you looked around, to check if any of your co-stars were there and you seemed to be in the clear. you decided to walk up to the director to create a more mutual relationship, but you stop in your tracks when you see a blonde next to the director.

of course.

you shake the feeling off and say hi to the director.

“oh y/n! you’re here early, you are just the person i was looking for,” the director says.

“oh, really?” you ask, surprised.

“yeah, um, have you had the chance to meet this wonderful young lady next to me?” the director asks.

you look at florence and force a smile. “yes, we have met a couple times,” you say nodding your head.

florence catches onto your attitude and glares at you. when the director turns to look at her, her mood shifts immediately and smiles at the director.

“well, i’m sensing some tension here, so why don’t we rehearse one of the scenes to shake some of that nervousness off?” the director insists.

nervousness? i think it’s more of annoyance.

you get to your spots and the director calls for action.

you were both rehearsing the scene where they both confess their love for each other for the first time. you manage to do well (or so you think) even if you cringed on the inside.

“CUT,” the director yells.

“okay, y/n, that was good but i’m gonna need more emotion from you. you have to feel your character’s feelings and get into their head. florence, you did a great job, but just make sure to look like you’re acknowledging what y/n’s character is saying, okay?” the director advises.

“yes, thank you,” you both said in unison. both of you side eyed each other, both feeling the disgust within yourselves.

“alright, let’s try it again,” the director says.

after many takes of rehearsal, you were finally able to take the rest of the day off. sure, you can say it was easy, but having to look at the face of your competition didn’t help your mood.

of course, florence is beautiful. you’ve never seen anyone quite like her. but you just can’t shake the fact that she was someone you had competition with.

filming finally began and its safe to say that you were doing well. you were hitting your lines and because of a little soul searching, you’ve only had to have a couple takes.

today, you were filming the big confession. it was that cliché confession under the rain and you were kind of excited for it. you and florence have both rehearsed this scene about a hundred times now, but you never rehearsed the kiss. yes, maybe that’s a bit unprofessional, but you’ve both had this unspoken thing of “we’ll just do it when we have to do it.” well, today was that day.

thinking to yourself, you were a great kisser. you’ve kissed many people in movies, so how can this one feel any different?

“ACTION!” the director yells.

“I LOVE YOU YOU IDIOT!” you say. “i’ve loved you since the day i met you! i can’t stop thinking about you, i lose sleep every night because i can’t get you out of my head!”

you walk towards florence, and grabs her hands. “i love you too.”

you both lean in and WOW. her lips were soft. she tasted like strawberry chapstick and you wanted more. you don’t know what overcame you, but the taste of her lips felt so good.

you could tell florence felt the same way too. she held onto you a little too tightly and moved her hand to the back of your neck. florence let her tongue slip in and you accepted.

before things got more heated, the director yelled “CUT!”

you and florence pulled away slowly, keeping eye contact.

“THAT. WAS. AMAZING!” the director exclaims. “you both did a phenomenal job!”

“thank you,” you both said in unison again. this time, you look at each other and smiled.

“alright, well, that’s a wrap for today! great job everyone. go home and the both of you, dry yourselves. i can’t have both my leads getting sick,” the director says.

you dried yourself off in your trailer and started to get yourself ready for bed, when you hear a knock on your door. you open it and you’re shocked to see who’s at your doorstep— florence.

“hey, what are you doing here?” you ask her.

“i just um, i couldn’t sleep. could i come in?” she asks.

“um,” you hesitate for a moment. why the hell does she wanna come in my trailer? is this some kind of game? “sure. come in.”

you reach your hand out to help florence up the steps. god her hands are so soft. y/n shut the fuck up. you’re not supposed to like her.

you smile at florence as she steps into your trailer. “welcome to my humble abode.”

“hm, well not exactly, looks exactly like mines,” she teases.

you roll your eyes, “so what do you want?” you ask, sounding kind of rude.

florence raises her eyebrows, “wow. um okay,” she takes a deep breath, “i’m just here to talk and i guess get to know each other, since we clearly have gotten off on the wrong foot,” she breathes out.

“um, what do you wanna talk about?” you ask, taking caution.

“just the basics. like, where you’re from, where’d you go to school, if you have a dog. anything really,” she says.

“um, i’m from a small town in the bay area, i moved down here in LA to follow my dreams of becoming an actor. i went to UCLA and took film. and i don’t have a dog because im always busy,” you answer her.

“okay,” she says, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

“what about you?” you ask her.

“well, i grew up in oxford, got my first acting gig at 17, and now here i am. and i have a dog back home,” she says smiling.

there was silence for a minute. all you could hear was your breathing.

“okay, uh, i should get going now,” florence says, making way for your door.

your brain was somehow on autopilot because what came out of your mouth should have never been spoken into existence.

“you’re a great kisser by the way,” you say, instantly regretting opening your mouth.

the blonde stops walking and turns to look at you with an amused look on her face.

“what did you just say to me?” she asks, a mischievous smile forming on her face.

“i, uh, i didn’t- i didn’t say anything,” you say scratching your head.

“you know, you do that a lot when you lie,” she says, furrowing her brows.

“do what?” you ask.

“the uh- the head scratch thing you do when you’re lying,” she says, mimicking your head scratch.

“what? no i don’t.” you scratch your head.

florence chuckles. “see. you did it again!”

“whatever,” you say, rolling your eyes.

“i noticed it a lot when we were in rehearsal. i remember i’d ask you questions and there goes your hand scratching your head. it actually surprised me that there wasn’t blood gushing out of your head with the amount of times you’ve scratched it,” she says, giggling.

“ha ha, you’re hilarious. what else have you noticed?” you asked her, getting annoyed at this point.

“well,” she takes a couple steps closer to you. “i also noticed that you’re also a great kisser,” she says, her accent getting thicker, her face inches away from yours.

you feel yourself gasp as she moves closer to you. if you moved your face even a bit, your lips would be on hers.

“so, do you wanna prove it to me?” she says, her voice getting lower.

“prove what?” you ask, feeling the tension rising up.

“that you’re a great kisser,” she says in her husky voice.

you look at her eyes and it’s like they’re piercing through your soul. you noticed her gaze changed when she started leaning into you. you closed your eyes and leaned in, breaking the gap between the both of you.

her lips were on yours once again. it had felt like heaven was on earth. it was as if the world stopped and the both of you were the only ones moving. she had that strawberry chapstick taste and you were hungry for more.

deepening the kiss, you grab the back of her neck and wrap your hands around her waist. you pulled away to catch your breath and started heading towards your bed.

you laid florence on her back, and before anything could proceed, you ask her, “what does this make us?”

“anything you want us to be,” she says with a smirk on her face.

and with that, you proceed with your night.

clothes were taken off and thrown behind you. gasps and moans filled the air. dirty words were spoken, and her hands wrapped around your neck. that night, you realized that florence liked to be dominant.

you woke up the next morning, and felt a body next to you. you looked to your side and saw a blonde head resting on your chest, with her arms wrapped around your torso.

everything from last night started coming back. your eyes widened as you realized, i slept with my co-star.

you tried to pull away as slowly as you can, but as you moved her arm away, she woke up.

florence’s morning face so cute. her eyes and cheeks were puffier than normal and her lips were a bit swollen from last night. she looked up at you and smiled. she pulled herself up, to kiss you on the cheek.

“good morning, darling,” she says, her morning voice filling your ears.

“good morning,” you say, slightly confused.

you rubbed your eyes and placed your hand on your forehead. “oh my god we slept together. this is so unprofessional.”

“shhh, don’t worry sweetheart,” florence says, pressing her finger on your lips. “i don’t kiss and tell.”

“florence this is serious, we could lose our jobs,” you begin.

“what part of ‘i don’t kiss and tell’ do you understand?” she asks. “besides, i told you that we could be whatever you want us to be.”

you look at her, and raise a brow.

“and if you want us to be co-stars who sleep together, then that’s fine with me,” she says.

“i’m sorry, what?” you say, sitting up. your hide your face into your hands for a second, and turn to look at her. “do you, do you do this often? like with your co-stars? is this what you do?”

“i’m sorry, are you accusing me of.. wow y/n, i thought you were better than that,” florence says, getting off your bed.

“no, no, that’s not what i meant, i-“

“save it,” she interrupts you. “i’ll see you on set.”

florence picks up her clothes and puts them on and heads out of your trailer.

you put your hands on your face and sigh, falling back down on your bed.

it had been weeks since you and florence had spoken to each other. the only time you had really spoken was when you had to act together. other than that, florence didn’t really acknowledge your presence. you had tried to talk to her, and tried to apologize and explain yourself but she would always get away. you even tried texting her, and leave her voicemails. you were always left on read and your calls were never returned.

it was the last day on set and you made it your goal to finally talk to her and apologize.

“CUT! THAT IS OFFICIALLY A WRAP! CONGRATULATIONS EVERYONE!” the director exclaims.

clapping was heard around the set. you and your fellow actors and crew had finally did it, the movie was finally finished and will start the editing process as soon as possible.

you were heading back to your trailer for your last night, before you had to leave in the morning. you opened the door to your trailer and says a vase of flowers. there was a card next to it that read, “congratulations on the wrap! i had great fun working with you.” of course, she’s just congratulating you to be nice. nothing personal.

“p.s. open your door. xx”

what?

you open your door, to your surprise, it’s florence. you were so happy to see her that without thinking, you pulled her into your trailer and hugged her tightly.

“god i thought you hated me,” you said on her shoulder.

she pulled away and pushed you back, and you felt your heart break. you spoke too soon.

she sighed and grabbed your hands. she kissed your knuckles and placed your hands on her face. she smiled at you. “i could never hate you.”

you felt yourself finally able to breathe. you leaned in, but she placed her finger on your lips, stopping you.

“i listened to your many voicemails and read your texts. i need some time to think and i’m ready to answer you. yes, i forgive you. and i agree, we should start over. i would love to go to a café and properly get to know each other. and yes, i’m going to be honest, i missed you too,” she answers.

you deeply breathed in and out and tried to process what florence had just said. once everything clicked, you smiled.

“can i please kiss you now?” you pleaded.

“yes,” she smiled.

you leaned in and kissed her, finally. not only have you missed her, but you missed her lips as well. even if you had kissed her during your scenes, this kiss was real. it wasn’t behind a camera. this was real life. it was your reality.

pulling away to catch your breath, you rest your forehead against hers.

“so, are we gonna talk about the elephant in the room?” you ask.

“what do you mean?” she says look at you.

“i mean, there’s clearly feelings involved here, are we gonna talk about that?”

“take me out on a date first and maybe we’ll have a chat about it,” she teases.

you roll your eyes.

“besides, i thought the sex explained it,” she says.

“well, maybe we should try again so that the feelings are more clear,” you wittily say.

she lightly slaps you on the arm and rolls her eyes. “let’s see how our date goes, and maybe i’ll show you how clear my feelings are.”

you smile again and felt butterflies in your stomach. this woman might just be it for you.

the end

#florence pugh #florence pugh x reader #florence pugh imagine #florence pugh fanfic #yelena belova #fan fiction #wlw

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ahtsumu · 4 years ago

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LOVE PERSEVERING, EP 1. “The Plot Twist”

pairing: nanami kento x f!reader

synopsis: the nanami’s have an evening full of surprises – the most surprising of all, however, is the one that comes without explanation.

tag(s): loose (very loose) wandavision!au, humor, domestic fluff, suggestive content, profanity, can be read as a standalone! ; wc: 2.6k

love persevering m.list

“SORRY I’M LATE.”

Nanami Kento closes the front door behind him and changes out of his oxfords for house slippers. The traffic was crazy, there’d been an accident on the 101, a Maserati collided with a Ferrari and the two drivers were hashing it out in the middle of – no, that’s a horrible story and even worse lie. He doesn’t even drive to work. He takes the Caltrain to his job in San Francisco every morning and takes it home to Sunnyvale every evening.

Shit, Nanami thinks as he tries to hide the evidence of his… offense. Can he cover it up with something? Maybe if he held his briefcase in front of it… No, that’s so obvious. It’s so… red. And big. There’s no way it’d stay concealed.

It’s not that Nanami is in any way dumb or easily frazzled. No, he’s quite intelligent and levelheaded and the fact that he works as an Associate at Goldman Sachs should be proof enough. It’s just that he strongly dislikes the thought of lying to you. Technically, he doesn’t even have to make up a story to explain his tardiness. You probably don’t really care that he’s – Nanami checks his watch while setting his briefcase down – an hour late home. But having a story would quell your suspicions about the true reason he’s late.

See, today his co-worker Archie was talking on and on about how he surprised his wife with a bouquet of fifty roses the other night and, well, Nanami felt inspired. He’s not typically one for large romantic gestures, so he thought that maybe he should step up his game and at least remind you of how much he loves you the one day he’s given a sign to.

“First, you gotta lower her expectations, y’know?” Archie says like he’s giving a pitch. “Make her think the conversation is gonna be far from romantic. Say something totally boring. ‘Hey, honey, I had a great day at work today.’ Somethin’ like that, y’know? Then you just whip it right out. Bam.”

Nanami looks at the pink peonies in his hand with a small smile. Happy marriage, the flower shop attendee had said. Hearing your footsteps leading out from the second-floor bedroom, he quickly places the red bouquet behind the living room sofa before rushing back to his original place by the door. At first sight of your figure descending the stairs, Nanami starts (perhaps too exaggeratedly) loosening his tie.

“Ken.”

Oh. Oh, this doesn’t sound too good. Pausing his movements, Nanami assesses the damage. Your arms are crossed over your chest and your head is slightly cocked to the side, and you’re shooting him an expectant look. To be frank, you look a little pissed. You’re not even smiling. This definitely isn’t too great.

“Honey,” he starts, flashing you a conciliatory smile.

“Did you know that we were supposed to leave for our reservation an hour ago?” you interrupt.

Reservation? It doesn’t ring a bell.

Oh, is that why… fuck.

Taking your husband’s silence as evidence that he’d forgotten, you let out a sigh and walk up to his frozen frame, stopping when you’re right under his nose. “Did you?”

Nanami looks up at the ceiling as he tries to recall anything about reservations, but his mind turns blank. Actually, he thinks as he furrows his brows, he can’t even remember what he did yesterday.

“No,” he admits truthfully, looking into your eyes. “Sweetheart, I’m really sorry but I don’t remember at all. Listen, I –”

And then, you laugh.

“I was just messin’ with you, babe.” Still giggling, you pull him in for a hug. “The reservation’s not today.”

Nanami blinks as his arms wrap around you. There’s no reservation. “You’re ridiculous,” he chuckles. “I genuinely thought that I’d done something wrong.”

“No, definitely not. You’re wonderful.” Lifting your heels off the floor, you capture Nanami’s lips in a short kiss. He eagerly responds, pulling you closer into his firm body. This is, without a doubt, Nanami’s favorite part about coming home. You. Always there, at the end of the day, with your sunny little grin and sweet, adoring eyes. A little piece of paradise.

“You are so much trouble,” he murmurs as you pull apart. You hum at that, unable to disagree.

“We do, however, have a reservation at eight tomorrow.”

He frowns. “I genuinely don’t remember making plans for that, darling, I’m sorry.” Nanami glances down at your face and notices your surprised expression.

“Me neither. I was hoping you’d be able to tell me something about that.”

Well, that’s odd. It’s not often that either of you forgets anything, let alone something as easily remembered as a dinner reservation. It’s utterly peculiar that you would both happen to forget about the same thing. Today’s turning out a lot stranger than he’d ever expected. “How’d you find out?”

You pull your phone out of your back pocket and show him the email confirmation.

Dear Mr and Mrs. Nanami,

Thank you for making a reservation with us at Gary Danko. As a reminder, your reservation is for two people at 8:00 PM this Friday.

If you have any questions concerning your reservation, please feel free to contact us. We look forward to serving you!

Thank you,

The Gary Danko Team

“This is… strange,” Nanami notes, studying the little screen.

“Very,” you agree.

“Should we cancel?”

“Should we?”

“I –” Nanami’s stomach grumbles, putting a pause on your conversation.

With a chuckle, you slide your phone back into your pocket. “Never mind. We can talk about it during dinner,” you say, helping your husband out of his suit jacket. As the blazer comes off, you affectionately rub a few circles on his back, feeling his posture relax under your touch. Honestly, he works too hard. You always tell him this but he really should take a few days off and drive down to the beach – maybe with you, if he’d like – and forget about the world for a while. God knows he could use the rest.

Nanami hums in approval. “You go on first.” He kisses your forehead before gesturing at the briefcase on the floor. “I should put this away.”

The moment you disappear into the dining room, Nanami moves his briefcase onto the coffee table and brings the bouquet of pink peonies out from their place behind the sofa, this time holding them behind his back. A reservation neither of us remembers, he suddenly thinks as he strolls quietly towards the dining room. Truly odd. Tucking the thought away in his mind (there’s always time to figure out mysteries like these), Nanami calls out, “Actually, honey, there’s a reason why I came home late today.”

“I was just about to ask. What was it?” You’re almost done setting the table when Nanami walks through the archway with a bouquet of flowers almost as broad as his shoulders.

“Holy shit.”

He laughs, filling the room with its bell-like sound. “For the lady.”

Shaking your head in disbelief, you walk over and take the bouquet from his arms, cradling it like a baby. Each petal is fresh and alive and so vibrantly pink. It’s obvious that a lot of care went into this bouquet, and it only touches you further that your husband went to such lengths to guarantee you’d only get the best flowers possible. “Thank you, darling. What’s the special occasion?”

“No occasion,” Nanami says, shrugging. “Just that I love you. And I wanted to remind you that, even on days where nothing happens and it feels like we’re just going through the motions –” he takes your free hand and hunches over to kiss the ring on your fourth finger “– knowing I get to share every day with you gives me joy to look forward to.”

Happy marriage. It’s true and that’s all there is to say about it.

You’re unable to form words. Nanami Kento, the subtle, quiet lover, being loud with affection for once. An indescribable warmth spreads all throughout your body. “Ken…” Tears prick at your eyes as you set the bouquet down on the table and rush into his arms, peppering his face with kisses. “I love you,” you murmur in his ear. “I love you, I love you, I love you. I love you. Thank you.”

Nanami grins, cradling your face in his large palms. “I should do this more often,” he says, letting out a breathy chuckle when you nod instantly. “I’m sorry. I’ll work on – ” You cut him off with a slow but eager kiss, snaking your arms around his neck and tugging him closer to deepen it. If Nanami had been surprised by your interruption he doesn’t show it – his lips, soft and plump, move in complete synchronization with yours. He tastes like tea and honey and he smells like he always does, of wood and spice and the beach. It’s intoxicating and completely dangerous how irresistible he is and you can’t get enough of him.

The truth is, every real kiss with Nanami feels like the first. And you can never get enough. But you are running out of air, so you break the kiss first and rest your forehead against his, feeling his hot breath fan across your cheeks.

“You’re perfect,” you whisper, stroking his cheek with the pad of your thumb. “I wouldn’t want anyone else as my husband.”

Nanami quirks one corner of his mouth up and covers your hand with his, turning his head to kiss its palm. “If I had another life to live after this one, I’d marry you in that one, too.”

A prolonged growl from Nanami’s stomach interrupts your sweet moment.

“I think your stomach objects.”

“Maybe we should shove something down it, like dinner.”

Grinning, you slip out of your husband’s reach and beckon him to follow you into the kitchen.

“This salmon is delicious,” Nanami remarks, taking another bite off his fork.

“Thank you,” you beam. “I found a recipe while I was at work today and thought I’d try it out. Honey garlic salmon. My life is forever changed and so is yours, by extension. You’re welcome.”

Nanami chuckles, ready to respond with a dry comment about ‘having no choice,’ but then that odd email you’d shown him earlier resurfaces in his mind. “Speaking of changes. Should we cancel that Gary Danko reservation?”

You hum, thinking back to the letter as you chew. It seems like the most logical thing to do. After all, neither of you remembers making the reservation. The ambiguity surrounding its existence is unsettling enough to warrant cancellation, but something in you just wants to see what might happen. Swallowing your food, you say, “Don’t you think it’s strange that it has our names on it? I think we should consider going.”

“What if it’s a scam?”

“Then we go home, order Indian takeout, and watch a war documentary until we both fall asleep.”

Unconvinced, Nanami sits back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest, the navy fabric of his button-up tightening around his muscles. “We should call them first, figure out if they know anything.”

“You’re right,” you say, and then you pause before adding, “And if they don’t?”

You’re done speaking but Nanami knows that sentence isn’t finished, and that the other unspoken half is: can we still go? The truth is – and he’s told you many times – that your unpredictability is the most predictable thing about you. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, eyes darting across your face as he contemplates his answer.

It’s not that Nanami is an overprotective husband or needlessly suspicious of every odd thing in life. It’s that he somehow cannot remember a single second of his life before today, the same day this email arrived. To be more accurate, he feels like he has those memories inside him. Somewhere, deep in his brain, he vaguely remembers what things like a “fifth birthday” or “first wedding anniversary” look like. They just feel out-of-reach. Regardless, he’s absolutely certain that things aren’t exactly right. But you look so excited and utterly unaware of his predicament, so it must be something only he’s experiencing and he doesn’t want to burden you with this problem.

“If you really want to go, then we’ll go,” Nanami concludes, taking a sip of his wine. “After all, the wife…”

“… is always right,” you finish for him. “Well, sometimes the husband is, too, but in this specific context, for unspecified reasons, the wife is most definitely correct.” The grin on your face almost puts his worries to rest.

(Almost.)

You call Gary Danko after dinner and they confirm your reservation.

“Sorry if this sounds, um, weird, but would you mind reminding me when we made this reservation?” you ask, walking in circles around the kitchen.

“Not at all!” Some typing noises travel through the receiver before the man you were talking to says, “Actually, you didn’t make the reservation.”

You make eye contact with Nanami who’s lightly rinsing the plates from dinner. “Pardon?”

“No, it was a Miss Amanda Priestly who called us and reserved the table for you two days ago on October 31st. Does that name sound familiar?”

Nanami raises his brows. That’s your boss.

“Um, yeah. I know her, thank you,” you say, frowning. What on earth is your boss doing reserving tables at Michelin-rated restaurants for you and your husband?

“She left a message, too, in case you were, quote, ‘confused,’ unquote. She says, ‘Mimsy, thank you for your help on the Modish Winter look book. Dinner is on me. Kisses, AP.’”

And suddenly, everything falls into place. All those late nights you spent analyzing old trends and predicting the next season’s rush into your memory. For a month, you pretty much lived in your office down the hall from your editor-in-chief. You barely even had time to sleep. It makes sense that Amanda would show her thanks for the effort you put into the project, but you hadn’t expected her to. After all, she’s Amanda Priestly. She still calls you Mimsy instead of your real name.

“Oh, of course!” you laugh, looking over at Nanami. He sends you a curious look before putting the rinsed plates into the dishwasher. “Thank you for your help.”

“My pleasure.”

The call ends and you tuck your phone in your pocket as you say, “Mystery solved.”

“Hmm,” Nanami says, drying his hands on a kitchen towel. “The Modish Winter Look Book. For some reason, I don’t remember you working on that.” In fact, he doesn’t remember you working at a magazine company at all, although he can’t put his finger on what job he used to think you had. What is going on?

“Really?” you ask, reaching for his hand and lacing your fingers together. “You don’t remember that time I ran into our office with four different tweed blazers and asked which one looked the most wintery?”

Nanami furrows his brows as a memory comes back to him. It was a sunny morning in early November when you ran into the home office with two blazers draped over each arm and forced him to rank them based on how well they exuded “winter energy.” Truthfully, he had no idea what he was doing, just that the one with more blue seemed most appropriate for wintertime.

“I just remembered,” he says, a look of amused confusion coming over his features. Today has been so strange. “Did the blue blazer make it to the final look?”

“One moment,” you say, disappearing into the living room and returning with an advanced, rough copy of Modish’s Winter Fashion Edition. “It’s not out yet, but…” you trail off as you flip through the pages, pointing when you get to the one you were looking for “… here’s your contribution to the magazine.”

The blue blazer, in all its glory, smack dab in the middle of the section that says “TRENDS TO SAY GOODBYE TO.”

“Ouch.”

“Well, you predicted something,” you giggle, placing a hand on his chest. “Fashion might be your calling, Ken.”

He smiles wryly. “I’m hanging up.”

#nanami kento #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #nanami fluff #nanami x you

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amanda-glassen · 3 years ago

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The Prettiest Sound

Becca helps Serena unwind before her final exams. Based on the prompt “That was the prettiest sound I’ve ever heard.”

Requested by @justalittleghostwriter

December 2007

Serena was a week away from her first final exams as a junior and between her full course load and her responsibilities as the president of her sorority, she was feeling even more stressed than she had when she was in high school balancing 5 AP classes while studying for the SATs. She looked over at her roommate and best friend Becca. While Serena’s bed was covered in her laptop and books she needed for the research paper she had to finish in addition to studying for her final exams, Becca was watching videos in bed and feeling completely relaxed.

“How are you watching Charlie the Unicorn right now?” Serena asked in disbelief. “You have just as many finals as I do next week.”

“Yeah, but unlike you, I’m not trying to get into grad school,” Becca said as she pressed play on the next video. “I just need a C average to graduate. Even with a 2.0 average, you can still get the same jobs as 4.0 students. Employers look at where you graduated from, not your GPA.”

Serena shut her laptop and laid back on her bed, wondering if any of this was truly worth it. Do I really need to go to graduate school? Do I really want to become a professor and be in school for the rest of my life? “Too bad I couldn’t have been a model like my mom or an actress like my grandma,” Serena sighed. She looked across the room at the full-length mirror and noticed her unkempt appearance. Model? Actress? With my glasses and retainer? “I think that ship has either sailed or never even docked.”

“Ser,” Becca rolled her eyes. “Come here.” She patted the space next to her on the bed, the space that had become Serena’s side of the bed whenever she had nightmares and wanted to cuddle.

“Beck, I can’t cuddle right now. I have my soc research paper to finish. It has to be 15-20 pages. 15-20! Can you believe that? I swear when I’m a professor, I’m not gonna do some dumb page requirement. 15-20 pages for an undergrad assignment means your students are just going to ramble on because you’re making them say something that could have been better expressed in 5 pages.”

Becca walked over to Serena’s bed and yanked her out. “We’re not gonna cuddle, Serena. Does anyone ever tell you how tightly wound you are for a 20 year old?”

“My family, my friends, this entire sorority, my professors－” Serena began to list as Becca led her over to her bed. “If I want to stay at Columbia for grad school or go to Oxford, I’m gonna need Latin Honors, which means every one-hundredth of a percentage point of my GPA matters.”

“Ser?” Becca leaned in to kiss her. Serena looked around at the Christmas lights they had strewn across their room, the sight of them and the feeling of Becca’s kisses making her feel at peace for the first time since she had started studying. “Do you trust me?”

“With everything I am,” Serena responded nervously, suddenly realizing what Becca had in mind for her.

“I know you’re technically a virgin, but have you ever…?” Becca lowered her eyes.

Serena gave her a half-smile, not quite sure how to answer without getting technical. “Had an orgasm? No.”

“I wanna be your first.” Becca rubbed her nose against hers. “I want to make you feel good, but only if you want this just as much as I do. I want the first person to touch you with your consent to be someone who really loves you.” She felt Becca start to kiss the scars on her wrists. “I’d never make you do anything you don’t want to do.”

Serena’s hand was under Becca’s shirt as she gently caressed her back. “I want you to be my first. I’m just not ready for anyone to be inside me, but I can do…other stuff…”

She hadn’t tried to undress her and Serena knew she was trying to take things slow and gauge her reaction. “We can stop anytime. I promise you.” Becca told her. Her hand was down the front of Serena’s pajama pants, caressing her on the outside of her underwear, waiting for a sign from Serena that it was okay.

But those gentle touches made Serena’s desire build. “Touch me, Beck. I need you.” She was already wet for her and she had to stop herself from coming the moment Becca started to rub her clit.

“It’s okay, Ser,” Becca kissed her. “You can let go. Girls can come more than once.”

Her last comment made Serena giggle. “Beck!”

When she touched Becca for the first time, she needed a moment to process everything that was happening. Becca was soft and wet and the feeling of her heightened the sensation of what Becca was doing to her.

“Can I taste you?” Becca asked, putting Serena in panic mode.

“I’m not shaved like you are,” Serena responded. “I’m not even trimmed.”

“I know,” Becca looked into her eyes. “I can feel your curls. I want you, Serena. I don’t care if you’re shaved or waxed or trimmed or none of those things. Besides, I think going all natural would look so hot on you.”

Serena let Becca take off her pajama pants and her underwear, her feeling of self-consciousness fading away as Becca kissed down her body. She stopped just below her belly button and reached for Serena’s hand, waiting for her to squeeze it to make sure she was okay.

Becca parted her lips and placed delicate kisses on her, coating her lips in Serena’s wetness. No one had ever tasted her before and the anticipation was becoming too much for Serena to handle. Sensing what she needed, Becca placed the tip of her tongue to her clit, slowly tracing circles around it.

“Beck,” Serena moaned.

Becca gripped Serena’s thighs as she began to gently suck on Serena’s clit, stopping every so often to alternate between that and running her tongue along Serena’s folds, not wanting to leave any part of her neglected.

“Feels so good, baby,” Serena said softly. It was a new sensation for her. Becca’s softness and desire to pleasure her feeling better than anything she had ever experienced in her life.

“I love the way you taste.”

She felt Becca wrap her lips around her clit and gently move her tongue back and forth, increasing in speed and intensity with Serena’s moans. Serena closed her eyes tightly and wondered where she should put her hands. She wanted to touch Becca, but she could barely gather enough strength to do anything other than grip the sheets.

Becca knew she wasn’t able to go inside Serena, but she teased her opening with gentle caresses to awaken the nerve endings there. Serena felt herself dripping and she debated if she was ready to fully let Becca in before grinding on her and taking in just the tip of one of her fingers. The intimacy of it coupled with the feeling of Becca’s mouth sucking harder on her clit made Serena feel as if she could no longer hold back.

“Becca,” she moaned. “Becca, I’m－” she couldn’t even get herself to say it, but her moaning and gripping the sheets was more than enough to let Becca know. Her body tensed before she felt herself let go. At that moment, she no longer cared about finals or the pressure put on her to be perfect. All that mattered was her Becca and their newfound connection with each other.

“You did so good, baby. Your moaning was the prettiest sound I’ve ever heard,” Becca said as she held her afterward. “How do you feel?”

“Better than I have ever felt in my whole life,” Serena responded, still slightly out of breath.

“Are you ready to work on your paper again?”

“No,” Serena buried her face in Becca’s neck.

“Do you wanna go out to dinner with the girls?”

“No,” Serena pouted. “Can’t we just stay here and do this all night?”

“We can,” Becca caressed her back. “We can stay in this bed all night if you want to.”

“Good, because it’s your turn now.”

#beccarena

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mymelodyheart · 4 years ago

Text

Miles Between Us Chapter 10 ~The Art of Non-Communication

WARNING: MILD SEXUAL CONTENT

Previously in The Mediation

"Three million pounds for a house!" Jenny broke through his reflection. "Doesn't it make ye wonder what else she inherited?"

Jamie looked at the paper again. That's what the house is worth? Ach, Christ! Even the Oxford gossip found its way to Broch Mordha. He knew Claire would be mortified if the news of her assets became everyone's favourite topic of conversation.

Folding the note, he handed it back to his sister. He shook his head at his sister. "Not a word about this to any of yer mates!" he warned her. "Or else ..."

Jenny's eyes widened. "What do ye take me for?"

"A babble merchant," he ribbed, unsmiling. "Now, let me be."

"Ye're no' angry at me still, are ye?"

"No," he sighed. "I'm just exhausted."

"Can I do anything for ye?"

He puffed out a breath. Jenny was looking at him earnestly, and he knew she only wanted to reach out. "Aye, in fact, ye can. Ye can arrange that appointment with the therapist for me."

If you wish to read this on AO3, here is the link.

If you wish to read this from the beginning:

AO3 link

Tumblr link

Jamie was removed from the noise of Lallybroch's homely routine when he stepped inside the shower that barely allotted for his breadth and height. He stroked the erection he'd been sporting since he'd woken up from his dreams of Claire, his elbow occasionally hitting the wall. If he kept this pace up, there would be some damaged tiles to answer for by the time he finally climaxed.

Creamy pale skin and amber eyes seeped through his mind, and he stifled a groan, the throbbing flesh in his hand swelling to the point of anguish. It was the reason he'd escaped to the shower when his dad had woken him, the image of Claire still vivid and the need to spill urgent. But the act of pleasuring himself was tainted with guilt. It didn't feel right using the memory of them together to find completion when he'd left her on her own. Not only did it make him a sick lecherous human being, but his action defied all reason and logic.

Anyone in their right mind wouldn't be depriving themselves if they had what he and Claire had, but instead, here he was, on self-imposed retreat, his hungry thoughts reliving that time she'd been on her knees taking his entire length in her sweet, sweet mouth. Depravity kicked in, and his body responded to the memory in a fast, fluid rush. Every moral compass he'd had, went from dried cement to loose sand, and nothing could contain the rampant desire to relieve the pressure between his legs.

He propped his left hand on the wet wall and quickened the pace of his strokes, the tight fist travelling from the base of his hardness to the engorged tip.

"Christ," he gritted, hoping he could finish without the repercussion of self-loathing and feeling like an unredeemable bastard.

Ye left her! In tears!

It's for her own good. I'm taking steps to make myself better ...for her.

What if she gets sick and tired of waiting for ye to sort out yer issues?

No, no ...she understands.

Ye havenae called her.

I'll see her after the therapy, for fuck sake.

Guilt made him want to dim the image of Claire sucking him, but the heavy sack hung between his thighs wouldn't be wheedled into emptying without envisioning her.

He was so close. He replayed Claire's most recent voice message in his head, her voice husky and yearning. She must have been in bed wearing nothing but his shirt. I love you, Jamie. I wish I could hold you right now and ease your pain.

"Ah, fuck!" Jamie groaned as convulsion racked his body. "Christ, Sassenach." His seed spurted from his cock in what felt like an endless surge of the tide. Back and forth until he was compelled to release his flesh to brace himself with both hands on the tiled surface while the remnant of his release washed down onto the shower floor.

The water had turned tepid by the time reality came streaming back in. Steeling himself, Jamie waited for the chitter-chatter in his head to start reprimanding, telling him what a sick bastard he was, but nothing came. It was quiet. Notably quiet, in fact, and the prolonged silence was too unusual for comfort and almost deafening. The voices had been his life long companion, and it seemed like someone had muted the noises. The only sound he heard was the sound of his breathing and the shower spray hitting the surfaces.

He almost jumped at the loud rapping on the door. "Jamie! Ye're gonnae be late for yer therapy appointment," Willie called out, impatience lacing his voice.

He blew out a breath. "Two minutes!" he shouted. Damn it!

"Two minutes," Willie repeated, and he strode off, the sound of his heavy footsteps making creaking sounds on the wooden floor.

Therapy! He wasn't looking forward to it, but if it would mean bringing him closer to living a normal life with Claire, he'd take his chances. He had his future waiting for him in his cottage, and God knew what was going through her mind with his prolonged absence. There's a possibility she could decide right there, and then, she'd had enough, and he could be returning to an empty home. Fuck that! No' gonnae happen.

Wrenching a curse from the depths of his soul, he grabbed a towel and dried himself in record time. No more messing about. It was time to regain back the rein to his life. After his therapy, he was returning back to his Sassenach.

..........

Jamie hadn't replied to Claire's multiple voice messages, so she'd stopped sending them, thinking he needed a break. If it hadn't been for Willie checking up on her, Rollo needing to be walked and her own work keeping her busy, she would have gone out of her mind.

She found solace in knowing he was safe with his family and sorting out his issues and tried not to dwell on the theory that she might be the reason for his worsening condition; otherwise, it would mean giving up on them and walking out of his life for his own good. They'd both had a traumatic start to childhood. If anything, their shared experience should bring them together ...well, at least she was hoping that was the case.

As long as she was busy, she was absolutely fine. But it hurt being apart from Jamie. The minute she unwinded from her daytime activities, the feeling of abandonment crept in, and she felt lost and empty. An all-consuming gloom would lurk, overwhelming her, and tears would start to fall. It had been only two days since Jamie left, but she was already fearing she'd return to London without seeing him again. It's just not fair. It was as if the universe was conspiring to keep them apart, and if that was the case, they'd never really had a chance from the start. Such thoughts would lead to a part of her wishing they'd never met because it was like being shown what happiness with someone you love could be, only to be yanked back out of reach.

She glanced out the kitchen window and realised it had begun to rain, the grey skies echoing her sombre mood. Frustrated, she mentally shook herself. There were a lot of things to do, and her uncle would be arriving in a couple of days. She hadn't mentioned anything to him about what had happened with Jamie, but that was a worry she'd have to deal with later. Because of all days, Tom Christie had called earlier, arranging to meet with her this afternoon to further discuss his book's publication. She hadn't anticipated meeting up with him for another week or more. Maybe it was a good thing he'd decided to show up. It would certainly be a much-needed distraction from the growing worries she had of Jamie. But first, she needed to book a bed and breakfast room in the village centre, a request her uncle had explicitly stressed as he didn't want to stay in Jamie's cottage to watch them canoodle, as he'd gruffly pointed out. But Claire highly doubted there would be any danger of his uncle witnessing that anytime soon.

Grabbing her coat and bag, she headed out. She was just stepping across the threshold when she caught sight of Jamie's sister walking towards her. What is she doing here? The last time she'd seen Jenny was when they were first introduced, and back then, she hadn't failed to notice the lukewarm reception. She'd tried her best to dismiss it as overly protective sibling behaviour. But something had been niggling in her mind lately ever since Willie mentioned Jenny's meddling with Jamie's love life.

Bracing herself, she forced a smile. "Hi, I'm just on my way out. Does Jamie need some fresh shirts?" She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. "I can quickly grab some if that's what you came here for."

There was an awkward silence. "I ...ah, I'm here to see ye." Jenny held up a plastic container. "Oh, and ma made these ... it's rhubarb pie. And she's asking after ye."

"Oh, that's thoughtful. How are ..."

"Do ye have a moment?" Jenny interrupted out of the blue.

Claire paused. Though feeling like she was in this weird bubble filled with fog and not in the mood for small talk or niceties, she stepped back and waved Jamie's sister in. "Sure. I suppose I can spare a few minutes."

Jenny nodded gratefully and stepped inside the cottage. Claire watched her cross the room to place the rhubarb pie and her shoulder bag on the dining table. She started to wring her hands, possibly because she'd realised Claire wasn't going to initiate the talk.

"Jamie is taking steps to get better," Jenny began, facing her.

"I know."

"Of course, you do."

Claire tamped down the urge to roll her eyes. "From what Jamie's told me, that's what he's been doing all his life, hasn't he?"

"Yes, that's true."

She sighed, impatience beginning to creep in. "Jenny, why are you really here? Please let's not pretend that you like me. You practically ignored me when we first met, and you've made no attempt whatsoever to get to know me. I am not expecting us to be the best of mates just because I'm with Jamie, but I do expect manners. So, I am asking very kindly if there's a reason for you taking over my precious time, please spit it out."

Jenny's eyebrows hit her hairline. "I ...uh ...I came because I wanted to see you. To check if ye're alright."

"Willie's been doing that but thank you anyway." She had no time for pussyfooting around. Pulling her coat tighter around her, she made a move to leave. "Well, I need to get going. Please thank your mum for me for the pie. I'll have it later with coffee when I return. And regards to your da as well." She pulled the door open.

"Wait ..."

"Yes?"

Jenny let out a rickety inhale. "I'm sorry, okay? I came to apologise. You're right. I was downright rude." Her lips barely moved when she said the words. It was as if it's taking a lot out of her to admit to her faults. "I have no right to meddle in my brother's affairs, moreso make ye feel unwelcome when ye're the one Jamie wants to be with." Her shoulders lost most of their tension, but the lines of her body were still strained tight. "I was worried about my brother making trips to London, and ye ken the reason why. I thought by not acknowledging ye, ye would eventually go away for good. I ken it was wrong. I shouldn't have behaved the way I did."

"But making me go away wouldn't have made a difference to his condition. Jamie would have continued to have those panic attacks."

"I ken," Jenny shrugged. "It was a dumb move, and I feel stupid for it. I realise that now. I dinnae ken what I was thinking. I'm so sorry, Claire. Can we start all over again and be friends?"

Claire felt a spark of sympathy for Jenny. In that brief moment of admission, she'd kind of started to like the girl in front of her. Though she knew it would take a while before they could converse without feeling awkward, at least this was a start. Claire smiled genuinely for the first time. "Of course. I understand now why you felt the way you did." She glanced at her watch. "But in as much as I'd like to continue this bonding, I really need to go. I have a few errands to run. Shall we talk another time?"

"Oh aye, I completely forgot ye have someplace to go." She whipped around to grabbed her bag but knocked it to the floor instead, spilling its contents. "Ach, so clumsy of me," she muttered, getting onto her knees. "Ye go ahead, Claire. I have a spare key. I'll lock up once I'm done,

Claire immediately crouched down to help, grabbing feminine bits and bobs that were scattered on the rug. "Two pair of hands are always quicker getting the job done," she assured her.

"Aye, I guess so," Jenny mumbled as she skimmed the area with her eyes looking for anything she missed.

Claire scooped the loose pennies that had rolled off and slotted them into Jenny's bag. Then she picked up a slip of paper and was about to hand it to Jenny when she realised it was a newspaper clipping with her surname printed on it. Curious, Claire unfolded it and was surprised to see it was a small article from Oxford Mail about her family home, including a small line mentioning her as an heiress. Though she was aware of the article's existence, she was shocked to see it in Jenny's possession. What is Jenny doing with this?

Blood drained from her face when she recalled Willie's story about Jenny playing matchmaker between Geneva and Jamie. Didn't Willie say Geneva comes from a well-off family, Jenny's perfect solution to Lallybroch's financial problem? Claire skimmed the familiar article once more, the worth of her property jumping out of the paper: three million pounds. A sudden sharp pain slammed into her chest.

Claire held up the newspaper cutting to Jenny's face. "Why do you have this?" she whispered through numb lips.

Jenny's face was white as a sheet. "I ...it was given to me."

"Is this the reason why you're suddenly nice?"

"No!" Jenny licked her lips, thoughts racing behind her blue eyes. "I swear to God, I meant what I said earlier ...that I’m sorry. It has nothing to do with ..." She waved a hand towards the paper Claire was holding. "...that."

Claire scrambled to her feet. "You're sorry?" Her voice was high-pitched and unnatural, but she couldn't help it. There's a rumbling earthquake beginning to take place inside her. "When did you start feeling sorry, Jenny? After you read this?" She crumpled the piece of paper and threw it on the floor. "Did you really want to be my friend? Or was that all hogwash too?"

"Claire, please." Misery slashed across her face. "I realised my mistake when Jamie took off with his car the other night, and Willie spent hours looking for him. My parents, husband and I were up, and we were worried sick. My constant meddling has made him fled and taken him away from ye." She wrung her hands together. "I was a bloody idiot for thinking I was doing what's best for my brother when, in fact, I was making things worse. And Jamie's now miserable because he thinks it's all his fault when really, it's mine. Ye have to believe me when I say that piece of paper was given to me. I never sought it myself. It was handed to me."

"Good God, are you listening to yourself?" Her voice had been reduced to a whisper. All she could see was Jamie's guilt and tortured face that day when he'd told her about his fight with Jenny. His pained expression before he'd sped off to the night and her fear of the unknown. The many times he'd excused and apologised for his sister's behaviour because he thought Jenny was doing it out of love when Claire could clearly see it was all out of selfishness. "Let me get this straight ...you only recognised your mistake because you became worried sick after your brother took off. Are you even aware that you've been treating him like an imbecile all this while as if he can't decide for himself? This was never about him, Jenny, is it? You're only thinking about yourself. The other night scared the bejesus out of you because you knew well you were part of the reason he took off. Tell me this ...how does it feel like to be riddled with guilt now, huh? Try multiplying that guilt by a thousandfold and remind yourself that's what Jamie feels every day of his life. And if you think saying sorry will make things right again, you need your head thoroughly examined. Jamie loves you despite all your meddling, and you unashamedly continued to manipulate him. So excuse me if I have trouble believing a single word you're saying now. Because you know what the bloody hell this looks like? Your apologies to me sound like you're trying to manipulate me as well. And all because I happen to own an impressive three million pound property."

"No!" Jenny shook her head in despair. "Everything else is true ...but not that about yer property." There's a tremor in her voice and shame in her eyes. "I stopped by yesterday to apologise to ye, but ye werenae home, and when Mrs Fitz from across the road saw me, she handed me that newspaper clipping. I swear to God, Claire, I came to ye even before I knew ye had that property."

Claire couldn't stand there and listen anymore, not after what she'd gone through the last couple of days. She needed to let all her frustration out, or she'd implode. "I don't trust you, Jenny. If drivel could bounce, you'd be in the bloody orbit by now. Unfortunately, that won't happen, so I'm out of here. I can't stand being here any longer." The words exploded out of her and popped in the air like bright red fireworks.

Jenny fell back a step and gasped. Claire was shocked too with the words that came out of her mouth. But she took that opportunity to rush out of the cottage, not caring if it was still raining, only focusing on getting as far away from Jenny as possible.

She'd just crossed the street when a vehicle screeched to a stop and reversed. Claire kept on walking, still reeling from her conversation with Jenny.

"Miss Beauchamp?"

She stopped and glanced into the Land Rover window that stopped by her side and noticed a familiar face. "Yes?"

The man tipped his baseball cap on his head and smiled. "It's me, Tom Christie."

"Oh ... it's you ... you're early!" was all she could say, too surprised for words.

"Actually, I'm on my way home to change clothes before our meeting. Do ye need a ride? I noticed ye dinnae have a brolly with ye, and it's raining."

Claire glanced back at the cottage and saw Jenny standing at the doorway, looking at her with that still ashen face. She'd heard rumours in the village about Tom being a ladies' man and knew what it would look like to Jenny if she got into the Land Rover with him. But she didn't give a flying fig. Let her gossip! Smiling, she nodded at Tom. "Yes, please. To the village centre if it's no trouble."

He grinned. "Nae bother at all. Hop in."

..........

"Remind me again why I'm here," Willie mumbled under his breath as they followed a young woman down a long hallway lined with modern paintings. "I thought I made it clear it should be Claire attending this therapy with ye. In case ye need reminding, I got our business to run."

Jamie sighed. "I'd rather ye're here. Ye ken my condition better than anyone."

"Is it Geneva ye're worried about?" his older brother asked in a low voice.

"God, no. I'd be more worried if Jenny came with me. Christ, she'd been pushing Geneva and me together for as long as I can remember. I ken the lass took a fancy in me, but that's all it ever was. I'm just concerned it's gonnae be weird since we ken each other."

Willie glanced at him with understanding. "There's nae avoiding it, lad. We live in a small village, and everyone knows everyone. It's the bane of living in such a place. We just have to make do with what we have."

"Aye, that's true."

The young woman in front of them turned. "The last one on the right," she smiled, pointing at the white door. Jamie wanted to say he knew his way around and that it was the same office as his former therapist but decided not to and returned her smile instead.

With Willie close behind him, he stepped forward and knocked lightly against the door. A feminine voice answered from the inside, "Come in."

Pushing the door open, they were greeted by a familiar, cosy space and Geneva, dressed in a black pantsuit with her hair done in a bun. She was sat in a dark leather armchair, looking them over with her transparent-rimmed glasses. If she was surprised to see Willie with him, she hid it well.

"Mr Fraser, it's nice to see you again." Smiling warmly, she stood up and held out her hand for him. Taking it, she gave him a firm handshake before doing the same to Willie and motioning them towards the over-size beige leather sofa arranged in the middle of the room. "Please take a seat." Like a couple of schoolboys, they both did as they were told.

"Before anything else," she began, looking at Jamie. "I have you here for one on one therapy. Is there a reason why you brought your brother with you?"

Jamie cleared his throat and licked his lips. "I, ah, wanted him here for moral support."

"Fair enough. So what can I do for you?" She smiled, crossing her legs and reclining back into her armchair, a clipboard resting on her thigh.

Jamie anxiously glanced at Willie, but his brother only shrugged. "I dinnae ken where to start. Ever since yer predecessor left, I havenae been to therapy because I didnae feel comfortable seeing a therapist who knows me on a personal level. It kinda feels odd."

She steepled her fingers together, her blue eyes narrowing on him. "I understand this is out of your comfort zone and probably, for some, highly unusual. But I'd like to make it clear that I take my job seriously, and I hold myself to the highest professional standard. Whatever friendship I have with your sister will have no effect whatsoever on what would transpire within these walls. If you wish to proceed, please take a few deep breaths and just forget that you know me. In here, I am Dr Dunsany, and you are Mr Fraser."

Jamie considered her words as she waited patiently for his reply. After a minute of contemplation, he finally nodded and took a few cleansing breaths. "Fine."

She smiled. "So, first things first. What prompted you to finally see a therapist?"

He leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands together. "I'm in a serious relationship." Jamie thought he saw an ever so slight arching of her eyebrow but immediately dismissed it as his imagination. "And my condition and the panic attacks are hurting our relationship. I figured in order for us to move forward, I needed to take steps in getting better."

Geneva picked up her clipboard and started scribbling. "What do you believe your girlfriend thinks about your condition?"

Jamie smiled briefly at the thought of Claire. "Weel, she's very understanding and very patient, and she's taken my condition in a stride. Like the rest of my family, she thinks I'm suffering from suppressed guilt and emotions."

Geneva paused and closely appraised him. "Why do you think she thinks you have suppressed guilt and emotions?"

His heart began to increase its pace, and his throat tightened. "Because we were both there when her parents died. She was able to move on, but I couldnae," the words came out rapidly.

A whoosh of breath came from Willie.

"Why do you think she was able to move on and you couldn't?" she pushed, seemingly unaffected by Jamie's revelation.

A bead of sweat formed on his forehead. "Because it's my fault that she grew up without a family."

He heard Willie's breath hitch, but Geneva ignored his brother.

"And why do you think it's your fault?"

His mouth became dry, and his tongue thick. "I didnae run fast enough to get help when their car crashed. If I had, she wouldnae be orphaned today. If I was stronger, I wouldnae have needed to run off and get my godfather, and I could have pulled the door open myself and saved her parents as well."

"You look like a strong man, Mr Fraser. Why do you think you needed to run and get help to pull the door open?"

"I wasnae big enough back then. I was only ten." He dropped his head into his hand. "And she was so wee ...crying for her ma. All I could do was hold her."

He started to hyperventilate as the image of Harry staring at him through the window, sprung to life. It was the last image he saw before the car had exploded.

Sensing his discomfort, Geneva stood from her armchair and retrieved two bottles of mineral water from the mini-fridge, handing them each to the brothers. They both gratefully accepted, taking large gulps.

When he got his breathing back under control, she proceeded. "I understand now your frustration at not being big enough to carry the task out yourself and why you had to get your godfather." She scribbled a few more notes on her clipboard. "I'm going to go back to the question you haven't answered yet. Why do you think your girlfriend was able to move on from her parents' death?"

He squashed the empty bottle of mineral water. "She was too young then to understand any of it, just a wee bairn when it happened."

"And so were you."

"She was five, and I was ten. I was old enough to be able to do something about it, but I couldn't."

"Your godfather, who was old enough and stronger than you, was unable to do anything further. Do you think it was your godfather's fault?"

"No! Of course, not. He tried his best. We got her ...Claire, who's m-my girlfriend now, out first and my godfather made me take her to safety. But the car caught fire, and it exploded."

"So it's not your godfather's fault, and yet you think it was your fault."

"Yes!"

"Why would you think, after all the efforts you and your godfather have done to try and save your girlfriend's parents, it's still your fault?"

"It was the way he looked at me."

"Who looked at you?"

"Claire's father. Just before the car exploded."

"How did he look at you?"

"He was just staring at me."

"And you can't get that out of your head?"

"No."

A mild frown of concentration descended across Geneva's face as she flipped through the notes on her clipboard. She reached out for a manila folder on a coffee table by her side and browsed through it too. "This is a great start, Mr Fraser," she continued. "From what I've here in your history with your former therapist, this is the first time you've ever talked about an experience from your childhood. This is highly interesting. Care to tell me why you've never talked about this before."

"It's a memory that I've forgotten, and it's just resurfaced recently."

She arched an eyebrow. "How recently?"

"A few days ago."

"Can you remember what triggered the memories to come back?"

"The night I met my girlfriend's uncle on video chat."

"So, prior to that night, you had no recollection of the forgotten memory, is that correct?"

"Aye."

"Why do you think your girlfriend's uncle triggered all the memory to come back?"

His fingers began to pick at the water bottle label. "He looks exactly my girlfriend' father."

A long silence ensued.

Geneva placed the clipboard by her side and uncrossed her legs. "That will be all for today, Mr Fraser. We've covered enough to have something to work on."

Jamie's head shot up. "So that's it? That was quick," he pointed out, glancing at his watch.

"Oh, we're far from done, Mr Fraser, but you've revealed more than I anticipated, so I decided to stop while we're ahead. Thank you for answering all questions as openly as possible."

"So what's yer diagnosis?"

She tilted her head to the side. "I believe you have a lot of misplaced guilt about your past that may be hindering you from moving on. So ...what I would like you to do is ...I want you to think about how you want your future to look like. Think really hard and try to dig deep. Next time we catch up, we'll discuss everything in details." She stood up, and Jamie and Willie followed suit. "I'll see you next week. My assistant will write down the date of our next meeting. You can pick up your appointment card on the way out," she smiled, opening the door and ushering them out.

The brothers walked out quietly together, both lost in their own thoughts.

"That wasnae too bad, was it?" Willie asked as they stepped out of the building.

Jamie shook his head. "No, no' at all." His head was still buzzing from the session, so he didn't really have much opinion to offer.

"Perhaps next time, ye can bring Claire with ye."

At the mention of her name, he pulled out his phone from his back pocket. He'd silenced it all morning as he'd prepared himself for the therapy but was disappointed to see there was no new message from her. "She hasnae messaged."

"I'm no' surprised. You havenae been returning her calls. And ye have no excuse, lad, because I left ye a charger at Lallybroch."

Jamie followed his brother close behind as they made their way to the car. "How do ye know I've no' been returning her calls?"

"She told me."

"How is she?"

"Find out yersel'."

A familiar bright red Fiat slowed down next to them just as Jamie was about to get into the car, and Ian, their brother-in-law, poked his head out of the window. "Hey, lads, guess who I just saw back in town?"

The brothers looked at each other and shrugged.

When Ian stalled, Willie blew out an impatient breath.

"Out with it!" Willie grumbled. "I've been away from work for far too long already."

Ian grinned. "Yer pal Christie."

Jamie waved a hand in the air in dismissal and turned to open the car door, not particularly interested in hearing the latest coming and going in Broch Mordha. "I'm pretty sure the lassies will be thrilled he's back."

"Aye, ye're probably right, but I dinnae think ye'd be too pleased to hear if one particular lass is enjoying his company."

Jamie whipped around. "What do ye mean?" He sounded like someone just launched a flying rugby pass onto his stomach.

"Saw Claire and Tom through the window of Slater's Arms. Probably sitting down for late lunch."

His heart and brain must have swapped places because suddenly, his heart seemed twice as heavy, and his brain thumped against his skull. "M-my Claire?"

Willie tipped his head like he's on the brink of calling Ian an eejit. "Hold up, this could all be just an innocent thing. Wasnae Claire supposed to be meeting with someone from here for some book publication?"

"Nae way!" Ian shook his head. "Christie doesnae look like the type to string a sentence together, never mind write a book."

"Alright," Jamie breathed, propping his hands on the edge of the car's roof. His brain was barely functioning because it was knocking against his temple, making him see red. He'd completely underestimated his ability to let her go, thinking he was doing it for her own good. Claire hadn't called today because she thought he'd given up. Ah, shite! He felt he was going to be sick. "I need to go and see her. Now."

"Fuck!" Willie muttered. "I'm coming with ye." Then he bent down to Ian's eye level and pointed his index finger at his brother-in-law. "Next time, run this kind of info by me first."

Ian smirked. "Fine. But I'm coming too. I'm up for seeing a bit of nefariousness."

Jamie was already in the car, fastening his seat belt. "Let's go!"

Dear Readers,

Whew, that was a long chapter. I'm literally drained; nevertheless, I'm feeling a sense of satisfaction that I can post it today. My eyes are wonky, though, from editing, and I was about to go through it again when I thought, ah bugger it, I will do the grammar check tomorrow.

Before I say nighty-night, thanks for your feedback from the previous chapter, and I'm looking forward to what you think of this next one. I know it's slow going, but I really wanted to cover as many plot holes as possible. Slowly but surely, I'm getting there. Anyway, take care always and keep spreading kindness and love. Until the next update, much love! X

#melodyheart #wonderwall #milesbetweenus #ClaireBeauchamp/JamieFraser #claire beauchamp #jamie fraser #outlanderfanfic

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pixie88 · 4 years ago

Text

Oxford to the Cotswolds

Chapter 23 - Always the Bridesmaid.

A/N: So here it is the LAST chapter of Always the Bridesmaid. I kinda feel sad but I know it’s not the end of H&L.Thanks so much @aussieez for proof reading. Thank you again to all those following this story and continue to follow it, you have no idea how much it means to me that you take the time to read.😘

I’m finalizing my tag list for this over the next few days, so again if you like to be tagged just let me know!

Read previous chapters HERE!

Warnings: Fluff & NSFW

Word Count: 2914

Pairings: Laila x Harry

Enjoy! 😘

A week later.

After their little spat, Harry decided maybe now was the time to take up his parents offer of using their cottage. They had their trip planned out, they would leave London on the Sunday morning stop at Oxford for a day or two and get to his parents' cottage on the Tuesday afternoon. "We are staying in an old prison that has been converted into a hotel?" Laila asks as they drove along the M40 "Yeah, I thought it was unusual and right up your street?" he takes his eyes off the road for a second to wink at her "You know the whole cops and robbers thing"

She rolls her eyes and laughs, "I'm guessing you're the criminal?" he smirks. "Nah, I'm a law abiding citizen, my love. You seem like the troublemaker here!" she laughs, "I've been looking up all the sites we need to visit while we are there"

He knew she wouldn't be able to visit a place without doing her research.

"Where do you need to visit then?" she smiles at the fact he asked "So, there is the obvious Bridge of Sighs, which is kind of a copy of the Rialto Bridge in Venice, Carfax tower the views of Oxford, from there are supposed to be amazing, Martyr's Cross which is a cross they have in the road where two Anglican bishops and the Archbishop of Canterbury were burned, oh and there is a Harry Potter tour around the University as some scenes were filmed there and Oxford Castle which is right next door to our prison hotel!"

"Sounds like a couple of days of learning!" he laughs at her "NOT just learning! There is a bar with magical cocktails, ones in test tubes, with fire and even smoke!" she's excited.

Harry doesn't know it, but Laila is a bit of a history buff, if she goes somewhere new she will research the hell out of it. Not long after they moved to London Laila was still adjusting to life in the city, Ezra could see his granddaughter struggling, so he planned a day out with her.

They stood on platform 5 at Harrow and Wealdstone Station "Grandad, where are we going?" she asked him "You will see when we get there!" he smiles at her. The train ride wasn't long. Fifty minutes later they pulled into Bletchley Station "Grandad, why are we here?" he chuckled "And I thought you knew everything about World War 2!" he winks at her, but it doesn't click until 10 minutes later when they were standing outside Bletchley Park.

Laila's eyes are wide "Oh my god!! This....this is where Alan Turing cracked the enigma machine!!" she squealed with excitement before hugging him. "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" she's beaming, she takes his hand and drags him through the doors.

This was one thing he and his granddaughter had in common, was their interest in World War 2. They spent hours looking around the huts where it all happened. He never saw her face light up so much as she looked around at the artefacts. They had a look around Station X (National Radio Centre) and when they finally reached the Mansion Laila was overjoyed "Grandad, just think all those people that helped crack the code have been in this very room...no house!!"

They spend hours looking around, before grabbing something to eat at hut 4 "Grandad, just think this is where they would get lunch or even dinner!" she looks around the hut "Laila, just think while they were here no one knew! They had to lie about working here, they couldn't tell anyone even family members. They had to take a vow of silence" he said.

This rang true, as years later Max was building an annex for a couple at the end of their garden and when he got talking to the Nan, whom the annex was being built for she told him how her mum worked at Bletchley Park and had to take a vow of silence which she kept until the park reopened as a museum in 1994.

When it was time to go home Laila couldn't thank him enough for taking her there "Just don't tell your brothers!" she laughs, "I've taken the Bletchley Park vow of silence!"

They finally arrived, Harry pulls into a parking space outside the hotel and a valet comes over Harry hands him the keys and they head in with their cases. They check in; "you will be on the fifth floor in room 135, so take the lift to the right once you go through those doors. Here is your room key and enjoy your stay!" she smiles. "I'm sure we will!" Harry grins at her before they make their way to their room.

"Did you ever watch the TV show Bad Girls?" Laila asks him as the lift takes them to the fifth floor. "I did! Izzy made me watch it with her. That woman that played Yvonne plays Shirley from Eastenders now, doesn't she?" she laughs, "I thought you don't watch it?" she nudges him as the doors open "I don't but when you put it on what am I supposed to do?" he winks.

"129...130...4 more rooms to go," she calls behind her. "Actually 5 more my love," he laughs, she turns to look at him "No! You don't include our room!" she protests. "I think you do," he laughs at her. "NO! No, you don't," he doesn't argue with her.

They dump their bags and head out to look around the city "Oh, they have a Harry Potter tour" Laila's tone is ecstatic, Harry sighs "Don't you want to do it?" she asks "If you want to we will do it" her eyes scan his face "Did the kids in school use to take the piss out of you in school because you had the same name?" she asks, he laughs, "No, if anything they used to call me...oh what was his fat mate called?"

"Crabbe?" she looks at him. "Yeah, that's the one," he offers a weak smile, she runs her fingers through his hair before her arms cling around his neck "Well, who's laughing now? I bet a lot of the girls and boys that bullied you regret it now! You are handsome, fit, funny and you are mine" she winks, he can't help smiling at her "And I have a drop dead gorgeous girlfriend" he says making her blush.

"We'll do something else," she smiles at him and kisses his lips "No, we'll do the tour if you want to!" she looks how long the tour is "2 hours, argh, I'd rather be doing some kinda cardio" he looks at her confused and she laughs, "use your imagination, you are a personal trainer" she winks. He quickly gets the hint "Right, what do we need to look at before I drag you back to the hotel?" he grins at her.

Later.

After dinner, they had back up to their room, "I'm going for a shower" Laila winks at him "OK, I'll grab one after you," she smirks "I was thinking more along the lines of you joining me," she doesn't have to ask him twice, he picks her up and she wraps her legs around his waist as he walks them to the bathroom.

After their shower, Laila notices the chocolate on the bed as she's drying herself. "Oh wow! They're shaped like handcuffs!" she giggles "Hmmm.....that reminds me," he wanders over to his case in just his towel and pulls out a pair of metal handcuffs. "And what do you intend to do with those Mr. Taylor?" she bites her lip "Oh, maybe make an arrest," he winks at her, she notices his arousal through the towel "Oh, on what grounds?" she asks.

"Hmmm....for being stubborn and sarcastic, but also gorgeous, funny, adorable and extremely impossible not to fall in love with" he stands in front of her, pulling off her towel until it drops to the floor. He cups her face, his thumb runs over her lips before capturing them with his, he lifts her arms above her head and his hands run up her arms before he suddenly cuffs her hands.

She smirks against his lips "Oh, PC Taylor, what do I have to do to get you to uncuff me?" his kiss becomes more intense. She drops her hands, so they are wrapped around his neck, he moves them until the backs of her knees hit the bed. They fall onto it with Harry landing on top of her "Well, Miss. Carelli, I think you can convince me somehow" his fingers finds her core.

She hisses at the contact, his other hand comes up and pins her arms above her head as he found her slick petals. "I thought I was the one who had to.....oh shit...convince you to free me," she can barely get her words out, his lips find her pulse line "How exactly are you planning on doing that?" he smirks against her neck.

"Stand up and I'll show you," he does as she says, she sits up and pulls off his towel. Grasping him, she works her hand along him a few times before her mouth follows the same path, he groans as his hips thrust forward in need. Her pillowy lips work along his hardened member, he grunts as her jaw slacks, taking him in further "Fuck...." he mutters.

He rocks his hips back and forth as her tongue runs along the ridges of his cock, he grips a fistful of her hair. His head fell back as he groans, "That's...it gorgeous! Fuck...". She hums against him and her pace moves faster. His knees bucks, her apex is throbbing as she feels him nearing the edge "Laila....I'm...gonna....fuck!" he jerks as he hits his climax and he groans.

She releases him from her mouth and looks up at him. "Are you going to uncuff me now?" she asks as she's sat on her feet, he looks down at her with a grin. He lifts her up and throws her onto the bed, making her giggle "Hey, you said would take these off!" he has a mischievous grin on his face. "Well, Miss. Carelli! I prefer to have you like this, sorry." he captures her lips.

"That's not fair......." she protests, but she soon cuts off as he moves down her body to her centre, his hands grasp the back of both her thighs. His tongue moves apart her folds "Oh Harry!" she moves her arms to run her fingers through his hair. He pulls away, lifts her arms above her head again and kisses her lips "Keep them there!" he tells her before moving back to her core.

Her breathing hitches, he sucks against her clit, making her cry out "Ohhh"

A little later.

His legs are entwined with hers beneath the sheets, she's cuddled up against him as her head rests on his chest "When we get back do you think we should look at properties?" she lifts up and places her hand against his chest stroking his chest hair, looking up to him. He smirks at her, "definitely!" he strokes her hair away from her face "What if we have a look online now?" she stares into his ocean blue eyes and bites her lip waiting for his response.

He reaches for his phone "Let's have a look," he loads up and scrolls through the properties. "What are we going for?" he asks "Somewhere with gates, private drive and pool," she laughs, he digs his fingers into her ribs and she tries to wiggle away "Ahhhh! Harry! Stop!!" his phone is discarded, he cups her face and claims her lips.

His body covers hers and he takes her against.

The next day.

They are back in the car on the way to Harry's parents cottage in Wyck Rissington, Gloucestershire.

Along the way they find a supermarket and grab a few essentials before they continued their drive. They arrive at the cottage 10 minutes later "Aww wow! This is cute!" she smiles as they get out the car. "And it's ours for the next few days" he winks at her.

They head inside, "wow, look at those beams!" she points up at the ceiling. "Have you been here before?" she looks to Harry. "Nah, Mum and Dad haven't let any of us use it...well until now" he winks.

Once they bring in their bags inside, he takes her hand and they have a look around when Harry spots a hot tub outside "Oh, what do we have here?" he nods as he opens the door "I didn't bring a swimsuit!" he has a devilish grin. "Who said anything about swimsuits?" she bit her lip and shook her head at him.

Harry runs Laila a bubble bath with candles around the tub and told her to relax while he cooked dinner. The water was warm against her skin as she sinks into the bathtub, a minute or so later there is a knock on the bathroom door before Harry wanders in with a glass of wine "Here you go, my love," she smiles up at him as she takes the glass "Thank you! So, what's for dinner?"

He leans over kisses her nose and winks "You'll find out when it's on the table. Now enjoy." He leaves her to it.

34 minutes later.

Laila walks into the bedroom and Harry has laid out a dress grey dress on the bed for her to wear. She smiles and starts to get dressed, underneath she puts on some lacy lingerie she had brought for the trip. When she's dressed, she goes in search for Harry, as soon as she saw him, she blushes but can't help but laugh.

"Harry!! What are you doing?" he's stood in the kitchen in just an apron and his boxers, he looks up at her and grins. "You've heard of the Naked Chef right?" he winks. "But he isn't actually naked!" she laughs at him. "I'm not either! I was thinking about it but I thought that would be unsanitary. I see you're wearing the dress I picked out for you." She makes her way over to him.

"Yeah, but the view would be...very sexy," she squeezes his behind "What's for dinner?" she looks around him on the kitchen side "Ah, ah, ah go and sit down," he moves, so she can't see, she sighs, "Fine!" Laila pulls out her phone and sends a picture she took earlier.

Laila looks over to Harry, biting her lip and he catches her checking him out. "You realise I'm not dinner right?" He says. She looks up catching his eye, "might not be dinner, but there is always dessert!" She winks twirling her hair. He chuckles turning back to cooking.

She puts down her phone as he comes over with 2 plates, placing them on table. "Ooo spaghetti and meatballs!" he pours them more wine, Laila twirls her fork collecting the spaghetti "Did you ever see the film The Lady and the Tramp?" she looks over to him. "I have. Mila made me watch it once." He laughs. "Do think we can do a Lady and the Tramp kiss?" she hold up a a string of spaghetti and he chuckles "We can try. Let me put it in my mouth first" Laila cracks and can't help but laugh "OH MY GOD!!"

"Come on, let's give it ago!" He takes the end of the spaghetti and lifts the other side to Laila, she takes it in her mouth and begins to get closer to Harry until their lips are just above each other's. He brushes his lips lightly over hers before pulling away. "Come on, eat up" he smiles at her and she rolls her eyes at him.

After dinner, he takes their plates. "I'll wash them up," she offers. "You can or I can put them in the dishwasher," he jokes, "Actually, you load the dishwasher. I'm going to start up the hot tub!" she gets up from the table "Already done, my love!" he winks at her. "Oh OK!" she stands and lets her dress fall off her shoulders until it's a puddle on the floor.

He looks her up and down. "I didn't bring a swimsuit, but this will do?" say asks as she makes her way to the back door. His eyes never leave hers, she grins, knowing she had him hook, line and sinker. He quickly closes the dish washer and chases after her, she squeals running from him and towards the door.

@lem-20 @aussieez @secretaryunpaid @irisofpurple @khoicesbyk @txemrn @gloriousalmondvoiddreamer @tea-me-kah @casualpostqueen @beautifuluknownvoid @wombatsxkookaburras

Their moans fill the night sky, both are blissfully happy.

Series 2 - Chapter 1

#atb #Always The Bridesmaid #final chapter #original writing #harry x laila #oxford #oxford castle #oxford martyr #oxford university #malmaison oxford #Original Work #original character #original story #@pixie 88 original

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khodorkovskaya · 2 years ago

Text

20.02.23

first day of uni today!

yesterday i went skating with my zurich friend and my oxford/france bestie and my student and his wife. it was lots of fun! then my zurich friend and my bestie and i went for a walk. to my surprise my zurich friend and the greek girl he's been going on and on about aren't like together together! i thought they were like officially a thing but "it's complicated". idk i like my zurich friend and he has potential but he's such an ugly duckling now lol. in the sense that in a couple of years time he's gonna be a beautiful swan like he's gonna be husband material bc he's not bad looking and he's well raised and he's like very intelligent. but right now he's so awkward! and the thing with the greek girl like come on... the man has no experience and it's sad. i mean no, it's not sad. it's just like oh you're young and awkward. anyway, im really excited to see the man he's gonna become in like five years.

anyway i really wanted more gossip on the greek girl bc im a libra rising. and i wanted to talk to my zurich friend like one on one and i felt bad about not staying with him for longer. but i felt so guilty about just like doing nothing the whole day and not working. it was driving me nuts.

my parents went to visit this old lady who lives in a beautiful mansion who has a bunch of vintage clothes. and her story is kinda sad bc her husband passed away not long ago and she has no family left, no kids, nothing. all she has is this huge mansion with a beautiful view on the lake and tonnes and tonnes and tonnes of clothes she doesn't know what to do with. she's a prisoner in her own home basically. bc she's so attached to all of her stuff but it has to go bc she sold the mansion and has to move out in four months. but where is she gonna put all this stuff? what even happens with your stuff once you die? where does it all go? my cousin and i were wondering what we're gonna do with our grandma's cat collection when she passes... what are we gonna do with all those cats? (precision: not actual cats!!! like figurines and stuff!)

my stepdad and i have been losing our minds over the last email we got. like it's pure délire. i can't tell you guys what it's about but we can't sleep because of it lol. it's crazy. one day im gonna write a book about everything that's been happening, it's insane.

anyway, i really miss B these days. more so sexually than anything. but then i think about our actual sex life and it was so awkward... there were good moments for sure but i was so like... not good with myself and my body. but then i can't imagine sex with anyone else. just the simple thought of like using a condom during sex with someone makes me so sad. im like shit, i should call him. but then i think about the potential consequences of caling him... like fuck. i don't love him anymore. what do i do now? how do i exist without love?

#february

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myhockeyworld87 · 5 years ago

Text

Right One - Josh Anderson

Word Count: 4,063

POV: Josh

Warnings: Language

Notes: Just felt like writing something that wasn’t Tyler Seguin...haha So here you here’s a little Josh Anderson for anyone interested. Happy Reading!

The game against the Devils had been hard-fought, but thankfully you guys ended up with the win. Luckily, you had a couple days before your next game. Once the media finally left the locker room, a more relaxed atmosphere filled the air. "So, where are we celebrating tonight?" You inquired of Seth.

"Sorry man I'm out tonight. I've got plans."

"Gettin' some tonight, huh Seth?" This from Boone, at least you could count on him to party with tonight.

"It's not like that, man. (Y/N)'s one of my best friends and she just got a job at OSU. I'm taking her out to dinner to welcome her to town and celebrate."

"Looks like it's just me and you then Boone. Where should we go?" You threw your jacket on and grabbed your bag, getting ready to head out the door. Seth and Boone a few steps behind you. When you opened the door, there stood the most beautiful girl you'd ever seen. She was wearing a skin-tight white sweater, that showed off her well-endowed breasts and her midriff, with a pair of skinny jeans and heeled boots. But it wasn't just her body that caught your attention it was her smile. She could literally light up a room, with that smile of hers, and at that moment it was directed at you. You felt it all the down to your toes, and at that moment you knew that she was the one you'd been praying to come into your life. That was until Seth moved past you and wrapped his arms around her, enveloping her in a huge hug.

"Seth, you played amazing tonight." Her voice was like an angel's, and you wondered what it would sound like simply saying your name. "Though I still think that high sticking penalty in the second was bullshit."

"I know right. Hischier totally lifted it." Seth pulled back from their embrace before saying. "So, you got into town ok, obviously."

"Yeah, the moving company should be here tomorrow."

"Sorry I wasn't here when you got here yesterday." Seth apologized, then slung his arm around her shoulders. "But to make it up to you, I made dinner reservations at the best restaurant in town."

"Excellent, because stale beer and nachos in the second period aside, I'm starving."

They turned to walk out to the parking garage, and you felt her slipping away. You went to say something, but Boone's voice interjected. "Hey Jonsey, aren't you going to introduce us?"

"Oh right. I totally forgot you guys never met (Y/N). (Y/N) this is Boone Jenner and Josh Anderson; guys this is (Y/F/L/N) my oldest friend."

She held out her hand first to Boone, then to you. Her skin was soft and as you whispered hello, you realized you didn't want to let go. She was looking at you finally, her smile warm and inviting, and you found yourself smiling back in return. But then she released you and turned back to Seth. "It's nice to meet some of Seth's teammates finally."

"And how is it that we're only meeting you now?" It was a question you had on your lips, only Boone was the one asking it, as you stood there mute.

"Miss Smartypants here has been teaching at Oxford for the last couple years, but we were finally able to lure her back to the states, though I know she considers it slumming."

"Haha…you're so funny Mr. Hockey. I've been wanting to come back for a while and you know it. Though you haven't convinced me yet, that you didn't make this opening at OSU happen."

"If I was capable of that, I would've done it when I first got here and not a couple years later." You weren't entirely sure that things were platonic between Seth and (Y/N). Comments like that seemed more intimate, than just friendship. "But we can talk about that over dinner. We better get going if we're going to make those reservations."

"You could just come out with us?" They were the first words you uttered, other than 'hi,' and though you didn't want them to leave; you felt like an idiot just standing there when she looked at you.

"And where exactly are you two headed? Out to pick up women I suspect." She giggled. Little did she know other women were the furthest thing from your mind.

"We hadn't really picked a place yet. Just going out to celebrate the win." Her eyes were still focused on you, and you liked having all of her attention.

"Will there be something other than bar food at this yet to be established destination? Because this one promised me an actual meal." She playfully swatted Seth in the chest, and you wished it was you she was touching. "Hopefully that means something that isn't actually made in a deep fryer."

Before you could say anything at all, Seth spoke up. "Why don't we compromise? Dinner first, then we can hit a club."

The whole thing sounded perfect to you, as it meant you would get more time with (Y/N). "Sounds good, though I'm not sure I can be a wing woman for all of you." She sent you a quick wink. Was she feeling the same thing you were? That instant connection.

"Ok now that, that's settle. Let's get going." The four of you headed out of the arena and piled into Seth's car. Luckily, the restaurant was accommodating and able to put you all in a quiet spot. The corner booth provided privacy while allowing you to be close to (Y/N), as you chose to scoot in next her. She smelled of lavender, a fragrance you normally didn't prefer but on her it was intoxicating. Though it was a struggle to just not reach out and touch her. If this was a date, your hand would be on her thigh or entwined with hers, but this wasn't a date; this was the first time you were meeting this woman.

"So Josh, Boone, give me some scoop on this one." Her words brought you out of your musings. "Has anyone captured his attention?" She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively at Seth when you wanted it to be directed at you.

"Geez (Y/N), give me a break. Don't you think I'd tell you if I'd met someone special?" She seemed to accept his answer, but Seth quickly added. "Besides I have you as a backup."

"A backup?" The words were out of your mouth before you could take them back, but damnit you wanted to know if there was something more than friendship going on between them.

She playfully swatted at Seth's shoulder. "Please, like you need me for a backup." She turned towards you then. "Sorry, I didn't mean to not answer you. It's a stupid promise we made when we were fourteen." She thought for a moment before continuing. "God, what was his name?"

"Michael Billington," Seth spat out.

"Right, I can't believe you remember that. Anyway, Michael totally broke my heart at the ripe old age of fourteen." She patted your thigh, the contact going straight to your groin. "As you can see I'm still not over it." Her hand left and you thought you'd die from the loss. "I ended up crying on Seth's shoulder that night, and we made a pact that if neither of us was married by thirty we'd get hitched."

"By my calculations, you've only got four years to find Mr. Right or you're going to be Mrs. Jones." Seth quipped back to her.

"Please I have until you turn thirty, which is closer to five years, and who says I'd take your last name. You'd probably take mine." They both laughed at that, though you really didn't find the conversation funny at all. Their friendship seemed to be a bit more than your original assessment. "Besides I have a feeling some puck bunny will snatch you up and you'll be her problem, not mine."

"I save the puck bunnies for these two." Great now your best friend was throwing you under the bus. So you'd been a bit of womanizer in your past; that was only because you hadn't met the right one. Yet that might have changed tonight when you met (Y/N). Though you needed to defend yourself first.

"Come on man, that's not fair. It's not like that, right Boone?"

"No, Seth pretty much got it right. I mean isn't that why we're going to the club tonight?" He was going to pay for that comment at practice in the morning.

"You don't really need to hear about these guys sexcapades." Seth quickly tried to change the subject.

"Sexcapades huh? No, I think I definitely need to hear about this." Her curiosity was piqued and you wondered how to turn this night back around before it went south.

"Oh no we're not going there." You added. "What about you (Y/N)? Seth said you were in England, any British men catch your fancy, so to say."

She giggled, the sound sweet and melodic. "If they had, I wouldn't be here, surrounded by you three hunks." You were relieved to find out that she didn't have some British nob waiting for her, across the pond. The conversation at dinner flowed so easily; you almost didn't want it to end. It was nice just having her here mainly to yourself, instead of fighting off random men for her attention. It was bad enough vying for it with Seth and Boone.

Too soon for your liking dinner ended and the four of you headed to a club that you frequented. The music was loud and the dance floor was crowded, but thankfully there was a VIP section, that you were able to make your way to. Boone ordered everyone a round of drinks and shots. "Here's to a great win tonight and to my best friend finally moving to Columbus," Seth announced, and you all cheers before slinging down the burning liquid.

"Damn Boone, what the hell was that shit?" You asked him, coughing a bit from the bad alcohol you'd just drank. (Y/N) was already chasing it down with her other drink.

"I did not order that shit. I specifically asked for 1942 Don Julio. I'm gonna go see what the hell happened."

"Hold up, I'm going with you because this does not taste like what I ordered either," Seth told him before the two took off, leaving you and (Y/N) alone. She was swaying to the music as she sat on the sofa and you wondered what she'd look like when her whole body moved.

"Do you want to dance?"

"Took you long enough to ask Andy." She quipped, using your nickname, which out of her mouth was completely adorable. You took her hand and led her just past the roped-off area, close enough that Seth and Boone would know where you went. Dancing with a Stranger was playing and you raised your joined hands as you started to move to the beat. Her body swayed to the rhythm and you found your free hand reaching for her waist; pulling her close to you. Her hips gyrated with yours and her arm skated around your neck. She was intoxicating, the way she moved, the smile on her face; just everything about her spoke to you on some other level. You'd only had her in your arms a few moments, but you knew you never wanted to let her go.

She spun around then, her backside now grinding into your crotch; while your arm sat low on her hips holding her close. You leaned down, half tempted to whisper in her ear how much you wanted her; but that damn lavender scent of hers engulfed you, even though the smell of alcohol and sweat permeated the air. You wanted to drink her in, and get drunk solely on being in her presence alone. Instead you were stuck holding her tight against you in a crowded club.

The music shifted and so did she in your arms, as she twisted back around front. "Don't look now, but the girl at your two o'clock is staring at you like a starving dog." You moved your head to see who (Y/N) was talking about, even though she was the only one who you wanted to spend the rest of the night staring at. "I said not to look." (Y/N) chuckled and you joined in. "So should I be a good wing-woman and help you get her, now that you've checked her out."

God that was the last thing that you wanted, for (Y/N) was the only woman who'd captured your attention and there was no one in this club or on the planet for that matter that you wanted to be with but her. An easy 'no' fell from your lips before you even really figured out which girl (Y/N) was talking about. "Really? I don't think it would be a hard sell." This time when you looked your saw who she meant, a groan escaped your lips. "Ah, so that was a death glare she was giving me; I take it?"

"Yeah, probably." (Y/N) cocked her head in question for you to explain further. "Her name is Carmen, and she's one of those puck bunnies you were talking about earlier. She's been trying to get her hooks into me for weeks."

"Oh, well in that case let's give her a show." She wrapped her arms around your neck and grinded down on you, making your cock go from stiff to rock solid. "Put your hands on my ass." You blinked down at her, but who were you to argue with such demands. With her breasts pressed against you and the cheeks of her bottom in your hands, you were struggling not to just lift her up and take her to the nearest quiet corner. "Is she still watching?"

You weren't even paying any attention to Carmen. Why would you, when you had everything you wanted in your arms, but for (Y/N)'s sake you looked over to check. "God, she's actually coming this way."

"Kiss me."

"What?"

"Kiss me, so she thinks we're together." You didn't move, so she reached her hands up to the nape of your neck and brought your lips down to hers. It wasn't how you wanted your first kiss with her to be, yet her lips were soft and pliant beneath yours. You couldn't help how your hands pressed her body even closer to yours. Her lips molded to yours and you felt her melt into your arms. The kiss shifted then, it was no longer about pretending, but purely about two people that wanted each other, no needed each other. The music around you was deafening but you heard the slight moan she gave above it all. You took full advantage, sweeping your tongue inside her mouth to tangle with hers. She tasted of alcohol and faintly of the chocolate cake she'd had at dinner, and something that was purely her. You were lost in her and you never wanted to be found.

You were so focused on (Y/N) and everything about her, that you forgot where were until some drunk bumped into the two of you spilling their drink partially on you both; causing you to break the kiss. It didn't matter that your pant leg was half soaked, all you could do was stare down at the beautiful woman in front of you. Her lips slightly swollen from the kiss, and a look of awe on her face. Neither of you recovered quickly, and you knew you should've said something but all you could think of was how badly you wanted to kiss her again.

She cleared her throat, effectively breaking the spell going on between the two of you. "Well, um…" You weren't sure what else she was going to say, but you knew if it was negative you didn't want to hear it.

"That had nothing to do with Carmen." You told her, being completely honest. Her mouth formed an 'O' yet no sound came out. There was so much more you wanted to say, but it didn't happen as Seth and Boone joined you then.

"Did we miss anything?" Seth asked, as he placed a hand on your shoulder giving you a squeeze and pointedly looked at where your hands were, which happened to still be glued to (Y/N)'s ass. You immediately released her though regretted it.

(Y/N) answered him first. "Just saving Andy here from the wolves." She skated one arm down yours to entwine with your fingers, then took the other to pull Seth nearer to her. "The wolf's name is Carmen." She stated, nodding her head in the direction Carmen previously was, but now was nowhere to be found.

Just the mention of Carmen's name and understanding dawned on Seth, even though there was more to the story than what was being told. "Gotcha. Well we have drinks back at the table."

"Great. I'll be right there, just going to freshen up." She squeezed your hand, then headed off, and though you knew she'd only be gone a few minutes; you felt an overwhelming desire to run after her just so you could kiss her again. Instead, you went back to the table with Seth, where Boone was flirting with some brunette.

Taking a long swig of your drink, you sat down, only to hear Seth say. "So, care to tell me what's really going?"

You set the glass back before you had a chance to down the entire contents. "I like her. What else can I say? But if you tell me right now that, you're secretly in love with her or something; I'll back off."

Seth rolled his eyes. "I do love her." God, you felt your heart literally sink to the floor, and you found yourself picking the glass back up and bringing it to your lips, which still burned from kissing her. "But like a sister." Just like that you brought the drink back down, to look over at your friend. "And before you say anything, that means I won't tolerate you treating her like some one-night stand. She's special Josh."

"You don't think I noticed that." You raked a hand through your hair, more frustrated at yourself for not being able to explain the things you were feeling for a woman you'd only just met. "I saw that the minute I came out of the locker room and she was standing there. It's only been more evident throughout the night. She's amazing Seth." You had to be sure, he knew you'd walk away if there was something between them. "You're positive it's just a brother/sister thing?"

"Look, I won't lie. We tried it once." Now that you knew the truth, you weren't sure you wanted to hear it. "We were eighteen, and I felt like she was slipping away going off to college and all. It was awful." He chuckled and part of you felt relief that you weren't going to be competing with one of your best friends. "We realized then, that we were always going to be friends and nothing more." He slapped you on the shoulder before continuing. "But seriously man, you may be the better fighter of the two of us. Though I'm telling you now, I will literally beat the living shit out of you if you break her heart."

"Noted." You went to say more but he stopped you yet again.

"It took me a long time to convince her to come back to the states. Don't fuck this up."

"Jesus, I don't even know if she likes me."

"She does. I can see it." Now that was something that you finally wanted to hear.

"You really think so?"

"Dude, calm down. You sound like you're five or something." Seth took a long drink before actually answering your question, enjoying making you wait. "Yeah, I really do." He shrugged then. "I saw her kiss you and I saw the look on her face afterward, but you can find out for yourself because here she comes."

You watched as (Y/N) moved through the crowd to make it back to your seats. "What I miss?" She asked as she took the seat next to you.

"Oh, not much," Seth said handing her a drink, and sending you a sly glance.

"Doesn't seem like that." She added with that cute little giggle of hers. "Please tell me you didn't have a run-in with that Carmen girl while I was gone." Actually, you'd forgotten all about her.

"No, thank god," Seth answered. "Though I do see her and her friends staring at us." You followed Seth's vision and sure enough there she was glaring over more at (Y/N) then either him or Seth. "If this wasn't your first night out in Columbus; I'd be suggesting we call it a night." You were inclined to agree.

"Hey no need to stay on my account. I'm literally still on London time, which means my carriage turned into a pumpkin a few hours ago. I'd rather party when I didn't think that it was six in the morning." Both you and Seth laughed at her comment. "Laugh all you want, but one of you two will be carrying me back to the hotel when I fall asleep here." You had no qualms with carrying her anywhere though your bed was your preferred choice.

"In this noise? You'll never fall asleep. I know you and you don't even like the tv on to sleep." Seth quipped to her and you stored the knowledge away. "Let me go see what Romeo over there wants to do and I'll be back." He headed over to Boone leaving you and (Y/N) alone, which provided you the perfect opportunity to talk to her.

"So, about earlier." You started and she nodded. "I didn't want it to be like that…kissing you that is." Her eyes widen and you could tell she misunderstood what you were trying to say. "It's not that I didn't want to kiss you…" You blew out a frustrated breath, before raking your hands through your hair. "I mean I want to kiss you…fuck…I just…well, I like you, and well…I was wondering if maybe you wanted to go out. Just the two of us, where I can kiss you properly." There you'd said it all. It was a jumbled mess, but at least you'd asked her out. The problem now was that she wasn't saying anything in return, and now you were worried you didn't make yourself clear. "So…um…would you like to go out with me?"

A small smile spread across her features and you took that as a good sign. "You're really cute when you're flustered. Do you know that?" You could feel a blush rising to your cheeks. "I like you too Josh, but…" She looked over at Seth and then it occurred to you that maybe she had feelings for him.

"I didn't realize there was…."

"No!" She said quickly. "There's not. Seth is my best friend and that's all. I just don't know how he'd feel about me dating one of his teammates."

"Well if it helps, he told me he'd kick my ass if I hurt you."

She shook her head as a light chuckle escaped her lips. "God, he never changes. He used to say that to every guy I dated growing up, but I'll take that as him giving us his blessing. So, if that's the case, then…Yeah, I'd love to go on a date with you."

"Really?" You were completely elated but wanted to be one hundred percent sure.

"Yes really. I like you Josh." She reached over and kissed your cheek. "And just so you know. I don't regret kissing you on the dance floor, but I understand that you didn't want it to be our first. So let's just consider that practice, until you take me out."

Seth came back then, with Boone falling behind. "Everyone ready to go?"

You laced your fingers with (Y/N)'s and the four of you headed out the door. Tonight had proved to be more of a win for you than just in hockey and you couldn't wait for your next matchup with the girl on your arm, because for some reason you thought you’d finally found the right one.

#Josh Anderson #josh anderson imagine #Josh Anderson Imagines #Columbus Blue Jackets #Columbus Blue Jackets Imagine #Columbus Blue Jackets Imagines #nhl imagines #nhl imagine #nhl fanfic #hockey imagines #hockey imagine #hockey fanfiction

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fuckyeahharryhart · 4 years ago

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HARRY HART FAN FICTION Because they better give him a good story for the last Kingsman. In case they don’t, I wrote something myself.

KINGSMAN III Fan Fiction REDACTED Part 1 (in case they mess up the last Kingsman movie)

Because I’m both excited an afraid of what they are planning for the last Kingsman. I, as well as A LOT of people were pissed that they killed off Merlin, let alone all the others. This is my Fan Fic for what I thought should happen in Kingsman 3 and how they could possibly bring Merlin back....And A LOT of Harry Hart, and some new characters, too..

MULTI PART SERIES:(My version of Kingsman 3)

Harry Hart x Original Character

Warnings: Reference to violence

Word Count: 5,900

Summary: After the events of Kingsman, The Golden Circle, Harry, Eggsy and the rest of the survivors rebuild their agency to it’s former level of integrity. A new player arrives unexpectedly, carrying memories of the past that will change the future of Kingsman.

-----

PART 1

The evening was still warm and pleasant as the sun dropped behind the last of the buildings overlooking the London skyline. For a few brief moments, when the final rays of light glanced off the windows facing the west, the sky seemed to flame.

The sun struggled to hold its place, but as it conceded, the day began its transition into night. A new energy would begin to blanket the momentary quiet streets.

So the sun set on another day in London. Saville Row stilled once more as store fronts closed up and settled down for the evening.

Further along the walk, two gentleman were about to descend the stone steps of one of the shops. One man stood a little taller, a little older, more distinguished than the other. Both were impressively attired, as would be the case if they were in the company’s employ. But of course, this was to be expected. What this street was best known for was being the undeniable home of hand-crafted British bespoke - thus named because when customers used to choose their cloth it was said to "be spoken for".

The older gentleman, the taller of the two, had broad shoulders and a lean figure, with long legs and a silhouette that suggested strength and movement. The younger man, though shorter, had a compact, sturdy build with a wide chest and a distinctly strong jaw line, sandy hair and blue eyes. He had the shape and movements of an athlete, and the personality to match. Gregarious, enthusiastic, like a puppy who was just beginning to grow into his paws.

It might have been the younger man’s youthful exuberant energy and confidence that caught your eye, but it was the older man whose quiet, distinguished gravitas that held your gaze and kept it.

As twilight embarked on its journey to introduce the night sky, the new Kingsman shop glowed with golden light among the dark streets of London. In the heart of Savile Row, the street was, perhaps, a bit too quiet.

The younger man was jesting the older in the manner of both a comrade and a son. And with the patience of both a father and the derision of an older brother, the man, resigned to be the long suffering confidant, obliged the mischief with a somewhat exasperated, but affable, good nature.

“So.” The younger man queried. “You gonna get one of them new Kingsman cars for your birthday?”

He eyed him with a sideways glance. “What would you know of my birthday?” the stately gentleman countered, skeptical.

“Know it was long time ago.” He chaffed under his breath.

“That’s certainly one way of looking at it.” He replied briskly.

“You gonna have a do?”

“Rubbish.” “ he replied, unamused.

“You should.”

“I will be sure to keep that in mind.” However, the quip in his voice and his doubtful expression suggested that he had already dismissed the notion as utterly preposterous.

They both took the steps down to the pavement and toward the waiting car. The new taxis, upgraded with first rate technology, were still in production. In the meantime, hire cars were made available for their use.

“When are the Kingsman cars gonna be ready, anyway?”

The older man he reached down to unlock the car door. He was about to reply when the key fob was shot out of his hand.

Apparently, not soon enough, he thought as he dropped down to the ground. Who ever had taken that shot was sending a message, and if the message included bullets, it was best to fall below the line of fire.

More gunfire erupted, this time from a different direction. Mayhem, of course. He sighed. Would he never be able to enjoy a quiet evening ever again? Perhaps he was getting too old for this.

His expectations for a peaceful, uneventful evening were simply entertainment for a higher power. Every time one makes a plan, he thought reaching for his own weapon, God laughs. He would be sure to bear that in mind next time.

——

If the word gentleman were to take on a physical shape, that shape would look like Harry Hart. If you were in his presence, you had no choice but to look at him. No other option existed. It was as if there were an unseen magnetic force that held your gaze upon him.

Harry Hart was a man you saw immediately. He carried an air of timelessness. There was neither a sense of young or old. Nor future or past. He was both modern and old world. He was a contradiction that somehow made perfect sense.

He was an arresting figure. From his dark horn rimmed glasses, all the way down to the impeccable shine of his black Oxford shoes. The immaculate cut of his bespoke suit emphasized the sleek masculine lines of his body and he carried himself as naturally and as easily as though he was born to wear it.

The suit seemed to enhance his movements, rather than hinder or constrict. He presented a certain ease and grace of movement, as if the lines of the suit knew how he moved and thus moved with him. But even as he grew still, the suit would hang perfectly in place. Only a slight movement of his hand would smooth out his jacket or a flick of the wrist to adjust his cuff links.

He existed as if being Harry Hart was effortless. Without a hint of doubt or hesitation. A man who was never one to question his purpose in life or in his work.

There was no denying, that even in his late fifties, that Harry Hart was a handsome man. Each individual feature was attractive, but it was the man, as a whole, that was truly beautiful. He was the kind of being that if he were to walk by, he would turn the heads of both men and women. All intrigued for reasons they wouldn’t be able to explain in words.

If you asked someone in passing what he looked like, they would say he was handsome. But if queried further they would be curiously unable to recall any exact details of his physical appearance.

It was the rare quality of a person completely at ease in his own skin, who never doubted the reason for his existence or the meaning of his life. Who does not need or desire anything that lies outside the present moment. He possessed a rare, undefined quality that communicated without speaking a word. It said honor, integrity, decency and benevolence.

Harry Hart was the sum of all his parts.

Yet, one could not deny that he was a man of exemplary physical characteristics. If you had the opportunity to sit and observe him for longer than a passing moment, you would determine that his presence, his immediacy, was also due to the fact that he was a very tall man, a substantial man, with broad shoulders, slim hips, and long legs that were able to carry him with a grace and elegance that was inimitable.

Looking more closely, you would notice the pleasing structure of his face, clear, golden brown eyes below a strong brow and a smooth broad forehead. His hair was a light brown, made even lighter by the dusting of silver at his temples and around his ears. His hair was combed back and styled into smooth waves, but if left on its own you suspect that it would be a little wild, a little untamed.

He also exuded strength and power, but not in a purely physical sense, for his suit covered his body from the nape of his neck to the soles of his feet. These qualities seemed a part of him, naturally. He was not a man who worked out for vanity. His strength was not an end to achieve, in and of itself, but rather the means for a greater purpose. As opposed to the bulk muscle of a weight lifter, whose strength was inert, motionless, without purpose, whose power lacked a driving force. Harry’s strength seemed lighter, more balanced and suggested the movement of a precision instrument, guided by an expert hand.

If, perchance, you were able to see him in his own surroundings or with people close to him, you would be able to glimpse the finer points of his character.

That his clear brown eyes could see into anyone he chose to observe. He had the ability to maintain eye-contact with a singular focus that was unwavering, direct, sometimes disconcertingly so. He could speak as clearly with his gaze as he could with words. Or, if needed, close himself off to any inquiries that might not be welcome.

But also, those brown eyes, with just a little softening, could exude kindness, warmth, and affection. Or at other times, a twinkle of amusement or mischief. Maybe a slight narrowing, a hint of displeasure, maybe concern, a glint of approval.

Perhaps, in a quiet moment, you had the chance to hear his voice. Deep and calm, soothing even. Articulate. He was not known for his garrulousness, so the words he did speak were deliberate, communicating precisely what he wanted to say. Measured pauses of silence were often as eloquent as his words.

Surprisingly, he was a more quiet man. You expected his voice to be louder, but then you realized that his tone and his pace were calculated. He wanted whoever he was speaking with to be present and concentrate on his words.

But just underneath the steady low, tones you could hear the steely vibrations of a more dominant voice. Just as his physicality suggested a latent power he only need to tap into. Never one to shout or yell to be heard, all he needed to do was unleash that forceful voice to ensure the attention of those around him.

Unknowingly to those around him, all of these features made Harry Hart a lethal and ruthless secret agent with the ability to annihilate his enemies with ease. His mind was sharp and exacting, honed by years of training, experience in the field, and natural talent and skill. Combined with his physical prowess and his innate unflappable nerve, he was nearly unstoppable.

Yet, even beyond these features, could be found a hint of something more, a softness, a gentleness, a kindness and a vulnerability. If only someone took the time to look for them.

—

In the hushed shadows of the evening, as the sky blackened and welcomed the night, a lone figure stood in the shelter of the darkness. A female figure, though it would be difficult to tell at first glance. Ambiguously attired in appropriate, but unremarkable clothing. She was tall and slight. Her features were obscured beneath the cap she wore. Which was her intention.

Her objective was to observe, and even so, remain unseen. To achieve this, she had to be unmemorable, forgettable, average, so she could continue her surveillance without raising scrutiny. Careful not to linger too long in one spot, she continued to move steadily in the direction of the two men. She remained within the shadows between buildings, in a store front, near a set of stairs.

She maintained her air of causal nonchalance. Under the pretext of quietly browsing at the collection of mens wear and accessories, she paused on the landing of a closed shop. As would anyone just getting off of work and arrived too late, after the shop closed and chose to stay and window shop. The two men were conversing as they closed up.

Keeping a close eye on her subjects, she simultaneously scanned for possible counter surveillance. Watching out for other people, watching her as she watched her mark. Recording all the people she saw along the street, the make and models of the cars that drove past, any subtle shifts in the temperature and feel of her surroundings. An aspect that appeared out of place, shop lights that remained on past closing, a delivery lorry that arrived behind schedule. Anything that fell beyond the edges of the routine she had documented over the past four weeks. Her sharp sense of hearing, honed to listen and analyse approaching sounds, vehicles, the footsteps of nearby people, their gait, speed and direction, would alert her to any suspicious activity that was out of her immediate view.

After all, Kingsman was a covert intelligence agency, performing under the umbrella of a bespoke tailor shop. but in the end, they were all just spies practicing tradecraft.

——

For the last fortnight, the routine of the two men remained the same. Surprisingly sedate and unremarkable. They would meet at the shop in the mornings, between 8:00- 8:30am. Opening hours were 9am to 5:30 am during the week from Mondays to Friday. Saturdays were 10am to 3pm or by appointment. Closed on Sundays. They followed this schedule diligently, which simplified her task. Perhaps there were some outings during the day for either of them. As the days passed, one indistinguishable from the next, she began to suspect that they had a secondary location.

It would make sense. Kingsman was their backstop, their front organization so they could keep their intelligence operations secret. Many individuals entered the doors to their shop. Some stayed suspiciously longer than others. After detailing the amount of foot traffic stepping through their shop, she gathered that they must have an ancillary site, or an annex, whether it be at this location, or somehow connected.

An unusual number of clients entered the store, but the corresponding number of customers did not exit the shop. With the size of the shop, the footprint of space that was available, she estimated there to be at least three fitting rooms in addition to the showroom, workshop, a studio, and perhaps a small living area. The shops of Saville Row were not known for being expansive. Most could be termed cozy if one was being generous. She highly doubted that the number of well dressed men that she saw entering the shop, but not leaving, were entertaining themselves with tea and biscuits and conversation for most of the day. However, at the onset of the eve, without fail, after she was able to distinguish the clients from the employees, one by one, like rabbits out of a warren, they stepped out from the front doors and disappeared into the city for whatever evening they had planned.

—

Her first fortnight was spent mapping out the city, learning its lines of traffic, communication and commerce, so she could build an internal map in her head. At sunrise, she was a figure on the move. Walking one day, riding the Tube the next. She traveled up and down the streets. She took the Overground, the tram, the light rail. But mostly she walked. She walked through the markets with their fresh bread and curries and trendy second hand clothing. One day the Tate Modern stood to her right. The following day she walked past with the Natural History Museum on her left. She noted how the morning light struck the dome of St. Paul’s Cathedral and how the sunset on the two western towers of Westminster Abbey. She crossed the River Thames via the London Bridge and then crossed back by the Tower Bridge on her return. She walked from Piccadilly Circus to Leicester Square and then around to the National Portrait Gallery.

Though the sites were beautiful, she wasn’t sightseeing. However, she was, indeed taking mental snapshots wherever she went.

She wasn’t memorising routes.

She was learning the lay of the land.

She was following the flow of the River Thames.

She was reading the structure of the city.

She was noticing points of convergence.

She was looking for routine and repetition.

She was identifying patterns.

She sought out patterns from the cities routes to the naming of streets. If she had to go on the run, time wouldn’t stop so she could check her phone or ask for directions. She needed to know where she was going, and if she needed to, how to get back. Knowing where she’d just been was as important as knowing where she was going. So the same way she was mapping where she was going, she utilised a post-route mental street mapping technique to backtrack. Reliance on technology could be a weakness and she made a point to “go analog” when it was opportune. And if her confidence yielded to encroaching doubt, she always circled back to square one.

Always remember your training.

She was trained to look for signs of directions no matter where she was.

And to do that, she first had to establish a known point.

——

She commandeered Kingsman as her known point, a sort of home base, but for mapping purposes. She used it rather than her hotel since it was the main site of her surveillance. It was the logical choice. If she mapped properly she would be able to maintain where she was in relation to the shop no matter where she was in the city. Having Kingsman as her known point helped her connect the mental map she was creating in her head to the physical landscape of the city. If she ever found herself lost, she could use her known point as a sort of primitive means of navigation. All roads lead back to Kingsman, she thought with irony. For her, they actually did.

From her known point, she determined where north, south, east and west were. In any direction she went, no matter how near or far, she continued to add on to her mental map, making it more comprehensive and precise. The architecture of the city was invaluable. She used the landmarks to help her navigate distance, direction, and orientation. If it was a full overcast day, she wouldn’t be able to rely on the sun’s location in the sky to determine time and orientation. But if she knew the history of the city or how the architecture was initially planned, she could use structures as directional indicators. Studying which sides of a structure shows bleaching or corrosion could also help her determine cardinal directions or aid in maintaining a “heading” of travel without drawing attention herself, without seemingly wandering around lost.

Half of this knowledge she would never have to use. Hell, 99% would just be filed away, never to have an occasion to be helpful. But today’s preparation determined tomorrow’s achievement. Or, depending on her mood, as one “Big Ben” once said, “By failing to prepare, you are preparing to fail.” Regardless of attitude, she had to be prepared for any scenario. There would be no second chances. She had no safe house, no handler guiding her, no fancy tech at her fingertips. Every operation of hers was a black operation. If there was blowback, she was the first and last in line. There was no station that she could return to, no case officer to back her up, no one to offer her operational security, no diplomatic cover, no plausible deniability. There was no protocol she could follow for what she had planned. She was acting purely on instinct and intuition and the intelligence that was already in her possession. It was all she had. SHE was all she had. She was all she ever had.

——

When she first arrived in the city, she was overwhelmed. Overwhelmed by the city itself, true, like it was a living and breathing entity. But mostly, she was overwhelmed by the purpose of her journey. Her reason for being in London. It was a delicate mission with an uncertain outcome and could easily be derailed by a single misstep. She was determined not to make one. Hence the extra time for reconnaissance and surveillance. Failure was unthinkable.

She had journeyed from Paris, underneath the channel, to London via Eurostar. The high speed train was clean and modern. It ran on time. She found the seats comfortable. The Wifi connection was strong and she had plenty of outlets to charge her many devices. She was pleased to avoid Heathrow, as she found the whole process of flying a test of her patience. When she arrived at London St. Pancras International in the evening, she collected her few belongings. Which mostly consisted of her laptop, two smart phones and a tablet. Securing her bags, she stepped off the train, onto the platform and followed the flow of arriving travellers.

When the station opened up to a huge concourse, she was greeted with the sparkle of brightly lit, colourful shops. An impressive range of high end luxury stores and boutiques, selling everything from perfume, to crystal, to gourmet foods. Bars and restaurants were brimming with patrons. Clinking glassware, the shuffle of plates and silverware underscored the many voices all layered within their conversations. Among the droves of people, there were the homecomers and those who were departing for their own destinations. Immersing her senses with the spirit of the evening, her pace subsided until she halted to a standstill. She was a rock that split the stream of travellers and they flowed on either side of her. She felt them pass by. They posed little interest to her. She asked herself, one final time, if she was doing the right thing. She stood underneath beams of the vaulted ceiling that curved high overhead. She witnessed all of these people, coming together, converging, merging on this one spot, this open space where paths meet.

She took a deep breath in. She took a long breath out.

She hoped that the path she had chosen was the right one.

Hitching her bag higher on her shoulder she stepped into the stream and disappeared within the throng of journeyers, the transients, and the seekers.

-----

Back at Saville Row, at the top of the street, she spotted the front end of a dark blue, two door Vauxhall Corsa turn the corner. Twice now, she had seen the same vehicle drive past. The likelihood of the same car, navigating the one way streets and having to backtrack to come around the same corner a third time, was not happenstance. It might be the third most common car in London, but when the plate had the identical three letter identifier, HFK, it was not a coincidence, and in fractions, she was fully alert.

The length of Saville Row, from one end to the other was less than 900 feet. Which left her with only heartbeats to decide what to do. Asking herself “what if” would burn through seconds she did not have. That was a rabbit hole not to fall into. The best way to stay calm and focused was to decide what to do next. A suspicious car rolling down the street could mean anything, from something as simple and innocuous as a tail, to something as dangerous as a kidnapping, to an attack with possible devastating effects, if they had a VBIED, a vehicle borne improvised explosive device.

Clearing her mind of anything outside her assessment of the possible threat, she processed the information in-front of her. Having something to concentrate allowed her mind to remain focused no matter what was happening in the background.

Identify the problem. When you saw hoof prints, you thought horse, not zebra. The circumstances were less than ideal for a kidnapping; the vehicle too small, the street too prominent, two targets rather than one. For a VBIED, while it could be a VERY effective way to eliminate two targets at once, unless they were thinking of suicide bombing, the vehicle should have been set up in advance with a trigger mechanism to ignite the device, like a pressure plate or a vibration switch. Could their taxi have been booby trapped with a device? She observed no suspicious activity. Was there another vehicle on the street that could be hooked up with a secondary explosive device? Certainly, an effective means of blocking the entire area against police and emergency staff. The blue Corsa could be used as a road block or could carry a remote trigger. Two explosions, without knowing the payload of the bombs, could not only be devastating, but catastrophic. The rabbit hole was slipping under her feet. Too many “what if’s”. She stepped back from the edge and bet on the horse.

Once again, she closed the door to any uncertainties. What kind of problem was this? She recognised the set up for a drive by shooting when she saw one.

Something was going to happen next regardless of what she did. So when that something happened, she wanted to be the deciding factor. Again, what to do next?

Shooting the vehicle would only incapacitate their transportation. They would still be dangerous. She could take out the windshield and the driver at the same time. But they would surely have a second shooter, especially for two targets, and he would still be active and armed. Plus, if she had time to take out the second man, that meant the second man had time to take out one of his targets. One out of two was still one too many for her. Which led her to her course of action.

For the two men to survive, they needed to get down. And she wasn’t talking about ducking. Not dodging, not looking for cover. They needed to hit the ground, and hit it fast. With feeling. Her options? If she just pulled a warning shot, chances were likely that they would look around for the source of the gunshot, and there was no way to distinguish her shots as “friendly fire”. Friendly fire could still kill, regardless of the intent. The bullet didn’t care why it was fired. When there were bullets coming in your direction from an unknown gunman, it was all enemy fire.

Because of their training, they would react instinctively to the sound of gunshots. Experience would tell them to take cover, quick draw their own weapons, and return fire in the direction of where the shots came from. For once, she cursed their skills. When the target was not aware that the gunshot they just heard was friendly fire or a warning shot, that just meant that the shooter aimed and missed. Thus the shooter was a poor shot, giving them a chance to shoot back.

She needed to make her threat as immediate as she could. Instinct would tell them the only option for survival was taking cover. A shot above their heads would definitely get their attention, but that still didn’t guarantee that they would move out of the line of fire. Not her line of fire, but from the threat. A single shot had to tell them she could have easily killed them, the bullet did not miss, the shot was intentional, and the message was, GET DOWN NOW. Bonus points if they rolled. That would be even better. Where to take that shot? If she missed her target, well, saying that would be bad, would be the understatement to understate all statements.

Firing her gun was her last option. Regrettably, it was her only option. She was carrying illegally, and with no doubt, would alert both sides to her presence. Even though they would have minimal information, she preferred they didn’t even know that information existed.

Many things would result from putting her gun into play. If she used her gun for a warning shot, then she had to be prepared to be directly involved in a fire fight. And if she was going to be in a firefight, she damn well was going to come out on top. And if she was forced to fight, she would sure as hell fight to win.

She processed all of this in the matter of seconds. Her weapon was drawn before her last thought completed its message.

Her final thought. Fuck.

She wasn’t extravagant with her choice of firearms. She preferred performance and reliability over looks. A Glock 26 sub-compact was her pick for conceal carry. It had less recoil, more on target accuracy, and a fast rate of fire for a gun of its size. Compact enough to be easily concealed, even on her slim frame. A shoulder holster was her carry position of choice. Other positions risked printing. It still had sufficient barrel length to get decent performance out of her ammunition. Ten round magazines were her preference, though it had the capacity for more. She found it cumbersome on the field and only used larger capacity mags when she was target practicing. With the smaller barrel, it had a little more lift than her full size weapon, the Glock 19, but she could compensate easily for the difference between the two. She always kept one in the chamber, ready to be fired. Now she was very glad she did.

The blue coupe rolled toward the men at a deliberate pace as they descended the few steps to the pavement. Tinted windows and the glare of the streets lights blocked her view of the car’s interior. She kept its position in the periphery of her mind. As she drew her weapon, she was comforted by its familiar weight, shape, feel, and the trust that she had with the nuances of its operation. When her weapon was on her, whether holstered or drawn, it became, essentially, an extension of her own body, and thus, was as personal to her as the hands that used it.

No matter where or how she shot her weapon, whether it be for practice, self defence, or to kill, she always returned to the same training, every single time, no matter her target. Repetition, after all, was mastery.

Accuracy was paramount. The biggest lesson she had ever learned? If you didn’t hit what you intended to, you would, of course, hit something else. And you were the one responsible for it. Guns didn’t miss, shooters missed. The bullet would land wherever the muzzle and front sight were pointed when the trigger was engaged. If she didn’t hit her mark, it happened because her front sight and the muzzle were pulled, pushed or jerked out of alignment with the straight line between her eye and her target. And if it deviated, it did so because of the way she manipulated the trigger. Basically, a missed shot was down to user error.

When firing her weapon, she always came back to the relationship between her front sight, rear sight, trigger, her eye and the target.

The more precise the shot, the more precise her sight picture had to be. And this had to be one of the most precise shots she’d ever had to take out in the field. What had she been thinking about understatements?

Well, whatever she thought fell aside and she focused singularly on the task in front of her.

She adopted her modified weaver stance, by instinct. Feet a little wider than shoulder width. Knees soft. Dominant foot slighty behind the other. Her weight was evenly distributed, but she was leaning forward just slightly and angled away from her target. Basically, a boxer’s recovery stance.

She looked at the exact spot on the target that she wanted to hit

She visualized a straight line between her eye and that spot.

She raised her weapon and brought it up to eye level.

She relaxed her grip until it felt natural.

She made sure that front and rear sight intersected the line she drew between her eye and the target.

She levelled the top of the front sight with the top of the rear sight.

She changed her eye focus from the spot on the target to the front of her gun, until her sharp focus centered on the front site.

She could still see her target in line in the distance.

She softened and relaxed the muscles of her face until it felt peaceful.

She shifted her weight just the tiniest bit to the balls of her feet to minimise the lift of the muzzle.

She curled her index finger around the face of the trigger until it nested in the perfect spot.

At the bottom of her exhalation, with just the amount of pressure necessary, no more no less, she smoothly pressed the trigger straight back to the rear.

The sharp report rang in her ears. As the muzzle lifted from the recoil, she kept her focus on the top of the front sight, and maintained alignment with the invisible thread that was pulled tight from her eye, completing her follow throughprecisely at the same time as her bullet hit its mark.

All of this happened, seamlessly, without hesitation, within fractions of a second. In situations such as these time and space had no meaning.

She had just triggered, pun intended, a chain of events that she hoped wouldn’t end in bloodshed. But if it did, she had faith that it wouldn’t be theirs.

The two men fell to the ground, already reaching to draw their own weapons. Without a second thought, she adjusted her aim and stance toward the vehicle that was now passing by the store front. Its window was rolled down and she could see the barrel of a large handgun materialise from the darkness. A shot fired in their direction. She didn’t bother noting the make and model of the gun. Most likely an illegal side arm. Her whole process started from the beginning once more, this time with the anticipation that she may have multiple targets to shoot between.

Her next shot hit the barrel of the weapon before it could pull a second round.

She stole a quick glance at the two men on the ground. Shit. Rather than lining up with the shooters in the car, the older gentleman immediately turned his head in her direction. He was looking for the original shooter. He was good, he nearly zeroed in on her exact location despite gunfire coming from two separate sources. She weighed her options. She could pull back so as not to be seen, but if she did, she would no longer have sight on the car. She could not be certain that they had been incapacitated and without being certain, she couldn’t drop her cover fire position. It would leave the two men vulnerable.

With misgiving, she stayed in place. And, fuck, for a split second their eyes met. She and the car both pulled off one last shot, hers hitting, theirs missing the mark before the vehicle decided that the unknown in the equation was more than they had bargained for. They sped off without her getting a good look at the passengers. They were banking on the element of surprise but she had knocked all of their chips off the table before they could cash out.

Gunfire, uncommon in the streets of London, especially in high traffic, upscale areas like Saville Row, would definitely be suspicious. Reports would be made to the police. She wasn’t sure what the protocol for the two Kingsman were, if they would handle the situation as civilians or remain under the cover of Kingsman, which operated outside the rules of law. She wasn’t waiting around to find out.

She holstered her weapon, adjusted her face and body to a person of no significance or consequence, turned, and took her leave in the opposite direction.

----If you got this far, thanks for reading! First time for a posting a longer fanfic. Apologies for any first timer quirks. Let me know what you think! Liked it, loved it, hated it, burn it, no worries, all feedback is welcome. (but of course, I hope you had at least kinda an enjoyable time.) ALWAYS FEEL FREE TO REBLOG or send to someone who might be interested.

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