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margowritesthings · 7 months ago

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The French Are Glad To Die For Love

A Bridgerton x Moulin Rouge crossover

pairing: Colin Bridgerton x ? word count: 2.1k words warnings: 18+ minors DNI, un-beta'd, mentions of sex, spitting, lots of debauchery authors note: surpriiise! i have been sitting on this since part 1, so to celebrate part 2 tomorrow here's my new mini-series! i have never written for Colin before, so i'm nervous, but i loved writing this.

i also need your help! i cannot decide if this mini series should be Colin x reader or a Polin fic, where Penelope is Satine. I have created a poll here for you to vote, so please let me know!

and as always, enjoy! it's been a hot minute since I last published, so thank you if you're still here.

Bridgerton Masterlist

The stars sparkle especially brightly tonight, the crimson lanterns guiding Parisians and tourists alike through the winding streets, and Colin Bridgerton stands in awe of it all.

He’d read stories, heard tales of this place during long nights at Whites, but nothing could have quite prepared him for what lay ahead of him, a long string of lights hanging in the sky leading the way to his destination.

The Moulin Rouge.

A house of debauchery and sin, of freedom and truth, filled to the brim with bohemians and artists and beautiful women unlike anything or anyone he’s ever seen before. Even now, 30 feet away from the illuminated windmill, he can hear the music and the joy spilling out from the building. His senses are filled with the perfume of hundreds of women passing him by the minute, all with real, toothy grins he rarely has the pleasure of seeing back home. It is far too impolite to be so happy in London society.

Colin steps forwards, his boots crunching against the gravel and his coattails flying in the breeze. His shoulders brush more wonderfully merry, positively inebriated partygoers on his way in, catching odd fragments of conversations that would have scandalised him and his whole family were he elsewhere.

But he wasn’t elsewhere. He was here, in the city of love, away from anybody who had ever known the name Bridgerton. His clean slate clutched close to his chest, waiting to find out what will be written on it next, Colin feels the fresh air on his face for the last time before his life is changed forever.

The heat hits him first, a symptom he knew all too well of too many people packed into a small space. But unlike every ball he’s been to, this doesn’t feel claustrophobic or fusty. It feels alive.

There is a feast for the eye wherever one looks. Burlesque dancers showing off stockings and garters by kicking their legs up, toes pointing towards the aerial hoops holding acrobats hanging from the ceiling. Gentlemen, if you can call them that in this state, wearing top hats, arm in arm with their glasses raised high, spilling their contents all over the wooden floor.

The music blasts loud from each instrument the band masterfully pluck or blow or bang, but laughter and conversation buzzes amongst the melodies. It is a near overwhelming amount of joy, one Colin certainly could use a drink to wash it down with.

If he could just find the bar…

Bodies fill his view, so entangled in each other it is difficult to tell where one starts and another ends. Frilly skirts flow over the knees of suits as ladies dangle from the necks of patrons, sharing cigars and passing around bottles of an unknown green liquid. Rosy cheeks as far as the eye can see, wether from too much of that green stuff or the exertion of all that dancing, Colin can’t be sure. Between them all, in tiny empty spaces, he can just about make out rows of bottles and glasses.

Weaving through the crowd is like treading through water, but their energy and joy seems to rub off on him. There isn’t a dance card in sight, women choosing their partners themselves whenever they like with a freedom Colin isn’t sure he’s ever seen before. Is this truly what people are designed to be when they are free?

Eventually, his hands find the sticky wood of the bar, quickly lifting themselves back off it on instinct at the sensation. When Colin looks to his left, he sees a woman pouring a shot of liquor between her breasts, a man knelt below her waiting to lick it back up, and he quickly realises why the bar feels so tacky- every surface here seems to be host to someone’s revelry.

“Welcome to the Moulin Rouge, monsieur. Can I get you a drink?”

Colin’s attention is quickly pulled by the welcome, his gaze snapping to a tall French woman dripping with red jewels that compliment her rich brown skin perfectly. She is captivating to be sure, deep hazel eyes commanding Colin’s attention, competing with the most incredible curls of hair he has ever seen. Ladies of the ton are welcome no matter their race back home, but Colin has never seen a lady allowed to wear her hair so beautifully natural before. The Afro framing her face has more tiny rubies that sparkle under the cabaret lights, and Colin is speechless.

“I…uh, pardon me, Miss, I-“ he sighs, giving up entirely at his failed attempt at decorum, “Is it so obvious I have never been here before?”

She laughs, gems twinkling as her head shakes with mirth.

“Not at all, but most gentlemen who have been here before know to wear a top hat. And there’s that look in your eye…”

As she speaks, she pours out one finger of the green liquor Colin has spotted a few times already, sliding it along the wood towards him.

“Wonder. Drink this. It will help with the nerves.”

Colin looks down, finding himself fascinated with a drink that seems to glow of its own volition. He has smoked blends and meditated with world weary travellers from across the globe, drank tea containing unknown substances that left him staring at blades of grass as if they held the worlds secrets, and yet this… whatever it is, seems to terrify him.

The barmaid laughs again, that melodic sound with the real joy Colin very much enjoys.

“It’s only absinthe, monsieur. Loosens the inhibitions, relaxes the body…” she explains, pouring a second out for herself and lifting it to him as if to prove her credibility.

“Santé.” He toasts to health.

“Amour.” She toasts to something far greater.

It leaves no room for argument, and all Colin can do is lift his own glass and tap it against hers.

It burns his tongue, leaving a fiery trail down his throat as he swallows and tries not to cough and splutter. A bitter yet herby anise flavour fights with his taste buds and seems to seep straight into his mind, teasing at those tense knots that held him back from fully immersing himself here.

When his eyes eventually reopen, he finds the barmaid beaming at him, unphased by her own potion. Rather used to it, if she shares a glass with every newcomer, he should think.

“Be careful, though, monsieur. Many a man has spent a night with the stuff and swears he fell in love with a fairy dressed all in green. Ruined him for any other woman for the rest of his life…” She speaks words that belong in fairytale, with a tone containing such severity Colin is inclined to take every single one of them as gospel.

“I dare say I should be careful, then. I do not think this green fairy would want to join the rest of my travels when she can instead entice all of Paris’ men to sin…”

The residue of the liquor smells just as strong as the full measure, which Colin tries to blink out of his senses when he puts the glass back on the bar.

Almost as if society itself had cleared its throat at him, Colin remembers himself, remembers just where he is. Undoubtedly the most unique establishment he had ever set foot in, but an establishment all the same.

“I beg your pardon, miss, I seem to forget myself. How much do I owe you for the drink?”

She considers him.

“Hm, the absinthe I think… for you, a kiss.”

Colin, already pulling coins from his breast pocket, pauses, a little grin tugging at the corner of his lip. The francs clink together when they fall back to the bottom of his pocket, a long forgotten currency of the past. It’s a perfect reminder of just how different things are here, how easily walls crumble between strangers and connection is offered so freely. He has never kissed a woman he has not paid for back home, so afraid of getting too close to another in case they ruin each other. Here, a beautiful woman leans over the bar, offering her flushed cheek for him to softly press his lips against.

And he does.

And it is lovely.

“If any more handsome men capture the eye of Mademoiselle Belle, I will surely be out of business!” A loud, hearty voice pulls Colin from one blissful moment back into the party.

He regards a rather large man, clad in a red tailcoat and stunning golden waistcoat. His top hat, near the same to all the other gentlemen in the room but somehow grander, tops wild orange curls that match a fantastic handlebar moustache. A true ring leader to this wonderful circus of debauchery Colin has found himself in.

“Harold Zidler, at your service. Welcome to the Moulin Rouge.”

“Colin Bridgerton.” He replies, offering a hand that Harold seems bemused at. Unsurprising, considering what passes for currency around here. Nonetheless, Harold shakes the offered hand.

”I must say, your establishment is rather…” he hesitates, unable to find a word in any language he has picked up along his travels that quite captures the Moulin Rouge. Perhaps he could blame the absinthe, or the intoxicating hedonism he feels rooting its way through his mind, hidden in the brass notes from the band and thrown with each cancan kick of one of the dancers that surrounds him.

Luckily, Harold seems well used to this phenomenon.

“Isn’t it? And you have seen nothing yet! I assume you are not from around here?”

”It is rather obvious, I have been told.” Colin adds a glance to Miss Belle, who’s skirt frills bounce in the lights while she shakes up a cocktail. He adds, “London.”

”Well, Monsieur Bridgerton, I promise you that what we have here in the Moulin Rouge is unlike anything you have back home in London.”

Colin’s eye is caught again across the room, as a beautiful woman with blonde tumbling waves spits a drink into a man’s mouth.

“I am inclined to agree with you there.”

It truly is unlike anything back home. Colin has travelled across Europe and back again, seen incredible sights and met wonderful people. He has felt that ease that distance from London society and its unwritten laws and social rules that bind him back home can bring. He’s seen beauty and felt freedom and thought he might have found truth somewhere along the way, but it pales to whatever is contained within these four walls.

In truth, it couldn’t be farther from London society.

”Just wait until you see my Diamond, Monsieur.”

… Perhaps not.

Intrigue hits Colin as Harold pulls out a pocket watch on a brilliant gold chain.

“Your diamond?”

”My Sparkling Diamond. The main attraction of the Moulin Rouge, my most sought after little chickee.” He speaks proudly, with a mist in his eye Colin normally finds on ambitious Mamas at grand balls, secretly trying to auction their daughters off to the highest rank.

“I do not believe she is booked yet for tonight…” Harold adds, that mist darkening, disappearing, leaving a shiver stuck between Colin’s shoulder blades.

Not because this Diamond is a courtesan. Colin is hardly a stranger to the profession, and he bears no judgement. In truth, he admires the women he has been known to spend the night with, finding the courage of living outside society so freely quite brave indeed. No, that shiver came from Harold entirely, Colin just cannot figure out why.

Harold excuses himself, though makes sure Colin knows to stay for the show, and Colin orders a whiskey on the rocks, insisting on paying in cash this time. Though singular in person, he has never felt less alone in his life. Looking around, there isn’t an empty chair in the house. If there were, there wouldn’t be room to put it down for all the dancers and patrons enjoying every ounce of the world they can. Music played straight from the soul ringing in his ears, Colin could make out every instrument. The lights dazzled in his eyes and the spot caught him every so often, lighting his drink up in his hand like golden ambrosia.

And then, darkness. Silence.

A single spot, though the mirrors scattered around catch the light and illuminate the faces of the people around him. Everybody is looking upwards, as if they all know she is coming.

Even if he did know, Colin could never have prepared himself for what he saw when he looked up.

Who he saw.

The Sparkling Diamond, shimmering high on a swing hanging from the ceiling.

The most beautiful, breathtaking, person he has ever seen. In any city, on any continent in the world.

Crimson lips part as each and every person hangs on the breath she takes.

”The French are glad to die for love…”

don't forget to vote in the poll for your fmc!

#bridgerton #colin bridgerton #colin bridgerton x reader #colin x penelope #polin fic #bridgerton fanfic #colin bridgerton fic #colin bridgerton x you #moulin rouge #moulin rouge x bridgerton

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shostakobitchh · 21 days ago

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Chapter 68: reposed

Remus thought he’d been prepared.

He was not — not nearly enough — when the sound of a dog nearly caused his already weak knees to give out.

Padfoot —

It took him a moment to realize he’d said it aloud, the rasping wheeze that escaped him not at all what he’d meant to say or do — to show. He had gone over this scenario countless times in his head, most of them when he’d imagined himself pushed to the brink, but now —

Remus' heart hammered in his chest as the massive black dog emerged from the shadows. The cat hissed and darted away, disappearing into the darkness.

The dog disappeared then, too, replaced by a man.

The man stood in front of one of the shadowed windows, rags for robes, his face every inch of the ghost he had become.

The house groaned and shuddered, and Remus wondered what was louder, the thudding of his heart, or the Shack, or perhaps some other, greater thing that roared away in Remus’ ears.

The vocalization — the Padfoot — hung in the air between them, a fragile cadence ready to shatter as this husk of a man’s — this Sirius’ — haunted eyes lifted to meet Remus' shocked expression. In their depths, Remus saw a flicker of the person he once knew, of the mischievous sparkle that ignited, knowing Remus had come, but it was buried beneath layers and years of distance, a great, yawning void that had never been there before.

“You look like shit.” said the man who looked like Sirius but didn’t, the years between when they’d last seen each other cracking each syllable.

“Look who’s talking.” Remus croaked back, his wand held so tightly in his hand that he could feel his tendons screaming out in protest.

Sirius eyes fell to his hands, wide and hollowed out, like burning pits. He was unarmed — which both surprised and confused Remus all the more. He couldn’t harm anyone without a wand, and physical brutality had really never been Sirius’ thing.

It told Remus he hadn’t expected a fight — hadn’t wanted one.

Or that he hadn’t thought there had been a point. He’d been so easy to find tonight, on Christmas, of all days. Although it wasn’t Christmas anymore: a faint light was spreading across the floor, through the murky dark and onto Sirius’ thin frame.

Remus felt his breathing quicken, the space between his heart and ribs rapidly filling up with something painful, something like whatever had happened to Ariel’s chest, to that poor, sweet girl’s heart, because if Sirius was telling the truth, then the world would crumble a second time, and if he wasn’t —

“Back away,” Remus said slowly, keeping himself tight against the boarded-up wall behind him. “And start talking.”

Sirius just blinked, holding up his hands. “I’m not armed, Moony. Don’t you dare fucking Hex me.”

“You’re not really in a position to be making any demands.”

“And neither are you.” Sirius was frowning, now, as though it mattered, as though he — “Like I said, you look like a herd of hippogriffs ran you over.”

Kill him, Conscience hissed, every minute you stand still and let him speak, you’re putting Ariel in danger.

Seconds trickling by, seconds that James and Lily and Peter weren’t a part of, seconds that counted to Ariel — an innocent child. A traitor to her, to all of them and beyond, making Remus invert on himself —

Remus's hand shook as he kept his wand trained on Sirius. The urge to strike, to unleash twelve years of grief and rage, was nearly overwhelming. But something held him back - a flicker of doubt, or perhaps just the bone-deep exhaustion that suddenly crashed over him like a wave.

"I trusted you," Remus said, his voice low and ragged. "We all did. And you — you destroyed everything."

Sirius — the man — whatever he was, only stared. “Didn’t you see my note?”

Remus let out a harsh bark of laughter, the sound grating and foreign to his own ears. “You call a bunch of sticks strewn about in the middle of the bloody forest a note?”

Sirius' face crumpled, his eyes growing impossibly wider in the gloom. "You don't understand, Moony. I had to — I had no choice. I couldn't risk anyone else finding out before I —”

"Finding out what?" Remus snarled, his patience fraying. "That you betrayed James and Lily? That you killed Peter and all those Muggles? What could possibly justify any of that?"

“That little fuck isn’t dead,” Sirius snapped, a desperate, almost manic glint in his eyes, now. “He — look, he’s right there!”

He whirled around and started shuffling through a pile of rags and debris in the corner, muttering under his breath. It was then that Remus began to wonder what sort of mental state Sirius was really in — what thirteen years of Azkaban would’ve done to his mind, but after a moment of frantic searching, Sirius straightened up, a crumpled piece of newsprint clutched in his hand. He turned back to Remus, his movements jerky and agitated, and thrust the paper towards him.

"Look," Sirius insisted. "Look closely."

Remus hesitated, his eyes flicking between Sirius' grimy, trembling fingers smoothed out the crumpled newspaper clipping. It was a photo, Remus realized as he peered at it warily, still keeping his wand trained on Sirius. The moving figures smiled and waved, clustered together in front of what looked like an ancient Egyptian pyramid. A large family of redheads — the Weasleys, Remus recognized with a jolt. Molly and Arthur stood in the center, their children fanned out around them.

“Where did you —” Remus started, but was quickly cut off when Sirius jabbed the newspaper at him again.

“Look at the boy — the one Ariel is friends with.” Sirius urged. “The one on the left, look at his shoulder. It's him — it’s fucking Peter."

Remus squinted — there was a rather plump but ordinary looking rat on Ron’s shoulder. Its fur was a dull gray, patchy in spots, and one of its front paws looked oddly bare, almost like it was missing a toe, oddly stunted.

“Peter wasn’t missing a toe,” Remus said slowly.

Sirius let out a frustrated growl, his fingers tightening on the newsprint, causing it to crumple further. “Because he cut it off, Moony. He made everyone believe I blasted him to kingdom come so he could get away, the little fucking shit. It’s a little too on the nose for a sniveling, traitorous piece of filth — hiding as a rat all these years.”

The room had started to wobble a bit around the edges for Remus, so he put his other hand to the wall. “Peter is dead. Like James and Lily.”

Sirius let out a strangled noise of frustration, his eyes wild and desperate as they bored into Remus. He began to pace, his movements erratic and agitated, like a caged animal. The newspaper clipping fluttered forgotten to the floor.

"No, no, no," Sirius muttered, raking his hands through his matted hair. "You're not listening, Moony. Just like before, when I tried to tell you, but you wouldn't — couldn't — see what was right in front of your face."

He whirled on Remus, closing the distance between them in two long strides. Remus instinctively took a step back, his shoulder blades pressing painfully into the rough wooden boards behind him. Sirius loomed over him, that untethered gleam in his sunken eyes.

"We switched, don't you get it?" Sirius said, his voice low and urgent. "At the last minute, I convinced James to make Peter the Secret Keeper instead of me. I thought it was the perfect bluff, that no one would ever suspect that sniveling little shit — no, not poor Peter , but it was all a trap — Peter was the spy, he had been passing information to Voldemort for months and I played right into his dirty little hands —”

Sirius' words hung in the air between them, heavy and pulsing with a desperate, feverish energy. Remus just stared at him, and it felt like his heart was breaking, watching the desperation creep into them, watching the moment when he realized Remus did not believe him.

“Moony,” Sirius said. “Moony, Jesus Christ —”

"If what you're saying is true," Remus said, each word feeling like it was being dragged out of him. "Then why didn't you and James tell me? Why keep me in the dark about switching Secret Keepers?"

If we go, you can’t tell anyone —

Sirius's eyes flickered, like a searchlight calling out to sea.

"Because —" He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "Because they thought it might be you. That you were the spy."

Remus felt something inside him fracture, like a fissure splitting through ice. The pain was so acute, so visceral, that for a moment he couldn't breathe. Betrayal and hurt and rage churned in his gut, rising up his throat like bile. He’d known it — he’d known it for a long time, now, but to hear it come from him was — it was —

“Not they,” Remus said, his voice surprisingly quiet. “You. You would’ve told them about — us. That I’d tell Voldemort it was you, to get to James and the baby.”

You BOTH knew and you kept it from me!

Sirius's gaze dropped to the floor, his shoulders hunching inward as if he were trying to make himself smaller. The betrayal cut deep once more, only this time it felt like a serrated blade twisting in Remus's gut.

"You thought I was the spy," Remus said again, his voice barely above a whisper, now. It wasn't a question. The truth of it was etched into every line of Sirius' haggard face, in the guilt and shame that radiated off him in waves.

Sirius opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words came out. He just stood there, his shoulders slumped in defeat, looking for all the world like a man who had already been broken a thousand times over.

#aim and ignite #update #snape #Severus snape #snape fic #snape fanfiction #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction #harry potter #hp #Harry Potter fanfiction #Harry Potter fanfic #snape fanfic #ao3 fanfic #ao3 link #fanfic

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spankingtheatre · 1 year ago

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I was in the shower tonight when I was suddenly overwhelmed with the urge — the need — to cum.

I let the handheld shower sprayer dangle just above the bottom of the bath, lying down in front of it with my head on the cool ceramic. The stream was fast and strong, and I positioned my pussy directly in front of it, spreading my legs and hooking my arms behind my knees. Then I closed my eyes.

I imagined that I had returned from my day and come inside, excited to greet you. I pranced inside and melted into your arms, quickly starting to tell you about my day, rambling about classes and friends and candies and rumors and…

“Ah ah ah, little one,” you interrupted, “not until after we get you squared away.”

Of course, our evening ritual. How had I forgotten?

You stay seated at the kitchen table and part your legs so that I am standing between them. Rolling up your sleeves, you direct me to reveal any misbehaviors from my day. I shuffle my feet and swing my head side to side.

“What’s that?” you ask, lifting my chin with your fingers.

“I, uh, well - when I awoke this morning, I was - I didn’t mean to but, I was all wet… and I didn’t want to go to school that way, so I used my fingers to make it better.” I hang my head, ashamed.

“We’ve gone over this several times, girl. It is natural and wonderful to wake up this way. But it is not your responsibility to make it feel better. What happens to a naughty girl who touches herself without permission?”

“She is punished, sir.”

“And how do we punish naughty girls in this house?”

“Over your knee, sir.”

“That’s right,” you say, lifting my skirt and pulling my panties down, before draping me over one of your knees, spreading open my legs in the process so that my pussy is properly displayed.

But before you begin to spank me, you notice that I am dripping from my cunt, and my juices are already soaking into your pants. You trace my lips with your finger and I moan.

“This is out of hand, little girl. You are out of control. We need to get you cleaned up.”

I go red almost immediately when you say this, because I know exactly what this means.

“Sir, please, not the..” I start, but you interrupt me with a sharp smack to my bottom.

“Not a word out of you. You are getting your cunt cleaned out and that’s that. Stand up.”

Once I am stood in front of you, you peel off the rest of my clothing until I am bare and naked, then direct me to the bathroom - your bathroom, the master bathroom.

“Go lie in the bath and prepare yourself for your washing. I will be up soon.”

I dread this. The humiliation. I enter the bathroom, with the huge tub in its center, the handheld attachment hanging from the ceiling. You installed two stirrup-like devices on either side of the tub spout, to hold my feet in place.

I pull myself into the tub and lie back on the cool ceramic. Lifting my feet into each spot, I feel the cool air on my pussy as my legs are forced open. I hear you enter behind me.

“Good girl,” you murmur, locking my feet into the devices, even as I whimper. You start to run the bath water and it pools around my body as you position the nozzle directly at my cunt.

“You know the deal. I will set a 15 minute timer. I don’t want to hear your whining, I know it’s a lot to take, but your pussy needs to be nice and clean for me.”

You turn the nozzle to begin its treatment and I cry out, as it begins to pump my pussy full of water, vibrating my clit from the inside, forcing a constant expulsion of water as it cleans me deeply.

“Take your cleaning like a good, well-behaved girl. Your whimpers won’t make this any less. I need you to be nice and clean to go over my knee.”

It isn’t more than a minute or two before I begin to convulse with my first orgasm, and you praise me for it, twisting my nipples as I come. “That’s a good girl. Let it all out. You’re going to come several times for me before your cleaning is done.”

And sir, that’s as far as I got before I had to peel my legs down, because I was writhing and whimpering hard myself, imagining you directing me to wash myself. I was embarrassed afterwards - not that anyone heard me, but for my shameful little fantasy. But I would love to know how you’d make sure a girl was clean for you.

Thank you for this wonderfully detailed and arousing submission!

I love the idea of special stirrups in the bath to hold the occupant in position and keep their legs spread. I know many have their first orgasms in the bath, and using the shower hose to aim a strong warm jet of water at their throbby clits is a highly popular way for many to play.

I also loved the little ritual of confessing on arriving home. I think many reading this would love that kind of accountability, especially if it meant having to submit to intimate inspections.

Being inspected is a highly popular fantasy, especially for those who get a bit over-excited and can't help making their panties disgracefully wet and sticky. This is rule even the best behaved little girls find it difficult not to break. A kind of tolerable, unavoidable naughtiness. Well deserving a good hard spanking.

Personally though, I don't like douching, and current medical advice is that it's not good for vaginal health. So my preference would be to clean a messy slit in different ways.

I like wiping with silk handkerchiefs, starting on your bare mound, pinching back your hood to keep you from squirming, and dragging the smooth silk square all the way down the length of your slit. That technique even inspired one of my earliest stories.

Alternatively, I might take you by the hand to the bathroom, undress you, and give you a thorough intimate washing between your legs with a soft warm flannel.

Another method I love for cleaning wet slits is to set up a Straddle Pole, and wrap a towel around it. After I'd undressed you, I'd make you straddle it, so the pole was deep between your legs. Then you can ride the pole until all your wetness is rubbed away, until the point when the friction is beginning to become uncomfortably sore, and you're begging to be allowed to dismount.

Regardless of the means I chose, once you were clean I'd inspect you thoroughly before you got the smacked bottom your disgraceful messiness deserved.

I hope you'll be imagining some of these methods the next time you point the shower head between your open legs.

#reader submissions #douching #bath play #cleanliness #wet and needy #inspection #wiping

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zablife · 2 years ago

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Keep Us Safe (Part 1)

Tommy Shelby x wife reader

Summary: Family history repeats itself when your daughter is taken by parish authorities. This time Tommy won't let them get away with it.

Author’s Note: Requested by a lovely anon who asked for a story similar to Polly’s experience. A 2 part series.

Warnings: mild smut, threat of violence and kidnapping

Tommy stretched in his chair, rubbing his eyes for the hundredth time that evening. Moonlight bathed his dingy office in the betting shop and the paperwork scattered before him showed no signs of righting themselves by morning at this rate. He reached for the gold chain at his waist, opening his pocket watch and frowning at the time. You asked him not to be late for dinner again and he had passed that long ago. He stood, grabbing his cap and locked up as quickly as possible.

The house was quiet, the embers of the fire dying down peacefully as he crossed the threshold. He dropped his boots at the door, surveying the kitchen which still smelled of shepherd’s pie, a dinner you had lovingly prepared in his absence. He hung his head, noticing his daughter’s stuffed bear on the floor and squeezed it in his hand, wishing there were more nights together as a family.

He turned to make his way to her to at least kiss her goodnight. The stairs groaned beneath his weight as he trudged toward the bedroom, unbuttoning his collar as he went. When he pushed the door open, he stopped short, taking in the beautiful sight before him. You were asleep in the rocking chair he had built, little carvings of your favorite flower added by Arthur’s skilled touch. When Nora was born you nursed her there and you still used it to rock her to sleep when she was overtired and fussy.

Tommy reckoned tonight must have been difficult if you were sat there now, cradling her across your lap. At two years old, she was quickly outgrowing it, but you never denied her. You were a doting mother, some might even say indulgent, but she was your whole world.

When Tommy came to shake your shoulder gently, you woke with a slight start, careful not to drop your precious babe. You smiled down at her dark curls, raven like her father’s hair. “What time is it?” you asked your husband, voice slightly hoarse.

“It’s late, I’m sorry, love,” Tommy apologized in a hushed whisper. Watching you attempt to stand, he said, “Here, let me take Nora." Then he dipped his shoulder to gather the weight of her tiny body. As he carried her across the room, he relished the feeling of having his child in his arms. Her chubby cheek rested against his chest, eyelids fluttering momentarily as though far away in a lovely dream. The thought of it made his heart clench as he only ever wished good dreams for her, his fervent wish to keep her safe from harm.

Tommy turned to place her in her cot and tucked her bear beneath her arm with tender care. With a feeling of overwhelming love and devotion, he watched her clutch it close to her body in order to cuddle it properly before bringing her thumb to her mouth.

You came to stand beside your husband, feeling his arm wrap around your waist protectively. You dropped your head to his shoulder as you felt his thumb rubbing circles into your hip. His cheek rested against your soft hair and he took a deep breath, basking in your comforting scent of aloe and rose water. There was nothing quite like being home with you.

You took him by the hand, guiding him from the room into the hall as you heard him murmur, “I’m missing so much of her life.” The defeated tone of his voice made you turn to face him, worried his anxiety was resurfacing. Having missed Nora’s birth while away at war and meeting his child on her first birthday, he was trying desperately to forge a bond with her in the present, yet he always felt he was failing. His work consumed more and more of his waking hours as he became relentless in his pursuit of success. “I will make something of meself. I want her to have everything,” he asserted firmly.

You pressed a hand to his cheek delicately as you hushed him with a soft kiss to his lips, pulling away to nod against him. “I know, Tommy. You do what you do for us, but you forget that we already have everything,” you said. Tommy furrowed his brow as you explained, “We have you.”

Tommy placed his hand over yours and squeezed it tightly. Only you could calm him when life seemed chaotic and unbearable. He leaned down to kiss you, treating you delicately at first with slow, lazy movements which soon grew in intensity as his need for you increased. His hand tangled in your hair as you parted your lips for him, allowing him to deepen the kiss to fulfill his desires. Breaking apart for breath, he placed his forehead to yours saying, “Yes, you have me. All of me, love.”

You gave him an impish grin before pushing up on tip toes to whisper in his ear, “Might I have all of you right now?” Your hand slid to the front of his trousers, smirking against his neck when you discovered his growing hardness. Tommy suddenly knelt to pick you up, strong arm hooking below your knees and you stifled a surprised yelp, then a giggle as he carried you to the bedroom.

The worries of the day faded as you tumbled into bed together, sighing with satisfaction as Tommy’s weight settled over you. You melted beneath his touch, giving yourself over to him with complete trust and adoration. He took care of you the way you’d grown accustomed, intertwining his fingers with yours and leaving a trail of kisses along your neck as he gently urged you toward bliss. As a tidal wave of pleasure consumed you both, he swallowed your moans with a passionate kiss, finally stilling inside you to take in the sight of your flushed cheeks and delirious smile.

Tommy withdrew slowly, not wanting to leave your comforting warmth. With heart still hammering, he pulled you into his side, placing a kiss to the top of your head as you traced the rising sun tattoo on his chest. Exhaustion soon overtook you and you fell into a deep slumber, but Tommy laid awake staring at the ceiling and thinking about his strategy for the next day’s meeting.

—————————————————————————

“Good morning, sleepy head. Tea?” you asked as Tommy came stumbling down the steps, snapping a suspender over one shoulder.

“Yeah,” Tommy said, running a hand through his hair and scouring the room for Nora. “Where’s the baby?” he asked, voice still rough with sleep.

You turned from the stove to hand him a mug and he accepted it, sitting at the table to light a cigarette. “Esme came by with the children and she took her to the park,” you answered, taking a sip of your tea. “We could join them if you like,” you said, looking up hopefully. You reached for Tommy’s cigarette, taking a long, slow drag as you awaited his reply.

“I’m sorry, love, I wish I could,” Tommy began as he took the cigarette back from you, but you nodded in understanding. You could tell something was on his mind.

“Is everything alright, Tom? You seem worried,” you noted.

“Everything’s fine. I have to go to the shop. Family meeting is an hour,” he replied, stubbing out his smoke and standing from the table. “We’ll take Nora to the park Saturday, eh? We’ll have a picnic,” he suggested with a small smile.

“She’d like that,” you agreed, watching him collect his coat and hat.

With a brief kiss, Tommy was out the door and striding purposefully toward the betting shop.

———————————————

Tommy closed the doors from the shop, shutting out the raucous noise and turned to Polly expectantly. “Did you get it, Pol?” He rocked on his heels, impatient for the information that would help Freddie and Ada.

Polly reached inside her shirt front and pulled out a small piece of paper, handing to Tommy slowly. “The name is Stanley Chapman. Here’s the address. The money’s there and it’s all arranged,” she said confidently.

“Alright,” Tommy said. “This should at least buy them some time to leave the city while I make a deal with Kimber.”

Polly placed a hand to Tommy’s forearm, looking into his eyes as she advised, “It’s not too late to be rid of the guns, Tommy. You have a family. Think of Y/n and Nora.”

Tommy jerked his arm away, incredulous at Polly's suggestion. “I am thinking of my family, Pol. When I gain a legal racetrack pitch it’s all going to change for us.”

Polly shook her head sadly, “Tommy, your mother always said, It’s his cleverness that’ll kill him. I just hope it isn’t your wife and child as well.” Her face was pained as she said it. Tommy realized he had hurt her by dismissing her advice and he tried to reach for her as she brushed past, but she wouldn’t have it. The conversation was ended with his stubborn response. All that was left was for Polly to say her rosary and pray that God kept them all safe.

———————————————

“You have an address for me?” Inspector Campbell asked as the rain fell in torrents behind him. The bad weather keeping curious onlookers away from their late night rendezvous.

Tommy nodded confidently. “Stanley Chapman,” he declared in a clear voice.

“I asked for Freddie Thorne. No deal,” Campbell replied disapprovingly. He replaced the bowler hat atop his head and turned to leave, his coat flapping in the breeze.

“Stanley Chapman is a much bigger fish than Freddie Thorne and he’s currently holding 200 pounds in cash,” Tommy offered. Then he added a bit louder, “Given to the Communist Party by the Russian government.”

Inspector Campbell broke his stride suddenly and looked over his shoulder with renewed interest. He slowly began to walk back to Tommy, eyebrows raised to show he was listening. Seeing he was gaining traction in the negation, Tommy continued, “If he talks you’ll have proof. You might even get a medal.” He could see the way Campbell’s eyes gleamed with the mention of an honor and he hoped he could tempt his corrupt soul. It was time for Tommy to make his demands clear.

“Now, before I give you the address, I want your word that Freddie Thorne will be safe,” he said, holding the paper before the inspector like a prize.

“Very well. You have my word,” Campbell said with a quick nod of his head. He extended his hand and accepted the paper, shoving it inside his coat pocket eagerly. “There is just one more pressing matter at hand, however,” he said, drawing out his words dramatically.

He took a seat in a nearby chair as he considered Tommy with a sidelong glance, building suspense before admitting, “Mr. Churchill is becoming impatient and I fear that if you don’t give back the stolen weapons soon, I will be replaced.”

Tommy cocked his head, feeling ill at ease with the direction of the conversation. Feeling the need to remind Campbell of their arrangement, he interjected, “When my business with Kimber is done, I will return the guns. That was the deal.”

However, the inspector was not finished. He clasped his hands as he leaned forward to threaten, “If I were to be fired and it were your fault, I would do things that would shame the devil.” He chuckled darkly as he added, “My fury is a thing to behold. For example, on my last day, I could use my authority to have your daughter removed and placed so far away, you’d never find her." Tommy's face turned an ashen gray at the mention of Nora and Campbell seized on it immediately with glee. "Ah, you think I didn't know? I know you’ve tried to hide her amongst your brothers’ children, but that little raven haired girl stands out, Mr. Shelby. I have my men watching her and that beautiful wife of yours,” he leered.

Tommy stood motionless as the inspector spoke, blue eyes staring without blinking as his blood ran cold. His mind went blank of all strategy as he was forced to imagine the unthinkable. Campbell took two steps closer, making Tommy feel a suffocating closeness. “That would be a dark day indeed, Mr. Shelby,” Campbell said, his lips curling into an evil grin. “Know this, the clock is ticking,” he said, shoving a finger into Tommy’s chest before he turned on his heel to leave.

Tommy stumbled backward, holding his head in his hands. He had to think of something quickly. You and his baby girl were in grave danger.

Cont reading Part 2

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

Tag List:

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@evita-shelby

@shelbydelrey

@alanadetigy

@wandawiccan60

@severewobblerlightdragon

@lovemissyhoneybee

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@rangerelik

@kmhappybunny240

#Peaky Blinders fanfic #Peaky Blinders imagine #Tommy Shelby fanfic #Tommy Shelby imagine #Tommy Shelby x you #Tommy Shelby x y/n #Tommy Shelby x reader

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mchlgayser · 2 years ago

Note

hey, can u write for Phil where he had a bad day and just want to be held by the reader while he cries on her chest.

𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐂𝐑𝐘 𝐎𝐍 ft phil foden

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Phil had a very bad day at practice leads to a minor injury and he was frustrated and overwhelmed but he's glad to have you...

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: angst + fluff / ( ☆ )

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: depressing theme, and mental breakdown

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: HELLO! I'm sorry if this is seem rushed and does not seem too detailed, I'm fighting every urges in me to do this as perfect as I can so I hope you likes it even though I'm late. Happy reading xx!

'Phillip, where are you going?' You cling to him not wanting to let go but yet he still lets go 'Sweet, this is our last practice before our match. Let me go alright, then I promise to spend the whole day with you!' He stares into your eyes and cups your cheeks, forehead touching giving you one affectionate gesture to where he flutters his eyelashes against your skin.

'I'll see you tonight, yeah?' He kiss the corner of your lips before he left the house.

You wander around the house the whole day, doing chores and cleaning the untouched parts of the house, and preparing dinner for you and Phil. The clock reaches 7 and a half when your phone buzz inside the pink bunny apron you are wearing. The call was Phil so you picked it up. 'Hello?' It was harsh and fast on the other side but you waited until someone said a word 'Phil had a minor on his ankle during practice, can you pick him up?' It was Jack's voice, you hum before rushing to get ready and making sure you turn off every stove before you headed to the venue.

When you arrived, you see one of the staff waiting for you n the entrance 'He's in the locker room, and doesn't speak since he got out of the injury room.' You ran alongside her to the locker room. The guys are outside, all of them except Jack.

'They're inside.'

You jog to the room seeing Jack and Phil sitting on the bench 'Hey,' He pets Phil on his back before leaving the room. 'Phil...' You murmured inching his way and sat down 'Come along, we head home alright?' He was quiet for once before he nods and left with you.

The ride home is gloomy and hazy, Phil said nothing but to bore out in the passing buildings, you try to start a chat but he said none to which you sighed and leave him be.

Once you got home, you run a warm bath and help him do his bath, his leg not helping by aching and throbbing each time he overstepped the tiles. Once you did, you put clothes on for him and bring him to the kitchen to have dinner. 'I made your favorite dish!' You beam trying to lighten the muddied atmosphere but Phil not budging.

You put his portion inside his plate and one for yours, the night dinner date you plan suppose to be bright, full of remarks and chats not quiet, gloomy, and uncomfortable but you can't complain. Your boyfriend needed time and you are willing to give him as much time as he wanted.

You finished eating up, washed dishes, and put Phil to bed. 'Phil?' You begin, crawling next to him under the thick duvet and half laying with your head against the headrest. He hums ushering you to continue without battling an eye on you 'Are you... Fine...?' He plops beside you on the bed, arms carefully wrap around you 'I'm fine...' His voice cracks, and unwavering breaths follow right after. Your clothes suddenly soak with salty and warm tears when Phil suddenly cries on you.

'I was so prepared, that last move! It was supposed to be perfect all according to plan but I just had to mess up and tackled down! It's not fair, I've been waiting for this!' You shush him, soothing his palm caressing his back with open palm 'It's gonna be fine...' You whispered tightening your hold around him when he cries harder 'You will come back, stronger when you sort your mental health and it will be perfectly fine. I knew that, I believed in that. It will be fine Phillip.' You press a light kiss on his head and held his face not your other palm gently stroking it whilst you wipe his tears away.

It was a long time before Phil stopped crying. He kept his arms around you making sure you are comfortable enough and slept with burning eyes and a runny nose. You gave his head a pet before you fell asleep, chin brushing over his hair in comfy.

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crookedkryptonitebeliever · 1 year ago

Note

this might be a touchy subject and you don’t have to answer but, as one myself, how would Yves act with a chronically ill/physically disabled person? or even someone who constantly deals with chronic pain that is debilitating for everyday life? btw i love your writing, no matter how cursed. 🤍

Yves feels his heart wrench whenever he sees you break down in tears, frustrated at yourself for not doing as well as other able-bodied people, frustrated that you have to surrender your autonomy at times to Yves. He truly does, he hates to see you in such a state. While he doesn't mind, even prefers you to be dependent on him due to his strong caregiver personality, Yves doesn't want it to be at the cost of your happiness.

He will read up on all the papers published about your illness or disability. Past and modern ones, there must be a pattern or some sort that he could identify. Yves will try his best to find a cure or at least something that will improve your symptoms greatly.

But the first thing he will get done is to talk to you. Discuss what you ultimately want; is it freedom you seek? His undying support? The unyielding truth that Yves will stay by your side no matter how bad it gets? Do you want to keep fighting for yourself, or do you want Yves to do it for you?

You will have the latest, cutting-edge prosthetics if you're struggling with an amputated limb or body part. All the helpful, relevant, accessible gadgets will be installed in the house in hopes of making your life much easier and giving back the level of independence you need to maintain your mental health. Yves will remember all your appointments for you, that fills his planners up. Your dosages, your medication, and the procedures of your treatments.

He will remind you, pre-pack your pills, and help you with your IV drip. Yves is very careful with his tone and words, he knows the stress, humiliation, and pain that come with living as a chronically ill person can easily set you off. Everything can be overwhelming, he does not want to see tears of anger or hopelessness in your eyes. It's not your fault, you never wanted this and it just happened to affect you.

Yves spends nights perusing through all experimental treatments, weighing between the risks and benefits. He will present his carefully curated selection to you, but he makes sure to pace it out appropriately. Because if he were to show you thousands of pages of medical reports, chances are you're going to be upset, overstimulated, and angry at him. You have very limited energy and focus, he needs to get his words as concise and accurate as possible.

Watching him kneel with you on the bathroom floor, as you experience your seventh vomiting tonight, truly shocked you. Understandably, you're in such a terrible state, that you've barely gotten any sleep for the past month. But Yves sleeps even less, he is always awake, always looking after you. Ready for any emergencies and constantly preparing items or foods that will ease you. Yet, he looks glowing, as if he wasn't caretaking a bleeding ball of misery. His hair is always silky and brushed, no bags under his eyes, and his movement is still crisp. And he always knows what to do, much better than you or your practitioners.

He knows your body well enough to administer his own dose of painkillers, going against doctors' orders and obtaining drugs that fully alleviate your pain. Strategically timing your doses so it won't be too hard on your liver. Taking your blood samples himself and ran them through his own trusted pathology lab, potentially proving that your doctor might have misdiagnosed you. Maybe you wouldn't need to suffer, Yves could find a cure.

You were very apprehensive at first when Yves suggested that he does his own testing. He has no credentials, why should you trust him? The doctors have much more experience than him and they went to school for this. You're not trusting a random to cut you open either, he's a mathematician, not a medical doctor or a surgeon-

You were dumbfounded when he produced his own certifications and licenses. Proving that he worked in hospitals, researched institutes, and even published his own medical papers that universities used as teaching material for decades. Everything he presented is legitimate, he even demonstrated the validity of them by your request. You could call his universities and they will all confirm his contributions, You can confirm with the government and the relevant boards, you can search for him anywhere, and early pictures of him will resurface.

He looked so different. Yves looked unremarkable in them with short hair. He looks unhappier and more exhausted, though. Makes you wonder how old he really is.

But that was all. You cannot find further information on Yves other than the ones he allows you to know about.

So you reluctantly let him stick a needle in you, only to realize that he's done. You blinked multiple times and darted your eyes from your arm and his gloved hands holding vials of blood. Unlike the usual nurses or doctors, you can't feel the needle going in or out. Yes, you saw it, but it was unbelievably fast.

Your jaw dropped as he didn't even need to palpate your arm. Yves just calmly inserted the syringe, gathered what he needed, and finished. You didn't experience any bruising later, which was astonishing with the speed he was working with.

He labeled them and packed them in a plastic bag with a biohazard symbol on it and into a padded envelope. Yves disposed of his gloves and washed his hands.

You expected him to enlighten you. Tell you stories while he was in the field, brag about his accomplishments, complain about difficult patients, anything! You needed to know more! Just who the hell is he?

But all he did was smile, give you a kiss on the forehead, and help you back to your room.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere male #yandere concept #yandere x you #tw yandere #yandere oc x reader #male yandere oc x reader #oc yves

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misc-obeyme · 1 year ago

Note

For your Flufftober event, could I possibly request Asmo with the prompt, “planning a special date night for MC”? 😍

Hi Jes!! I hope you're having a lovely day! <3

Okay, I loved this prompt, it's so Asmo. I just feel like he'd go all out! I really enjoyed writing this one as I'm really quite fond of Asmo.

Thank you for submitting a prompt!!

FLUFFTOBER 2023

GN!MC x Asmodeus

Warnings: none!

The moment he was able to secure plans with you for a date night, Asmodeus got to work. He knew exactly what to do and he was careful to make sure you had no idea what he was up to.

The truth was that Asmo had been looking forward to this date for a long time. The idea came to him when he was watching you in the garden, smiling happily with everyone. It was always dark in the Devildom, but you were like a little light, attracting every single demon right to you. There was something bright and warm that emanated from you. Maybe the others didn't realize, but Asmo could see that it was your love, your shining human heart.

And whenever you turned your eyes on him, when you said his name or smiled his way, it made him feel like he was the center of the universe. It was a feeling he was constantly chasing in his long life, but he found it so easily with you.

So when you looked over at him, out in the garden that night, Asmo was overwhelmed by his feelings for you. He knew in that moment that he wanted to try to give you just a fraction of that feeling that you always gave him. He wanted you to feel like the sun in his solar system - every part of him revolving around you.

For days, Asmo was going from place to place, gathering everything he would need for your perfect night. Then he just needed to keep you out of the garden while he set everything up. Fortunately, Asmo was able to convince Belphie to fall asleep on your lap for a bit, so that if you left your spot on the couch, Belphie could report back.

Asmo had purchased a new outfit, a well tailored black and pink suit with just enough sparkle to add a bit of flourish. He had just finished getting himself ready when Belphie poked his head into Asmo's room, letting him know that you had left the couch. Likely you were preparing to meet Asmo by the front door, as the two of you had planned.

Asmo hurried down the stairs and waited by the door. He was surprised to find he was actually a little nervous, the butterflies fluttering in his stomach. He smiled. How unusual it was for someone to make him feel that way. But of course, there was something special about you.

Even though Asmo hadn't told you the kind of outfit to wear, you had clearly assumed you would be on a fancy date. You came down the stairs looking absolutely stunning and for a moment, Asmo forgot all his grand plans. For a moment, he was mesmerized by your light, shining so brilliantly, filling him with warmth.

You reached him, meeting his eyes and smiling. "You look so handsome tonight, Asmo."

Asmo shook his head a little. "You're the one who's practically glowing right now, MC!"

You laughed, a sound just as sparkling as you were. "Where are we going tonight?"

Asmo put his arm out for you to take. You put your own through it and he pulled you closer to him, just to feel you against him.

He didn't answer your question, but opened the door for you, leading you out into the House of Lamentation's garden. The moment you entered it, you let out a little gasp.

In the middle of the garden was a table, covered in tasteful decor in the form of a tablecloth and centerpiece, with a lovely array of delicious looking dishes and an unopened bottle of Demonus.

And all around it, radiating out from it on multiple different surfaces, were what looked to be hundreds of candles. Some of them were on little pedestals, others nestled in tall candelabras, still others held in the hands of beautiful statues. More could be found tucked inside little lanterns that hung from the trees. The whole space was illuminated with the warm glow of the candlelight.

"Don't worry," Asmo said. "I had Solomon fireproof everything. It looks so different, doesn't it?"

You turned to look at him, your eyes wide. "This is amazing."

Asmo felt the blush that crept up in his cheeks, but he didn't let it derail him. He took both of your hands in his. "MC, you always make me feel like I'm the most important demon in the world. I wanted you to experience that feeling, too, even if it's only for tonight."

Asmo watched as you blushed, too. Your expression changed rapidly, as though you were feeling several different emotions and you couldn't quite figure out which one to display. In the end, you settled for a bright smile that nearly made his heart burst.

"Asmodeus, don't you know that you always make me feel that way, too?" you said softly.

You had the sweetest look in your eyes as you said this and Asmo couldn't hold back. He stepped closer, putting a hand on your waist, and kissed you. And as long as your lips were pressed against his, you might as well have been the only two beings in existence.

flufftober | kinktober | masterlist | Thank you for reading!

taglist: @anxious-chick @t0tallycoolname @libidinous-weeb

#obey me #obey me nightbringer #obey me flufftober #obey me shall we date #omswd #obey me asmodeus #obey me asmodeus x reader #obey me asmodeus x mc #obey me asmo #om asmodeus #asmodeus obey me #om asmo #misc flufftober 2023 #misc writes

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sweater-daddiesdumbdork · 2 years ago

Note

Sweet Amber, I wana request "hushed sex while staying in the guest room of another’s home" for AOU Steve and reader when they were at Clint's farm, because he wants a life and family with his girl.

And thankyou for seeing my previous ask, I'm the same AOU anon BTW.. I can't tell how much I love this man.

I hope this is some of the feels you were looking for. I'm super tired tonight and having a hard time wording what I want to say. But thank you so much Babes for sending me this request. All the love right back and imagine Steve just loving you so damn much.

Send me an Ask from this list of Prompts

This is an 18+ Only Blog.

Everything felt so much MORE.

The squeak of the bed, Steve's soft huffs against your neck where he buried his face for a moment, the feeling bombarding both of you overwhelming in this second. Your thighs squeezed around his waist, encouraging him to continue while your fingers grazed up and down his muscled back, making an invisible painting speaking of your love along his spine and over his shoulder blades.

The tension of the past few days, all of your worlds being disrupted by Tony and Bruce's error was bleeding out of you both for now. You both tried to be quiet in your needs for each other, hushed tones whispered to each other about how good it felt passed between press of lips. The house was full, brimming with people and this might not be the right place or time, but there were no real rules between you two anymore.

Right now it was about feeling, anything, something. As long as it gave you both hope to keep going. The world threw so much as all of you, you had to take it where you could get it to prepare for the next disaster. "Oh god, Steve." You muttered, arching under him when his hips pushed back in, his cock thick against your slick walls, squeezing him just right that his movements stuttered in several quick thrusts before he pulled back again.

You were ready for him to push back into you, wanted it, your body arched in an invitation for him to fill you in the way you only ever wanted him to. "I know Doll, it's just so good." He lifted away to catch your lips, drawing out the moan built up in your throat to keep quiet, gasping against you at how you made him feel.

"You gonna fill me with your babies Steve?" You moved away from his mouth, moving along his jawline as his mouth went slick, his eyes screwed close in concentration to keep from cumming yet.

"Dance with me late at night after our kids are in bed?" You continued, painting the dream you knew he has had since you two fell for each other. "In our home full of love and life?"

You could feel him, he was so close and you didn't even care that you weren't. Today this was about Steve, being able to take care of him in a way he never had with anyone, to give him tenderness and passion among the anger and heartbreak surrounding them right now.

Steve pushed up enough to roll the two of you in the small bed, making it creak ominously beneath the two of you while you straddled him, pushing your hands against his strong chest to ride him slowly, let him savor watching you, your golden-haired super soldier seemed to finally let go of all the bullshit, being here with just you.

His hands glided onto your hips, fingers possessively pressing into the soft curves of you while helping you move, unhurried, you just let yourself sink onto him over and over, your sighs and moans all soft just for him. "You know I love you right?" He asked out of nowhere, his hips arching under you to press himself back into the deepest part of you. "I don't think I would have been able to do this without you Y/N."

You let yourself fall forward, your chest pressing against his and your hands cupping his face, tracing the angles of his features that you were so intimate with, your eyes softening with love in return. "It's always going to be you and me, Steve, no matter what happens."

Your forehead leaned against his, his arms wrapping around you to hold you close while you felt him cum, his spend warm as it spread through you and you melted in against him, sated and content to just enjoy the moment right now, not what had already happened, or what was possibly going to come. "I love you too Steve, we were always meant to be here I think." You let your head lift to look at him. "Even here and now, in Clint's house, trying our damndest to be quiet." You broke into a grin and his matched, finally some of the shine returning in his eyes.

"I don't know how quiet we were Doll, but we certainly tried."

#amber answers #anon request #smut location prompts #thank you #im sorry its probably not my best #i am super tired tonight and just not with it #but i still hope it gave the feels you were looking for nonnie #thank you again for indulging me #steve rogers x reader #soft smut #amber writes #sweater writes

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withheldcloud · 8 months ago

Text

part one

New York, populated with humans of every archetype, houses the loneliest. Most, unspokenly bonded, fail to offer a smile in passing. The native is well-acquainted with flickers of eye contact, an initial, passing thought, and a return to the interior—as if the overexposure to others taught them to internalize everything. At least, this is Scarlett’s subjective experience in the past years of living in town.

Little things help. A gratitude journal here, a skincare routine there. Pasta in the living room with a bottle of Merlot and a shitty sitcom. These are her big things, though they’re all practiced in solitude. A refute to Scarlett’s New York pessimism wouldn’t be unheard of or uncommon. Any extrovert would bat an eyelash, questioning where she dwells. Ambiverted Scarlett leans into introversion six times out of ten, and her friends encourage it by offering to come to her and share those indoor activities.

Ezra is traveling, which became the case about two months ago. March shifted leadership, with Ezra taking on more client-facing duties as his father grows older. Mr. Bode feels his son should acquaint himself with the workload more, especially after an inebriated four years at college. At 65, the gallery should enjoy a rebrand under his son’s direction; this means more time spent in Europe. It leaves little room for intimacy ahead of Scarlett’s wedding to Ezra, who proposed before friends and family at a dinner celebrating the gallery just months ago.

The rock rarely lives on her finger. “It’s overwhelming,” she admitted in her private response to the jewel.

She prefers not to advertise it, stowing it in a jewelry box and dressing her ring finger for nights at the gallery—when advertising it is mandatory.

“You must be overjoyed,” clients rhapsodize between glasses of champagne, “becoming a Bode is no small achievement.”

“An achievement,” Scarlett repeats after blinking a few times. A masking smile returns moments later.

Scarlett leaves the proof of engagement in the box as she treks downtown with friends on Friday. It’s her first time in weeks. Scarlett, Olive, and Tate enter a dimly lit speakeasy through a small gallery.

The wall announces in bold text, IT’S NOT OVER UNTIL YOU SAY IT’S OVER. Scarlett’s eyes linger.

The dim speakeasy has no empty seating. The women approach the bar with thirsty tongues and strong legs to stand on.

A brunette man takes orders and cards with ease. He’s effortless and on auto-pilot as he works.

“What can I get you?” he eventually asks the trio.

Scarlett opts for a tequila on the rocks with salt.

“Do you like New York?” Scarlett asks as she notices his eyes studying her.

“Best city in the world,” his tone bites with amused eyes. He’s English.

“You didn’t like London?” her pitch raises in evident curiosity.

He blinks a few times, eyebrows creasing, unresponsive as he prepares the drinks. A struck nerve?

“Are you from London?” Scarlett presses.

“Do I sound like I’m from London?” the man deadpans with unmistakable disinterest in pursuing this topic.

Scarlett’s gaze narrows, “You sound like you belong in New York.”

Dimples cave into the man’s cheeks with softened eyes. He serves the alcohol and ruffles his locks.

“Do you want to start a tab?” he looks between the women.

The plan is to hop between spots, but Scarlett’s feet stand firmly in place.

“Fuck it. Why not?” she hands her Amex over. He notices it’s a black card.

Olive and Tate take photos of the interior for their Instagram stories. Scarlett is trying not to look at the Englishman, who is more interesting than the chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.

“You know, it’s not polite to stare,” he teases with more dimples.

“And it’s not polite to ignore people’s questions about London,” she counters with hot cheeks.

“I’m working,” he feigns a serious tone.

“How long have you worked here?” Scarlett’s curiosity is relentless tonight. He chuckles.

“Some time. Did curiosity kill the cat?” he poses, leaning against the bar.

“You hate answering questions,” she scowls and tilts back her glass.

“And you love asking them.”

Scarlett’s eyes roll. Olive and Tate chat about a man toward the other end of the bar.

“I have one for you,” the man’s question raises Scarlett’s eyebrows.

“And that would be?” her hand grabs her hip.

“What are you doing later tonight?” he questions without a trace of sarcasm.

“I…” Scarlett is dumbfounded. “I’m hanging out with my friends.”

“Shame,” he shrugs. “I mean, they seem fun. But I get off early tonight.”

A scoff erupts from Scarlett.

“Why does that concern me? Do you even have a name?”

“No, actually,” his sarcasm returns. “So, you can call me whatever you want.”

“A perv?” she suggests.

“A date.”

“I’m not even giving you fuck-me eyes,” she lies.

“I’ll answer your questions,” he hopes this works. Scarlett pauses.

Her eyes meet Olive’s and Tate’s. They appear confused. Scarlett returns her attention to the unnamed Brit.

“I don’t have any more questions for you. Thanks for the drinks. We’re leaving soon,” she dismisses and gulps her liquor.

To her surprise, he nods.

“I’m here when it’s not crowded, too. Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

Scarlett wants to drown herself in this tequila. How are his eyes so green?

“What the fuck is your name, anyway?” she rejects her last statement. His smile brightens.

“Harry.”

He’s neglecting his work and the group beside Scarlett is growing annoyed. He nods in their direction to let them know he’ll be with them momentarily.

Scarlett notices that and uses it as an excuse to end the conversation.

“Well, Harry, thank you but no thank you. Have a great rest of your night.”

“You too, Scarlett Finn.”

Her face twists in panic before he hands back her Amex with her name printed on it.

“You are something,” she huffs, emptying the glass and placing it before him.

“And you are gorgeous. Have a good night,” his eyes scan her before he finally shifts his attention to the waiting customers.

Scarlett feels a slight loss at his averted attention. She watches him for a few moments as he takes other orders before shaking her head.

“We’re leaving. Down those,” Scarlett instructs Olive and Tate, who exchange a look before snorting.

“Not feeling this place, Scar?” Olive asks as Tate fulfills Scarlett’s demand.

“I need some air,” she tries not to look at Harry. Olive and Tate accept this answer, finishing their drinks and interlacing fingers to exit together.

Scarlett looks back once more as she’s pulled toward the entrance. Harry meets her eyes with a knowing smirk.

Scarlett counts how many days there are until Tuesday. Four.

#writing #harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x oc #harry styles fic #harry styles writing #dialogue prompt #writeblr #writers on tumblr #let me know what you think :)

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literaryfandomangel · 5 months ago

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The Lost Boys - Time After Time

Sequel to The Promise

Chapter One

The following day, I was still reeling from the shock of my father's sudden appearance. Tears streamed down my cheeks as my mother empathetically assisted me in packing my belongings. She was adamant that I only pack the essentials, fearing that my father might unexpectedly whisk me away. I carefully gathered all my relatively new school supplies, placing them in my bag. My mother had the arduous task of going to the school to officially withdraw me from the district, a poignant and burdensome reminder of the upheaval in our lives.

As evening set in, my mom dropped Sam and me off at the Boardwalk for what would be our final outing. After a couple of hours, she returned to pick up Sam but instructed me to take my time. She also cautioned me to be on the lookout for my father, who was insistent that I avoid spending time with my boyfriends.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm orange glow across the boardwalk, I found myself sitting in tender anticipation, waiting for the familiar rumble of their bikes to break the silence of the evening. After what seemed like an eternity, the sound finally reached my ears, sending a bittersweet shiver down my spine. The rumble of the motorcycle stirred a mixture of emotions within me, and as my heart leaped into my throat, I couldn't help but feel a surge of longing and nostalgia wash over me.

David, Dwayne, Paul, and Marko were determined to make the most of our last night together. Despite many popular attractions being closed, they decided to revisit the diner where we had shared a memorable meal months earlier.

As we walked into the café, I noticed that we had a different waitress this time. Despite this change, I felt more confident than before when it came to ordering food. Instead of my usual order - dry toast and a few bites of strawberry - I decided to be more adventurous and ordered a refreshing fruit bowl along with warm oatmeal. This may seem like a small change, but for me, it signified a significant milestone in my journey of recovery since coming to Santa Carla. The fact that I could contemplate eating a light meal without feeling overwhelmed by anxiety was a huge step forward. This progress, though seemingly minor, gave me hope for the future, showing that I was making steady strides toward overcoming the trauma and anxiety that haunted me in the past.

Marko and Paul tried to infuse some light-heartedness into the evening, especially while we were sharing a meal. However, David remained noticeably quiet, his expression serious, with his hand resting on my thigh. Every so often, he would gently squeeze my thigh; it was unclear whether he was seeking comfort or offering it to me. Meanwhile, Dwayne was uncharacteristically silent, poking at the burger on his plate without saying much.

After we had all finished our meals, we made our way from the Boardwalk. Dwayne kindly insisted on escorting me to his motorcycle, where I gratefully accepted a ride back to the cave with him. As we arrived at their home, we all relaxed and let go of any pretense.

We spent our last evening together in a cozy nest of blankets, finding comfort in each other's presence. The five of us huddled together, sharing gentle and innocent touches. Amidst the warmth, there were bittersweet tears shed as we prepared to part ways. Eventually, it was time for the other four to accompany me back home.

Tonight, as the cool evening air enveloped us, the motorcycles crept along the winding road at a pace that seemed almost reluctant, as if trying to savor every moment. David, cautious as ever, veered off the road a few yards before reaching the driveway, a preemptive measure to avoid any potential encounter with my father. Disembarking from the back of Paul's motorcycle, I took deliberate steps towards Grandpa's house, the familiar scent of the surrounding trees and the distant hum of the night creating an atmosphere of both apprehension and anticipation.

“I don’t want to leave,” I confessed to my boyfriends as we halted on the dirt road. David was quick to frame my cheeks with his gloved hands.

“We don’t want you to leave either,” David gently made a promise, his voice brimming with emotion. As I locked eyes with him, I saw the depth of his concern and the overflowing love in his pale blue eyes.

“None of us want you to leave, Princess,” Dwayne’s deep timber rumbled through his chest. The five of us were mournful due to the changes that would happen. They were aware of the significance of what this would mean - whereas I was unaware.

The four individuals were insistent on forcibly removing me against my will, demonstrating a refusal to allow me to leave voluntarily. Despite this, they were also aware of my fear of my father. I was concerned that he would take Sam with him instead, causing my mother a great deal of emotional distress.

As if an eternity had passed, though it was just thirty seconds, we found ourselves standing in the driveway. Marko enveloped me in a warm embrace, savoring my scent for what felt like an eternity before releasing me. With a gentle grasp of my chin, he tilted my head back and planted eager, insistent kisses on my lips.

As much as I wanted to hold onto Paul, I could feel him sniffling into my hair. Amidst my tears, I breathed in the distinct scent of Paul, the warmth of his tears mingling with mine. Even though his hair felt like it was closing off my senses, I couldn't bear to let him go. Finally, Paul gently pulled me away just enough for our lips to touch, our emotions intertwining in that brief, poignant moment.

Dwayne acted swiftly, pushing Paul aside as it became evident that he was determined to prevent me from leaving. With a powerful embrace, Dwayne drew me into his chest, his physical prowess unmistakable. The roughness of Dwayne's hand as it gripped the back of my neck was juxtaposed with the tenderness of his touch, gently caressing the sensitive skin beneath my hairline. Moments later, Dwayne pulled back, his kiss exuding desperation. Before parting, he pressed a small, meaningful figurine into my hand.

Finally, it was David's turn. As he approached, I could feel my heart beating faster. He didn't take too long, but the suspense seemed to stretch into eternity. As he wrapped me in his arms, I could feel the warmth of his wool trench coat and the sound of the ticking clocks echoing in the room. The delicate fabric of his coat scraped against my cheek, sending shivers down my spine. After a few heartbeats, David pulled me closer, and I could feel the passion in his embrace, making every moment unforgettable.

“I’ll see you guys around Christmas,” I informed them, tears swimming in my eyes. I backed away, not wanting this moment to end. Mom opened the door when she heard my footsteps on the porch, wrapping me up in her arms.

“Don’t worry guys,” Mom promised in her soft voice. “She’ll write letters and I’ll pass them along.”

“I love you,” every single one of the guys promised, one last fleeting touch before they disappeared into the night. My sobs audible as they disappeared, my heart feeling like it was breaking.

Chapter Two

#the lost boys dwayne #the lost boys marko #the lost boys paul #the lost boys david #the lost boys x emerson sister #fanfiction #david x reader #emerson sister #dwayne x reader #david tlb #tw disordered eating #eating disoder trigger warning #tw eating issues

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vibratingskull · 1 year ago

Text

The Ball part 1

Part1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

Tag list

ThrawnxF!reader

It is time for the ball, time to enjoy yourself before taking your responsabilities in the Marine, maybe time to try your luck with Thrawn. What could go wrong anyway?

You look at your reflection in the minuscule mirror of your shared room in the Academy. You rotate yourself to inspect your gown for this special evening. Karyn has really good taste, the claret-red dress is simple yet elegant, fitting with open shoulders, laces in the back and a silver vine embroidered at the cloth’s feet.

"Thanks again for the dress." You tell her across the room while checking your makeup.

"You're welcome!Show me when you are ready!"

You stomp your foot to test your shoes and feel a tingle of pain. Your wound from the exam didn't heal completely it seems, you’ll need to be cautious but it will do for tonight.

"Prepare to be amazed… Ta-daaa!"

You theatrically push the door to reveal yourself in a model pose. You've really outdone yourself this time, you managed to strike a balance between your favorite look and what was deemed appropriate for such a high-class event. Karyn raises her head from her luggage and her eyes widen, she offers you her hand to make you turn on yourself to see every detail.

"Verdict?" you ask, hopefully.

"Wow… You are striking!"

"Thank you, fair Lady." You respond mimicking her reverence. You turn back to the mirror once again with bubbles in your stomach. "Is everything alright?"

"Your makeup is perfect. Your hair is gorgeous. Let me check your back." You feel her pulling and the laces bite your flesh. "The knots are well tightened. You're ready for-- The pin!"

She grabs a little jewelry on your desk and comes back to carefully attach it on the left of your chest. You observe the insignia of the Royal Imperial Academy engraved in a chromed metal. It isn't exactly pleasing to look at, but it is this pin or the uniform.

"I wish I could have come with you tonight. It won't be the same now that you have finished your training." She tells you with a drop of disappointment in her voice.

You put her in a hug. You realize it will be difficult to see each other from now on. She still has two years here in the Academy while everyone in your class has learned their assignment.

"Ho sweetheart, I would have loved it too. Parties are always more fun when you are around! In two years you too will have the privilege to attend this pompous party and put up with the Gotha."

You both laugh and hug one another, appreciating the presence of your friend one last time. Outside a humming is getting clearer, indicating shuttles for the Opera House are starting to arrive.

She motions her head towards the door.

"The shuttles must be ready. You should go."

You get your purse and a satin shawl, and hug her one last time.

"We’ll stay in contact. If someone annoys you I’ll come back to give them a lesson."

"Yes, mom! Now leave or they’ll go without you."

You wave a last goodbye and join the rest of your comrades in the elevator. Everyone is dressed-up, all the women in dresses are wearing high quality fabrics, not to mention elaborate jewelry and expensive perfumes which threaten to overwhelm your nose in the cramped elevator. Unfortunately, the pin clashes with most of their attire. All the the men and some of the women are wearing a black variation of the military uniform, with an addition of golden and white embroideries on the pants, the cuffs and the collar and golden epaulets.

Everyone is terribly nervous.

Tonight, under the eyes of their families and all the top names of Coruscant, they will take their first step into High Society. The pressure must be unbearable. As for you and the other Outer Rim students you will surely spend this night dancing, drinking and eating the most elaborate dishes at the expense of the rich and, maybe, finding new relationships with the well-born and other high officiers, depending on your state of sobriety.

You are sure Eli and Thrawn will be carrying you back. You can already hear Eli's lectures about alcohol and how careless you are. Thrawn will only sigh silently but help regardless, saving the scolding for tomorrow while you will laugh and cluck, taking them both in your arms crying about the idea of being separated and how much you will miss them, like a bad holodrama. This idea makes you giggle internally. You hadn’t seen the duo since the graduation ceremony, you hope they got the placement they asked for.

You step out of the elevator with your classmates. Some of them go straight outside to enter the shuttles whereas the others gather with their group of friends or date. You recognize some of the couples. The divide between those there of their own free will vs. the will of their parents was obvious by their expressions.

Your two favorite calamities are not in sight, they must be on the docks.

Passing the door of the Academy, a fresh breeze comes caressing your skin cooling down the planet city's heat. You approach the end of the platform and take a moment to observe the lights of the skyscrapers and holos, to hear the sounds of the population living and laughing all around you, feeling the heart of the city beating.

Heading toward the docks, you finally see the duo outside of an open shuttle. They look like high generals in their regalia. Eli even coiffed his mane behind his head. It must have been difficult to comb but the result was worth it.

Thrawn didn’t change his hairstyle but the black fabric and golden intricacies give him a majestic appearance, contrasting with the blue of his skin that seems to glow in the moonlight. His usual formal demeanor enhances his dignified and assured look. He really is handsome.

As you approach them, you feel a weird tension coming from them. Thrawn stands straight as is his habit with his hands clasped behind his back, but appears stiffer than usual, while Eli is leaning against the ship, arms crossed. Did they have an argument? You really want to enjoy this party. It will be difficult enough with egocentric toffs, howler politicians and ISB members. Your friends can’t be fighting on top of all of that.

"Well hello, good sirs. What are two fine gentlemans such as yourself doing this lovely evening?” You ask as you bow to them with a smile, trying to ease the mood

Thrawn snaps out of his mutism upon hearing your voice, as he visibly relaxes. Eli raises his head with a relieved sigh. He jumps to offer you his hands, bowing to you, keeping up the act.

"We were waiting for a fair Lady to escort. She finally decides to honor us with her presence."

He winks at you and conducts you to the shuttle. Eli enters first and scowls at Thrawn as he passes him.

Ever the stoic, Thrawn doesn’t address the hostile behavior. He simply tilts his head with a light smile as you approach.

"Lady (y/f/n)." He greets you with his soft baritone.

"Lieutenant Thrawn." You respond, gladly acknowledging his effort to play along.

You take the hand he gallantly offers and enter the shuttle.

It is elegantly decorated with white walls and padded seats in creamy shades. The bulbs provide just enough light to illuminate and give a softened and warm atmosphere. The ship is also divided into compartments with frosted transparisteel, which give groups a little privacy.

You hear Thrawn follow and close the door of the capsule. You both take a seat with Eli, already checking the programm for the party.

You take a seat just as the shuttle takes off with a buzzing sound. You press yourself against the viewport to see the city blurred by the speed. You have always liked to see the lights blend while being lulled by the quiet purring of the motors. The first minutes pass in silence, with you mesmerized by the lights, Eli staring into the distance and Thrawn silently reviewing the shuttle’s flyer on cultural destinations.

You switch back your attention when Eli grumbles.

"Why do we have to go anyway?"

"For the Gotha to present their new members and for the Empire to display their new loyal officers." You respond half joking. "But forget them, tonight we are here to enjoy ourselves. Where are you assigned?" You ask cheerfully.

Eli's face darkens and he slouches into his seat, arms crossed. Thrawn glances at him before answering you.

"We have been assigned to the Blood Crow around the border sectors."

"Together? That's amazing! Did you both get the position you wanted?"

Eli scoffs at this.

"Can we talk about something else?"

"And you?” Thrawn asked. “What will be your new duties?"

"I am now a Private First Class on the Zephyr Heavy cruiser."

Spirit seems to regain Eli as his eyes get shiny.

"The Zephyr? I know this ship, it regularly asks for my parents' services."

You squeeze Eli's hands with enthusiasm.

"Really? I may get the chance to meet them, then. I didn’t get to the other day."

Thrawn however, mildly frowns at this information.

"Private companies can obtain business deals with Imperial structures? Why not just use its own network?"

"Never heard about Imperial contracts? You will need to catch-up with more than just military technicalities if you want anything to get done here." Eli's hands clench in yours as he spits his response. You've never seen him so openly hostile toward Thrawn.

"I will study those aspects, thank you for sharing this information."

"Do what you want, as always." Eli slowly hissed while looking away from Thrawn.

Your heart stops at this answer and your blood freezes at Thrawn's expression. His face warps as an underlying anger starts to pierce the surface. You decide to interject before it escalates.

"Well, I don't know what you are both up to tonight, but the pair of you owe me a dance !"

They both slowly turn their heads toward you with surprise. It is almost comic.

You grin. "Listen boys, I know you won't likely take part in any waltz at this party, but I didn’t take two months of my time to teach you how to dance for you to be wallflowers. Consider this repayment for the lessons."

"You wouldn't dare do that to us," Eli pleads.

"You bet I would!" You close this matter with a satisfied grin.

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

The Galaxies Opera House is nothing less than breathtaking, with its multiple domes, its intricate circuits of corridors and suspended bridges leading to innumerables rooms and auditoriums. Anybody would feel tiny and insignificant next to this colossus.

You stand before it in awe. You've only seen it through the media that didn’t do it justice. On your left Eli lets escape an impressed whistle with his hand shielding his eyes. On your right Thrawn scans the edifice, surely in hope to spot a pattern.

While you are admiring the surroundings part of the crowd moves inside the Opera, composed of your classmates, some of your teachers, a number of local celebrities, governors, senators, councilors, and magistrates. You spot at least two Admirals and, most to your misfortune, several ISB members. You will need to be cautious around them.

Despite the security put in place, a large group of bystanders came to see the cream of Coruscant on a red carpet and several students started posing in pairs with excitement; others waved towards the journalists behind red ropes while climbing the stairs, and at least five are joined by their famous relatives under the whistles and cheers of the onlookers.

Others are only here to display their fortune and it shows, with multiples expensives layers of fabrics puffing them up like cream cakes, an embroidered train of several meters lazily dragging behind it's owner, a Lady wearing a single piece of armature that drawn her dress from her spine and combed her hair to the top of her head. Fashion designers were out of control this year. To think you had to follow a dress code while the rentiers could wear those.

"Are we… really obliged to go?" Eli asked uncomfortably, swaying on his two feet.

You agree with him, despite graduating from the Royal Imperial Academy as your comrades, your outer rim roots remind you that you are not part of this world of wealth and eccentricity, it is easy to get self conscious and discouraged. Thrawn on the other hand seems more bothered by the flashes of camera at the moment, protecting his eyes with his palm.

"Yes! Let's go!"

Without warning, you loop your arms between them and pull them inside with you, leaving behind the noisy crowd and paparazzis. You are quite surprised they didn’t try to escape your grasp. Thrawn stays by your side in silence, rubbing his eyes while Eli tightens his grip on your arm. It is far easier to navigate in a crowd as a block than alone against the current. After following the red carpet through several bridges and corridors, you finally arrive at the ballroom reserved for the Great Graduation Gala of the Royal Imperial Academy. As you pass the arches a thought enters your mind.

This is too much.

If the outside of the Opera is elegantly simple, the inside is a mess…

The Ballroom's domed roof makes use of all the available height provided. At least five levels circle around the main floor, each one designed according to the architectural fashion of the time. It is the most improbable room you have ever seen. Nowhere else in the galaxy could be found an auditorium bringing together a floor with vegetal designs and moldings, another with an obsession for symmetry and the purity of duracrete and one again with a contemporary interpretation of the Factory style with all variety of metals. Every floor is linked to the other thanks to a mural fountain in the shape of a geometrical labyrinth in deep black stones. And that’s not even taking into account the furniture, tapestries, and light fixtures.

The final product is… interesting. Yet again, given the clothing choice of the regulars of the place, it is expected.

You lean on to Thrawn with a grin.

"What can you deduce from this? I'm eager to hear your thoughts."

"An interesting display of various styles. But, beyond that, I have no ready opinion."

You laugh at his circonspect tone.

"You have the right to find this ugly, nobody will hold it against you."

Eli, who was examining the room, nudges Thrawn.

“I think I just saw Captain Virgilio of the Blood Crow near the columns. We better introduce ourselves.”

“You’re quite right.”

You let them go to salute their superior, just as you spot a pyramid of glass that looks irresistible. You push your way through the talkative masse to the buffet, observing the large choice of dishes and drinks. You are really tempted by the champagne and the Calamnsi. It will relax you a little. There is nothing like an alcohol glass to feign confidence.

You take a flute of Calamnsi, inhaling its scent. With its peach shades and tangerine fragrances, this drink possesses one of the highest alcohol concentrations despite having a soft taste. So soft, some children have mistaken it for some fruit juice and ended up completely drunk.

It's too strong for the beginning of this party, you decide to start with Champagne.

You're about to taste the golden spirit when a hand gently grabs your shoulder, almost making you drop your glass. You turn yourself only to see Eli with a finger on his mouth.

"What are you doing here? I thought you were going to see the Captain with Thrawn." You ask with a low voice.

“I just suggested we introduce ourselves. Besides, Thrawn is capable enough to do it without me supervising him."

You pick up the annoyance in his tone.

"What's up between you too? You seem really upset by him."

"Nothing. What's in your glass?"

"Champagne."

"Is there anything stronger?"

You find him a shot of Burning Gin and he thanks you with a nod before drinking the electric blue liquid in one sip. His face immediately twists into a grimace.

"Maker," He gasps. "I can feel its burns all the way!"

"That’s the idea." You say with a smile.

You watch him as the alcohol slowly takes effect, relaxing his body little by little. He lets out a sigh of contentment.

"That feels much better."

You put your arm around his shoulder, gently pressing him against you.

"Eli, you can talk to me, you know?"

He puts his hand behind his neck. “It’s just this ball. It’s stressing me more than I thought it would.”

You sigh in resignation. He clearly doesn’t want to talk about it. You would have just preferred he didn’t openly lie to you. You stop insisting but keep your arm around him, offering him your presence. You both silently observe the ballroom and its inhabitants. All the chatter and clattering of glasses. How they slide across the floor in rhythm with the Orchestra. Some twirl with grace when some just hold their partners close to themself whispering sweet nothing to their ears, others watch like you and others talk business with smiles too bright to be completely honest.

You finish off your champagne and grab a glass of the Calamnsi. You make a silent toast with Eli, smiling, before turning back to the dancers. Unconsciously, you start to slowly rock together following the pace of the dancers and the instruments strings. You lay your head on Eli’s shoulder, enjoying the music vibrations through your body. He lays his head on yours and you stay this way, silently appreciating the moment with your friend.

"There you are.”

A strict voice brings you back to a reality where Thrawn looks at you with a displead expression. Next to you, Eli let an exhausted sigh escape.

"May I ask why you sneak out before your superior?" Thrawn asks behind a closed face.

"I simply didn't feel like it, that's all." Eli tries to answer politely but his tone is acid.

Thrawn blinks. He starts to open his mouth before Eli quickly interrupts.

"(Y/n), do you hear this? It's our dance, let's go!" Eli exclaimed joyfully.

He takes you by your wrist and you have just enough time to hand your full glass to Thrawn before getting dragged into the circle of dancers.

Leaving you no time to gather yourself Eli passes his hand on your back to your opposite hip and seizes your other hand before starting to twirl with the other couples. It takes you a second to stabilize yourself and properly follow his lead without mixing up your feet.

“Be more careful next time, I’ve almost tripped over someone!” You protest. “What’s with you so suddenly?”

He shoots you with his brightest smile.

“I was listening to the music and felt the irrepressible urge to invite my great friend to dance, nothing special!”

And getting away from Thrawn as quickly as possible, you silently complete. You shake your head and go up to speed with him, flying across the floor as the other dancers. At the corner of your eye you take a glimpse of Thrawn putting your empty glass away and starting a conversation with a high ranked person. At least he doesn’t appear more annoyed than that. You shift back your attention to Eli, carefully avoiding stepping on his foot.

“You said earlier we should try to enjoy ourselves tonight, and this is exactly what I am doing right now,” he insists.

You don’t respond but agree, all those dance lessons pay off. Ballroom dances are mostly done for showing off but you are genuinely having fun in the arms of your friend, from whisk to sidesteps, you skillfully display your dance talents, laughing along with him. As the dance progresses you get looser with more amplified movements and funky steps. Your whole body starts to get warm with the exercise and you can feel a light veil of sweat on your forehead. Enthralled by the energy, you stay for the next few dances. The Orchestra dropt the ballroom repertoire for more popular songs. A non neglecting number of the students come on the floor, giving free reign to their dance moves.

At the end of this segment you’re both out of breath and leave for a drink. While drinking you snap some photos with Eli as souvenirs, rapidly the smiles leave place to silly faces and you start scavenging the place to find other students and snap them together. Most of them are happy to oblige and give you their best smiles or their worst grimace and you join them in the picture. After that a significant amount of your class gathers for an unofficial photo and you go hands in hands with Eli. Someone thought it was a good idea to bring a champagne bottle that just exploded in their hands, soaking the group the moment the photo was taken. The final result is hilarious though.

You start feeling your wound and hear your stomach growl inelegantly. You also remember you’ve been drinking without eating a thing. You will collapse drunk if you don’t do something. You pour yourself a glass of water and turn yourself towards the canapes and petits fours with a ravenous smile. Eli imitates you and you start debating which variety of appetizers is the most tasty without minding the other distinguished guests around you. You're augmenting back to back, Eli’s more into the tomato and sesame canape and you prefer the sausage and groundberry one when an unknown voice is raised next to you.

“Excuse me, cadets.”

You raise an eyebrow, stopping mid-bite, looking toward the voice and see Thrawn with a new glass of Calamnsi in hand and an old man in a white uniform. The old man is looking at your surprised faces with an amused look, the corner of his mustache raised in a grin.

“Is it really how the new Empire’s officers should behave during an official party?”

Eli swallows his bite precipitately.

“Colonel Yularen?! I was not aware you would be here!”

Colonel Yularen, one of the ISB’s highest ranking officers? How do these two know this man? And more importantly why does he have to be here?!

They shake hands while you turn your back to swallow your bite and get rid of any crumbs you have on your face. You inspire deeply to give you strength and turn again with a broad smile, reaching your hand to him. He seizes it with a warm grasp.

“I don’t think we’ve met, Miss?”

“Miss (y/l/n), Sir.”

He stares at you with your hand still in his. You feel your heart sink. You use your mother’s name for safety reasons but since Thrawn proved it was still possible to trace back your affiliation you start thinking no name was safe enough to cover your traces. Did he recognise you already?

“Miss (y/l/n)... Truly a charming name, it suits you very well.” He adds with a comforting smile.

You nod mumbling thanks, secretly searching for any signs of suspicion on his face, but he seems relaxed and cheerful. As much as an ISB officer in service may be cheerful, but you're still on your guard.

As they start speaking between each other you try to calm down the heartbeat pounding in your head. Discussions and music become nothing more than white noise. You manage to concentrate on what is being said in front of you with some difficulty. You catch them speaking about the new assignments. Unfortunately it doesn’t take long for Thrawn and Eli to start a little argument once again. It’s then Yularen turns to you with a thin smile.

“You said you were not from Coruscant, is that so?”

“Yes,” you respond politely.

You didn’t say anything along those lines and you’re taken aback by his attempt at discussing your origins. Next to you Eli and Thrawn keep talking, unaware of your turmoil. He brings his glass to his lips without taking a sip pretending to search in his memory. You hold your breath.

“(y/l/n)... This name is not completely unknown to me… I am sure I have already heard it next to another one, but which one it might be?” He says, holding your gaze.

You’re convinced he’s lying. You gulp and clench your hand on your glass. His next words may upend your entire future. You suddenly feel terribly isolated in this overcrowded room and very alone.

“Miss (y/l/n), does the system-”

“Colonel Yularen.”

Thrawn interjects suddenly with a firm but calm voice. You both turn your gaze to him wondering why he had intervened. Eli also looks surprised.

“I am truly sorry to interrupt your discussion, but I have promised a dance to my friend and I have already missed my chance several times tonight.” He explains courteously.

Both men stare at each other a second before Yularen shrugs his shoulders.

“If it is a promise, I can oblige it.”

“Thank you Colonel.”

Thrawn finishes his glass, disposes of it and gently takes your hand to guide you among the dancers.

“Thank you.” You whisper on the verge of tears. Your wound does not ease things either.

“Your physical language was quite distressed, I thought you might appreciate some assistance.”

“More than you know, I knew I might cross some ISB agent but not a colonel. I am sure he knows about my family…” You answer in a drawl, your eyes fixed behind him on Yularen to not miss any admission of suspicion.

“Do you, now?” He asks, spinning you around.

You bite your lips to refrain from talking too much, you wanted to fully trust Thrawn but one could never be too cautious. You clench your hands against him in an effort to get a hold of yourself. You could cry a little to release some of the pressure but you're not in a good place nor good company to do it right now. He squeezes your hand and tightens his grip around your waist.

“Compose yourself. Do not let them see a weakness to use against you.”

What is rather irritating with Thrawn is his way of “consoling” people with cold hard facts, he appears to be incapable of managing friend's vulnerability and comforts them “by force”. You don’t answer anything and inhale deeply to calm you down, starting to pay attention to the dance.

Even though he didn’t mean it, he pulls you closer to him. You could almost put your head on his chest and you can once again feel his warmth spread from his body to yours. His scent reaches you and you note with pleasure he put on some cologne. You’re sure it’s Eli’s For some reason, the thought of Thrawn asking for perfume makes you chuckle and alleviates the atmosphere a bit.

You follow the music, hesitations, outside spins, whisks… each movement comes together with ease but you feel him more tense than during rehearsals.

“Does your back still hurt?” You ask looking up at him.

“Indeed. It appears I have not recovered completely.”

Speaking of injuries, your foot makes it known it won't endure another dance for long.

You close your eyes for a moment, concentrating yourself on the music. Following the accelerating tempo your feet flee after one another. The air grazes your skin as you twirl in each other's arms, and your dress feels like a soft veil that turns and follows your footwork like wings. You feel both weightless and grounded in his embrace. It's as if he's the only real thing tethering you to the world.

Your head is spinning deliciously, wrapped in every sound and music mingling in a background shush with only one singular steady beat. Surprised, you open your eyes to find your head resting on his chest, against his heart. Shocked but pleased, you let your head rest, careful not to make any movement that could prompt him to reject you. You feel a grin coming up on your lips.

“Thrawn?” Your words are whispered like a secret. “ Are we ever gonna discuss what happened?” You ask , raising your head to meet his gaze.

He regards you with blazing eyes in silence. You continue dancing eye to eye, Thrawn leading the both of you. You could swear he slowly goes off beat as time goes on, but… nevermind.

“(y/n)...”

You see his eyes jumping from your eyes to your lips repeatedly as he slowly leans toward you.

“Yes?” You hold your breath with expectations.

“You have crumbs on your face.” He says in all seriousness.

“Oh crap!”

You try rubbing your face against your shoulder the most discreetly possible, feeling a bit stupid now.

Thrawn is back in his usual upright posture like nothing happened. It would seem nothing could disturb the man. However, his missteps say otherwise. Maybe you did have some effect on him.

You're ready to throw a clever remark when you feel his hand in yours trembling a bit. Looking up at him you note he breathes shortly and gulps with difficulty.

“Thrawn? Is everything okay?” Your voice’s shaky, you’ve never seen him this way.

He leans on once again, his forehead almost against yours, his eyes closed. He's definitely hotter than usual. You turn your head to scan the room in research of a balcony or a window, fortunately there are enough dancers around you to hide you from the public eye. You hear the music approaching its end, you will soon be able to get him some fresh air.

His head slides against your skin and you turn back your attention to him, suddenly keenly aware of how close you really are. You can feel his breath on your mouth and it’s getting closer, you're stunned by this and wait without moving, with butterflies in your stomach and blood rushing to your cheeks.

Is it happening? Are you dreaming?

You wait expectantly, your mouth is slightly agape and ready to embrace his. You hold your breath as your lips are nearly about to touch.

But at the decisive moment his face slide from your forehead to the side, laying his

head on your shoulder and the music ends. You catch your breath unknowing if you must be relieved or hurt. Your hands leave their place to grab his arms, trying to raise him, you can feel his high temperature on your skin. The couples are slowly leaving the dancefloor and you will soon be the last one.

“(y/n), please… Escort me outside…” He says breathlessly.

You pass your arm under his and he raises back up. His sight is straight and his step is solid like always. You both cross the room without difficulty between guests, people tend to move off of his way and tonight is no exception, especially under his burning gaze. Nobody would suspect a thing with his adamant behavior but his trembling fingers didn't lie to you.

You pass the arches of the room and immediately turn into a less busy corridor, away from the scrutiny of the other guests you feel his body weighing more and more into your arms so much you’re convinced he’s gonna fall on you at any moment.

“Come on.” you try to cheer him up. “We’re gonna find you an open window.”

“Yes, I…”

He doesn't finish his sentence, he takes support on a nearby wall and takes his head into his head like he is floored by an atrocious headache. You look at him in dreadful powerlessness, and run back full speed to the ballroom, looking for the only person that comes to your mind in such a situation.

“Eli! Help!”

@bluechiss, @al-astakbar

#thrawn x reader #thrawn x f!reader #thrawn x you #thrawn x y/n #thrawn #grand admiral thrawn #mitth'raw'nuruodo #fanfic #vibratingskull

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foreveranevilregal · 1 year ago

Text

Encantober Day 18: Sleep

It was the night of Antonio’s gift ceremony. Tensions were running high in the Madrigal household. All day, Pepa had endured snide little asides from various townspeople about how they hoped this gift ceremony wasn’t as bad as the last one. As if reminding her of her fear would help anything! Somehow, she resisted the urge to throttle that oblivious Osvaldo and instead focused on picking out fireworks for the celebration; something bright for her little boy so filled with brightness.

She had been running around all day, finishing up last minute things. It took longer than she thought since she hadn’t slept well the night before. Too many worries about what could go wrong today swarmed in her head to allow her to rest. To keep up her flagging energy, she snuck off to the kitchen for a cup of coffee after breakfast…and lunch. The cup she’d had with breakfast just wasn’t enough to stave off her exhaustion. Sure, her hands were trembling, but at least there was no way she’d fall asleep with how hard her heart was pounding.

Everyone was feeling the tension. All the Madrigals were doing their part to make sure tonight would go smoothly, but there was an undercurrent of unease running through the house. Stupid little things just kept going wrong. Isabela’s beautiful flowers wilted as soon as she hung them up. Luisa dropped the piano- the resulting discordant thud thrummed through the courtyard. Even Julieta had burned the arepas; something that hadn’t happened since they were children. Pepa guessed it was because they were feeling stressed too, but she couldn’t afford for anything else to go wrong.

Eventually, all the issues got resolved. A quick mist with some water perked the flowers right up. Julieta made more arepas, perfectly cooked this time. And the piano was fine where it was. They could just dance around it. The crises were fixed. Nothing else would go wrong tonight.

Her heart did a little pitter-patter when she saw Antonio enter the room. His cream suit fitted him perfectly despite his recent growth spurt, making him look very handsome and grown up. Ay, she couldn’t believe her last baby was growing up! It felt like only yesterday when she held him in her arms, rocking him to sleep. Now, he was preparing to receive his own Madrigal gift that would shape his life and allow him to contribute to the community.

She noticed with a wistful smile that he had some crumbs crusting around the corners of his lips. Licking her thumb, she used it to wipe off the crumbs. Maybe her little boy was still little after all.

The anxiety that she’d mostly managed to keep to a low hum crescendoed as the time for the ceremony finally arrived. Feeling overwhelmed, she watched with detached determination as he climbed up the stairs, his eyes darting nervously around the crowd. Her lips pressed together worriedly as he finally reached the top of the staircase. Would everything turn out well? Would he get his Madrigal gift, like the rest of his family members, save one? Or would he also be skipped over like Mirabel? Was it possible their family just wasn’t going to get gifts anymore? Had their blessings finally come to an end?

The questions bounced around her head frantically as he took the candle from his abuela. Her stomach twisted into knots, observing, horrorstricken, as the candle slid down through the grip of his sweaty palms, and Pepa knew. This was it. No more Madrigal gifts. For some reason, the tradition was over, and she didn’t even dare to look over at her mamá. Pepa already knew how disappointed she would be when Antonio tried opening his door and nothing happened. And then Antonio would look to her for guidance and comfort when she had none to give him. What could she possibly say to make it better?

The sheer terror she felt ripped her out of the dream. Her eyes bolted open and she gasped for breath. It was the middle of the night. Everything was pitch black and quiet. Félix slumbered soundly next to her.

He turned to his side, facing her, and reached out an arm towards her.

Impulsively, she grabbed his hand for comfort. It was big and warm, and she traced the lines in his palm to try and soothe herself.

Félix frowned in his sleep. “You awake, Pepi?” He murmured, his voice heavy with sleep.

“Yeah,” she whispered, surprised she could say anything at all with how tight her throat felt.

“Did you have another nightmare?”

Another nightmare? No. Just the same nightmare she’d been having all week. Antonio’s ceremony was coming up in a few days, and the worries plaguing her had rolled in from the horizon like a terrible storm. “It’s nothing,” she deflected.

Félix fumbled around in the darkness, wrapping Pepa in a clumsy hug. “Go back to sleep,” he encouraged.

Wind whipped her hair against her face. She couldn’t blame him for not waking up. He’d been working so hard lately, and he slept like the dead to recover. Unlike him, she was a light sleeper, and bad dreams tended to wake her up. It had been like this since she was a kid. Pepa had accepted that she just wasn’t destined to get a good night’s sleep. But she hadn’t had the same recurring nightmare so many times in a row since before her wedding. The first time she’d had this nightmare, Félix had listened to her sweetly, but couldn’t understand why she was so worried.

“So what if Antonio doesn’t end up getting a gift?” he had asked. “Will we love him less? Hell no! And if we don’t see him any differently, why would it matter if anyone else does?”

Because mamá’s opinion haunted her like a specter her entire life, Pepa had thought to herself. She knew Félix wouldn’t understand. His parents, and her mamá, all adored him. Pepa’s relationship with her mamá was more…complicated. No matter how much she tried, Pepa never felt good enough for her. The best thing she had done in her mother’s eyes was marry Félix. It felt like that decision finally gained her approval. Of course, Pepa agreed with this assessment, but it also served as a painful reminder that her mother’s approval wasn’t so freely given. Félix didn’t understand what it felt like to jump through hoops to gain his parents’ favor, so he never understood why her mamá’s opinion mattered so much to her. He took for granted what he got so easily.

Sighing in frustration, she got out of bed. Having experienced many a sleepless night, she knew lying in bed and trying to fall back asleep would be pointless. She was far too anxious to try to sleep. Her body was flooded with energy, like a windup toy that someone had decided to wind way too many times. Sleep simply wasn’t possible with the thoughts screaming for her attention and the relentless pounding of her heart.

She slipped out of the room, closing the door behind herself quietly so as not to wake Félix. Moonlight bathed the hallway in a silvery glow, giving it an ethereal feel. For a moment, Pepa felt like she was wandering through her dreams. But the hallway was deserted, so silent that it threatened to swallow Pepa whole. She traipsed aimlessly up and down the hall, touching the doors of each of her children’s rooms lovingly, making sure to be extra quiet at Dolores’ room. Idly, she wondered if Dolores could hear the incessant beating of her heart, then shook the ridiculous thought away.

She did a few laps around the upper floor of casita, trying to burn off the nervous energy before she could work up the nerve to see Antonio. Her feet felt like lead as she trudged around, absolutely exhausted, but too keyed up to sleep.

Eventually, she dragged herself to the nursery. Its door was cracked open, allowing Pepa to peer inside. Antonio wasn’t in his bed like she expected him to be. Instead, he was curled up next to Mirabel, his wild curls barely peeking out over the blanket. The sight warmed Pepa’s heart. Those two loved each other so much, it was almost as if Mirabel was another big sister to Antonio.

Pepa smiled wanly. She was struggling to form coherent thoughts. The desperate need for sleep clouded over her mind. All she knew was, she found it comforting that Antonio had Mirabel. Even if he didn’t end up getting a gift, he wouldn’t be alone in his situation. He’d have a wonderful role model to help him through it.

And, Pepa thought with a yawn, she was so tired of caring about what her mamá would think. She was a grown woman with a husband and children, for crying out loud. If her mamá dared say anything bad about her kids, well…that wedding day hurricane would look like a light drizzle.

Satisfied with this thought, she went back to her bedroom. The abject terror she had been feeling had left her body. All she felt now was a deep tiredness that pulled her down into the mattress. She loved her family. Nothing else mattered. The thought finally lulled her to sleep.

#pepa madrigal #felix madrigal #antonio madrigal #mirabel madrigal #encantober #encantober 2023 #sleep #foreveranevilregal writes #writing encanto #writing pepa madrigal #remixing an idea i've written before #you'll pry sleepless anxious pepa out of my cold dead hands #and she adores mira #thanks for coming to my ted talk

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