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the-lady-writes-what · 4 years ago

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Swing

1920′s Gangster AU

You're working one night at the club, singing on stage, when you catch the eye of dangerous yet handsome man. You can't help yourself when he sweeps your off your feet for the night and shows you more pleasure than you ever imagined.

Content: one instance of hair pulling and spanking, doggie style, voyeurism (if you squint), praise, a hint of fluff

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The air was choked by cigarette smoke, cheap booze, and lilac perfume. The syrupy-sweet fragrance stung the most. It was like huffing a can of hairspray that faintly smelled like flowers. You put up with the perfume and cloying cigarette smoke and a myriad of other things because of one vital thing. Money. You needed it. There was no other way to survive. In the world of bootleggers, gangsters, and smugglers, you were just a girl with a mic and love of music. You worked hard to earn your current position, starting from the bottom as one of those cigar girls parading around the club. It wasn't easy, either. If the boss hadn't just so happened to hear you singing to yourself as you helped clear out the dishes in the kitchen, you wouldn't be getting ready to go on stage.

The stage was a simple affair built with just enough space for you, a piano, and several sax and clarinet players. Your spotlights were dingy yellowish beams with only enough power to shine on one person on stage. Considering you were typically the prettiest thing on stage, the spotlight always shined on you. The curtains were still tied off either because nobody wanted to bother giving you the special entrance of a dramatically raised curtain. Besides, the curtains were little more than glorified rugs hung from the rafters. They smelled of dust and old cigar smoke, and you had to concentrate on not sneezing through your whole set.

You looked out from around the stage, but could hardly see anything through the haze of smoke. Nobody seemed to care or notice the clouds of cigarette smoke. Glasses clinked with boot-legged alcohol and laughter resounded in the air. Small tongues of the fire flickered in and out of the smoke, and another cigarette was sparked into life. You scrunched your nose up at the smell and looked down at your dress. Though it was a new number in your favorite color, you hated that it was coming home with your smelling of the club, and you couldn't afford dry cleaning. You berated yourself for not keeping it at home and wear a dress that you didn't mind smelling like cheap booze and cigar smoke. Oh well, too late now.

Your boss Toshinori complimented your 'wise' choice at the clingy chiffon that hugged your curves. He didn't say that in so many words, but you knew what he was thinking. At first, your brows furrowed at his words. Toshinori sweated up a storm and wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. When you asked what the matter was, his face turned white as a sheet. Toshinori refused to say at first, however threatening to not go on stage made him reconsider. After your boss explained the situation, you wished that you hadn't asked in the first place. Now, you were suffering from an overpopulation of butterflies in your stomach. Your eyes glued themselves to the front entrance through which Toshinori's guests of honor were supposed to arrive. Assuming they weren't being tailed by the police or a rival gang.

However, the second you thought this, you chuckled. Rival gang? Like anyone would be stupid or crazy enough to go against Shouta "Eraserhead" Aizawa and his highly competent lieutenants, Present Mic and Midnight. Most of those who tried ended up in coffins. No wonder Toshinori looked like he was ready to give up the ghost.

It was ten minutes before showtime when you heard a bustle of activity at the front entrance. From where you stood on the stage, half-hiding behind the curtain, you barely saw the doors burst open. At first, you thought it could be the coppers come to shut down the bar and start passing around silver bracelets. Your eyes were glued on the trio entering the club. The blonde on the right wore a black and silver three-piece with his jacket unbuttoned, and his white leather shoes shined. The lady on the left wore a white double-breasted suit jacket and matching skirt. Her whole outfit was designed to show off her ample chest and long legs to distract from the fact that she twirled a knife in her hands like a child's toy. But these characters held little interest to you because your eyes were fixed on the man walking in the middle.

He wore a dark gray three-piece and a black coat that hung off his shoulders like a king's royal cape. Like you, his eyes were half-hidden behind a curtain of dark hair and the shadows of a black fedora. He walked with his hands in his pockets and with the air of someone who couldn't be touched. The man owned the room, and every set of eyeballs in it. Drinking and laughter died when he entered. Toshinori appeared scurrying out of his office as if told at the last minute that they arrived. He continued to wipe his drenched forehead with his handkerchief. He directed the trio to a booth, which faced the stage directly. You watched your boss bow profusely from the waist. The trio that just entered sat too far away from you to be able to hear. Exactly how they walked in, the blonde man sat on the right, the lady on the left, and the powerful individual with the black fedora sat in between them. You couldn't stop staring.

You glanced at the woman in the middle one's left. You swore you'd seen her somewhere before, but couldn't quite place it. It's rude to stare, yet you couldn't help yourself. Your hands fisted the old velvet curtains. Were these the people Toshinori invited to the club? The woman on the left noticed you staring. Before you could retreat, she locked eyes on you and winked. A boulder fell into your stomach.

You realized just where you saw her before at the club a couple weeks ago. The woman appeared to be a chatty, flirty customer but otherwise harmless.

"That's Nemuri "Midnight" Kayama. Second lieutenant to Eraserhead."

You jumped out of your skin at the sound of your pianist, Hitoshi, talking behind you.

"W-what? Her? But I thought—"

"That Midnight was a man? Don't let her looks fool you. I heard that she once highjacked a police van and helped the convicts inside escape."

"Then, who are the other guys?" You might have been better off not knowing, yet your curiosity got the better of you.

"The one on the right is Hizashi "Present Mic" Yamada. They say he's robbed every bank from here to New York. Thing is, nobody can pin them on him despite his boasting. He's loud, but he gets the job done."

"That means," you swallowed, "The one in the middle is…"

"Yup," said Hitoshi. "That's Eraserhead. The kingpin of this city. You see that scar? That's the only thing he got after fighting off the Shigaraki group a couple years ago. The man's quirk can erase his opponent's, so long as he doesn't blink."

Your legs turned to pudding. That man, oh, how you wished you could tear your eyes away. You rubbed your thighs. Something wet made your legs stick together; you hoped you were just nervously sweating and hadn't creamed yourself only by looking at the man. He was a bit shorter than the gigantic figure newspapers made him out to be, although not by many margins. With all of that black and the dark suit, Eraserhead made an imposing—if not terrifying—figure. Despite the dark material, you could still see the defined muscle rippling beneath the clothes he wore. He hadn't yet taken off his coat and hat, and it made you wonder if he was playing on leaving soon. His lieutenants appeared to be making themselves comfortable by ordering food and drink. However, their boss seemed less inclined to follow. All he got was a bottle of whiskey and a shot glass. Eraserhead served himself after testing the brand. Testing the taste or for poison, he left it to your imagination to choose which.

"I wouldn't get close if were you, Y/N. Eraserhead's got a thing for cute little ladies like you. I wouldn't want to be on the wrong end of his affection if I wanted to play safe," said Hitoshi.

"I-I can handle myself," you replied.

Even you didn't believe a word you said.

The first set started off like any other night. You looked past Eraserhead's table, trying not to make eye contact. You decided not to look at him, but that didn't stop Eraserhead from looking at 'you.' The whole time you performed to Hitoshi's piano accompaniment, you felt eyes burning a hole into your gut. It was like staring down the barrel of a shotgun. The worse part was you didn't know when it would go off. You stumbled once or twice through the setlist. Thankfully, hardly anyone noticed thanks to the sax and piano. You scanned over the crowds and quickly passed over that table set in the middle of the club. Harder than you thought because all you wanted to do that evening was to lock eyes with that dangerous man.

By the end of your second set, you were thirsty and not necessarily for water. You managed to escape walking past Eraserhead's table and made your way to the bar. You ordered two shot glasses for yourself. The bartender, Shoto, didn't offer any remarks but got you your drinks. You downed them before the ice began to melt. The alcohol didn't do anything to alieve the weight tied to your neck. Each second you were on stage, it was harder for you to focus on 'not' looking at him. Your gaze kept getting too close to looking at him. It didn't matter if it was rude. You weren't about to get yourself mixed up with mobsters, even handsome ones.

"May I buy your next round?"

You almost did a spit take on Shoto's pristine bar counter. Slowly, you turned to find Eraserhead. He was without his great big black coat and looking far more casual than before. You swallowed past the hard lump that formed in your throat.

"I-I gotta get back to work. I'm only allowed two drinks a night while I'm working."

Eraserhead's dark brow shot upwards. Curious, he asked, "Toshinori lets you drink on the job?"

You shrugged. "Two drinks isn't enough to get me tipsy, and a spot of liquid courage now and then helps."

You almost looked at his face. Quickly, you cast your eyes down. Eraserhead takes one step towards you. His form looms over you like a shadow, and his hand reaches out. You didn't know what you were expecting, but you certainly didn't expect him to cup your chin between his finger and thumb. Eraserhead tilted your chin up. You felt his free hand lean against the back of your stool, inches from you. You could feel him looking down at you. After the pressure in your belly grew to be too much, your eyelids fluttered open.

Your face turned red as a tomato looking up at him. Up close and personal, Shouta "Eraserhead" Aizawa was much more impressive from this angle. He was a bit scruffy, but the stubble on his face made him appear more….manly? No, that wasn't quite right. Even if he shaved, you would have never mistaken him as not being so. Every movement he made screamed of power and control. Eraserhead moved like a wildcat in the jungle. You wouldn't know the predator was watching you until it was too late. No, no, his scruffy-looking face added something a bit more. He couldn't be lazy, not with the way he dressed. Without his black coat, Eraserhead's body looked bigger. You gawked at how big his arms looked this close to him.

"If you're going to stare, at least stare at my face. Some might consider you rude," said Eraserhead.

You fixed your eyes on his face at the suggestion. It was a hypnotic pull that made you look at him the way he wanted you to. Who were you to tell him no? This was especially so when the sound of his low-timber voice made your legs quake and heat pool in your lower belly. Though tired-looking, Eraserhead's gaze never left yours. It was the same pair of eyes you felt staring at you all night. Performing made it easier to forget that he'd been watching you the moment you set foot. He's why your voice cracked once or twice while you were trying not to think about him. Your stomach quivered. Eraserhead had yet to take his hand or his eyes off you. His presence was starting to become unnerving.

"What are your plans for the evening?"

"Well, uh, I have to get back on stage eventually."

"The pianist sounds competent and talented enough to carry on without you," said Eraserhead.

Before you knew it, you were being led by Eraserhead through the front entrance. Toshinori saw and tried to protest until one of Eraserhead's lieutenants, Present Mic, handed him a fat stack of cash, which quickly shut him up. Eraserhead's coat almost swallowed you as he put it on your shoulders. His hand sat at your waist, and his thumb drew infinite circles on your hip. Midnight got into the car behind Eraserhead's while you, Present Mic, and the kingpin climbed into another. Both vehicles had personal drivers while you sat in the spacious back of the limo. You were seated next to Eraserhead, obviously, and Present Mic took the seat that faced you. You wished he'd instead have taken the passenger seat up front with the driver. Eraserhead didn't make it easy for you. Not with his hand still on your waist and rubbing circles into your hip. Present Mic rolled down the windows by a little just to let out some smoke from his fresh cigarette.

You'd be content with staring at your feet if it hadn't been for Eraserhead. His hand wandered down to your thigh. Heat rushed to your face. Your eyes first snapped up to look at Present Mic, who was looking out the window and blowing clouds of smoke into the air as they drove. Then, you cautioned a glance at your host. His nonchalant mask gave you goosebumps.

"E-Eraser…"

"Even if he was paying attention," Eraserhead whispered next to your ear, "It wouldn't matter. He's not interested in young ladies. I wouldn't show off like this in front of 'em if he wasn't."

He kissed your temple. Eraserhead's hand moved no higher than the meaty part of your thigh. You could have been grateful for that if you weren't so conflicted. You wanted him to shift his hand under your chiffon dress and tease off your garters. In contrast, another part wanted to jump out of the moving vehicle out of sheer embarrassment. His thumb continued to draw circles into your skin over the fabric.

You jolted in your seat when Eraserhead's teeth grazed the lobe of your ear.

"And…call me, Shouta," he demanded.

It would be hard for you to remember that considering his name sounded so much like your coworker's at the club. Eraserhead—Shouta gripped your hip and pulled you even closer to him. With his hand on you like that made escape impossible also if you wanted to. Lips caressed the side of your neck to send goosebumps over your skin.

"S-Shouta!" You whined.

You tried not to look at the man sitting across from you who suddenly found his fingernails to be so exciting. Present Mic didn't appear interested in you. But somebody was.

A finger trailed under your dress's skirt and up your inner thigh, edging dangerously close to your undergarments. Shouta toyed with the lace trim as if you two didn't have an audience. He continued to kiss and lick the side of your neck and relishing in the warmth spreading over your face. Shouta's caresses caused you to shudder under his touch. A bead of sweat ran down your face. Shouta lapped it up with his tongue before it reached your jaw.

"I'm going to have so much fun with you, Doll Face," Shouta murmured against your ear.

Shouta kissed your neck, shoulders, and even your hands. You rubbed your thighs together to ease the need for friction between them. Present Mic seemed the least bit interested in what his boss was doing to you. In fact, he played it so nonchalantly that he insisted on talking business around you. There was nothing in the conversation that would put you in danger, but you were intelligent enough to get the gist. During the ride, Shouta stopped kissed you all over and kept his hand on your hip. The trip lasted for another half hour, you guessed before the vehicle came to a full stop. Present Mic left the car, went around, and opened the other door. Shouta helped you out because your legs wouldn't have been able to carry you on their own.

You craned your neck as you approached the mansion set before your eyes. You knew that Shouta—Eraserhead—had a lot of money; you just didn't realize how much. You walked across a gravel path leading up to a columned portico. With his hand on your lower back, Shouta leads you inside. His coat was taken up by a butler along with your shawl and hat. You followed Shouta upstairs. You were shaking head to toe in anticipation. You passed several doors before you came to the biggest one, a set of green doors plated with gold-leaf. Shouta opened it and called for a bottle of champagne to his room. You set your purse aside on a chest of drawers and sat down on the settee. Shouta made himself comfortable by removing his jacket, vest, and bowtie. When the champagne arrived, Shouta answered the door himself and handed you a glass. You sipped as he sat next to you and resumed his previous kissing activity wherever he pleased.

You had trouble holding your glass and avoiding spilling any of the expensive alcohol. You and Shouta drank until the tips of both your noses were red. You set aside your empty glass to wrap your hands behind his neck. Your lips touched his with tenderness and licked him. Shouta gave you open access to his mouth and pressed his hand on the back of your head, bringing you closer. Your soft moans were swallowed up in the kiss. Hands trailed down each other's bodies, but Shouta managed to find the buttons on the back of your dress. He popped them open one at a time. You knew he finished when you felt the warmth of the fire grazing your spine. Shouta gave you a kiss that made your head spin. He nibbled on your bottom lip, took it into his mouth, and sucked softly. When he let you go, Shouta looked at you and pinned you with a heavy-loaded gaze.

"Undress for me."

You blinked, unsure you heard him correctly. Surely a man like the infamous gangster Eraserhead would have his women and strip them too. His hand raked up the back of your neck and grabbed a fistful of your carefully curled hair. Shouta kissed the base of your throat. Looking up, he said, "Don't make me repeat myself, my dear."

Slowly, you nodded. Shouta released you and leaned into the settee. You rose from your seat and made to stand in front of him. Shouta had down half the work for you. All you had to do was pulled the straps down and let gravity do most of the work. A simple task such as that did nothing to keep your hands from shaking. Your hands trembled as you reached for the straps. One at a time, you slipped them off your shoulders. Shouta's eyes never left you and traveled downward as you dragged the dress off your body inch by inch. You shimmied it out of the way and stepped out of pooling on the floor.

Your silk combinations must have caught his attention as Shouta couldn't take his eyes off your undergarments. You wore a cheap waist-cincher with a built-in garter belt to hold up your stockings. You didn't move while he drank you in. After a while, Shouta nodded and gave you a sign with his hand to remove the rest. You weren't alone in this. Shouta removed his shoes, socks, shirt, spenders, etc. until he wore only his slacks. Your fingers trembled too much to unhook the cincher with much success. Shouta did the work for you, peeling the cincher away and tossing it behind the setee. His hands were on you; the second the garment fell apart from you. Shouta's fingers groped you through the thin silk, slid his hands down your legs, and rolled them off. You kicked your kitten heels off and climbed into his lap.

Shouta lifted you up, wrapping your legs around his waist, and carried you to bed. The silk combination was shifted off your body before Shouta settled you on the enormous bed. You climbed on top of the sheets, rested your head on the mountain of pillows, and pressed your legs together while you waited. You didn't have to do that for very long as Shouta followed immediately behind you. This time he was equally naked as you were. Shouta forced your legs apart and crept between them. He kissed and licked your inner thighs and left bruises to remind you of him the next time you went to take a bath.

He climbed unto his knees. By the firelight, you saw him. His body was littered with scars from bullets and knives. Some of them looked almost fatal. You reached up to touch him. You ran your hands down the length of his body before stopping at the stiff member jutting out. You wrapped your hand around him and give his cock a few experimental thrusts. The groan escaping him filled you with the confidence needed to rub him faster. You kept pumping him and watching his face contort to one of pleasure.

Then, all of a sudden, he pulled your hand away.

Shouta pinned your hand to the bed while he used his other to lift one leg and hook it around his waist. He didn't need to guide himself in. In one fell swoop, Shouta's cock was planted deep inside and nestled within your soaking walls. His hand left yours on the bed to grab your hips and pull you flush against him. His hips snapped into yours slowly and harshly. Shouta kept his tempo slow but hard to tease you. It didn't take long for him to become impatient. You squeezing his cock pushed him over the edge.

Your bodies pressed close together as Shouta moved within you. You slid along his body, breasts flush against his solid chest. Shouta bent and suckled on each nipple of yours until they were taut peaks. He playfully clapped his hands over them, slapping the skin, which was becoming slick with sweat. His teeth found your throat to leave behind purpling bruises as if to say who you belonged to. You didn't know what to do with your hands or where to put them. You longed to reach up and tug on Shouta's hair but was too afraid to take offense and stop. Instead, you voted to wrap your hands in the bedsheets and hold onto dear life. Tugging on the sheets beneath you grounded your being in reality while Shouta pounded you into the mattress.

"So tight for me, Y/N. A man could get used to this," Shouta growled and started thrusting faster and harder into you.

Sweat and other fluids mixed between your legs. You clamped around him and held on. Without pulling out, Shouta turned you on your stomach and resumed thrusting. His rough hands that killed a lot of people were yet still tender when touching you. To be sure, he wouldn't leave you without a few souvenirs to remember him by, but Shouta wasn't about hurting women. He grunted in your ear as he pressed his chest against your back. He pulled you tight against to leave no room between your bodies. You cried out in the pillows and scratched at the silken sheets.

The room, which had been warm since Shouta lit the fireplace, became unbearably hot. The air grew to be too stifling for you. Sweat poured out of your body and made you slick. Well lubricated, it made Shouta's job easier. He pushed and pulled, his hips never slowing its tattoo* against yours. The wet slap of skin against skin filled the room along with you moaning. Your sounds drowned him out, but you could still feel him rumble with every grunt against your ear. If not for all the furnishings, you would mistake yourself to be cave-people as Shouta unleashed a primeval urge to thoroughly fuck you. He was an animal between your legs; he claimed your hips with every powerful thrust.

A tight, hot coil settled in your stomach and began to tighten. With every push of Shouta inside of you, the rigid veins of his cock rubbing every secret part, you began to wail. Your walls tightened around him. When the time came, you gushed around him. Shouta was a minute behind. He pulled out beforehand. You would remember the way he groaned for the rest of your days. Shouta was an animal who just claimed his mate and was now planting the indelible mark on their body. You felt a spray of something warm and syrupy coating your skin. It took you a moment to realize that Shouta finished on your back.

Despite the mess you just made of you, Shouta leaned down, kissed the back of your neck then your cheek. He wiped the sweat from your brow. You bashfully smiled back.

"I-I haven't done that that in a while, you know. Sorry if I wasn't as experienced as you're used to," you mumbled.

One of Shouta's dark brows rose. "Why would I care about that? Did you not enjoy yourself?"

"Well, yes, but I—"

Shouta kissed you, silencing any protests you might have had. His cock slipped inside of you. You gasped at how quickly he was hard again.

"Let's make one thing clear, Doll Face. You don't get to decide if I liked it. That's what you were about to say? Some bullshit like that, right?"

His hand came down on your ass cheek. You yelped in both surprise and pain. Shouta massaged the red handprint as he slowly began to start a new rhythm

"I get to decide whether you're good and whether I want you," he grunted between thrusts, which were starting to pick up again, "And I say, I want you. Your experience with other men means shit to me. You're with me now, and my girl gets the best, understand?"

You nodded before letting the flow of his lust take over you. Shouta flipped you back over, so you looked at each other. You reached behind his neck to hold on as his pace picked up to a punishing speed.

"Don't…ever…think less of…yourself. You're fucking mine from now on, got it?" He growled.

And that was how you ended up a gangster's girlfriend.

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#my hero academia #mha fanfiction #mha smut #reader fic #aizawa #shouta aizawa #gansterAU Aizawa #Eraserhead #aizawa x reader #eraserhead x reader #minors begone

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thorne93 · 6 years ago

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Whirlwind Romance (Part 3)

Prompt: You’re getting married to Chris Evans… Everything in your life is perfect… Except when you break the news to your two best friends: Tom Hiddleston and Sebastian Stan

Word Count: 1847

Warnings: language, anger, angst, adult themes??

Notes: This is for @carryonmyswansong challenge (Double Season, Multifaceted, 500 Follower Celebration, Writing Challenge!): Prompt – You’re marrying the wrong person! Beta’d by @like-a-bag-of-potatoes bcuz shes amazing and @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo@carryonmyswansong for letting me brainstorm with them. Got this idea from @formyfandoms… Fic image made by the super bomb @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo

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The wedding still hadn’t moved any closer to any planning. No colors were chosen, no location set, no dresses looked at. Part of the lack of planning was you were just too busy. The other part was Chris finding the time and needing to be home, or you at his home. But so far, that hadn’t come.

Which meant you weren’t sure if you should announce an engagement party or not, if you didn’t know any details about the wedding. People would be asking you and talking about it, wondering about it, and you’d have no answer. However, Chris really wanted his family to come around soon to celebrate the engagement and possibly talk about the wedding, so he was pushing for a party.

So now, you were trying to find a time that fit both schedules, soon, to throw an engagement party.

Filming for your new movie was next week, and your co-star was Tom. The two of you decided to run lines at your house one night, which ended up being a lot less about work and a lot more about drinking wine, thanks to his considerate gift.

Tom arrived at your doorstep, wine and flowers in hand -- they just happened to be your favorite. He was donning one of your favorite colors on him. A teal sweater with black jeans, an ensemble that you always thought looked rather good on him.

“Oh, wow, what is all this for?” you wondered as you took the things from him and stepped aside to let him in.

“Last I checked you had a movie that just hit theaters,” he reminded and you quickly smiled.

“Oh! Right, yes. Thank you so much. God these smell so good,” you noted, closing your eyes to take in the fragrance. “And my favorite wine! Care for some?” you offered and he bowed and gestured to your kitchen.

“I’d love some.”

You couldn’t help but feel a little… funny. Tom had gotten you these flowers, a small, but thoughtful gift. Chris hadn’t even mentioned it once. He had barely even said anything about it, let alone think of getting you a gift for it. Come to think of it… Chris had never gotten you a gift for any of your career achievements, and Tom usually celebrated with a dinner, a bottle of wine, flowers, a new book…

Chris was perfect in a lot of ways, in fact, he was almost too perfect. But it would be nice if maybe he gave up some of his other great habits for acknowledging your success.

“Oh, before we get started, I have some news,” you began, nervous to tell him for some reason. Announcing it still felt… rather strange.

“Oh? I’m all ears,” Tom stated with that dazzling smile as he put his hands on the kitchen island and leaned forward slightly.

You held up your hand, showcasing the massive diamond. “Chris and I are engaged.”

Tom’s eyebrow quirked up. “Engaged? You’re getting married?” he asked, his voice soft, his eyes glistening. “That’s… amazing. Truly. I’m happy for you. I suppose congratulations are in order. I wish I had brought champagne now, instead of wine.”

You peered at him, cocking your head to the side. “Are you okay?” you questioned, stepping around the island to stand in front of him.

“Yes, of course, darling, why wouldn’t I be? I’m just happy for you. These are happy tears,” he promised before taking you in an embrace.

“Well, thank you,” you said, hoping all was well with your best friend. After a moment, the hug ended.

“You don’t sound too thrilled. Neither did Seb,” you noted. Why would Seb and Tom both seem sad by this? Shouldn’t they have been thrilled for you? Your eyes widened as you realized why they both seemed bummed about this news. “Oh, I get it.”

“You do?” Tom inquired, frowning.

“Yeah, you and Seb are worried that when Chris and I tie the knot I’ll forget about you two, or be around less, or we won’t be the three musketeers anymore,” you noted.

Tom nodded his head side to side. “I didn’t think I was so transparent,” he said with a low laugh.

You shrugged. “You usually aren’t, but I can always tell when somethings up. But I promise nothing will come between us. Married or not, I’m still your go to girl,” you swore with a huge grin. You raised your glass. “To weddings and other milestones,” you toasted.

“Here, here,” he said before clinking glasses with you.

Shortly after, you broke apart and got some more wine. As soon as the two of you got your glasses, you grabbed your scripts and began running lines. All was well and good for the first two hours but then you started to feel less like working and more like reminiscing.

Just as you got done reading one of the lines, you laid your script down and looked over at Tom. “You know what this reminds me of?” you asked, prompting his eyes to flash up to yours.

“Hmm?”

“That time at RADA. Remember? We put on Much Ado About Nothing?”

“Yes, of course,” he responded with a slight smile.

“Doesn’t Don John remind you of the character Eric in this story?” you asked, making him think and then start laughing.

“Oh my god, it does,” he agreed, still giggling. “And the night that Will almost set the stage on fire during rehearsal!” he recalled, pointing at you hoping you remembered.

“Yes! Oh my god. That was so scary, and funny. He came to rehearsal drunk, didn’t he?” you asked, trying to remember why Will, a fellow student, was stumbling around.

“Yeah, we had a late rehearsal, and he’d been drinking all day, and he fell into the candelabra, lighting the stage curtain on fire.”

You shook your head. “Oh my god, what a crazy night. Then we had to rehearse out in the back alley because Simon didn’t want us to miss a beat.”

“He was one of the toughest directors I’ve ever worked with,” Tom remarked, seemingly impressed.

“I’ll say. He had me learn that play forwards and backwards.”

“Well you were the star, darling,” he gently reminded.

“True.”

“‘I do love nothing in the world so well as you- is not that strange?’” Tom quoted quietly, almost as if to himself.

You tried to access your memory to follow up the quote, and by some stroke of a miracle, you did. “‘As strange as the thing I know not. It were as possible for me to say I loved nothing so well as you; but believe me not, and yet I lie not; I confess nothing, nor I deny nothing. I am sorry for my cousin.’”

Tom smiled appreciatively at you. “I’m so thrilled you remember all that. Most people forget it as soon as they leave.”

You shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for some Shakespeare,” you casually said with a shrug. The fact of the matter however, was that it was something you loved that you and Tom could basically speak in Shakespeare. Almost a secret language in a way, between you two.

Your phone began buzzing on the coffee table so you ran to pick it up, only to see that it was Chris.

“Hey, it’s Chris,” you informed to Tom before stepping out of your open living room - kitchen floor plan. “Hey!” you greeted happily, excited to hear his voice for the first time in a couple days.

“Hey,” he greeted back equally excited. “So how’s the location hunt been going?”

“Well I wanted to talk to you about that,” you started. “Would you want a garden wedding or...?”

“Why? Do you not? It was your idea.”

“Yeah, but I was just throwing something out other than the beach since you didn’t seem to be thrilled with that idea.”

“Babe, I don’t care where we get married, really. At this point, I just want it to happen. We’ve got a little over six months to throw this thing together.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Okay, I’ll pick three places and you choose the one you like, sound good?” you offered.

“Sounds perfect.”

“How’s New York? Seen Seb at all?”

“You know, I’m your fiance, you should be only asking about me,” he joked, you could hear the smile in his voice, making one of your own pop up.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. How is it?”

“Exhausting. I mean, if I fuck up a line while filming we can do it again, but here, you have to be on your fucking toes.”

You chuckled. “Yeah, welcome to Tom’s and my world. It’s not so easy,” you said with a playful sneer.

“I have a whole new respect for this theater thing,” he said thoughtfully.

“Well good, it deserves it.”

“I should be home in a few days, by the way.”

“Oh? Don’t you have to put on the play?”

“Nah, they want us to take a break so we don’t get burned out, and come back fresh,” he informed.

“Wow, what a great break. We can get some wedding planning done and you can help me with the guest list for the engagement party,” you excitedly mentioned.

“Happy to. Just point me where to go.”

“That, I can do,” you said with a chuckle.

“Oh, shit, we’re starting back up. I gotta run. Don’t forget, three places. Send ‘em to me,” he firmly ordered.

“Aye, aye, Cap’n…”

“Love you.”

“You too. Talk to you later.”

“Bye.”

“Goodbye.”

The phone call ended and you went back in the kitchen where Tom was still fluffing the bright bouquet on our kitchen island. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for Tom to know where everything was at in your house or make himself at home. In fact, you practically insisted on it since you were such a shitty hostess.

“Tom, those look amazing,” you gushed. “Thank you so much.”

“Oh, it’s nothing. So, how is the fiance?” he asked sweetly.

“He’s already giving up on some of the wedding decisions,” you informed with a light laugh.

Tom’s frown made you feel like you should elaborate so you did. You waved your statement off with your hand before adding, “I mean, he just wants to get married, he doesn’t care where. So he’s leaving it up to me, so I guess I have homework to do.”

“Oh? Mind if I help?” he offered.

“No! Please! By all means! We have fifty states to check the best wedding venue and I have to pick the top three.”

“Sounds like quite the challenge. I think you’ll need an extra pair of hands.”

“I really do,” you said with a grin.

“I shall help you as soon as I get dinner finished.”

“Dinner? You’re making dinner?”

“I may have bought everything for spaghetti bolognese,” he informed with a mischievous playful expression.

Your mouth dropped as you gasped excitedly. “Oh my god! My favorite! Man you’re really spoiling me tonight! Okay, yes, you get that done and I’ll start the hunt.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

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

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#whirlwind romance #CarryOnMySwanSong500 #chris evans x reader #sebastian stan x reader #tom hiddleston x reader #Chris Evans #tom hiddleston #Sebastian stan

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salmon2245 · 5 years ago

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Something they don’t talk about 01

Notes: this fic is kind of RPF but not a treditional one. Characters in this fic are mostly dancers from the R&J French musical tour cast. Some of them actually never worked together. Because the dancer crew are different every tour.

I wrote it in Chinese first and then translated into English. And I’m not good at English. There will be many grammar mistakes and sentence that doesn’t make sense. I apologize.

For now there are only four people mentioned:

Andrea, danced in the 2012 Japan tour, 2015 Korean tour, 2018 Chinese tour and 2019 Russian tour, as Montague

Cristian, in 2018 Chinese tour，as Montague

McCarthy, in 2015 Korean tour, as Montague

Julie, in 2015 Korean tour, as Capulet

The relationship between characters are mostly based on their performance on stage, but also mixed with what they are off stage in daily life.

I guess no one have any clue who they are here on tumblr 😂, but we do have a fandom of it in some Chinese R&J fans. Well. If anyone are interested in this fandom, feel free to ask me anything. About their relationship in real life and characteristics they show on stage. And photos. Like, too much photos. Cause these people, these talented dancers as well as actors, they certainly ship themselves.

This story still happens in Verona, but focused on normal people not the original Romeo and Juliette. They will be mentioned in the future, also Benvolio and Mercutio and Tybalt and Paris and so on. But they are not the main Characters, is all. Kind of living in the background.

ABO setting/rape/incest/basically everyone fucks everyone

Omega!Andrea, Alpha!McCarthy, Alpha!Julie

Cristian still a teenager hasn’t transformed yet

There are too much settings in the background but I kind of jump into the middle part and start writing whatever this is. Wish I could make it clear in the further updates.

Something They don’t Talk about 01

"Cristian!" McCarthy shouted gleefully at the other side of the bar across the barren, "used to wet the bed when he was a kid! And it was me who have to save his ass every time!"

The little boy stared anxiously, the bartender who he had just flirted with, heard it, couldn't help but laugh, and with love, took Cristian's furry head into her chest, rubbing it like a puppy rub.

Damn, Cristian was forced to get closer to that white breasts because of this rub, and smelled the sweet fragrance from the lovely lady. He flushed, and can’t decide if he was shamed because of being shattered in the crowds, or because he was close to her breasts. This really is nothing at all. He has seen those girls who always wonder in the alleys of the shadow zone. Their lips are too red to be natural, and those faces unhealthily pale. Their eyes under the heavy makeup watching the potential customers passing by, wearing skirt with a low neckline can hardly cover the Soft chest. He should get used to this scene.

When he returned to reality, the bartender had already gone to serve other guests. McCarthy held a bottle of wine in his hand and smirked at him. Cristian tightened his teeth, and then, the glass of wine was taken away by another hand.

Seeing who that hand belongs, Christian turned his face into the shadow in a hurry. Who else can it be, only his brother. McCarthy didn't finish his surprising cry, and was pushed away by Andrea grabbing his elbow. The boy hid himself in the crowd, feeling a little frightened. Andrea didn't see him, did he? Montague boys who are younger than him these days can blow wine bottles to show off their great triumph against Capulet, and only Andrea has always written a ban on alcohol in their rules. With his brother beside him, Cristian can never get to taste even a drop of alcohol. Andrea rarely took him to the bar. Only occasionally, once or twice, Cristian was only allowed to drink sweet fruit juice bitterly when all of his friends try their best to get drunk.

The wine in his own hands somehow lost his interest. Cristian looked at the remaining half of the liquid and poured it into his stomach in one shot. It was not bad to drink, but also not as magical as others have preached. Andrea didn't look at him, and in a second he had pulled McCarthy into the corner of the bar, can’t tell when he would leave. Cristian believed that he hadn't noticed himself, but he can never be too careful. He quickly put on his coat and walked down the secret path he had found to his house. If he arrives home later and is asked by Andrea, he will have to make up an excuse, which he really wants to avoid.

The little area of skin where the arm was held was slightly warm, and McCarthy leaned against the wall along Andrea's strength. He watched as the wine returned to his hand and raised an eyebrow at the other.

Andrea sighed and wrapped his hands around his chest. "How old are you," he didn't look at McCarthy, and he slumped against the wall with his heels. “too old for this trick, I believe.”

"Hey, how dare you to stop me mention it,” The dark-skinned man swallowed his wine and shrugged. “after all, this is all done by your son. It can’t be more real, and I didn't lie about it."

"You're vengeance, and some tiny stuffs over ten years ago can make you think of it now." There are smile hides in Andrea’s voice. He grabbed McCarthy's wine and gave himself a sip, then shoved it back into his hands.

"That puppy pissed and vomited on my hand or chest more than a dozen times. I just avenged it, and it was bright and upright in the lobby," McCarthy said, pointing his chin to the bar. "Get the drink yourself, don’t try to steal mine. "

Andrea shook his head, raised one hand to rub his neck. “I just need a sip. Drinking too much will make trouble in the coming days."

The meaning behind this words was already too familiar to McCarthy. He recalled the overheating temperature on his arm and turned to look at Andrea's already sweaty forehead, and the smile on his face suddenly gone.

"So you still need me this time."

"I know, I know," Andre interrupted him, "I said, you have your life. I'm looking for you ... depend on what you want, you can refuse. I mean that.”

It wasn't willing or unwilling at all, McCarthy rolled his eyes in his mind. He knows that Andrea doesn't trust any strange Alphas. In fact, it’s already quite brave for him to not mind having Alpha being close to his personal distance during the daily life. Consider what he had been through. It is impossible for him to pick anyone from the bar to solve his heat. If McCarthy doesn't help, chances are he will choose to go through it for days alone, in a very unhealthy way.

At least they've tried alcohol, and it only makes the situation worse, so that’s not in the consideration.

"The mark is obviously a better solution," McCarthy replied. "It's you who don't want it, not me."

"Why, have you been so fucked up these years?" Andrea laughed at him, "has fallen to the point of binding me for life?"

As if he cared, McCarthy thought silently. He had gone to bed with Alpha almost as often as with Omega, and most his lovers had no natural conditions for the mark thing at all. However, they did not continue the discussion. This time, like many previous times, stopped halfway with no results.

Cristian never liked McCarthy, but the boy felt that the problem was not with himself. He couldn't figure out what was wrong with this man, always playing tricks on him, and making jokes that awkward him in the public. The elated looks on that man’s face just made his fists tighten. And his scent. It's not that Cristian hates McCarthy's scent, but there are times that the scent of him just raise his angry—especially when it is sticking on his brother.

He knew that his brother and McCarthy were at the close of life and death. After his mother's death, thanks to McCarthy's help, Andrea got to raise him to the light without illness or disaster. If anything, McCarthy could have saved his life. When he was young, Cristian thought he was his elder brother's Alpha. When he grow up and know better, he find out that there was no actual biological connection between them. In theory, this is not a responsible behavior, but as he sees more around him, the boy gradually get used to it. It is natural to say that this is the case in Verona.

That night, Cristian arrived home first, but until he got up the next day, Andrea was still not back at home. Cristian cooked oatmeal with more water than needed, and used it to wash down two pieces of dry toast. The Master Montague found him a job in the mill, and there’s only minutes before work. He left the bowl on the table, put on his shoes in a hurry, and locked the door. No matter where his brother was, Cristian believed that it’s nothing for him to worry about.

When Julie met McCarthy again, he was driving a carriage on his way out of the city, carrying the goods that Montague is going to sell. She waved, confident enough that he would stop the carriage for her.

McCarthy did park in front of her.

"Wow," Julie sniffed. "I smell the scent of Andrea."

The man in the driver's seat did not answer her, but just asked, "What are you doing here?"

"If I said I was waiting for you, you wouldn't believe it," Julie made a polite smirk. "I know you are going to Vicenza, count me in, got some personal business there to be done."

McCarthy didn't think to resist, he moved to the side of the seat, and Julie flipped up easily, with one foot up and stepping on the railing of the carriage.

"So, how do you know I'm going to Vicenza?" The man pretended to be casual.

"Oh," Julie said with a sincere smile this time, "Though I love you, Chris, there are some secrets that cannot be shared with Montague."

McCarthy didn't ask, but mumbled some swear of Capulets, and start the carriage again. He didn't mind a partners on the business trip, not to mention that this partner was Julie Galopin. There is no Montague or Capulet in Vicenza. They could do whatever they wanted, and be whoever they want to be.

#romeo et juliette #remeo et juliette rpf

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qindaskurdi · 5 years ago

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jelantiahilma · 5 years ago

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