#there might be some stuff at another pub but I refuse to find out because scummo likes that place and Ew | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chuckbass-love · 4 years

Note

May I request a Ransom x Y/n fic where he goes to a pub after being taken out of the will and he see's y/n at a table crying because she's just been dumped

I love this idea!!

A/N: Just a heads up, i’m keeping the events of the movie in this where he goes back to the house to switch the medication and then have him go to the pub after that.

Disclaimer: My work is not to be posted anywhere else other than MY Tumblr, Wattpad or Ao3 without my permission. However, reblogs are welcome.

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Lots of angst, alludes to smut at first and then pure smutty filth. Fingering, oral (m and f receiving), protected sex, daddy kink, ass slapping and fluff overload. Heavy alcohol use, swearing and alludes to murder (the plot from the movie).

Word Count: 8,770

GIF NOT MINE!!! Credit to @roooogers go check them out💜

Shoulder To Cry On

“Please, Anthony. Please. Don’t do this” your voice shaking with the fear of losing the one person who you assumed would always be around. Your brain trying to register everything he’s just said as tears drown your vision out causing everything to go blurry.

Weak body, silent screams and shaky hands. It’s real. But it doesn’t feel real. It feels like a dream. Like if someone were to pinch you now then you’d wake up and feel fine. But that’s far from your reality.

“You’re making a scene Y/N, everyone’s looking” he looks around him, watching on as everyone stares in your direction, enjoying the free show as they dine.

Is he serious?

“Me making a scene? You chose to do this here in front of everyone, knowing full well how i’d react” the anger coming out, the need to scream consuming you, so you do. You yell. You pick the food up in front of you and throw it at him. Bread, prawns, even your red wine.

“How could you do this to me? You fucking cheating scumbag” bottom lip trembling at the words leaving your mouth, the sick feeling working its way through your body and eventually settling in the back of your throat but you stop it.

You had plans for a lovely anniversary dinner tonight. Your boyfriend of 4 years Anthony. The man you’ve always seen yourself marrying and tonight, you thought was the night. That he’d finally get down on one knee and propose. But that was soon ripped away from you the moment the starters arrived.

He started his little speech about how he’s had the best time over the last 4 years with you, the memories you’ve made together.

Then came the moment that everyone dreads. The breakup speech.

He confessed to not feeling as happy as he once did with you and then he admitted to having a connection with some woman at work. His assistant. Jennifer.

And as much as he played it off like nothing happened, you’ve known him long enough now to see all of the tell tale signs. The way he rubs his ear lobe, the way he avoids your eyes and most importantly the way he stutters when he’s nervous.

His face has guilt and cheater written all over it. Your whole world feels like it’s crumbling around you and everything is a mess. Including your mascara.

You always had your suspicions about Jennifer but he was the perfect liar, a genius at concocting up excuses. The way he’d make your mind do a full 180 with your thoughts and feelings. Just like a magician tricking the audience. He pulled the wool right over your eyes and love enabled that, stopped you from asking all the questions that you should have thought to ask.

It’s like now, everything he ever said to you, all the happy memories and plans you made. They all seem so fake, like he never meant any of it. It’s gut wrenching. Sickening.

He’s a beautiful liar. He did it so effortlessly. Getting into bed next to you after no doubt being with her, touching her in the places he was only ever supposed to touch you.

But before you can even get to him, the restaurant staff make their way over, trying to remove you from the scene but you don’t even give them the chance.

“I’m going. Don’t fucking touch me” you hold your hands up, slipping your coat on and grabbing your purse.

“I hope one day you’ll experience how you’ve made me feel tonight” and that’s the last thing you ever said to him, picking your stuff up to leave.

All that anger and hurt eventually brought you here, the bar right round the corner from your house. You couldn’t bare the thought of even going home right away, let alone stepping foot in there. It’s too soon.

The house that’s jam packed with memories of the two of you. Photographs of you. The bed you’ve slept in every night with him for 2 years. Your skin itches.

That’s when you see someone sit down next to you at the bar but you don’t look. He still notices you though. Ogling you as he sips at his whiskey. The way your dress hugs your figure, the slit up the side, exposing your legs.

You hear his thick Boston accent ordering. Still refusing to turn your head. You really don’t want any bother tonight. You just need to drown him out. Drown out the way he smells, the way he touches you, the feel of his huge hands all over your skin.

Ransom doesn’t stop though, stealing glances here and there at you, trying to figure out the perfect chat up line to dish out. Then it comes to him, no chat up lines needed.

“What’s brought a beautiful girl like you here tonight then?”

The smirk that appears on his face comes out in his words, you can hear it but you’re really not in the mood so you order another drink, ignoring the stranger.

But the second you speak up, your voice giving your state away, causing Ransom’s head to shoot up, leaning closer to get a better look and that’s when he sees it. Your eyes that are filled with tears, the way you’re sniffles follow shortly after they fall.

“Wait, are you okay?” Genuine concern in his voice, not wanting to upset you even more by prodding too much.

“I’m fine” you spit, just wanting to be left alone to wallow. To over evaluate everything that’s gone down tonight. But that’s kind of hard to do with this man talking non stop.

“You don’t look fine”

“That’s because i don’t need nor want anyones pity” ouch.

“Who said i was pitying you?” he rolls his eyes, not even sure on what’s turned you so cold or should he say who. But he tried. Which isn’t usually in his nature.

See the events that lead Ransom to that little bar are slightly different to yours but nevertheless, he’s here with you so it doesn’t necessarily matter. The story should probably be told anyway though.

All was going so well in his world earlier today, he was happy as Larry, living off of his Grandfather, taking all he could get from him. He had everything. A bachelor pad that puts his friends one to shame, a beamer, scantily clad women at the click of his fingers and invitations to all the best parties in Boston. He was the most notorious playboy, everyone knows him.

The moment he stepped foot into his Grandfathers study, nothing was ever going to be same once he left. And that’s a fact.

Harlan broke the news about his will. How he changed it recently. Leaving his nurse Marta Cabrera with everything. Every. Last. Dime.

Meaning Ransom and his family will be pushed out of the mansion and Walt will be kicked to the curb when it came to Harlans publishing company, Blood Like Wine.

He argued with Harlan for what felt like forever, tried his best to plead his case and he even resulted to taking a threatening tone to his beloved Grandfather. Which of course, didn’t work. Leaving him angry, furious even. His blood was well and truly boiling. He’d had it. He couldn’t hear another word of that bullshit. So he stormed out. Bidding his great nana a swift goodbye in the form of resting his hand over her arm.

Once in his beamer, he screamed. Smacking the wheel with all of his might before stepping on it, pulling out the space and up the driveway. He had to get out of there and fast.

But halfway up the drive, he slams on the breaks when an idea begins to form, causing him to turn around. Parking away from the mansion first before creeping his way back in.

He climbs the wall at the side of it, up to the secret window that he discovered in his childhood. Once he’s in he finds Marta’s medical bag, opening it and switching his grandfathers meds, making sure to take out the one saving grace that could ruin his perfect plan.

With that secured in his pocket, the bag is zipped back up and placed back where he found it and he’s leaving the same way he came. Back down the side of the house but before he can make a quick run for it, he sees his great nana in the window. Staring at him, without blinking. He waits to see if she’ll speak but she never does, so he turns to leave, making it back to his beamer without a single person catching him. Great nana doesn’t count, there’s a very slim chance that she didn’t even know it was him. After all, she didn’t say a word.

All done now though, the plan is now in full swing. Soon Marta will take Harlan up to bed to give him his medicine. That’s when she’ll give him the overdose on morphine. Or the good stuff as they like to call it.

And eventually it’ll start to come together.

Marta will get arrested for Harlan’s murder, the money and all of the assets that were once hers will be stripped away and they shall all be returned to their rightful owners. His family and him of course. One thing that should be made abundantly clear about Ransom is that he’ll only ever help or get involved when there’s something in it for him. However, he’s not always evil, he has a soft side, it rarely comes out but make no mistake, it’s there alright.

With his evil plan in place, he heads back home but before he even gets there, he passes a quaint little bar at the side of the road. He could really do with a drink right now. Of course a taxi home will be required but with thousands about to grace his bank account, what’s 10 or more dollars on taxi fairs. Exactly, it’s pittance to him.

The second he enters, all eyes are on him. All but two. Your eyes. You’re sat at the bar, head in your hands and from what he can see, you’re dressed all fancy. Too fancy for this place that’s for sure. So he makes his way over, noticing the disgusted looks out of the corner of his eye. He’s never been here before, so of course he’s the newbie to all of the regulars.

That then leads to now.

You turn to face him, your sad eyes meeting his dreamy ones. The only way to describe them. You find yourself on the verge of getting lost before you break the gaze. Nodding towards the barman who slides another shot over to you to which you knock back like it’s nothing before continuing to sip Gin.

Just one look from you and he can see that something isn’t right.

“What’s got you crying all on your lonesome?”

“More like who” you respond, chuckling as more tears fall.

He opens his mouth to speak but you cut him off “i had the lovely pleasure of being dumped tonight” you muster up your best fake smile, as if somehow acting like everything is okay will suddenly make it all okay for real. But it’s no use, you still feel torn to pieces. Your heart is still on the floor, it’s been stomped on way too many times for you to count on two hands and you’re life is a complete shambles.

He doesn’t love you, Y/N. He doesn’t love you anymore but then again, did he ever?

“I’m sorry to hear that and for what it’s worth, the guys a jackass for doing that to you”

His comment has your brows furrowing in question. What does he mean by that? But you don’t even get a chance to ask, he can sense your confusion a mile away.

“I just meant that you’re gorgeous. He’s a fool” his nice side coming out to play, he’s never this nice to a woman unless he plans to sleep with her. But this time, it’s different. You’re different. He can never bring himself to pray on you like one of those other girls. Because he can see it, that you’re drained. You’ve had enough. Your ex made a fool of you enough already so who is he to add to that?

“Yeah right, he cheated so i doubt that very much” you snort, knocking back the rest of your drink.

At this point the bartender doesn’t even need you to ask for another, he’s probably realised by now that he should keep them coming.

“What an asshole”

Why does he care? He’s just a stranger. But still, you agree with him.

“Yup”

And just like that, a conversation blossoms.

Drinks flow as you explain the events of tonight and he doesn’t interrupt you. He just lets you speak, it’s almost like he can sense that you just need someone to listen, like all you need is to let out all of your emotions. Even if it is to a complete stranger.

Who by the way isn’t bad in the looks department.

Wait. No. You can’t think that.

Surely it’s fine to think it, just as long as you don’t act on it. Although, you are available now so there would be no harm.

“So let me get this straight. The man took you to dinner for your 4 year anniversary, let you get all dolled up, makeup, hair, nails. The works. Just to break it off with you and tell you he’s met someone else?” his brows raising and you nod, ashamed of how you’ve been treated because ultimately, you really did look like the idiot tonight.

You bought an expensive dress just for this very occasion and you did look the best you’ve ever looked. Radiant and glowing. Your makeup was on point, as was your hair. But now, you’ve got mascara everywhere and you’re way over the line of tipsy.

“I don’t get it. You’re well, you. I mean look at you and he left this for another woman? It makes no sense. There’s no way i’d ever give you up. No chance. No way” the way you feel your cheeks warm at his obvious compliment. You’re almost certain that he’s sweet talking you now. It took him a total of 2 hours. And he finally gave it a go. But you’re not complaining.

“LAST ORDERS” the bartender pulls you from your thoughts. That’s when you turn to look at him, still not knowing the perfect strangers name.

“Um, i guess i should get going” the very sentence makes that sick feeling come back but just like earlier, you push it away, stopping it before it comes spewing out on the bar. There would have been no time to run to the bathroom.

“I guess i should too” he smiles softly, shrugging his coat on and standing up.

That’s when the height difference is clear. He towers over you, making you feel small and dainty.

He gestures for you to head out first and as you glance back over your shoulder, you see him sliding some money to the bartender. No doubt, he paid for all of those drinks that you forgot to even pay for. Fuck.

These heels are way too high and your vision blurs a little as you stumble out the door but before you can even fall to the ground and face plant, he catches you, lifting you up and walking you over to what looks like a taxi.

“Come on you, let’s get you home. Where’d you live?”

Your mind goes blank as you stare at him before muttering “i don’t want to go home, i can’t go home. He’ll be there. Don’t make”

He cuts you off, pulling you closer to him and giving the cabbie his address instead. Wait. His place?

“I guess i should probably tell you my name being as you’re gonna be in my house soon huh?” he chuckles, spurring your own laughing fit.

“Do tell, mystery man”

“Ransom”

“I don’t have any money to pay you, not that i need to anyways, just tell me your name”

“No, no. My name is Ransom” his laughter fills your ears.

Strange name. Strange man.

“Surely not”

“Sure is. Well technically it’s my middle name. But i really can’t reveal anymore than that”

“Well i’m Y/N by the way and can i just say, you smell amazing” ah, the part where you make an utter show of yourself by leaning closer and closer, until your face is inches from his neck. That’s when you inhale really dramatically. Getting a good whiff of his manly scent. It’s intoxicating.

Luckily for you, he takes it all in good humour, probably because you’re drunk.

The rest of the ride back to his consists of you getting overly touchy, making random comments and with Ransom being the playboy that he is, it’s a real struggle for him not to fuck you here and now. Even in front of the cabbie. It wouldn’t be the worst place he’s fucked.

Yes you’re drunk but your hands are roaming to places they shouldn’t be and now he can feel a situation forming in the shape of a huge hard on.

Not that you notice, you’re too wrapped up in your own drunken state, blissfully unaware.

He can’t fuck you anyway. You’re too drunk. He’ll have to sober you up first.

The taxi comes to a halt and you look out of the windows, noticing a huge house, too posh for the likes of you but clearly fitting for a man like Ransom. He pays the cabbie before getting out.

You sit there clueless until you feel him scoop you up in his arms. He kicks the the door shut, walking the both of you to his house. He fiddles around in his pocket, holding you up with one arm so that he can open it and put you down on the couch.

“Is this your place?”

“It is indeed”

“It’s so big”

He lays you down, pointing his index finger in your face as he warns you “stay here, okay? Don’t move”

The child in you starts to emerge, the pout and puppy dog eyes coming out “yes sir”. You salute him and watch him strut away.

When he returns, his coat is off and he’s just in his white shirt, grey cardigan and his slacks.

“Here, drink this, it’ll help”

“Ew what is this?” your face screws up, disgusted at the taste “are you trying to poison me?”

“It’s just water, don’t be so dramatic. Drink it”

“What if i wanted another drink”

He just shakes his head disapprovingly. You’re really having none of it and he can’t fuck you like this. He makes it his mission to make sure all the women he’s with can actually remember what’s going on. Plus he needs your consent first.

“Drink. I won’t tell you again” his scary side showing just a tad but he soon shuts that off, realising how bossy and intimidating he sounds “wait, sorry, i didn’t mean to scare you”

Shouting and confrontation has always scared you. You’ve always had this natural instinct to cower and hide.

But this time, all you can really do is back up, to the other end of the couch.

“You’re just really drunk and it’s not doing you any good. Especially with everything that you’ve gone through tonight” wow. He’s even surprised himself with that one.

It’s not that he doesn’t care about you or your feelings because he most certainly does. He’s liked being there for you tonight, even if you did start out as two strangers at a bar. It distracted him from his own drama filled life. But your freaky side was showing on the taxi ride over and it awakened something inside of him.

Not in the way that some may think. Sure he’d love nothing more than to fuck you senseless, make you forget everything even if it’s just for the night but most importantly. He felt something more than just lust when you were touching him.

And as strange as that is to admit, it felt amazing. Like fucking you wouldn’t just be for the sake of it. You wouldn’t just be another notch on his bed post. It’s almost like his heart knows something that his brain doesn’t know yet.

Eventually he gets you to slowly sip at the water until half of it is gone and then the whole thing. You’re still tipsy but a little better than you were before the water.

“Did you want any food? I could order in? It might help?”

“I mean i did sort of throw my prawn starter at my ex”

He can’t contain his laughter, leaning back on the couch and throwing a hand over his left boob. You really are hilarious to him. He’s so amused by you and he doesn’t ever want this night to end. Even if it doesn’t end in sex, which it will. He’d be satisfied.

Something that Ransom Drysdale would never ever think or say.

“So food then?”

You nod before shaking your head aggressively.

“Actually no. No food. I already feel like i’m going to hurl. Food will just make that worse”

He seconds that, taking your empty glass from your hands and disappearing to refill it before returning it to you.

“You best drink up then if you aren’t planning to eat”

So you do as he says, stopping after a couple of sips due to your eyes noticing more and more about him that you never noticed before. Like his slicked back hair, his broad shoulders and oh shit. Is that a boner?

It’s gotta be right.

Your still tipsy self hands him the water for him to place on the coffee table for you and that’s when you do the unexpected. You make your way over to him, sitting way too close. Your bare arms rubbing against the soft and thin material of his cardigan.

“You alright?”

The way he acts like he cares, which, he does. It’s soothing, the gentle tone in his voice. The way he’s treating you like you’re glass and he doesn’t want to break you. And he’d be right, because you are delicate. Not your body of course but your heart, your soul, your mind. Not that there’s much left of your heart after Anthony broke it.

“I’m okay, i’ll be better after i get this dress off though” the flirty side of you starts to make an appearance. You look down, twiddling your thumbs as he clears his throat, clearly didn’t expect a comment like that.

“I guess i could fetch some of my clothes for you to wear?” his suggestion, whilst very cute and gentleman like, isn’t what you were after. And he’s far from a gentleman. You can just tell.

“I don’t think you understood” you turn around, back facing him “i need some help. Please” eyelashes batting as you quickly look over your shoulder at him and seconds later, you feel his hand move your hair to the side.

The zipper glides down with ease causing the straps to fall down your arms and soon enough. You stand up, letting it fall into a puddle on the floor. Leaving you in nothing but your matching blue laced, bra and panties set. Along with your heels of course. It’s the set that you bought for tonight too. For the sex you never ended up getting.

For the first time ever, Ransom is rendering on speechless, his mouth waters at the most incredible sight in front of him and he can tell from that look in your eyes that you want him.

Something he never expected to happen so fast. That’s when you sit back down next to him, resting your hand on his thigh.

“You know i should really thank you for tonight”

“Honestly, it was nothing” his words are aimed at you whilst his eyes are fixated on your body, not even trying to hide it from you but you just lap it up. You could use some attention right now. After all, your confidence was knocked with your ex boyfriend’s revelation.

“No, really. It was nice. You’ve been amazing. So let me thank you” but before your lips can touch his, he pulls back. Looking at you as his hand caresses your cheek, staring into your eyes like he’s looking into your soul and you feel close to naked in more ways than one.

That’s when his lips crash to yours in an intense and very heated kiss. As his hands roam around your half naked figure, you position them at the back of your bra, signalling to him that you want him to remove it. Which of course, he does.

He pulls away for a couple of seconds, taking a moment to look at your breasts. And the way he cups them with his large hands before using his thumb and index fingers to pinch at your now hard nipples, has you moaning into the kiss. Leaving your lips parted just enough for his tongue to slip in, adding to the build up.

The battle for dominance begins and it goes back and forth between you both, your hunger is very much profound. As is Ransom’s. The moans he’s eliciting are almost porn star like and he’s barely even touched you. But that’s the beauty of it, it feels so good that you’re keening for more. Which earns a low and raspy chuckle.

It doesn’t take long before you’re straddling him, legs either side with your hands cupping his face. His hands rested on your waist, squeezing slightly, almost like he’s making sure you don’t go anywhere. And after the day he’s had. He needs someone, whether he admits it or not. He does.

But that’s all he’s ever wanted. Is someone. Someone to talk to, someone who will listen and be there. He can’t complain about how that’s not the case though, he’s brought it all on himself. The loneliness, it’s killing him but he chooses to push everyone away.

His family though, that’s all them. They made him this way. A scheming, money grabbing playboy. It doesn’t mean the facade doesn’t drop once he’s all alone though.

However, it never drops around others. So why is it dropping around you?

“God, i needed this” he pants, in between his kisses that he’s peppering from your lips to your jawline and then your neck. It takes him next to no time at all to find the one spot that drives you insane and when he notices the way your whole body shivers. He smirks, sucking and biting it along with the equal amount of wet kisses.

“Me too. Fuck, right there” you mewl, back arching in his hands as they splay across it before moving down to settle on your panties. His finger traces the top of them, following them as it dips into your ass before giving your ass cheeks a hard smack.

God if this is how incredible you feel just kissing and touching the man then sex must be a real first place prize.

Just the way he’s handling your body alone is enough to send you over that sweet cliff but you stop it, holding back by pushing his face away from your skin, interrupting the hickey he was clearly in the middle of making.

“I wasn’t done with you, come back here”

You stop him again “i need you” you whisper frantically, both of your chests rising and falling. Your heart is beating like crazy.

“Patience baby” he winks, standing up with you in his arms, legs wrapped around his waist and your arms holding onto his broad shoulders for support as he carries you up the stairs and into what looks like his room.

Before you even have time to pause for so much as a second, he throws you to the bed.

“I wanna take my sweet little time with you” he starts, the bed dips as he gets on it, hovering above you “gonna worship every inch of your body” he lowers himself so that he can kiss your lips, then your jawline, then your neck and then eventually, the valley between your breasts.

“Gonna show you what your worth baby, prove to you that you’re better than that scum who didn’t treat you the way you deserve” also something that’s unlike Ransom. But if there’s one thing he’s a pro at, it’s pleasuring a woman. He knows what the fuck he’s doing. He can talk the talk and walk the walk. Which he’s about to prove to you right now.

He lowers himself down to your sex, the way the pool is growing more and more is obvious, he can smell it and even see it, the way the light blue material has darkened around your tight hole.

You spread your legs open wider, your way of inviting him in. Of course he accepts. He starts off by pressing a thumb down onto your clit, moving it around in circles and causing you to jolt. You’ve been craving someone, anyone at this point to touch you there. Maybe that should have been a sign that things were doomed with you and Anthony since he’s not touched you in months. Maybe that was a sign you should have seen, a red flag that you were too blind to notice.

“Look at you, so flustered already. God i can’t wait to fuck you”

“Please” you beg, pathetically.

“Nuh uh baby, i told you i wanna take my time, starting with this pretty little pussy” he hooks his fingers into the hem, using that to pull them down and off of your legs before throwing them behind him, not caring where they land.

“My oh my, it is a pretty little pussy, isn’t it. God you’re soaked baby, all this for me?”

“All for you” your confirmation leads him to lick his lips before pressing a couple of open mouthed kisses to the inside of your thighs.

“That man is an idiot. But i guess his loss is my gain. Ain’t that right baby” he winks as his kisses get closer and closer to your arousal covered hole.

“Ransom, plea- OH FUCK” his mouth latches onto your clit, sucking as his tongue flicks across it rapidly. A sensation you’ve never felt before that makes your breathing hitch, your hands run through his locks, no doubt messing them up, not that he’s showing any signs of caring.

All that Ransom cares about right now is making you feel good, making you cum.

“Like this baby? Like my mouth all over you?” his eyes meet yours as he uses his fingers to spread you open so that he can really get a good eyeful “you’re dripping” he murmurs, almost like he’s talking to himself and not to you. He slowly slides one finger in before resuming his attention on your folds and your bundle of nerves.

“More, i need more. I need you” as flattered as he is by your desperation and need to feel every inch of his thick cock, he has to prepare you. Most of the women he’s been with have never had someone as big as him before, so he always likes to get them ready and you are no exception.

“Patience baby, you’ll have me. All in good time”

His raspy voice has you melting alone and the way he’s working you over, slipping a second digit in, should be criminal. How can a man like this be single and alone? It makes no sense. Plus it doesn’t hurt that he’s loaded too.

It’s a mystery that you’ll be sure to get to the bottom of once you’re done here.

A third finger is added and he’s curling them all more and more each time he bottoms out, your back arches again, your grip on his hair gets tighter. But he doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t stop. Not even for a second. He’s a man on a mission right now.

The way he’s sucking on your clit, the way his fingers are filling you up and the way he’s slurping at you like a drink is something you’ll never and could never compare to anything you’ve ever experienced. He’s a literal god and he has your walls fluttering around him, your clit pulsating in his mouth.

“Feel the way your squeezing me baby, you gonna cum? Huh? Gonna cum all over my fingers” the pure filth that he’s spewing, is what has you coming face to face with stars. And Ransom can feel the way your hips bucks up into his face, the way your hands keep him locked there until they are pushing him away due to how sensitive you are. He doesn’t budge though.

He just laps at your sex again and again before finally withdrawing his fingers, noticing your slick coating them and dripping down his hand.

“Jesus, looks like somebody made a mess”

You can’t help the way your cheeks warm in embarrassment which he soon puts to bed by stuffing his fingers in his mouth to clean them off. Every last drop.

That’s when he takes it upon himself to drink directly from you, sticking his tongue into the honey pot, taking everything you have to offer “god so fucking sweet. I can’t get enough baby, tastes so fucking good”

A flirtatious giggle escapes, your hands covering your mouth but he rips them away.

“Don’t ever feel embarrassed or shy around me”

“Are you gonna fuck me now?” your teeth bite at your bottom lip as you shiver with the anticipation of what’s to come from him. His silence is deadly but exciting.

“Indeed i am”

He can most likely hear your heart race as he pulls away, getting off of the bed to undress himself. Starting with his cardigan and shirt. Once it’s off, his abs are revealed, his biceps are huge. You have the biggest urge to kiss him all over that chiseled body, sculpted by some kind of god. He’s gotta be a fantasy.

“But first baby” he trails off, pulling his slacks down and stepping out of them “you’re gonna suck my cock, get it nice and hard with that mouth of yours before i ram it into that tight little cunt” he pulls his boxers down, stepping out of them too and kicking both to the side before stalking closer.

You gulp, your eyes widen... he’s huge. Really huge. Thick too. Does he even need your mouth?

“What’s the matter baby? Is someone intimidated?”

“No” your denial, whilst very cute, isn’t believable. But he’s still going to let you have a go at wrapping that mouth around it.

You scoot off of the bed and fall to your knees, feeling even more dainty than you did before when he was towering over you like a giant.

“Don’t be shy baby, get to work”

Your hand wraps around him with your thumb swiping the pre cum that’s oozed out of the slit and you immediately pop your thumb into your mouth. You just want a small taste and as soon as the salty-sweet droplet hits your tongue. You all of a sudden crave more of it.

“Nice?” he asks, cocking a brow up “delicious” you smile, adding to his already blown up ego.

You gradually welcome him into your mouth, opening wider as each inch passes your lips until he’s almost bottomed out. That’s when you open wider and his tip hits the back of your throat making you gag, saliva dripping from the corners of your mouth.

“You look so good taking all of me in that mouth, bet you’ll look even better when you’re taking me in that cunt”

Is he trying to kill you with his dirty talk? Most likely.

He’s a different man to the guys you normally go for. Maybe that’s where you’ve gone wrong. You’ve let yourself settle for mediocre sex, mediocre relationships and maybe that’s why you’ve never been truly happy, like happy to your very core. You’ve never fully believed that you deserve the world. Never known your worth.

He grips the sides of your head, stilling your movements so his can begin and he doesn’t go easy. His thrusts have you making an even bigger mess, more saliva dripping down from your face to the floor. He’s loving every second of it though. But soon enough, just as quick as he started, he stops. Pulling out and looking at you, content with what he sees.

“God you’re fucking beautiful like this, on your knees for me like a good girl. Get on the bed baby” you do as you’re told, sprawling out on the bed and waiting for him to join which of course he does. As soon as he gets a condom out, taking it from the wrapper and sliding it down his shaft. Size XL. You spy before he tosses the wrapper into the bin.

“You ready?” he asks, resting his tip between your legs and lowering his body so that he can slide his arms underneath your shoulder blades. His face inches from yours.

“Please, i need you now” and with that he slides home, not stopping to let you adjust to every inch as it comes. You can feel your pussy stretching, the way it stings slightly but it also feels incredible. It’s bliss.

“S’tight baby and s’warm. Feel that pussy stretching around my cock”

Your eyes roll back as your head lolls to the side, presenting your neck to him and giving him the opportunity to finish what he started earlier, which of course he does.

And the second is lips are on your skin, his pace picks up and the pain turns to pleasure. You feel him so deep inside of you that you just know if he were to pull out that you’d feel emptier than ever.

“God, yes. Ransom. Fuck” your legs wrap tight around his waist, forcing him in even deeper if that’s possible at all but still you do it. Wanting nothing more than to feel as much of him as physically possible.

So you wrap your arms around him, your fingers tracing shapes on his back, causing him to shiver and growl loudly “fucking take this cock baby, take it like a good girl” he starts, adjusting his pace from fast and rough to slow and hard. Ramming in each time he speaks “such a good girl” thrust “loving every inch of this cock huh?” thrust “god this pussy” thrust “is gonna have me cumming way too quick” thrust.

“I can’t have that now can i?” that’s when he shocks you, flipping you over so that you’re on top “ride me baby, show daddy what you got” the nickname he uses for himself has your walls spasming, catching his attention.

“Oh you like that huh? Such a dirty girl for daddy, aren’t you?”

“Yes daddy” despite never using that in the bedroom before, it feels weirdly satisfying, having him refer to himself as daddy and seeing how he gets when you call him that too, the way his mouth hangs open, the way his cock twitches.

It’s something you’ll never forget.

You start off by collapsing onto his chest, your breasts pushed up against his pecs as you slowly lift your ass up before sinking back down onto him, earning a hiss.

“Yeah just like that, make daddy proud baby” so you do, you go again. And again. And again. Getting quicker each time until you’re a pro at it. You then sit up, continuing to bounce up and down, grinding as he bottoms out, with his initial instructions of course. He guides you through it and before he even tries to help a second time, he takes his hands away, noticing how you’re doing it all by yourself.

Grinding like the whore he’s turned you into. You can’t help the confidence beaming off of you as you go to work, slamming yourself down on his cock eagerly. You need that sweet release now more than ever, as does he.

“That’s it baby, make yourself cum”

The best pout and puppy dog eyes make a return “fuck me. Please daddy” and who is he to say no to you?

“You’re gonna be the death of me i swear” he flips you over again, keeping himself seated deep inside of you as his pace turns animalistic.

“Mhmm, give it to me, i’m gonna cum” you plead, not that he’d ever deny you a mind blowing orgasm in the first place as it’s clear you’ve never had one like the one he’s about to give you.

“Bet he could never fuck like this huh? Make you moan like a fucking porn star for him. Gonna have your legs shaking baby, hold on to me”

So you do.

Your grip tightens around his neck.

With every hit to your g-spot, he nudges you closer until yet again, stars cloud your vision and your toes curl. Your back arches up so that you’re chest to chest and you cum with a shaky and satisfied cry. He doesn’t stop though, plowing into you to chase his own release. Your legs are most definitely shaking.

Your walls continue to clamp down on him, spurring it on.

“God i’m gonna cum”

“Cum for me daddy” is all he needed to hear to go crazy and that’s when he spasms himself. His thick seed filling the condom and his thrusts get slower and harder. Riding both of your highs out.

Your breathing is heavy, your heart beat is out of control but you feel complete.

You’ve never experienced anything like that before.

He pulls out, disposing of the condom and rushing into the en suit for a second before returning with a wash cloth. He uses it to clean you up, taking his time and making sure to be extra careful with you. You try to prop yourself up on your elbow but struggle due to him fully ruining your body.

“Just relax baby, let me take care of everything” he presses a couple of kisses to your thighs and then your stomach, pausing to throw the wash cloth into the hamper before making his way back up to your lips.

He lays down next to you, pulling you into his side and draping an arm around your body so you lay your head down on his chest.

“So” you both say at the same time, causing a laughing fit to erupt.

“That was certainly an experience”

“I told you that i was gonna worship you and i think you can agree i delivered”

“You did more than just deliver Ransom”

“Please do tell me more” he laughs, stroking your hair.

“How on earth are you single?” the question that’s been on your mind since you and him got talking at the bar. He’s acted in a way that not many men do these days, it’s hard to believe no ladies are lining up to be with him.

Plus his dick and head game is A-1.

“I’m single more by choice than anything else”

“How come?” you feel bad for asking but surely if you were over stepping the line then he’d say.

“I mean, my family life hasn’t always been the best. I’ve learnt to not trust anyone that i’m related to and growing up with parents that just chucked money at stuff to solve it. If i was upset then it was always take this money, go shopping. Or if i needed my mother for girl advice it always lead to my dad telling me i should never trust women which is rich seeing as he cheats on my mom all the time”

It’s quite sad actually, a man that seems to have it all together, is clearly broken inside.

“I’m sorry, that’s awful. I’m guessing that’s why you’re single then, why you choose to keep away from dating”

“Yup. I prefer to just fuck with no strings attached. It’s easier, I don’t have to do anything other than make them cum. I’m not filled with pressure to be the perfect boyfriend. I can just relax but sometimes it gets lonely”

“How’d you mean? Sorry if i’m prying” you rest your head on your hands as you look up at him, his finger tracing shapes on your back now.

“It’s fine honestly, don’t sweat it. I guess the best way to explain it is that i can have all this money from my grandfather, all the cars, girls and friends in the world but i can’t trust any of them enough to let them see me when i’m laying in bed at night. The times when i just want someone to hold, someone to hold me, tell them about my day, hear about theirs. Someone to wake up next to and fall asleep next to. But whenever a woman gets even remotely close to me in a way that is too deep. I back off, i give her the cold shoulder and just ghost. I get freaked out because to me, there’s nothing scarier than someone seeing all of me, the good, the bad and the ugly”

It takes you just a second to realise, he’s just bared his soul to you. After saying that he backs off whenever a woman gets too close. After saying that he struggles to trust. That he’s scared of being himself around someone. He’s just been himself around you. And you have no doubt that he feels comfortable enough with you to do that so that’s gotta count for something, surely.

“I get it. It’s hard. Loving someone is easy but allowing them to love you, that’s the scary part. Because ultimately when you let someone in enough to let them love you whole heartedly it opens you up to the chance of heartbreak i mean, look at my life”

You both laugh a little “It’s not even just regular heartbreak, it’s the fear of being cheated on, having my trust shattered. Having someone use me for my family’s money”

“Well, for what it’s worth. I think you need to just bite the bullet, let that guard down. How do you ever expect to find what you want and need if you’re not willing to open yourself up to it. It’s a risk that is worth it sometimes, that eventually, all the heartaches will lead to something greater or someone. Someone that will accept every flaw you have and be there regardless of how messy things can get”

Ransom is just so relaxed right now, he feels at peace, at ease with you. The way you’re listening. Your head rested on his chest, letting him hold you and giving him proper responses, it shows you’re paying attention, you want to be there for him. He’s completely taken back by you. How could anyone want to cheat and leave you, it’ll always remain a mystery to him.

You’re like this ray of light, that came into his life tonight out of the blue. Someone who’s hurting too but somehow you amazing him with the sunshine you provide. You’re everything he’s always wanted in a girlfriend but he’s spent years pushing girls just like you to the side due to fear. Only difference is, he’s able to be himself with you. With them, he could never.

His body lets go as he turns on his side, turning you with him so that he’s cuddling you from behind.

“You’re right. I’ll get there eventually. I just, i need time”

Your silent for a while, taking his words in before you speak.

“Seems like you don’t need any time at all”

That’s when you hear quiet snores from behind you, he’s dozing. And after a couple of minutes, you decide that it’s probably time you see yourself out, you never wanna over stay your welcome and right now with him asleep, you already have.

But before you can even get off the bed, you need to remove his hand from around your frame. Which isn’t going to be easy considering you have to try not to wake him up.

You succeed, finally managing to scoot over to the edge of the bed. But that’s when you hear his tired groans, followed by a hand to your wrist.

“Don’t leave me” his voice is laced with worry

“What?”

“Everyone leaves me” his words break your heart all over again, you’ve been left before and you’re not about to do this to him. Besides, it’s not like you wanted to, you just didn’t think he was the type to want you here all night.

“I didn’t think you’d want me to be here when you woke up”

“Well, you thought wrong. Come back and cuddle, don’t leave like everyone else does”

It doesn’t take much more to convince you to crawl back into his arms. He presses a couple of kisses to your shoulder as you get under the covers with him. Then the kisses move to your cheek and eventually, your lips.

“I’m here to stay then i guess”

“Good”

You feel warm and happy somehow in his arms, like everything has gone away, even if it’s just temporarily.

“Goodnight”

“Goodnight Ransom. sweet dreams” something you’ve always said throughout your whole life. It’s a nice thing to say and it has him smiling into one last kiss before he closes his eyes for the night.

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

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deepdonutkid · 3 years

Text

Nonsense

A/N:

This took me way too long! I’m sorry, I was stuck on the Polly part for a while after Helen’s death.

Even though there is a part in the middle, which I’m not really satisfied with, I’m still glad, I finished that chapter. I hope you like it. It’s a little sad for a story, that will later focus on... other stuff.

Tbh... I forgot, if Martha died from a disease or something else. That’s why this part is a little vague. But he will talk more about his dead wife much later in the story.

English is not my first language and this is not beta-read, just a small part of it! Thanks to @retromafia for helping me out on this chapter! You’re so lovely!

John as mental health issues, but it’s very different to those of his brothers!

tagging: @bonniesgoldengirl @theshelbyclan @justalonelyslytherin

Masterlist Do you wanna touch

____________________

All fucking week he had thought about this date and her. John was distracted at work, at home and at the Garrison. His head was somewhere else, preferably with her, the beautiful Russian girl he had met a couple of days ago. He tried to keep this to himself even though he worried others would start to notice his weird behavior. Well, it was pretty hard to shut up about it, when he sat drunk next to his friends in the pub, but John wasn’t really ready to talk about this. It still felt so surreal like this encounter had never happened and it was all in his head. In addition to that, others- mainly his family- would gladly ruin this for him, before it had even begun, which was why he was so reluctant to talk about it.

They would ask him all sorts of stupid questions, which he couldn’t answer at all. He frowned and closed the book. Later he would meet the mysterious woman again and this was his only chance, since he didn’t know her full name or her address or another way to contact her. So he had to go there or he would go crazy thinking about what might have been. But there was a problem with that.

Of course there was a problem as nothing in his life could be easy. Not even once. However he refused to call his kids a problem. His dad called him like this more than once. And if John wasn’t a problem, his name was either accident or brat. Needless to say John was way nicer to his children than his father was to him. John loved all four of them. He really did, but… somebody had to look after them, while he wasn’t at home. So he had to ask either Polly or Ada and he didn’t know what would be worse.

His sister would spread the word of him having a girlfriend faster around than a disease. Maybe she would even spice up the story a little and add some drama just for the fun of it. Then he wasn’t out for a date, but to meet the woman he had impregnated or what else. And Polly, well she was the main reason he was scared to even mention his rendezvous. His aunt had the great talent to investigate his private life like fucking copper. Once she had sniffed something, she wouldn’t let go of it and kept bothering him.

Anyways he had to talk to one of them and the chat wouldn’t be a nice one. A choice between the foul and the evil. Ugh, he was in the mood to flip a coin. There were some on his desk. So why not? He looked around, if anybody was watching him, but he was alone in his office. Then he took a coin from the daily bets and tossed it. Once it was up in the air, he had made up his mind. The coin just proofed it. He should go to Polly and it would fit in his schedule as now was his lunch break and he would eat with the others anyway. If he would go now, he could still catch her alone in the kitchen. A grunt left his lips while he stood up from his chair. His pace was steady, but fast as he made his way through the betting shop. Luckily nobody noticed that he left his table a little too early.

He had never opened or closed a door as quietly as in this exact moment. “Polly?”, he had asked in a careful tone into the empty room. John heard movements from the kitchen. Suddenly her head peaked around the corner. “Yes, John?” She had emphasized every syllable as if he was stupid. Maybe he was just not ready to have this talk. On the other hand he had no chance. This was a now or never situation and he preferred now over never.

John gathered all his courage to approach her: “Would you do me a little favor?” All the sudden his hands were sweaty and no matter how many times he had rubbed them on his pants, it wouldn’t get any less smeary. Usually he wasn’t so nice and polite to his relatives. It was more like he had earned the title arrogant brat rightfully. He scratched his neck and gave her his best puppy eyes. And just to top it off his angelic smile, which had saved him many times before. Most of the times, he could avoid the consequences of his own actions with his charming smirk.

But today it didn’t help. Polly just shook her head. “What is it this time?”

“Just a little thing”, he began, then paused to take a deep breath and gain courage to exclaim his wish: “Can you watch the kids this evening? It’s really important.”

His aunt froze mid movement and starred at him. After a while she started blinking. Her glare was concerning. “Why this time? The last time was just a week ago. Another task from Tommy? He didn’t talked to me about this.”

John pressed his teeth again and shook his head. He looked at the roof and searched for the right words to explain his situation. Why was this so difficult? It was just a date. Yet it felt like so much more.

The Shelby sighed, while his hand was fumbling with his lighter in the pocket of his pants. “I’m meeting someone” was his short answer to a complex problem.

“Did Tommy ask you to?”, she asked once again. No matter if it was business or his private life, Polly liked to be up to date.

Again he shook his head. “No, not Tommy, but it’s still important. So would you please help me?”

Polly clucked her tongue and hurried back to the kitchen. John followed her and leaned against the door frame, waiting for his answer.

“Well, I got a meeting too, so you better change the appointment with said woman, because I don’t want to change my plans for you”, she replied, while stirring a pot. Afterwards she tapped the wooden spoon against the pot and turned around. “Lunch is ready. Better get your brothers, so we can eat.”

Apparently the conversation was over, because it really started, but John wouldn’t give up right away. “But I can’t”, he protested: “That’s the only night she is available and I don’t know how to reach her.”

Without looking at him, she walked right back into the living room and started putting dished on the table. “Ahh, see? I was right about the woman part… But why do you want to meet somebody you barely know?” Her question was reasonable.

John was so lost in his thought about her and yet he had no answer. No good ones. So he just said the next best thing: “I won a bet and I want to see her.”

Right when he said that his brother came in. Arthur widened his eyes and scratched his chin. “Want to see who?”, he asked. It was horrible how nosy his family was.

There was no peaceful day at the Shelby household. Never ever.

“He has a new girl, but he doesn’t know anything about her”, Polly retorted, before John even had the chance to answer himself.

Arthur chuckled and added: “Oh, Our John was never a man for talking. Right, John boy?”

They had to be fucking kidding him. It felt like he was sixteen again and started to meeting Martha. This was so embarrassing. John nodded slowly and gave his brother a false laugh.

“Well, we had other things to do”, John objected and it wasn’t quite the truth, but close enough. There was just no explanation why he was drawn to this woman, who was a stranger to him, but oh, those kisses really worked some crazy magic on him.

His brother burst out in laughter and slapped his hand on John’s back. “Oh, I know! I fucking know what you mean”, he exclaimed: “Why talk, when you can have fun with a woman?”

And right now, John couldn’t agree less. He wanted to talk with the mysterious woman, but she rushed off into the night before he could even say goodbye to her. Damn, he wished he knew more about her, maybe then he wouldn’t be so nervous right now. The Shelby didn’t feel like his usual cheeky, charming self, more like fucking train wreck.

His face got gleaming red, but he tried to act like was completely cool with it. And it wasn’t like he didn’t want to sleep with her. Gosh, what wouldn’t he give to spend the night with her?

“Pol, you see John’s face. He is red like a crayfish”, Arthur joked and pulled his little brother into a headlock.

Their aunt walked around them, very carefully as she was carrying the big steam pot. She sounded like she was mentally everywhere else, when she murmured: “Yes, Arthur, I see it- shameful red- but now it’s time for lunch, so release your brother and come sit.” Somehow Polly managed to phrase it exactly like their mom used to say it, even though she was only three years older than Arthur, but he’d still respect her.

So he did what she asked him to do and let John go again to take a seat at the table.

It was the perfect timing to beg Polly once again, because he didn’t want to have the same conversation with his sister. “Polly, Please”, he insisted: “I wouldn’t ask you, if it wasn’t really important to me.”

“What is so important about one woman, that you have the great urge to meet her?”

That was the question he was asking himself all week, but okay. Now he needed to come up with an answer or otherwise he would have to get comfortable with the thought he would never see her again.

He licked his lips as he assembled the words in his brain to a convincing answer. “She has…”, he began, but then he got lost again.

“Huge cans?”, Arthur purposed with a big smile on his face.

But John shook his head: “Not that, her tits are average, there is something else about her and I can’t say what yet, that’s why I need to find out…. Or I go crazy.”

He turned to Polly and put on his puppy eyes again. “Do you want me to go crazy, Polly?”

Pol pouted and sighed. “Fine, you get your will again, but that’s the last time and don’t ever bother me with this again.”

His eyes shined bright in the lights of success and more importantly… winning an argument with his aunt. “Thank you and I’ll never bother you again.”

The matriarch went her way around her reign and said to herself: “We’ll see about that.”

Now this problem found its solution, the next question popped up in his head. Where were his kids? Because he was so caught up with his date, he had forgotten to pick them up from school. It wasn’t a serious issue. Three of them could walk home on their own, but the youngest was a different thing.

In his memory of this day, he had left Katie here, but she wasn’t running around like usually. “Pol, where are the kids?”

“The kids?”, she observed: “Oh, the kids you want to get rid of? You mean… those kids? They are upstairs.”

John grunted. That was far from reality and his aunt should know that. “That’s bullshit. I don’t want to get rid of them.”

“Then act like you care for them once instead of fucking around and I might believe you”, Polly chided and gave him the mean side eye, while she filled the plates with stew.

And she acted like a real bitch lately, John wanted to add, but bid his lip to stop himself from saying something he would regret deeply. It was so annoying how she tried to make him feel guilty for having a night off. He was so sick of this. Either he was working or he was with his kids and he had little or no time for himself. Just the few hours when they were asleep and he could go to the Garrison for a beer or two.

“It’s just one date!”, he yelled, but then clenched his fists and swallowed his anger and repeated quietly: “It’s just one date.”

The room was quiet now. Nobody said or did anything for a while.

Then Polly started moving again and explained: “You should focus on getting a wife and not play around with some floosy girl… but you’re an adult now, John, so do whatever you want… just don’t drag me into your mess.”

John nodded and went upstairs to get his kids. Yes, he was still bitter about the things Polly said to him, but he wouldn’t let this ruin his day. After all he had plans. Maybe he gripped the banister a little too tight, well, at least he didn’t bellowed at his children, when he found them making a mess in his old room.

All four were sitting here and around them were all the toys they had. Most of them were his old toys or some from his brothers.

“Lunch is ready”, he grunted and waited for them to get up, so they would follow him. They just stared at him with wide eyes.

His oldest daughter was the first to talk: “We heard you yell at Aunt Polly…”

He didn’t answer instead he just moaned and leaned against the wall.

“You’re away tonight”, she added and tilted her head. There was curiosity in her eyes. It didn’t bother him, but something else did. She had the same eyes as her mother. Like a dagger it pierced his heart, whenever she gave him this look. Martha used to do this as well.

Slowly he nodded. He couldn’t lie to his kids at all. “Yes, but you’ll be staying here and Polly will bring you home, when it’s bed time.”

Breanna thought about this for a second and then like this whole conversation had never happened, she stood up and helped her little sister to get on her feet as well. “Well, it’s time for lunch now”, she declared and look at her twin brother: “C’mon, James, we still got homework to do.”

Now that she was standing, John could see how small she was actually. Sometimes he forgot, she was still a child, but the way she acted was different. His oldest daughter had picked up a lot from Polly and her mother, while he was in France. However he tried to not treat her like an adult. She wasn’t and her childhood shouldn’t be ripped from her. Breanna didn’t need to protect her siblings from anything and yet she still thought it was her job.

James on the other hand was quite the opposite. Loud, angry, such a brat, he picked up fight, whenever he could, much like his father at that age.

Luckily his older brother Colin was also a voice of reason and not as chaotic as James. Colin was the oldest and he didn’t actually talk much, but on somedays and with certain persons he wouldn’t shut up. Most of the time Colin did good in school, read a lot, unlike his uncle Finn who was just five years older than him. And more importantly… Colin did everything his father asked him to.

And then here was Katie, the youngest. Just three years old and a sweet girl, but she was of fragile condition. She was born prematurely and was also the reason why Martha died. John tried to ignore the fact, because even though she was the reason, it wasn’t her fault. How could she? She didn’t pick her time to be born. However from time to time, Katie managed to make him cry. After the war, he rarely shed tears, but every time she was sick and he had to go with her to the hospital, he lost his nerves. She was still his little baby and the thought of losing her too wrecked him.

They were all on their way downstairs and John followed them back. He held Katie’s hands while walking down the stairs.

The lunch was very silent. There was still tension left in the room, but John didn’t cared. Katie was sitting on his lap and they both ate from the same plate, like they always did. But it wasn’t a cute ritual, more like a space problem, with all the family members around the table, it was a little cramped. Too cramped for Katie to have her own stool. Another reason, why he needed a wife. So he and his family could eat in his kitchen and they would all have enough space again.

A part of John was worried Polly or Arthur mentioned his date to Tommy, who would gladly take the opportunity to ruin his day. His older brother would pick all the question, John had been asking all week and then make him look stupid in front of the whole family. But apparently Polly was too pissed about the fight to say anything that day and John thanked god for this.

Somehow Katie spilled the stew all over his pants, but he had no time to go back home and change his pants. He still needed to finish the books and after that, he could get dressed for his date.

So John sat in his office in a damp suit and tried to fix what he did wrong before lunch.

Maybe the luck was on his side today after all, because he managed to get everything done early. Somethings didn’t went as smooth as he had wished for, but at least it worked out so well, that he could go to the date and it was still a win for him.

As fast as possible without running he walked home and sprinted up the stairs to the master bedroom. Now he could change his cloths and he was indeed very happy about it. The stew had dried on his leg, which made his skin itchy. Basically he ripped his clothes off the second he arrived in his room.

“Fuck.” A curse left his lips, because he got stuck in his pants and almost hit the floor. Last second he got his balance back and then threw his pants in the opposite direction. He could care about this later.

First he had to clean the stains from his body. So he rushed to the kitchen, just in his underwear and rubbed his leg with a wet cloth. This had to be enough. With the time he had left, he couldn’t take a bath.

Back in his room again, he stood in front of the cabinet and picked the first suit he had in his hand. There was no discussion about this. Suits were suits and he had plenty of them, all of them looked good on him and she wouldn’t even mind, would she?

While he button up his shirt, he stopped all the sudden. What if she would mind? Slowly he walked backwards to the cabinet. Should he wear his Sunday suit? Thought and thoughts came rushing in. She seemed like a fine lady, but yet she agreed to meet with him. Maybe she wouldn’t, if it wasn’t for the bet.

He got headache since his argument with Polly and it got worse. Maybe he would go to the spot, where they should meet and she wasn’t there. The possibility, that she tricked him, hadn’t occurred in his mind until now.

Honestly, John felt so stupid, when he realized how weird the coincidence was. What were his chances to be so lucky? To meet a beautiful, wealthy and unmarried woman, who was also funny and charming and mysterious and he could find a ton more of adjectives to describe her? And then win the round and the bet, he had made with her? What were his chances for that? So either he was one of the luckiest men in this world or a goddamn idiot.

Or maybe… his mind tricked him. He was pretty drunk after all and in his twisted mind the details of this scene got lost. Maybe he didn’t win the round, but because he wished so bad for it, he had changed his memory of that said night. Maybe he was so lonely he made up this perfect woman, because he couldn’t bare his poor existence anymore.

And did he think about his stupid suit so much?

Yes, he was nervous, but this was no explanation for this nonsense.

Right now, John was freaking out about a woman he barely knew. It reminded him of a time, where he did the same thing… but with Martha, a girl he had known all his life. Back then and today he was well aware of why he was so nervous around his first wife. He loved her and he was afraid of saying or doing something very stupid.

But he didn’t loved that Russian woman. He couldn’t, not after only one kiss. It was impossible and yet the kiss felt so real. The memory of her lips was burned into his mind and it drove him crazy.

And he didn’t know, why he had this feeling, which wasn’t love and he didn’t even know what it was, and suddenly he had more questions in his head than he ever had in his whole life.

Usually, he didn’t think that much about anything. He wasn’t the guy who put much thought into every little thing that happened around him.

Everything he wanted to do now was to yell. He couldn’t even put his frustration into words anymore. His head was full of white noise.

Barefooted he stood on the wooden floor of his bedroom, which he used to share with the love of his life. John took a few deep breaths and looked around. Everything was still the same. After the war he had no energy to change something in here, even though it was just fueling his mental health issues. There was still her cabinet with her dresses and her stuff and sometimes when he was particularly lonely, he felt the fabric and imagined her soft body under it. It didn’t smell like Martha anymore, but sometimes he wished.

It felt like suffocating. He couldn’t breathe nor cry, even though tears filled his eyes.

He walked over to his nightstand and looked at the photograph of her. “You don’t get to fucking judge me”, he whispered: “Like you always did. You died and I’m still here and I love you and I always will, but don’t ruin this for me.”

“You put all these questions in my head, so I’ll fuck up and ruin everything”, he argued… with his dead wife like she was there. And he could imagine her so well, standing next to him with her arms crossed in front of her chest and that piercing look in her eyes.

Even before she died, he talked a lot to her and about her and sometimes just to himself, but it just got worse, when he came home from France. He can’t handle the silence in the room nor the void his head. Suddenly he said with a soft voice: “I know, what I promised you back then and when I made that promise, I believed every word of it, but you can’t be the only woman I’ll ever love now. You are dead.”

He wasn’t there when she died and the worst part was… he hadn’t even known until he got home. Polly said, she was about to write a letter, but then she couldn’t, because she didn’t want to bother him, while he was in the trenches. Of course, he had worries, when he didn’t get a letter from his wife in months. John just thought she was mad at him, because she was pregnant again while he was away. And then he came home and his house was empty. No Martha and no kids. So he walked back to Polly’s Place and then she told him. His wife was dead and he was surrounded by his family, but he had never felt so lonely in the world.

To this very day, this memory haunted him in the worst way.

And yet, he refused to crumble right away. Not before it had even started. Life was going on and he refused to just stand there, while the time passed. He would walk, run away from this memory if he had to.

“Let me try it at least”, he bargained: “You don’t know her and neither do I. She could be a beast, a real bitch and maybe, just maybe I don’t want to see her again. And maybe I’ll do, but that’s not your decision. I make my own decisions now, because that’s how things work for the living people, Martha.”

It hurt to say her name, but he had to. The word had so much power over him and he took this power back, by saying it. Then he flipped the photograph over and walked back to the cabinet.

Without a second doubt he picked his finest suit and just like that Martha was gone. She would come back eventually, but right now he had other things to do. Like do his hair and drink a little sip of whiskey for confidence.

With a toothpick in his mouth, he left the house and walked the road. All alone.

#john shelby #peaky #peaky blinders #peaky fucking blinders #peaky fookin blinders #peaky fooking #peaky fanfic #peaky blinders fandom #peaky blinders fic #peaky blinders fiction #peaky blinders john #john shelby x oc #john shelby x #johnboy #dead wife

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hermitcraftheadcanons · 4 years

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Apartment AU Masterpost:

-Everyone lives in an apartment complex.

-Xisuma as landlord? Or just a really well looked up to person in the complex. Whichever works for you!

-Pranks all the time. Everyone's constantly pranking each other.

-Everyone has 'normal people jobs.' Perhaps Joe is an English teacher? (Cleo's also a teacher. (Irl.) Omg, what if they teach at the same school?) Maybe Bdubs is a professional interior designer? Maybe Cub builds computers? Go nuts, get creative.

-Actually, screw it. Bdubs works at IKEA.

-Everyone meets up every Friday night to go to the pub or go bowling or just do something together.

-They have a discord server because of course they do.

-European Hermits are early-birds, American hermits are night-owls. (This is the only way I can think to portray timezones and waking hours when everyone's living in the same building.)

-They all still love minecraft, don't worry.

-Keralis has so many books his flat is basically a library. He lets people come in and borrow books for a small fee.

-Tinfoilchef is a bit of a shut in but everyone makes an effort to include him.

-Etho would also be a cryptid like Xisuma. Like, we've seen Xisuma's whole body other than his face but the best we know about Etho is that: 1. He exists and 2. From the, like, one single real life photo he's shared, he broke a headset. Also, 3. Allegedly, he's buff. Otherwise; Beef and Etho invite Pause (who lives elsewhere,) over at random intervals to [play ctm maps] and do god knows what. Bdoubs works at IKEA but is the person to make the room displays, y'know.

-Scar sells dice and other tabletop rpg supplies that he designs. His shop is magiccrystals. com

-Cub and Scar made business with the guy who runs the fight club. They get half of the profits and everyone’s always wondering how those two can always afford the most expensive Christmas gifts for everyone.

-Mumbo could be an engineer or work on a STEM field, and he works on some really important and impressive projects and that would explain his polish person, Exept, when it comes to helping another hermit to change a lightbulb or fix a microwave he is an absolute disaster.

-Grian owns a parrot that knows everyones' names and faces and greets them when they come in.

-Scar's apartment has a balcony filled with plants and he has to bring them inside for the winter. (I'm assuming that all 4 seasons happen) Even without the balcony plants, his place is still full of indoor plants including his favorite venus flytrap. There is always a plant knocked over from Jellie's shenanigans. Jellie is supposed to stay in his apartment, however she keeps on getting out somehow, even getting to Xisuma's apartment occasionally.

-There's a grassy patch out back that acts as a backyard, but Stress has effectively taken it over. Perfect for flowers of all colors in the spring and summer, and during the winter you KNOW she’s building an ice castle from which to throw snowball at all her friends.

-Beef and, when he’s visiting, Pause get a lot of questions about Etho (since unlike X who gets one tightlipped visitor in shape of his brother Etho gets two that are willing to be vague) however they charge a fee for people to guess. They’d never actually sell him out but the guesses are always something technical related so there’s not much of a risk, he actually works as a botanist/gardener.

-Iskall is extremely good at ice hockey and, as resident Canadians, Etho and Beef have played with him. However Iskall only knows that he’s played with Beef because both beef and etho refuse to tell him who in the rink was Etho when they played.

-The only person who’s seen Xisuma's face is Keralis.

-Nobody knows what Grian does for a job. Like, when they think they've figured it out what he does, they're thrown through a loop again because he does a lot of odd jobs. Need help with a pet? Grian can help! Rip on your clothes? Don't worry, Grian knows how to fix it! Ect.

-Grian's an assassin. Iskall will make assassin jokes and Grian, without looking up from his coffee will go: "that's not how that works!" And then go back to being quiet. Everyone's like ????

-I love the idea of Grian knowing all these cool facts and when anyone acts he says 'it's because of his job,' and they still can't figure out what he does. He keeps correcting Iskall on assassin facts but they're all just like 'oh Grian sure must love those types of movies, huh.'

-Cleo teaches Joe's kid. (That means she teaches either year 2 or year 3? // 1st grade or 2nd grade?)

-Grian's family is in the mafia but he mostly just vibes. Sure, he works with the mafia, but he keeps his regular life away from work and none of the hermits (besides False because she saved the Mafia boss) know. Imagine boss looking at False and going, 'oh hey, you're already protected.' False is confused and says 'what?' But the Mafia Boss has already left.

-Etho is always in full kakashi cosplay.

-Honorary hermits apartment au: zloy and pixl have a radio show but also act as private investigators. Falsie hires them to investigate how she got the protection of the mafia. On their investigation they start asking Elybeat (that lives on a building right next to the hermits) about weird behaviors that he might have seen. Ely just goes ‘all of what they do is weird. I’ve recorded weird stuff they say and remixed it. They though it was funny and put the remixes as their elevator music.'

-Everyone thinks Etho is an assassin, but really, he's a horticulturist/botanist. He doesn't bother to correct them cause it means he doesn't get pranked, (or, as often.) Maybe someone finds out eventually? I don't know who. Maybe Doc and they keep it hush hush cause they think it's funny or something. || Maybe Bdubs finds out, (because I think he's seen Naruto?? Swear I saw a Twitter post where he recognized a Naruto joke) and he's the only one that recognizes that Etho's dressed like Kakashi and NOT an assassin. (That's lowkey a joke though.)

-Someone warns Grian against parking euro because they think Etho's an assassin and Grian just kinda goes: "alright then." Knowing that there's no way Etho is an assassin, but also realising how the hermits view that profession, he most likely starts feeling kinda bad.

-Beef used to be a car photographer and Mumbo takes photographs as a sideline when he was in college. They would occasionally chat about their past experience in the photography field and sometimes gush about cars.

-Hermit Challenges was actually a truth or dare game among the hermits. Mumbo was basically delirious from lack of sleep to explain his absolute gremlin energy. Mumbo dares Grian to steal front doors before passing out and everyone decided that was the end of that game. No one thought Grian would do the dare. A week later, everyone but Etho and Xisuma were missing their front doors (including Grian.) He stuck them in his bathroom so no one immediately saw the doors.

-As already established, Joe constantly hangs at Keralis's library. Let's say he also has a hobby for writing, and one time he was asking to himself how *insert really specific murder scene* would work in real life. Grian or Doc then overheard him and answers him in a also very specific way, he thanks them with 0 concerns and continues with his writing.

-Etho has been an assassin but it was many years ago, and retired to care for plants. (As you do.) He got hired by The Goatfather but intentionally botched the killings because, 'hey now those two are friends >:(' He and Bdubs still have the endrod game but it involves the whole apartment building and several discord messages going "located" or "flashlight on the move.'

-Stress paints all the hermit's door and puts their names on them. (-🌿)

-The organisization Grian works for is called "The Watchers!" They text him in riddles of what his missions are. This is so that if anyone peaks at his phone, they don't understand immediately!

-What if in YHS happen because of grian family and Sam is from an other family who does not support the grain family. So grian will not bring up high school and school and when joe and Cleo talk about there student grian sometimes cringes remember what happened in high school. (-🌿)

-Grian and Mumbo's hobbits holes were two cupboards they found on their respective apartments and decided to make a room out of them and named them their hobbit holes after they found out they both had them (-🐿️)

-What if it's a really old apartment and the 'hobbit holes' actually connect to each others apartment. (-🐺)

-Mumbo has these periods when he overworks like crazy and when they're over - he sleeps for like 24-36 hours straight. Everybody knows about this and help him if he falls asleep in random plaxes around the apartment. Mumbo once fell asleep right before his door and Grian tried to help him get inside while mumbling. Guess which remix were aded to the elevator music next week.

-Whenever anyone is annoyed or upset, grian sometimes pops his head up from his book and goes "who do I need to kill?" No one takes him seriously though he *would* kill for any of his friends.

-People who have left the server work nearby but have moved to new apartments. (For example, Welsknight works at a nearby food truck) (-☘️)

-With the Grian being a spy you get several oints where he thinks he's been found out but no one puts the and two together. They're all like: "Grian just likes action movies I guess."

-Scar's "wizard robe" is a bathrobe he owns. One day he forgets to change and just walks out in a bathrobe and no pants.

-Since Cleo teaches Joe's kid, maybe that extends to all the hermits' kids? Like the ones that have them, like not at the same time but at some point you know?

-I don't think I saw any regarding headgames, but I could've missed it. Anyways, what if Cleo wanted to make a big Scrapbook in her free time of all her friends, so she asks everybody to try and get pictures. So the PVP heads are candid photos, and the tradeable one are like selfies or group pictures. The other heads could just be a requirement for the picture like have a sheep in the picture. And maybe she gives the winners dinner payed by her or something.

-On the head cannon that hermits that aren’t on the server work nearby, Biffa is the actual mayor.

-Are mobs (and half mobs by extension) still a thing in apartment au? Cause if not I propose that Jevin just has cloob blue dyed hair and a bunch of blue tattoos.

-XB bakes a lot and always shares the food he makes with the others. They adore his cookies. Scar really wants to make some cookies in the shapes of disney characters with him, but he's too shy to ask. (-nameless anon)

-Perhaps Mumbo and Iskall are also protected by the mafia because of grian (perhaps scar is too) They and False have a 'we are protected and have no idea why' group (-Frost Anon)

-Imagine the hermits want to throw a nice party but X and Etho were kinda like “yeah no i’ll pass” so they make it a masquerade so that they can come- and then the whole night no one knows who anyone really is, but still has a really good time.

-Grian wanted a pet parrot, but felt like he would be terrible at taking care of one so he has toy parrots instead, those that have pre made phrases and such, and he is proud of his toy parrot pets. (-🐿️)

-Xisuma hosts a podcast! That's where all of his Xisuma speaks content ends up coming from. (-🇵🇭)

-Etho has a secret food blog called "Cooking With Etho" (based on the actual cooking with Etho segment in usually his modded stuff.) He also knows that there's hermits that either: have no idea how to cook properly or can't cook real meals due to their work. To help with this, sometimes he leaves finished meals or recipes with them (outside their doors or somehow in their fridge) and no one knows who does it prompting the theory of a self care ghost haunting the building.

(All of those in red were from Anons!)

-Joe works as a LAMP Developer.

-False has an assortment of swords, knives, etc. She even had a bow! She also has a dummy to practice fighting on.

(-@unpredictable-pancake.)

-Stress is a wedding designer. (-@the-angry-numel.)

-Iskall also works at IKEA with Bdubs. (-@mandatedempathy.)

-There's a local club that's basically fight club a few people are in. False, Iskall and a couple others are in.

-Hypno is kind of a bit of a loner. Everyone on the floor considers him a friend but he doesn't really have a best friend. He just does his own thing and people usually let him do that. He's fine with it.

-XB and Joe spend a lot of time at Keralis' library house just reading the books. Keralis usually charges every except those two because 1. They're there so often and 2. They're basically his room mates at this point. (-@tomcatacaphe.)

-Ren works at a bar as a bartender or musician. (-@friendlyneighbourhoodpieceoftrash.)

-Building on the last thing with Ren as a musician or working at a bar, he works at a bar as a server but does live music on weekends. It's the bar/pub/restaurant that the hermits sometimes hang out at together.

-I can see Grian working at a pet shop but also on the side of the mafia because of YHS. Or at least he used to be involved with the mafia.

-Beef once had to cart Etho off to the hospital for a chemical burn and explain to the other tenants that the explosion heard suspiciously close by wasn’t mafia activity. Etho is just an idiot with a hobby of making homemade fireworks.

-(-@limelocked.)

-False is the chief of police for the town they live in. Iskall is a hired assassin who normally gets employed by the mysterious figure GOATfather. Doc is the GOATfather, head of the mafia. Falsie is trying to hunt down these two as well as any others associated with them. The nHo is part of the mafia. Falsie has no idea any of them are in the mafia and they refuse to kill her because she has become such a close friend to them.

-Maybe Grian is a spy instead of an assassin? The group the Watchers is a government policing organization bent on trying to crack down on mob activity in the area.

(-@creator0fchaos.)

-The elevator music is hermitgang and remixes. -(@lookitsspacekween.)

-Zedaph is a game show host. Tango makes cartoons. (-@aphion-and-on.)

-Come on, let Iskall play ice hockey! Maybe not professionally if it doesn't work for the AU but he's v good at least. (-@automnalsaffron.)

-Grian maybe works at an animal shelter or an animal rehabilitation center. So everyone who has a pet usually comes to him for help if their pet is sick or injured. (-@vahco.)

-Grian has a safe full of guns, all the Hermits know about it but think they're fake. (-@xxpzmistxx)

-X never comes out of his room so no one’s seen his face. The only way he communicates is via text, Discord, and an intercom right by his door. He almost always gets groceries whenever the hermits are busy and therefore have no time to go out- but the hermits know he’s a real person because sometimes they hear guitar solos coming from his room.

-Hypno is a voice actor!

-Joe and Cleo often go home at the same time, and all the way it's almost always Cleo complaining about her students being bratty and the likes (Bonus points if Joe carpools with Cleo, who owns a car.)

-False unknowingly helps the boss of the mafia after seeing him wounded on a street one day, earning her their protection.

-As a callback to Season 6, Stress became a cat lady for a bit while False became a dog lady. As an added bonus: Cleo became nuts when Cub decided to gift her with spiders for her birthday or some other event.

-Mumbo still sidelines as a cameraman/film director for short documentaries and comedy sketches where he often invites Zed and his buddy Jack to act maybe?

-The first time X was proven to be an actual person was when the girls temporarily kicked the boys out to have the apartment all to themselves for a girls’ night which prompted the boys to have their own boys’ night. X was wearing his grey helmet that night so his face was still obscured tho, and from that day forward they always had a weekly girls’ night and boys’ night alternating on which group gets to have the apartment to themselves.

-False may seem like she can take a shot or two, but in reality she’s very lightweight and easily drunk, and is always the first one wasted. She becomes a flirty drunk who flirts with everyone and everything when she’s tipsy, an angry drunk the more she drinks and eventually a sad drunk before passing out. Cleo and Stress, her drinking buddies, always find amusement in this.

-As a callback to Xb living a thousand blocks away from society in s7, maybe he lives at the highest floor where not many (if not no one) occupies?

(-@heyitsroby.)

-Civil War started because they used to get groceries delivered to their doors and Grian started stealing them when they were left in the doorstep. Everyone stole each others groceries until one day they went into teamss of one side vs the other side of the corridor to the other until Grian stole so many groceries Dic was like 'Dammit!' He started going to the store to get groceries instead of getting them delivered to his door after that. (-@sayeshaa1108.)

-Regarding apartment au: Zedaph is similar to miu iruma from danganronpa: making the weirdest inventions and coaxing the other hermits into doing weird things for science. (-@oh-hecc-im-stupid.)

-Idk if Doc has a profession yet in the apartment au, but it just struck me- what if he owned a private casino?? Cause of s7? Just a thought! (-@853dragons.)

-Cleo really enjoys doing miniature diorama scenes. Like the tiny dudes from "Night at The Museum". She's like crazy good at it, and Joe will sometimes base his poems and stories off of her dioramas. Also maybe Joe has published a book of poems and short stories? (-@lynxes15.)

-Doc works as a social engineer and part time mafia boss. He rarely shows up for game nights. However, when he does, nobody else stands a chance.

-Tango, Impulse and Zedaph go over to each other's rooms so often they practically live together in an apartment room 3X bigger than everyone else.

(-@trashedeggnog.)

LINK TO NEXT POST: https://hermitcraftheadcanons.tumblr.com/post/617640752709861376/apartmentau-masterpost-2-link-to-previous-the

Posts with TW:

Guns, Gangs, Getting Shot. Don't read if you can't handle this topics.

-Everyone finds out Grian is an assassin/mafia boss because someone from a different gang (*cough cough* sam gladiator *cough cough*) found out where he lives and tried to murder him. Queue epic gun fight scene. If you want some angst, Grian gets shot a couple of times in the fight but didn’t realize it because of the adrenaline and passes out. (-Anon.)

-Imagine someone like, finding Grian's guns and weapons and just being :0 and Grian is a little nervous. But then the other hermit just think the guns are cool (it's probably either etho or doc) and they're just gushing over how cool the guns are. Grian is relieved. (-Anon.)

-iJevin owns at least one gun. He's not in the mafia or a cop or anything, it's just cool and legal so he as one. He's the constant counter for the other gun owning hermits who have them for more mafia related purposes (context: jevin owns at least one gun irl) (-Anon.)

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mst3kproject · 3 years

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Countess Dracula

In Countess Dracula we have the tale of a lonely old woman who discovers that she can make herself young again, just so long as she doesn’t mind having to murder somebody to do it (she doesn’t). Our antiheroine uses this newfound youth to seduce the least interesting man in the movie, until at last her misdeeds catch up with her when her latest victim turns out to have been the wrong demographic to make the magic work.

Does that sound familiar? Yeah, this is a very Leech-Woman-y movie. It stars Nigel Green, the news announcer from Gorgo, and comes to us from Hammer Studios, home of Moon Zero-Two. The director, Peter Sasdy, never made anything that wound up on MST3K but he did work on the legendary Pia Zadora bomb, The Lonely Lady. Countess Dracula is not a wild ride, as its pace is fairly sedate, but it is certainly a ride nonetheless.

The count of somewhere or other has just died, leaving his realm to his nineteen-year-old daughter Ilona – and technically also leaving his spiteful widow, Elizabeth, free to marry her longtime lover Captain Dobi. Most people would consider this a perfectly acceptable retirement, but Elizabeth is impossible to satisfy. She doesn’t want to grow old while Ilona (currently on her way home from finishing school in Vienna) rules the county and gets all the attention. When Elizabeth discovers that bathing in the blood of virgins restores her youth, she embraces murder as a hobby and has Ilona locked up so she can stay in charge while posing as her own daughter! In that guise she sets out to pursue handsome young Imre, the son of her husband’s most trusted general, while jealous Dobi can only sit and seethe.

I bet you think you can guess how this movie ends. I bet you think Dobi tells Imre the countess’ secret, and the two of them defeat her. Or else the real Ilona escapes and meets him, they expose Elizabeth as a fraud, and then get married and rule the land with justice and mercy or something. That’s what would happen in a normal movie… but you guys know I don’t watch normal movies. Maybe instead you’re guessing that nobody does shit and Elizabeth just carries on her merry way until she’d destroyed by her own hubris? That’s more like it.

Not all of Hammer’s films were good, but they were generally pretty well-made and Countess Dracula is not an exception. The elaborate costumes and sets are very nice, although areas like the town square are obviously artificial and the old lady makeup on Ingrid Pitt as Elizabeth is pretty bad. There’s also a young woman made up in very ugly brownface as a ‘gypsy girl’, except they totally forgot to do any makeup on her for the scene where her naked corpse is discovered in the woods.

There are even a couple really well-done moments of storytelling and worldbuilding. A scene in a pub, when everybody falls silent as Dobi and Imre enter, shows eloquently how terrified the peasants are of the aristocracy. Elizabeth gets some chilling bits when we see the true depth of her depravity. She sees no difference between controlling people through love and controlling them through fear – either way, she gets what she wants, and their feelings don’t matter. My favourite detail is the subtle cultural conflict going on in the background, as the characters speak disparagingly of ‘Turks’ and yet have clearly picked up some bits and pieces of Ottoman culture.

Although its plot outline is very similar to The Leech Woman, the philosophy of Countess Dracula is completely different. The Leech Woman didn’t really give June a viable alternative to her poisoned fountain of youth. Old women in its world can only sit around and drink and know that nobody loves them. Elizabeth, however, has a possible future – Dobi repeatedly notes that he’s been waiting twenty years for the opportunity to legitimatize his relationship with her. He would have happily devoted himself to her for the rest of his life, and the two of them could have lived in retirement while Imre and Ilona gave them grandchildren to spoil. Dobi even says there is dignity in age, directly contradicting The Leech Woman by applying it equally to both sexes. June was more or less forced to become a monster, while Elizabeth chooses it explicitly.

So there’s honestly some pretty good stuff in this film. Where it unfortunately falls on its face is with the characters, none of whom can really be said to have an arc, and the ending, which is rushed and unsatisfying.

The movie’s main focus is always on Elizabeth, but she refuses to grow or learn anything at any point. She starts off as a nasty, selfish bitch and just stays a nasty, selfish bitch. She has no actual master plan, but seems convinced that she can keep up this charade indefinitely, even though Dobi points out the impracticality of that. Dobi believes she’s going mad, but the truth seems to be she’s just horrible. She is evidently terrified of growing old, but that is never explored. We see her react to aging, rather violently at times, but we never find out what the root of this fear is.

All this means that Elizabeth, despite being the focal character, is never sympathetic. June in The Leech Woman at least started off as somebody we could pity, before she descended into depravity. Elizabeth is a terrible person from the get-go, as illustrated in the very opening when she has her coachman run over a peasant who wants her to fulfill a promise her late husband made her.

Imre and Ilona are pretty much complete ciphers. Imre spends the entire movie in Elizabeth’s thrall one way or another. He is madly in love with her in her guise as Ilona, and after finding out the truth he’s too scared of her to openly defy her. The only personality trait he manifests is gullible foolishness, and any sympathy we might have had for him evaporates when he cheerfully kisses a barmaid’s tit on the same day when he’s proposed marriage to the woman he believes is his true love. Ilona spends most of the movie locked up in some mute peasant’s hut doing not much. When she finally enters the story properly, she comes across as stunningly stupid.

The character who does the most to try to thwart Elizabeth is her lover Dobi, but he’s less interested in stopping her from killing virgins than he is in having her to himself. He gets Imre drunk and tosses him in bed with the barmaid in the hope that Elizabeth will reject him, and later takes Imre to see Elizabeth bathing in blood to youthen herself. These things don’t work, partly because Imre is an idiot and partly because Elizabeth is always more evil than he thought she was, but at least he tries.

At the end of the movie, Elizabeth’s latest bloodbath wears off in the middle of her wedding to Imre, and she runs off to murder Ilona in order to make herself young again. Imre tries to stop her and gets stabbed for his trouble, which does at least expose Elizabeth’s evildoing to one and all, and she and Dobi are hanged. What happens to Ilona I’m not sure, but I know they didn’t have therapists in the seventeenth century. Nobody wins here. It’s a downer for everybody, including the superstitious peasants, who will continue to be terrified of their rulers now that their worst fears have been confirmed.

Several things might be made of the fact that it’s young women Elizabeth is killing. It’s interesting to note that the idea of male virginity is never even brought up. We could contrast two depictions of motherhood, in the form of Elizabeth’s jealousy of Ilona versus Juli the nurse’s unconditional love for her. There’s Imre’s description of ‘Ilona’ as embodying all aspects of womanhood, to which Dobi replies that no woman can be maiden, mother, and whore all at once… yet that is just what Elizabeth is trying to be. What I find interesting in this, however, is how the movie depicts Elizabeth’s own internalized misogyny, in the fucked-up attitudes she displays towards youth, beauty, and gender.

Elizabeth feels that age and experience have made her undesirable. Dobi assures her that he finds her as attractive as he ever did, but she evidently does not believe him, and her mistreatment of her female servants has a definite note of jealousy in it. She kills young virgins not only to gain their desirability, but because she hates them for what they have and she does not.

What’s unusual is that she applies this same attitude towards the men in her life. Elizabeth is no longer attracted to Dobi, because he is old and experienced. Their affair has gone on for years, and in Dobi’s mind this has only deepened his love for her – but Elizabeth is tired of it and wants something new. Imre is young, handsome, and innocent. He has no wealth of his own and has not yet really accomplished much in life, but Elizabeth doesn’t care. If all she has to be is young and pretty, then how could she ask anything more of him?

Here, Dobi and Elizabeth represent two different versions of gender equality as it applies to sexual attractiveness, with him raising Elizabeth to his level, and her lowering Dobi and Imre to hers! Elizabeth treating the men in her life as she has been treated illustrates the inequality quite sharply, but what ultimately destroys her is applying the same standards to herself. She believes so totally that nothing else matters as long as she is beautiful that she doesn’t care what she has to do to accomplish it, or who sees her do it. In the end, she is undone by her own self-loathing.

#mst3k #reviews #episodes that never were #countess dracula #70s #magic voice recommends #we're running out of plots

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jaybear1701 · 3 years

Link

The call comes sooner than Pam’s expecting, though honestly she’s not even sure what she expects now that a good chunk of her life is back in shambles, just when she thought she had finally gotten her shit together.

She knows it’s a mess of her own making, for once again allowing emotions to prevail over reason, but it still hurts, the pain somehow worse than it was a decade ago. Back then, when she and Ellen first walked away from each other, Pam knew that Ellen would always have a piece of her heart. But now? Now it feels like she left it entirely in Houston, her chest aching and hollow.

She answers the phone on her desk without thinking, on autopilot after a late drive back to Austin, a sleepless night tossing and turning on a motel bed, and not enough caffeine in the shitty coffee from the faculty lounge.

“Pam Horton,” she says in the most upbeat voice she can muster, cradling the receiver to her ear.

“Pam, it’s Larry.”

Breath catching in her throat, she’s torn between dread and hope. She briefly considers hanging up, but Larry’s next words make her hand still.

“She’s a mess. You’ve gotta at least talk to her.”

Tears sting Pam’s eyes and she squeezes them shut. “I can’t do that.” She knows she couldn’t bear to hear the heartbreak in Ellen’s voice, or worse, see it spread across her face.

“Why not?”

“You already know.”

Larry sighs on the other end. “Look, I know you think you’re doing what’s best for Ellen. But she deserves a say. Don’t take that away from her.”

She wants to snap at him to mind his own damn business, irritation spiking. She doesn’t need Larry twisting the knife when he’s had a decade of reaping the benefits of his marriage to Ellen. But she bites the inside of her cheek and manages to refrain. It’s not Larry’s fault that things are the way they are, at least not entirely. Pam keeps her voice steady when she says instead, “Thanks for calling, Larry.”

“Pam, wait--”

“Bye.”

Pam hangs up the phone quickly, already feeling worse than she already had. But she refuses to cry. It’s all for the best, she tells herself as she leans back into her desk chair. For all of them.

She got over Ellen Wilson once before.

She can do it again.

Eventually.

But today is definitely not that day.

Especially not when Pam’s hunkered down inside one of the college’s fallout shelters, breathing in stale air and wondering like the rest of her students whether the next breath could be their last. They’re surrounded by thick slabs of concrete and rebar. In one corner are two massive water tanks that the custodial staff have been trying to fill since the harsh blare of the air-raid siren blanketed the campus in panic and confusion. A few other instructors huddle around a transistor radio, anxiously awaiting any word that the emergency is over.

If Pam could, she’d laugh at the absurdity of it all. Because of course the world could end in nuclear armageddon the day after she left the love of her life.

She knows she should try to comfort her small class of budding writers, who fidget on the cold metal of their folding chairs. Should maybe tell them that everything’s gonna be all right. But Pam knows better than to lie, so she keeps silent, mind zigzagging from one thought to the next.

Pulse pounding in her temples, she wonders if her parents made it to their bunker and wishes that she had returned their last calls sooner. Hopes, with a pang between her ribs, that Elise has made it to safety. Tries not to imagine Flannery, their Maine Coon cat, cowering beneath what used to be their bed.

But most of all, she thinks of Ellen.

Always Ellen.

She allows herself, in a moment of weakness, to envision how the morning would have gone if she had just stayed. Pam would have held Ellen close, forever amused by the fact that the fearless astronaut--the girl who caught the tank, no less--always preferred to be the “little spoon,” back tucked snugly against Pam’s front, their legs curled into one another’s. And before she’d have to slip out of bed to solve the latest crisis at JSC, Ellen would’ve turned in Pam’s arms and warmed her with a gentle kiss.

Regret squeezes her lungs so hard, she almost can’t breathe, and she forces herself to suck in air and push it back out. It must come out harsher than she intends because one of her students leans toward her, forehead creased with worry.

“You okay, Ms. Horton?”

Pam’s lips form a wholly unconvincing smile. “I’m fine, Judy.” Snapping out of her stupor, she reaches inside her messenger bag on the floor, pulling out a small notebook and a pencil.

“What’re you doing?” Judy watches Pam flip to an empty page.

“Pouring out a double,” Pam deadpans. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“How can you write at a time like this?” Another student, Valerie, asks.

Pam can’t tell them the truth. That if she doesn’t do this, she just might break down entirely.

So she merely shrugs as she presses lead to paper. “How can you not?”

Somehow, the world survives.

All thanks to a handshake in space.

When the news breaks over the radio, Pam is weak-kneed from relief, clapping and cheering with her students and colleagues. She wipes away the wetness on her cheeks as pride swells within her, knowing that astronauts she’s known and loved saved them all.

In some small way, it makes her feel justified in her decision to leave Houston. Even though Ellen herself wasn’t on the Apollo, Pam knows she would have been involved in the ultimate outcome. Ellen was born for leadership, and had so much good yet to do. Pam did the right thing in removing herself as an obstacle on Ellen’s path. Right? Right.

Her fellow professors want to celebrate their new lease on life. But Pam’s exhausted and wants nothing more than to crawl back to her motel room with some bourbon and pass out. So she takes her leave, picks up Chinese takeout, and swings by the liquor store where she buys a bottle of Michter’s, convincing herself that she selected it for its quality, and not because it’s Ellen’s favorite.

A shower, full belly, and three sheets to the wind later, Pam finds herself on top of the squeaky motel bed, surfing the late-night news for NASA coverage. Purely as a concerned citizen, of course, and not to catch a glimpse of the agency’s beautiful acting administrator. There’s nothing, though, and Pam lays her right arm over her eyes to block out the spinning room.

She dreams of Ellen.

Always Ellen.

They’re on the gray surface of the moon, surrounded by the twinkling darkness of the star-studded universe. Ellen, in her white space suit, is walking in the distance, her legs skip-floating across the dusty surface. Pam, however, is left exposed in the vacuum, unfathomably alive as she runs after Ellen. Or makes the attempt, hopping in weak gravity. No matter how hard she tries to cross the distance, the farther Ellen seems to pull away.

Her chest hurts, but Pam calls out anyway.

I’m sorry.

I love you.

Please.

Her words are swallowed by cold silence.

Pam wakes with a gasp, swallowing air into her lungs, heart pounding against her ribs. Blinking rapidly, it takes her several long seconds to remember where she is, the motel room slowly coming into focus. The television’s still on, now airing the morning news. Empty takeout boxes remain scattered on a small desk. For some reason, the room’s phone is off its hook, dangling off the side of the nightstand to her right.

Pam chokes back a sob.

Ellen doesn’t try to contact her, as Pam feared she might after her last conversation with Larry.

She should feel relieved. It's what she had wanted, and intended, when she left the letter on Ellen’s bed. And yet, she can’t stem the undercurrent of disappointment that lingers.

The news about Tracy and Gordo Stevens breaks while Pam's searching for a new apartment. Sitting in her favorite pub in Clarksville, tucked away on a quiet street in the historic neighborhood, she’s halfway through the newspaper classifieds when a sudden hush descends. One of the servers turns up the volume on the television above the bar. Photos of Tracy and Gordo in their blue flight suits flash on screen, their smiles confident and bright.

A news anchor says something about an accident at Jamestown, and how they and two other astronauts had lost their lives during the repairs. The exact details are lost on a shell-shocked Pam, a pencil slipping through her now slack fingers. It seems like only yesterday that she was pouring drinks for them both. They had been two of Pam’s favorites--Gordo with his terrible jokes and off-key singing, and Tracy with her kind smile and quiet determination.

They had always treated Pam as one of their own, and she can’t believe they’re gone.

It doesn’t feel real, and yet it’s now reality.

A few weeks later, every channel airs the funeral in Arlington National Cemetery. Elise has it on the television when Pam drops by their house to pick up the last of her things. Well, it’s not their house anymore, technically. It’s Elise’s until the lease to the small rambler expires at the end of the month.

They haven’t seen each other since Pam had left Elise for Ellen, and it’s every bit as awkward as Pam expected. Elise has every right to be hurt and angry, and Pam wouldn’t blame her if she felt the need to lash out. But Elise is civil, almost disconcertingly so, keeping her expression neutral as she walks ahead of Pam to the living room.

“I went ahead and packed the rest of your stuff.” Elise crosses her arms, maintaining her distance.

“You didn’t have to do that.” Pam ducks her head. Elise is nothing but efficient. It’s one of the things Pam loves about her. “But thank you.”

“I’ll let you get to it.” Elise nods and returns to sit on the couch.

A suitcase and several boxes are waiting next to the dining table. Flannery greets Pam instantly, curling around her ankles. Smiling, Pam bends down to pick up the orange Maine Coon.

“Hey, little guy, I’ve missed you,” she murmurs into his soft, fluffy fur. Flannery purrs in response.

On the TV screen, the president is giving a speech at the cemetery’s white-marble memorial amphitheater. Behind him are four coffins draped in the stars and stripes, and Pam’s heart clenches.

“Did you know them, too?” Elise cradles a mug between her hands as she watches the coverage.

“I knew the Stevenses, yeah,” Pam admits quietly.

“Guess there’s a lot you didn’t tell me,” Elise huffs out.

Guilt courses through Pam as she gently lowers Flannery back onto the floor. He meows in protest. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to hide it from you. It was just a part of my life I wanted to forget, I guess.”

Elise doesn’t respond, her eyes glued to the news coverage, where the camera pans to the crowd. Pam’s breath stills when she catches a glimpse of Ellen in black standing solemnly between Danielle Poole and Molly Cobb. She’s on screen for less than three seconds, but it’s enough to discombobulate Pam, who tamps down another swell of grief.

“I’m surprised,” Elise says suddenly, turning her head to regard Pam. “That you’re not there with her.”

I would be, Pam thinks, in a better world. But that’s not the one they live in, and Pam’s not even sure she’ll live to see the day when relationships like theirs will be accepted or, at the very least, tolerated without condemnation.

“It’s not my place,” Pam says vaguely.

She can’t bring herself to tell Elise the truth of what she had done, how in the end she had let Ellen go for the greater good. The pain is still too fresh. Without elaborating further, she picks up the first box with a slight grunt. It’s heavier than it looks.

It takes only a few minutes to load up her car, both amazed and sad that the tangible portion of a life with someone amounted, in the end, to so very little. Elise meets her just outside the storm door with the suitcase, saving Pam one more trip inside.

“Listen, I just…” Elise bites the corner of her lip, brow pinched. “I want you to be happy. And I’m trying to understand, but…”

“I know.” Pam attempts a smile she’s sure comes out half-hearted and weak. “I want you to be happy, too.”

“Just not together.”

“Elise…” Pam exhales slowly through her nostrils. A car rumbles down the street behind her. “I think,” she swallows against a lump forming in her throat, “if Ellen hadn’t walked back into my life, you and I would still want different things.”

Disappointment ripples across Elise’s face, and another wave of remorse washes over Pam. Children have been a sticking point between Pam and Elise, and it isn’t an issue that would simply resolve itself with time. Elise deserves someone who wanted, without hesitation, to build a family with her. And as much as Pam loves her, she just isn’t that person.

Pam takes in a deep breath. “We were friends before. Maybe… maybe one day we could be again.”

Elise only stares, blinks once, twice. “Maybe. I need some time, I think.”

“I understand.”

Nodding, Elise opens the screen door, but pauses before stepping back inside. “Take care of yourself, Pam.”

“You too.”

The door closes with a soft click that nevertheless feels loud in its finality. On a long exhale, Pam picks up the suitcase and walks away.

Life moves on, as it always does, without a care for tragedy or triumph.

In some ways, it’s easier than the last time Pam put herself through a hard reset. She’s not starting from scratch in a new city, or struggling to make ends meet as she works her way through grad school. She has her health, her career, and her freedom to live her life out in the open.

Pam settles into her new apartment in Clarksville. It’s better than the hole-in-the-wall she had rented way back when in Houston, but not by much. Still, it’s hers and she’s grateful for the distraction of unpacking, organizing, and decorating. Between those tasks and teaching, she doesn’t have time for much else.

But sometimes, in quiet moments alone, usually in bed staring up at her dark ceiling, her mind wanders and wonders--just how different would her life be if she had gone down the roads not taken. What if she had stayed with Ellen a decade ago? Could she have tolerated Ellen’s marriage to Larry? Would she have been able to stand the constant fear and anxiety from Ellen’s stints on the moon, not being able to have the same privileges as other spouses and wives? And what of Ellen’s potential foray into politics? Could Pam have found the strength to support her without resentment?

Pam doesn’t know, and will never know, but she explores the possibilities in poems jotted down in notebooks, stories scrawled in journals, and snippets scribbled on restaurant napkins and whatever scraps of paper she can find when the muse strikes. It helps, she thinks. Or hopes.

And so she pushes forward one day at a time: eat, sleep, teach, write. Eventually, she becomes so engrossed in the routine that she blocks out nearly all else, completely missing the news about NASA’s acting administrator stepping down to the surprise of the Reagan administration.

"Pens down, that's all she wrote folks!"

There's a palpable sense of relief around the room, even as some of the first-year students groan when Pam calls time on their final exam.

"Come on, it wasn't so bad, right?" She smiles from her desk as they turn in their papers. "I'm proud of you all. Have a terrific break."

Pam gets up to erase the instructions she had written in the blackboard. The chalk dust makes her nose crinkle, and she brushes her hands off on the front of her pants. Once the classroom empties out, Pam gathers the exams and slips them inside her messenger bag, cursing under her breath when she accidentally knocks a pen from her desk.

As she bends down to retrieve it, the door opens once again.

"Be with you in a sec." Pam stretches her arm to grasp the pen. Straightening back up, she turns to greet her student. "What can I do for…"

Her heart stops.

Ellen Wilson smiles.

"Hi, Pam."

#ellen x pam #for all mankind #ellen waverly #pam horton #spacepoet #canon divergent fix-it fic

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cambionverse · 3 years

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envesseled (1 of 3): poker

HELLO >:)

so. as you may have noticed, the last time we posted anything about envesseled (the claire-centric, claire-pov fic intended to follow jesse's fic cambion and ben's fic only human) was in 2013. did we forget about it? did we cancel it? is the verse abandoned? no, no, and no. we had a lot of stuff to rewrite to get the verse in the right place for envesseled, and then we got busy, and THEN there was a pandemic. but it was never very far from our minds, and now it is FINALLY time for this to be the next thing we post.

most of the fans of this verse have been with us for a very long time. for being so patient, and so supportive, we decided to post not one, not two, but THREE scenes from the in-progress envesseled, for everyone to enjoy, but especially for the people who were readers when we posted the last one (again, in 2013, eight entire years ago). we aren't committing to a posting date yet, but we are ALL much closer to the end of this wait than the beginning.

this particular scene is only mildly spoilery and doesn't have any major content warnings to watch out for, aside from a mention of the ticking clock on claire's grace. it also introduces the minor character patrick, from spn episode 5.07, who has been on our cast page for some time; finally you can get some idea of what (small yet important) role he might play in this story. there are two more previews after this before the night is over - we hope you enjoy them.

---

Lucky for Claire, there's already a poker game in progress when she pushes the door of the pub open in a swirl of cold air. The man who wins the next hand looks younger than the others by far, though there's something about him that Claire can't quite place. He catches her eye across the bar and smiles around a toothpick as his compatriots grumble and wander away with their meager winnings.

"Room for one more?" says Claire, laying the sweetness on thick and her money on the table.

He waves a hand at the now-empty chairs. "I'm Patrick."

Surely he's faking that Irish accent; it's even more ridiculous than Jesse's Australia-Nebraska hybrid. And with the name Patrick, no less. "Amelia," Claire says, and pretends the accompanying flare of pain is only because she told a lie.

"Amelia," says Patrick, with an odd emphasis on the last two syllables. "You remind me of someone I once knew." He hands her a stack of poker chips and begins dealing out cards.

Claire leans forward so her braid falls over her shoulder and says, "How did you end up here, Patrick?"

He doesn't take the opportunity to look down her shirt, which is all the more irritating because she had half-hoped he wouldn't. "Luck," he says, snapping the k. He glances at his cards. "It's often on my side."

Lie. Claire doesn't often get such strong feedback from general statements like that, but this one burns. She ups her bet by more than she otherwise would have, careful to keep her voice neutral. "That must come in handy."

"Well, that is what we Irish are known for." He flips another chip onto the pile. "Ignoring the whole bit about the famines, of course. Pots of gold don't make very good eating."

Claire cracks a smile completely involuntarily, and brings a hand up much too late to hide it. Patrick quirks one eyebrow. His eyes stay on Claire's face for a long time, though, as his expression slides into something sadder.

She wouldn't, usually, but Claire asks, "Who was it?"

Patrick blinks, and the smirk is back in place like it never left. "Who was who, darling?"

"You said I reminded you of someone."

"She was a dancer." Patrick takes a chip from his considerable pile and spins it between two fingers. "Held herself like you do, especially when she was angry. Like if she didn't hold herself tight she'd float right up in the air."

Claire's muscles go even tenser when he says that, because he's not supposed to notice. "Raise," she says, dropping the chips in the pile.

Patrick exhales. "She wasn't much of a poker player." He puts his cards down, and slides them back into the deck before she can see them. "I fold."

Claire scoops the pile of chips toward her, stacking them carefully by value. Patrick's first bet this round was high, the highest he's played all game; why did he drop the bluff so fast? With this, plus the little extra hidden in her backpack, and if she's willing to eat vending machine food for breakfast—

The door opens, and a low hum starts up in the back of Claire's head. She knows who it is before Ben ever reaches the table.

"Claire!"

Patrick's eyes narrow the slightest margin. "Claire, is it?"

Fuck, and now she's been made, and he probably won't pay out and she'll have to sleep in a fucking snowbank because Ben Braeden can't keep his mouth shut. She opens her mouth the bare minimum required to say, "Leave."

She hears him settle harder on his feet but continues to stare at her cards. Patrick folded. She doesn't even have one pair.

"I know you don't forgive me yet," Ben says, and Claire breathes out hard. "But there's something Jesse and I need to—"

"I said leave, Ben," and she's turning to glare at him even though she wanted to play this cool. His cheeks are glowing red from being out in the cold, and a little behind him, far enough back to have a clear path to the door, Jesse's watching her too. When he sees Claire looking, his eyes drop to the floor.

"No, you don't get it," Ben begins, but Patrick interrupts.

"Is there a problem here?"

Ben seems to realize there are other people around, and he slides on his most affable grin. Claire can see how it's going to go, Ben charming everyone in a ten-foot radius, what a nice guy he is. Well, not if she gets there first.

"Yeah, there is," she says, savoring the lack of pain because it's true. "This asshole has been bothering me all night. I came here to get away from him."

"Oh, come on," says Ben, already rolling his eyes, but Claire said it loud enough that quite a few people heard her and some of them are starting to mutter. He notices, and ducks closer to her. "Look, Claire, can we just go?"

Patrick stands up. "I believe the lady asked you to leave."

Ben gives him a once-over. "Who are you?"

"Oh, I don't think you want to know the answer to that," says Patrick. His smile is not kind. "I suggest you be on your way."

Claire's not surprised to see Ben's jaw set at that. "Dude, this is so not your business," he says. "I know her, okay? We've been friends for years. I just want to talk to her."

Patrick bites a toothpick idly. "Think she can decide for herself who she wants to talk to."

Ben looks like he might be feeling stupid enough to throw a punch, but then Jesse is there at his side, one hand finding its way to the back of Ben's neck. Ben calms down instantly with Jesse touching him and Claire has been so, so painfully oblivious to never see this for what it was.

When Patrick notices Jesse his arms drop, and suddenly the air feels weird. "And who's your friend?"

"I'm nobody," says Jesse, though Claire would bet her pile of hypothetical money that his other hand is on the knife at his belt. "Just don't want to see this get out of hand."

Patrick looks at all three of them like links in a chain. "And did you not hear the lady's request, nobody?"

"Maybe you should stop talking for her, how 'bout," Ben retorts.

Claire appreciates the help, she supposes, but really what she wants is to be done with the displays of aggression and for everyone to leave her alone. "Go away, Ben," she says, and it comes out tired even to her own ears. He slumps a little deeper into Jesse's grip, and that's exactly the problem.

"Claire—"

"We're going," says Jesse, finally looking away from Patrick to catch Claire's eye again. He lowers his voice. "We'll be waiting outside."

"You'll be waiting a long time," Claire says, one parting shot for them to remember her by. "I do hope you two can find some way to occupy yourselves."

They both flinch, and Claire turns back to the table with bitter satisfaction in the back of her throat.

Patrick settles back into his seat, eyes still on the door. "You do have interesting friends."

"They're not my friends," says Claire. The lie burns like whiskey.

Patrick raises an eyebrow at her. "No? Then what are they?"

"We were playing," Claire says pointedly. When he doesn't move, she grabs the deck and starts to shuffle herself.

"I am playing," Patrick retorts. If he starts to go on about how you don't play the cards, you play the person, she might have to hit him herself. Instead he leans back and chews on his toothpick. "Let me see if I got it straight. You and Ben, you've been friends for a long time."

Claire places her bet, refusing to acknowledge that he's still talking. There's nothing impressive about repeating back what Ben let slip.

"And you're not one to make friends easily, are you, Amelia." She does look up at that, and Patrick, smirking, corrects himself. "Claire."

She deals the next card.

"So maybe you thought Ben was something special. But you didn't trust yourself with him. So you told him to wait."

"Raise," Claire says, and she doesn't even have that good a hand but she wants to clean him out. He won't stop fucking smiling.

"Some people would wait, you know," says Patrick. "Some people would wait a very long time."

Some while back Ben had told her, There is nobody else. Well. I'm nobody, Jesse said. Claire turns out her hand. "Triple sixes."

Patrick sighs. "You're letting me get to you, love. Can't play a good game if your mind's out that door." He tosses his cards onto the table in front of her. "Full house, and I'm guessing you could've used this cash. Quit while you've got any left." He drags the chips out of her reach.

Claire picks up his cards and the rest of the deck. "We're not done playing."

"All that ice isn't going to keep you safe forever." Patrick leans back. "Deal."

And because Claire is tired, and lost, and vindictive, she lets the cards slide through her hands with that special twist Ben taught her.

Patrick nudges a considerable pile of chips into the middle of the table. "Some free advice for you, love," he says, eyes dark. "Your life's too short to pretend you want nothing and no one to come near your heart."

Her grace flares up even before she can shape the words I don't. He doesn't know how right he is—Claire's life is looking very short indeed, these days, and nothing Ben or Jesse can do will put a stop to the invasive light eroding her body from the inside out. Her heart's probably toxic by now anyway.

Claire takes a deep breath and shows her cards, spades all in a row just like she planned. "Straight flush."

Patrick tosses his hand onto the table. "Four aces."

"What?" But there they are, even though Claire could've sworn she cut the ace of diamonds into the middle of the deck and buried the ace of hearts even further down. She locks her teeth as soon as the word escapes, but it's too late; his cold smile tells her he knows what she did.

"I don't like cheaters," says Patrick. He places a polished wooden box on the table and begins gathering the chips back into it, along with any chance she had of getting a hotel room tonight. "And you, of all people, ought to value honesty. Better luck next time, Amelia."

Claire clenches her jaw. She stands to leave—then Patrick catches her hand.

"I'm not doing this for you," he murmurs, and she feels the papery crinkle of fresh bills on her palm. She grips the money instinctively even as she draws back, other hand curling into a fist. No one at all is watching them. But Patrick just looks at her, an unsettling depth to his gaze. "You should tell him how you feel," he says, and releases her.

Claire pockets the money and bolts before he can change his mind.

#cambionverse #envesseled #claire novak #10th cambiversary #rough drafts #writing #ours #lmao this scene is classic spn winchester hustle #but with claire it's like. gatekeep girlboss get the fuck out of my face #also the fact that she uses her mother's name as an alias: hurts me #claire novak my beloved

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banditthewriter · 5 years

Text

Tommy Shelby’s Soulmate

Another soulmate oneshot to make up for the fact that I haven’t finished CYF yet. So sorry y’all!!

Trope: Their name tattooed on their skin.

Tags are at the bottom. Let me know if you would like to be added to one of my tag lists!

*gif not mine*

Enjoy!

*****

"Mum, please, I don't care about who my soulmate is," you pleaded as your mother dragged you to one of the other dress shops on the square. "Honestly it isn't important to me."

Your mother gasped at the scandalous comment before she pulled you into one of the most expensive shops.

"You could very well meet your soulmate at this party and I will not have you wearing a dress you've worn before. You'll purchase something new and expensive and tonight you will introduce yourself to every available man until you find your Thomas."

Your Thomas. The name had appeared on your wrist when you were younger and your parents had searched high and low throughout London for your Thomas. Of the ones they found, none of them had your name on their wrist.

Not that you cared. You meant it honestly when you said it wasn't important to you. If you found your soulmate, that was great, but searching for him made it feel cheap and garish.

And not all soulmates were happy together. Your parents weren't.

"What if my soulmate isn't here? Where will you drag me next?"

You had been all around London already, as well as a few other places like Paris. You were tired.

"Your soulmate will be an individual like us so he will be somewhere of worth. We will find him, my dear, don't you worry."

You didn't know how to explain that you very much weren't worried. Not that your mother would have listened to you.

------

Your parents were going to kill you. Maybe not your father, but your mother would. The moment you had climbed into the car with your cousin, you knew they'd kill you.

Birmingham wasn't far from where your mother had relocated you in an effort to find your match, but it was far enough. And by the looks of it, it wasn't somewhere your mother expected you to find your soulmate. Not here with the factories and people wearing dirty clothes and where it looked like it rained more than anything.

You and your cousin slipped through the wet streets together, giggling and enjoying the freedom that this new city provided.

"This looks promising," she said as she tugged you into a place called The Garrison.

Inside everything was golden. Your eyes adjusted to the smoky view as you followed Janine to the bar. She leaned across to order the drinks and flirt with the bartender. You preferred to look around at the people.

Some looked miserable, drowning their sorrows in drink. Some looked joyous and without a care. And then you saw a group in the back. One of which was watching you.

They looked like a rough crew. And the one watching you was no exception. His eyes looked light, even over this distance. And he didn't seem displeased with what he saw.

He beckoned you forward with two fingers, a brief flick of his wrist, but you weren't to be called to heel like a dog. If he wanted to talk to you, he was more than welcome to work for it.

A tiny thrill went through you at the look of smugness on his face before you turned away. That was a man who wasn't used to not getting what he wanted and you had told him no.

Janine handed you a drink and then started to guide you to an empty table nearby. You were about to pull out your chair when it was done for you.

"You're not from around here," a low voice said in your ear as the man from before pulled your chair out.

"Because I didn't come when you beckoned? Is that all it takes to spot an outsider here?"

Up close the man was even more handsome, but also much more dangerous. You could trace the outline of guns under his jacket and his knuckles were bruised.

"Seeing as how I own this bar, yes," the man said with a smirk as he settled into a chair between you and your flabbergasted cousin.

She has never seen you behave this way. Granted you had never had the freedom to flirt with a man unless your mother thought he might be your soulmate.

"It is a nice establishment," you said with a look around, feigning interest in something besides the man beside you.

The man leaned forward onto his forearms. You caught the glimpse of ink on his wrist but couldn't make out much. And it was rude to stare.

He tilted his head as he looked you over. His own eyes strayed to your wrist but you always wore a cloth bracelet that hid the name there.

"What's your name?"

Your cousin kicked your shin, obviously telling you not to give your name to this man, but you were tired of being told what to do.

When you said your name, you watched the man's eyes narrow. His eyes darted back down to your wrist and you caught the sight of his fingers twitching towards his own wrist. Your heart started to speed up as you waited for him to introduce himself as well.

"I'm–"

The doors of the pub were thrown open and a group of men armed with large guns stormed in. They looked around as everyone quieted down to the point where you could have heard a pin drop.

"Where is Tommy Shelby?"

The man beside you squeezed your elbow before he stood up.

"I'm Thomas Shelby."

You missed the threats that poured from the main thugs mouth as your mind took off in flight. This was Thomas? Your Thomas? Janine kicked you again, but this time it wasn't in warning. She looked terrified.

There was a flurry of movement as the people started to rush from the establishment. Thomas bent down to whisper into your ear.

"Get out of here. Meet me at the Lawndale tonight at eight."

He helped you up and then watched as you and your cousin disappeared out of the pub.

Even when you looked back, you couldn't see him anymore.

"This is madness. Tell me that isn't your soulmate in there!"

You looked at your cousin and then at the cloth over your wrist.

"I think it is."

------

The Lawndale was a hotel that served dinner. You had convinced Janine to let you go alone, so you stood out front and waited for eight.

Once the watch you wore went ten past eight, you wondered if maybe something had happened to him. Perhaps he had been hurt or killed. Perhaps you were wrong about him being your soulmate. Perhaps…

"There you are."

You spun around and caught a brilliant sight. He was decked out as if he was taking you to the palace rather than a hotel restaurant. And he looked you over in your blue dress as if you were a queen rather than just a woman who had never really felt at home anywhere.

"Sorry I'm late. You look resplendent."

You felt heat rise to your cheeks as you let him take your hand. You expected him to lead you inside but instead he used is grip to turn your wrist over. It also forced his own wrist to turn.

Neither of you had the names covered. You stared at your name on his wrist while he looked at yours.

"I didn't think I'd ever find you," he admitted before he lifted your hand up to kiss the palm. "I stopped looking a long time ago."

You stepped closer to him until you could feel the warmth of his body.

"I never cared one way or another if I found my soulmate, but I really wanted it to be you. Even as you beckoned me to you, I wanted it to be you."

He smiled as if you had just given him the moon. And once again he did something to surprise you. Instead of leading you in for dinner, he pulled you in for a kiss.

Not that you minded one bit.

Your mother wouldn't be happy with who your soulmate was, but you didn't care. You were mesmerized by this man who wore guns even to dinner with his soulmate. And by the way he couldn't keep his eyes or hands off you, he felt the same way.

You refused to be anything but happy with the turn of events.

Let me know if you want to be added to my Permanent Tag List @hermioneshandbag @onebatch--twobatch @smiley-celine @blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme @starless-skyox @youveseen--thebutcher @citation-is-here @mightymelly @realduckvader @1550kilogramsofsilver @hxbbit @rockintensse @missphanosaur18 @thepuffyeyedpuff @the-three-eyed-ravenclaw @yessy2012 @gingerstarlight @siriusement @marauderskeeper @xinyourdreamsx @wickidlady @sassygirl25 @maraudereestauderelb @cutie-bug @random-quartz @holamor @lea----b @heyitslexy @detectivebourbon @coffeenmoscato @presstocontinue @elisemockingbird @assbuttwithwings @geeksareunique @witch-of-letters @delicatelilyflower @l-l-c-m-w-b @whovianayesha @hiddenprincess @yannii04 @brighteststarinthesky @kilyra @gallxntdean @sweetvengeancee @lady1505 @thedarklightwithinus @ateliefloresdaprimavera @siriuslyimmoony @elodieyung @fudgeflyss @madamrogers @thatwrestlingfan91 @teranya @sophiabulbu69 @delusionsofnostalgia @effielumiere @mamaraptor @hot-and-spiceyyy @i-padfootblack-things @aya-fay @starkrobb @raquelbc2003 @iwishyoucouldbekissed @taman-a @newtstarmander @suchatinyinfinity @blushingskywalker @queencocoakimmie @funerals-with-cake @love-dria @arrowswithwifi @swiftyhowlz @cheyfleur @dark-night-sky-99 @celestegolden @king4thesirens @beautifuldesastre @ashkuuuu @luminex3 @nerdypinupcrystal @iblogabout-stuff @curlyhairedblueeyedangel @myplaceofheavenorhell @nea90sweetie @traeumerinwitzhelden @lexxierave @binbons-is-theloml @lostinthoughts23 @aikeia @christinawxxx @rhabakoli @j-finco @sweetybuzz25 @supernaturalonice @jeanettexkillian @jigsawlover10 @gollyderek @polireader @georgiagrl1990 @cafeconsoya @rainyboul @siriuslovesmarlene @kryyta @russosprettydiamondnow @dorkybryan @mahalobro @yesixoxo @fcavalerro @jeaolusy @leathergreygoddess @margot-black

Let me know if you want to be added to my Tommy Shelby Tag List @superanimenatural @iblogabout-stuff @starkgaryan @allknowingnerd @peachy-aisha @bethhill97-blog @countryday

#tommy shelby #thomas shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby fanfic #my writing #soulmate oneshots

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221castiel · 4 years

Text

Blood, Bruises, and Daddy Issues

Sam’s 20, Dean’s 24. Lets just pretend the start and end don’t suck

"Yah, I'll send you the notes," Sam said into the cell phone, as he stepped into his dorm room, closing the door behind him. With one hand still around the phone he reached his other out to the light switch, feeling around the wall for it. "Are we still on for Monday?"

"Yah." His friend, Morgan, replied through the phone. "I'll meet you at the pub?"

"Sounds good, is Jess coming cause-" The moment he flipped the light switch, his breath hitched, stomach dropping in horror? Shock? Sam wasn't sure. "Dean?"

Sam's mouth stayed a gap as he stared at his brother who was sat on Sam's bed. His gaze darted across Dean's face, and body, once, twice, over and over as if what he saw would disappear though it never did. No matter how many times Sam looked Dean's face stayed covered in dark purpose bruises, his t-shirt and jeans stained with dried blood.

Bruises.

Blood.

Sam couldn't find an inch of Dean that wasn't covered. Even his lips, which sat in a lopsided grin, were split open.

"Sam?" His name came from through the phone, jolting him from his trance. "You good?"

"Uh yah," Sam mumbled. "I'll talk to you later."

He didn't wait for a response instead hanging up, his eyes staying locked on Dean's as his arm fell back to his side. "Heya Sammy." Dean greeted, with a grin. The smile across his face easy, similar to his posture, as if he wasn't looking on the verge of death.

"Dean," Sam stepped forward, gaze once again darting down Dean's body. He could barely look through the twisting of his stomach, yet couldn't find his gaze moving anywhere else. Stuck on the bruise that covered Dean's cheek, the way his once grey AC/DC now clung to his chest with dried blood. “What the hell happened?"

"Me, Dad and Lee were on a hunt in Arizona."

"And you drove here? Dude that's like eighteen hours, why didn't dad or Lee patch you up."

A visible breath raised Dean's chests. "It wasn't the monster that had done the slicing and dicing."

Dad.

Sam could almost feel his heart stop as his gaze once again darted down his brother's body, though through his layers of clothing it was impossible to see exactly how much damage their father had caused. "In front of Lee?" was all Sam could muster.

"Can you just help me clean up?"

Sam quickly nodded turning to his bathroom. He collected a few cloths, alongside a small first aid kit and bucket of water before returning to his brother who'd stripped down to nothing but his underwear.

For a moment Sam couldn't move, his breath stuck in his throat as he looked down Dean's body. It was so much worse than Sam had ever expected, both of Dean's sides covered in large bruises, the same dark colour that matched his face. Dried blood stained his calves and thighs, dripping from the large gashes that covered his thighs. They couldn't of been from knives, maybe some kind of wip. A belt?

"You just gonna stare?" Dean's gruff voice broke the silence, forcing Sam to move despite his suddenly shaky legs.

He stumbled forward, dropping the stuff at the edge of the bed before he took a seat behind Dean, his stomach immediately dropping, begging him to look anywhere else. The gashes across his back were much worse, some long and precisely marked, though many became smaller, more forced, scattered without care.

Fuck Dean.

That was the only thing Sam could think.

Why do you let him do this.

Sam forced himself to get one of the clothes and bring it to his brothers back. A lump forming in his throat as he carefully washed away the dried blood, trying to avoid as many of the gashes as he could. It was a hard task, there were so many. Small ones barely bigger than his pinky finger, and large ones that traveled most of Dean's back, leaving his usually pale skin shredded.

Sam cleared his throat, voice seeming stuck. He wanted to talk, needed to, though it seemed harder than looking at Dean's back.

"Why," Sam began when he had finally found his voice. Still there was a shake to it, an uncertainty that he couldn't seem to avoid. "What happened this time."

When no reply came a shaken breath parted Sam's lips. "You didn't unload the dishwasher? Were walking too loud? Slammed the car door?"

Once again no reply.

Not even a small movement, some kind of indication that Dean had heard him.

Sam gave his brother another second to reply before he once again brought the cloth to Dean's back. He'd lived with Dean long enough to know that if his brother didn't want to talk he wouldn't, no matter how much Sam pushed. He'd brush things off with a sarcastic comment, a lopsided grin, or quick wink, play whatever he was feeling down to nothing.

Normally, when it came to their father's abuse, Sam would continue to push, demand Dean talk to him, though this time felt different. More personal.

He continued to clean Dean's back working from the bottom up. Cleaning away as much blood as he could, though there was so much, and times it became impossible to know what of Dean's skin was bruised or bloody.

As he brought the cloth along Dean's upper back, he felt the other's breath hitch, his hand immediately freezing. "Me, and Lee-" Dean whispered, his voice not wavering for a second. Completely neutral. "We got careless."

"You guys usually do."

Another deep breath raised Dean's shoulders, his voice coming out broken. "He found us-"

Sam opened his mouth to speak though when his eyes fell on Deans suddenly shaking shoulders, whatever he was about to say had been forgotten. "Dean?" He couldn't stop the shaking in his voice as he moved from behind his brother, to standing in front, meeting Dean's bruised, and bloody face, that now had tears rolling down.

"Dean." That was the only thing Sam could seem to get passed his lips, as he watched his brother break into sobs. Tears falling down his cheeks. Body shaking with each gasped breath. There was no attempt to hide it or atleast that Sam could see, and instead Dean broke, continuing to sob even as Sam stepped closer, unsure what to do.

When was the last time he'd seen his brother cry. Fourteen maybe. In total he could count the times on his fingers, six being about their mother, and one because Sam had gotten hit bad in a hunt, and ended up in the hospital.

Each time had been tears, silent and slow.

Nothing like this. Broken. Shattered. Each gasped sob piercing Sam's heart.

"Hey," Sam finally began trying to keep his own voice steady despite his hammering heart, speaking the same Dean would to him any time he cried. "You're okay."

Another choked breath came from Dean, as he only shook his head, tears continuing to roll down his face. "He- he found us-" another heart shattering gasp. "Sam."

Without a second hesitation Sam took a step forward, wrapping his arms around Dean. His own heart hammering as he felt Dean's body shake in his arms, his brothers sob becoming slightly muffled as Dean buried his face into Sam's shoulder.

"He found us," Dean sobbed again, voice nothing short of broken. "He found us- Sammy."

That was the last thing spoken for what felt like hours, Sam's heart breaking further with each sob that passed Dean's lips, his own breaths struggling to stay steady. He didn't move. He didn't speak. Only listening to Dean cry, feeling the shaking of his body until Dean slowly raised his head, tears now staining his bruised and bloody face.

Sam let his arms fall back to his side, gaze staying on Dean's face no matter how much it hurt, though Dean's own gaze stayed locked on the floor. "Dad," Sam whispered, voice seeming to hang in the now silent room. "He did all this cause what he found you guys with some dope?

"He didn't find us smoking, he found us-" Dean's eyes squeezed shut, a shaken breath parting his lips. "He found us in bed together."

Sam opened his mouth though no words came, eyes frozen on his brother waiting for the 'I'm joking', the cocky grin that would spread across his lips, anything, though none of it came. Sam's own mind buzzing with no thought clear other than Dean, and Lee. Together.

Dean who had hooked up with more girls than towns they lived in. Who spat slurs like it was nothing. Who was as far as Sam had ever thought was nothing short of straight.

Apparently not.

Sam's mouth closed, only to open again, continuing to stare at his brother. "You and Lee-" He finally mustered, "For how long?"

"Three years."

Sam gave the smallest nod of his head, not that Dean would see as the other kept his gaze firmly on the ground. "So what? Dad found you two together and-" The next word stayed stuck, refusing to come, not that Sam even wanted it to.

Beat you.

Whipped you.

Almost killed you.

"After the case dad wanted to do some gambeling, so we got a hotel in LA." Sam took a breath, the air barely coming, his lungs burning. "He came back sooner than we'd expected and found us." Dean closed his eyes. "He tossed Lee out, before..."

"Dean-"

Dean's eyes opened, meeting Sam's. His usual pale skin was now rimmed in red, eyes hazy from unfallen tears, though a smirk tugged at his lips. "Luckily I hadn't gotten to the taking off the underwear part, or you know." Dean's gaze dropped to his crotch, before looking back to Sam with a raised eyebrow. "might have lost something a bit more important."

For a moment Sam let the smallest smile tug at his lips, before he slowly sat next to his brother. He kept his gaze on his bed sheets, studying the blue fabric. For a breath. Then another. His gaze finally looked back to Dean, his stomach twisting as he was met with Dean's bruised face. He'd seen a bit of John's abuse, as much as Dean would let him, though none of it, over the six years Sam had known about it, was as bad as this. Not even close.

Though most of the bruises were large, up close Sam could see smaller ones. Hickeys that scattered across his collar bones, and lower neck. "Why are you still living with him?" Sam finally mustered. "You're old enough to leave. You don't even have to quit hunting, Lee's a hunter, he knows the life."

"We aren't dating," Dean replied, tone suddenly harsher than before, underlined with something that Sam couldn't quite explain. "It was just a few dumb hookups."

"Well you could start." Dean didn't reply, Sam's gaze staying locked on his brother as Dean's dropped. "Does Lee know about dad?"

Sam doubted it.

"I'm staying with dad."

"Dean-"

"I'm not just leavin' him after one bad night."

"One bad night?" Sam cried, no longer able to, or caring to keep his voice steady. "Dean look at yourself, this isn't a bad night!"

Dean only shook his head pushing himself from the bed. There was a stumble to his stance, Sam's arms tensign to reach out though he quickly recovered his balance. "Can we not talk about him right now?" It wasn't a question, and Sam knew that. "I need a shower."

"We can talk in the morning," Sam suggested. "You could stay the night."

The smallest smile tugged at Dean's lips, though that brought no ease to Sam's still twisting stomach. "Whatever you want doctor phil."

Sam didn't reply, instead watching with concern as his brother turned away, walking across Sam's small dorm room and to the conjoined bathroom. "Sam," Sam hummened in response, gaze meeting Dean's as his brother turned to face him. "Who's Jess?"

Without hesitation Sam grabbed the pillow from the end of his bed. He threw it towards Dean as harshly as he could, though Dean stepped into the bathroom, dodging it with a laugh.

"Go fuck yourself!"

Maybe if Sam hadn't been so controlled by his worry for his brother he would have forced Dean to talk once he'd finished his shower.

Maybe if Sam hadn't needed time to figure out exactly what he wanted to say he would have forced Dean to talk after he finished stitching a particularly bad cut.

Maybe if he hadn't been so tired he would have realized that he should have talked to dean that night, because when morning came, Dean, and any sign that he had once beem there, was gone.

#dean winchester #sam winchester #supernatural #supernatural fic #Sam and dean fic #sam and dean #deans bisexual

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blissfulparker · 5 years

Text

Snowed in⇒fwb!haz

Parings→harrison osterfield x reader

Summary→ when you and Harrison have a strict friends with benefits relationship(no staying in the morning, no strings attached, no falling in love), what happens when you two get trapped in his house by the snow?

Warnings→ smut, fluff

A/n→ this is for @thollandss because I know she loves haz and wants to fuck him and honestly who doesn’t? This is also my first Harrison full fic I’ve ever written so I’m not sure how much attention this will get but I like it and hope you do too💓💞

7:38am

You woke up not as warm as when you fell asleep, soft white panties, bunched you old nirvana shirt and your hair messily pulled up by the black hair tie you’ve found in your purse.

Harrison’s arm loosely wrapped around you, his lips parted as he let out soft snores most likely exhausted from what you all did last night. Although Harrison never got tired of sex, never.

You and haz had been seeing each other since the beginning of July, it was his birthday and you two got drunk and one thing led to another and the two of you were sleeping together. It use to be once a week or whenever you two craved each other but now it was at least two to three times a week and followed by quickly leaving with a dry excuse.

This time was no different than the others, you quietly move his arm from your waist, slip on your jeans and leave his shirt because you liked the smell, brushed your teeth quickly and got ready to leave all before 8:30. Normally, Harrison woke up at that time.

“It’s snowed in.” His groggily morning voice scared you and he looked over at you trying to take in the figure before you left.

You felt embarrassed, ashamed for leaving without giving him a heads up but you’d always see him tonight and the same thing would happen but you shouldn’t feel that bad for leaving. He wasn’t your boyfriend so why should you feel so bad for leaving before he wakes up?

“I-It’s okay, I’ll call an Uber If you’re worried—“ you refuse to make eye contact with the piercing blue eyes.

“No, princess, the roads are closed.” He threw the blankets off himself and walked over to you. His body warm and that’s what you needed, warmth.

“My house is only like a mile away, I can always walk—“ you try again and he shakes his head as he starts to take off your coat. He notices you’re holding onto his t shirt and smirks a little. He knew you were gonna cuddle with it. Once he came over, fucked, then found his long lost cream sweater tucked under your pillow, like you were holding onto it for some reason. It wasn’t washed, it wasn’t anything, it still smelt like the night he wore it and was balled up under your pillow as if he was right there when he left you’d pull it out and sleep with it.

“You really think I’m going to let you walk when it’s below freezing?” He asks as he throws your coat onto his desk chair.

“Well, it’s late and I’ve got work—“ you give another dry excuse and he cuts you off with a soft kiss. Your lips were still swollen from the night before and so were his. You never liked it when he was rough in the morning because you were so sore from the night before, he knew that and that’s why he took it slow.

“How you gonna get to work when the roads are closed, love?” He asked and you look down at his lips and then back up to his eyes.

“I can walk.” You lie and he shakes his head. His arm snakes around your waist and pulls you close to him.

“Nope, not happening.” He presses a soft kiss to your neck but the whole moment is ruined by the sound of your stomach. He chuckles into your neck as he moves back a bit. “I can make you breakfast? Eggs, pancakes, coffee, something simple? If you don’t like that we always have cereal.” He offers and you feel your heart race. Your mind goes back to rules you’d set when you first started the whole thing.

“Don’t tell anyone about this.” Your naked bodies tangled under his sheets after the first time you decided to let this become a regular thing.

“Agree, Tom would loose his shit.” Harrison laughed a bit and you nodded.

“And he’d tell everyone!” You remind. Harrison places a soft kiss on your fingers as he furrows his brows and thinks of something else.

“No cooking breakfast for the other person.” He says blandly and you laugh. He lets go of your hand and looks confused. “What?”

“Why would we be making each other breakfast?” You laughed and he shrugged.

“I don’t know but then it’s serious. It’s an intimate thing to do with someone and this isn’t intimate.” He points between you and him. Your heart speeds up slightly hurt but you knew it was true, this wasn’t intimate.

“Right, right. Good point.” You nod and then bit your lip. “No staying after 9am….” you trailed off.

Now you were back in reality and not only were you breaking one rule, you were breaking two. Staying after 9am and making breakfast. It was risky, really risky for your feelings but it was happening.

“I’m more of a morning tea person.” You smirk and he kisses your cheek as he lets go of your waist and moves to his dresser. He pulls out two pairs of sweats, one for you and one for him.

“Well, lucky for you I have tea.” He throws the sweats at you and you look down at them and then back up at him.

“Didn’t tell you? The snow is expected to melt or get worse at 5:30pm.” He winks as he slides on a pair of sweats and then leaves the room.

“Fuck.” You mutter you yourself as you groan taking off the clothes you’d just put on and start to find your way out into the kitchen.

Your feelings were fucked, your day was fucked. You were gonna spend the whole day either fucking or just being awkward with each other. You guys we’re friends, very good ones. But after this whole thing started you couldn’t really just curl up like best friends anymore, it was more like laying against each other and fucking. No love, no strings attached, fucking.

His body is pressed up against the counter as he whisks together pancake mix and pours it into the pan. A soft playlist he’s made for mornings like these was playing softly in the background as you stopped and watched. You could get use to all of this, but there was no point. The only reason why you and Harrison weren’t in a relationship was because he had his eyes on someone else and you didn’t believe in love. Or at least, that’s what he told you and that’s what you told him.

“Has anyone ever told you staring is rude?” He turns around with a cheeky smirk. You roll your eyes and rub your arms as you approach him.

“Anyone ever tell you your heater’s broken?” You throw back at him and he tilts his head.

“Touché.” He goes back to whisking and you lean your head against his shoulder. “What are you doing?” He asked noticing your sudden affection. Even when you both were done fucking you didn’t really wanna cuddle, afraid you’d get too attached and your heart broken.

“Nothing.” You shrug off stepping away. “It’s cold and your heater is broken.” You remind him and he pours more into the pan.

“You already told me that love, if you wanna come cuddle just ask.” He winks and you roll your eyes as you find yourself a mug and grab the bag of tea to get yourself. You think about how much you really do want his affection, his arms around your waist as you watch a stupid Christmas movie and eat popcorn until midnight, no sex, no tension, just cuddles and kisses. That sounded amazing, but you couldn’t ask for that.

“I don’t know why you’re cooking for me, you can’t exactly cook.” You tease him taking a seat at the counter.

“Hey, I said there was the option of cereal.” He jokes and you smile as you play with the mug rim. You look out the window and see the constant snow falling, the trees are covered, Harrison has placed a tarp over his car so it doesn’t get messed up(the man was in love with that thing, more than he loved seeing you probably). It was gorgeous outside but you were stuck inside with Harrison.

“Thank you, by the way.” You smile and he comes over with a plate.

“Of course.” He goes back and gets one for himself and sits next to you. His action was somewhat bold because you thought he’d maybe sit opposite of you or somewhere else but he sat right next to you at the counter.

“Do you have a plan for today?” You ask him and he shakes his head.

“Tom might stop by because he’s an idiot and will try to drive on the roads. But other than that, no love, were trapped.” He stuffs his face filled with pancakes and you laugh a little. This was a sight you truly could get use to.

“Do you think about me when I leave?” You ask out of nowhere and he looks at you shocked.

“Yeah.” He says honestly. He knows you’re bothered by the statement because you want to stay but according to the rules you’ve set...you can’t. “How could I not?”

“How could you?” You ask with furrows brows. He moves a hand to touch your shoulder. The one that has a soft red hickie he left from last night.

“Why don’t you believe in love?” He looks at the shoulder and then back up to you. A shiver runs down your spin as he asks the question.

“It’s a stupid concept.” You lie and he laughs because he knows you’re lying.

“Hmm,” he leans in really close and presses a kiss to your shoulder. “What if you gave it a chance? What if you gave me a chance?” He asks and you move back a little and you feel yourself heating up.

“What if you broke my heart? And I never wanted to see you again?” You spoke through a cracked voice and his hand moves now to your thigh. You’re warm, actually, you’re burning hot. The snow sounds nice, being in the cold sounds amazing because of how hot you are.

“I’m not ever going to do that. You know that. I want to take care of you more ways than just sex. I want to be the person you come home to. I want you to teach me how to fucking cook properly. I want to hold you and kiss your cheek when we’re at the pub with the boys. I want so many things and they all mean love. I would hate myself forever for breaking your heart, that’s why I could never do it.” He promises you and you grab onto his face and place a kiss on his lips. They’re soft and sticky from the syrup, his face is cold but so soft, his hands find themselves gripping onto your waist pulling you in.

“Is that a yes? Will you be my girlfriend?” He asked and you lean back out of breath.

“You never asked.” You grow a little smirk. He huffs as his hands find yours and he holds them tight.

“(Y/n), will you be my girlfriend?” He has a lazy smile and you lean back into kiss him and nod into the kiss.

“I’d love that more than anything.” You hum against his lips. He pulls you off the stool and sets you on the counter, soft kisses placed on your neck and trailing back up to your lops.

“You know,” he kisses quickly and harsh, he’s dreamed of morning sex with you and now he might be able to get it. “The shower is a pretty warm place, maybe we can go in there to warm up?” Your legs wrapped around his waist as he says that statement.

“Are you inviting me to shower sex?” You chuckle against his lips.

“I’m gonna invite you to a lot of things today babygirl, shower sex or no?” He asks and you tug on his blonde curls a little causing him to groan.

“Fuck yes.” You moan as he Takes you off the counter and leads you into the back of the room.

The shower, wasn’t the only place you two would be in today, after that you two were spent in bed, watching movies and curling up to keep warm. You thought, maybe this wouldn’t be too bad, maybe Harrison Osterfield was serious about loving you. And for sure he was, for sure he was.

#harrison osterfield imagine #harrison osterfield x reader #harrison osterfield fic #harrison osterfield fluff #harrison osterfield smut #harrison osterfield fan fic #harrison osterfield x you #harrison osterfield blurb

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thecursedhellblazer · 4 years

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‘Cause We’re Living in a Mad World

{ @adventurepunks }

(( Hiiii! I fished this out of a couple of memes I had done ages ago and...it seemed fun and it gave me the chance to ramble about stuff we mentioned, so...here you go! It’s mostly Nick and John, but I throw in some Zee because the gal deserves some space :3 ))

Who said “I love you” first Definitely John. He was either drunk or totally out of it for not having slept in days (or both) and Nick had been forced to escort his sorry ass to lie down somewhere. Among all the incomprehensible, nonsensical babbling he had been doing, at some point he had just gone on and mumbled something on the lines of “N’ aye, tha’ th’ bloody t’in’, Cap. I think I do love yeh...I bloody do”. By the time Nick had registered the non-sequitur, John had been out cold and drooling very much unattractively on his pillow, leaving his mentor to wonder, hardly for the first time, what the hell he was supposed to do about his disaster youth.

Who would have the other’s picture as their phone background Neither of them does. John doesn’t have a phone (and that’s the reason why both Nick and Zatanna dread the times he uses the one in the Sanctum to phone Chas back to London...Two hours of non-stop Scouse rambling about everything one can find worth complaining about). As for Nick, he simply doesn’t bother with such things. However, John has one, slightly creased picture of him and Nick (a Polaroid taken by accident by some tourist who had been nice enough to hand it over to John) and another with the two them and Zee glued against the wall of his bedroom, right next to a group photograph of his closest English mates, a picture of him and Chas and a black and white one of a younger Cheryl. Also, Zatanna has made sure to have a better, properly framed picture of the three of them hanging inconspicuously from one of the walls in the main room of the Sanctum, not enough to catch the eye, but in a position that makes sure that you must look at it if you know that it’s there. Nick never acknowledged any of those, but you might catch his eyes wandering in the direction of the pictures every time he is in the room with them (yes, at times he dares to wonder in that reign of chaos that’s John’s bedroom).

Who leaves notes written in fog on the bathroom mirror John...when he is trying to be funny. Usually he writes the messages on some other window or piece of glass and then magicks them on the bathroom mirror when he knows that either Nick or Zatanna are inside. Of course, he doesn’t always get it right and at times the wrong person receives a message that wasn’t intended for them. Like Nick finding questions about women lingerie (he never asks, because he is pretty sure that, whatever John wants with it, it’s not something he wants to know or guess). The most memorable mishap, at least in Zee’s opinion, has been when, after having come back from one of her shows at 3 am and after a very much earned shower, she had found herself staring at the suddenly foggy mirror while the words “wudl u shag me een if I ws a gost?” materialised on it. Judging by the bad spelling and by how smeared the calligraphy was, John had to be shitface drunk, wherever he was. Not that the fact excused him in her eyes. Not in the least. She had marched out of the bathroom, told Nick that John wanted to talk to him and then had gone to bed. Useless to say, Nick had gone from confused to extremely unimpressed as soon as he had seen the note on the mirror.

Who buys steals the other cheesy gifts John is the one who, from time to time, comes back from his wanderings bearing “gifts”, pretty much like a not so domesticated cat would do. Thankfully, usually they aren’t dead animals (aside that one time with the still dripping goat’s head...but they don’t talk about it). They range from things he has won at the poker table to stuff he has either con out of someone’s hands or straight out nicked. He has learnt pretty quickly that he can’t tell Zatanna if he’s giving her something he has stolen, not after the one time she has forced him to return the necklace he had got her, much to his annoyance and embarrassment. This has also caused him to get more stuff for Nick than for her. She’s always suspicious now (and with reasons), while his mentor doesn’t really care how he has got his hands on it. The only one time the older sorcerer has shown concern about John’s kleptomaniac habits has been when the younger man brought home a very ancient, very valuable, and also very cursed book. The cleansing ritual took them hours. However, on the other hand, it turned out that the contents of said tome were very much worth the trouble, so John got away with just a mild scolding, much to Zatanna’s incredulity.

Who initiated the first kiss Nick did...after John had driven him crazy with half angry flirting and ambiguous provocations (and talks about shagging ghosts). The whole situation had started from a lot of unresolved tension between them (and not of the good kind), but considering where it has landed them...It might as well have been worth it, even if the original issue lies still mostly unsolved.

Who kisses the other awake in the morning If anyone does in the first place, it would probably be Nick, for the mere reason that John isn’t an early bird (unless he simply forgoes sleeping completely), no matter in whose bed he falls asleep. However, it’s still far more likely that Nick chooses to wakes him up by shaking him or with a shove, simply because something as light as a kiss wouldn’t do the job. Or it would lead to John getting his hands busy even before he has opened his eyes and that’s unacceptable when they have a schedule and lessons to attend to. A few times, John has crawled in Nick’s bed before dawn and, in those occasions, he is the one to wake his mentor up with kisses. There’s an equal chance of either being kicked out of the room pr being allowed to carry on, and, in his eyes, the second thing is definitely worth facing the risk of rejection. John usually gets his nicest wake up calls from Zatanna, when she lures him out of the sheets with a kiss on the cheek and the promising smell of coffee and bacon. She has also learnt to throw a fresh pair of underwear in his face before walking back to the kitchen, though, because that’s the only way to make sure he doesn't show up stark nake for breakfast.

Who starts tickle fights Tickle fights aren’t something that happens frequently, but they did happen. Mostly when they were all at least a bit tipsy. John started the very first one, almost accidentally, by rambling about how Cheryl used to tickle him till he cried and couldn’t breathe as a payback for when he messed with her things. Useless to say, that led him to ask Zatanna if she was ticklish and to the poor homo magi being assaulted. Nick had made the mistake to declare that he found the whole affair “undignified”, which had been enough to make John tackle and tickle him too. Zatanna might have retaliate, on them both (John for starting it, Nick for not defending her), even though, if asked, she would deny it. After that episode, both Zatanna and Nick have become very, very wary of whenever John is drunk and feeling both touchy-feely and playful. Of course, he still manages to find a way to catch them both off guard.

Who asks who if they can join the other in the shower John’s “asking” consists in him sticking his head inside the bathroom (or straight past the shower curtain) and make comments about how there’s just enough room for another person under the stream or about how great he is at scrubbing backs, full trademark smirk in place. Nick usually asks before anyone gets in the shower and it usually happens after a very intense roll in the sheet when all the participants might use a wash up. However, there have been times when he has just hopped in the shower while John was already in it, without warnings or questions, because the smug idiot can use a taste of his own medicine from time to time. The main issue with that tact is that John, after the initial moment of astonishment, always gets a bit too mesmerised to really grasp the lesson.

Who surprises the other in the middle of the day at work with lunch Nick can get completely absorbed in his studying and researches and John at times forgets that human beings need to eat to survive, so it’s definitely Zee. When she is around, she makes sure to bring them both, if not a full meal, at least a snack twice a day. She has found that it usually also prevents John from raiding their fridge during the night and, considering how messy that affair gets, it’s a very good thing. When Zatanna isn’t around, Nick is the one who has a more “regular” (if it can be called that) routine, so he takes over the task of keeping them both fed (also because John can’t be trusted around the kitchen at). There are times, though, when John knocks at Nick’s door, after making sure that the older man is done with whatever he’s doing, with takeaway already laid down at the table or saying that he has discovered a new pub that makes nice steaks or pizza and that they should totally go and try it out.

Who was nervous and shy on the first date Definitely John, even if, as per usual, he covered it up with cockiness and smugness. Especially since he felt like a idiot for being nervous in the first place. He and Nick had gone out plenty of times together (with and without Zatanna), so sharing a night that was perhaps a bit more intimate shouldn’t have been such a big deal. And yet, he still spent an incredibly long amount of time (especially for his standards) tidying himself up in the bathroom and deciding which of his clothes were more suitable for the occasion. It earned him a few raised eyebrows from Nick’s part, which made it clear to them both that the older man knew, but John obviously refused to acknowledge both the gestures and the fact.

Who kills/takes out the spiders Spiders are usually either left to mind their business. Zatanna might use her magic to coax them out of a window when they are in the way, but for the rest no one really cares. It doesn’t happen too often that they manage to get inside the Sanctum, so when they do...it’s safe to say that they have earned their right to stay. There are times, though, when the poor creatures become the unfortunate subjects of John’s practice. Once he has learnt how to open portals towards other realms, it has become very much not unusual to see him trying to shove the spiders inside very small rips in the fabric of reality. Nick has pointed out that he has no way to find out whether or not he has managed to send them where he was planning to, but he has soon given up trying to make John see his point, because his words always earn him nothing but a snicker.

Who loudly proclaims their love when they’re drunk John, even if calling his drunk claims “love declarations” would be pushing it. For the most, what leaves his lips are comments about his and Nick alone time together and far too bold to be nice compliments. And, if he is really in the mood, also short rants about what he would love for them to do that they haven’t tried yet. Whenever magic or the undead start being thrown in the mix, Zatanna takes it as her cue to dump him in Nick’s capable, even if exasperated, hands and go spend the rest of her night elsewhere. The real slips can happen after John has ceased being loud, when his mind is more in Dreamland than on the material plane. They are quiet whispers, compared to all the noise he makes before, and that alone is very telling of how much more sincere they are.

#john constantine #nick necro #zatanna zatara #long post #(( this is me upgrading the whole ))#(( 'let's find the guts to tag peeps' ))#(( so I'm showering you with my idiocy ))#(( hopefully the effort will make up for the stupid ideas ^^" ))#adventurepunks #* My reality is eleven tenths perception. * ::headcanons::#* Once Upon a Time We Three could have had the World * ::John&Nick&Zatanna::#* Show Me the Way and We'll remake Destiny in Our Image * ::John&Nick:: {adventurepunks}#sv. Every Shade between Darkness and Light

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tickle-her-senseless · 4 years

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Important

Hey all. Just wanted to respond to questions from members of a couple of Discord servers run by the same person following a chaotic couple of days. I’m putting all the info and screenshots (minus names, pics and locations) here, so I can just direct people to this post if they have questions.

I had been intending to just head back here to Tumblr and let the situation lie, but unfortunately the reason given by the automated bot for my ban mentioned “crossing consent multiple times”. Today, friends have been sending me worried questions relating to this, so I’m concerned that the server owner may have made a similar claim in public. Now I pretty much have to say something as that’s such a serious thing to say about someone, particularly on any kind of kink scene.

The mention of consent actually relates to the server owner. Near the beginning of the lockdown, she and I were speaking a lot, she began to tease me in DMs, I responded with a piece of writing dedicated to her, we exchanged pictures - and eventually confessed a mutual attraction. We made plans for the end of lockdown, she talked about driving through Europe and showing me her favourite places. Although her English is perfect, I began learning her language through an app as I wanted to make the effort (Brits are renowned for being lazy with languages), and kept it up every day for months, amusing her with my clumsy pronunciation on calls. Sometimes she would send me explicit comments/thoughts, although I was always nervous to initiate that kind of thing.

One day she sent a message saying that she was still coming to terms with the end of her last relationship and would need to take things more slowly, as she was finding romantic sentiments (as opposed to kinky ones) hard to deal with. Naturally I replied “Of course, in that case I’ll wait for you to initiate that stuff once you’re ready”. At some point afterwards, she sent me a message out of the blue saying “I want cuddles ❤️” and I thought “oh, this is a level she’s OK with” and responded. I think it was the following day when I tried to pick up where we’d left off (without going any further, just cuddling in bed type stuff). She reciprocated and we continued. I also (in an attempt to consider her feelings) asked her if the idea of me posting an old session video on my blog for an American friend would upset her at all. Intending to reassure her about my intentions, I mentioned ”...not wanting to tickle anyone except you and saying no to all of the other UK people on the servers who are asking about post-lockdown sessions”. I also said “I do feel a commitment to you”, which (with hindsight) was probably a foolish or misleading word to use in a purely ler/lee sense.

A week later she sent a message I didn’t immediately understand along the lines of “I thought you were going to let me initiate romantic stuff, you don’t seem to have understood me at all”. I wasn’t sure what she was referring to - the recent story I’d written for her? Use of the word “commitment”? Something else? I tried to talk with her on the phone as some wires had clearly become crossed via text, but she refused for five weeks (citing not being in the right headspace), before finally calling when I sent a message explaining that anxiously waiting to mend the friendship in lockdown by myself for over a month was having a terrible effect on me mentally, and I was going to have to “throw in the towel”, wishing her luck and every happiness.

During our phone call, she claimed that the main issue had been the fluffy cuddle messages which she took to be a serious and repeated boundary/consent violation (citing her wish to avoid romantic talk). This was the last thing I expected and really shocked me. Of course I apologised frantically, repeatedly and profusely. I also said I hoped she could see how I’d made the mistake innocently and honestly when:

- she initiated it the first time, so I assumed it was something she was happy to talk about.

- when I picked up where we left off, she didn’t say “Actually, d’you mind if we don’t today?” and continued the cuddle talk instead.

She said that because she initiated it one day didn’t mean that she wanted to continue the day after - fair enough. The difficult thing to accept was the idea that she felt so violated by the attempt to carry on the next day that she found herself frozen to the point of not being able to say “actually I’m not in the mood just now” and carried on with it, and that I was at fault regardless. She even used the word “harassing” to describe it, which I found very harsh considering my inability to read minds over hundreds of miles. Especially when I couldn’t see or hear her to pick up on body language, tone of voice etc to guess that she was saying one thing but feeling a different way. She said, word for word, “It’s like when someone’s choking you and you can’t speak, you’re literally choking me!” As someone who, as a teenager, was once choked on the ground by my own father until I blacked out and lost bladder control, I did see that as a stretch at best, but chose not to challenge it as she was upset.

I also suggested that, looking back, we probably should’ve clarified exactly what was meant by “romantic stuff” when we almost certainly had different takes on it eg. I’ve cuddled after every 1:1 session I’ve ever had, even platonic ones, purely from the angle of aftercare and a sense of having shared an experience. I was told that despite our different ages and experiences of romantic love, there was only one objectively correct definition of “romantic” - hers.

We went around in circles for over four hours - I apologised over and over while explaining how I got the wrong idea and asking her to understand and forgive, while she tearfully called me a gaslighter, a consent violator, an excuse-maker, a harasser ... eventually I collapsed into tears myself (I’m ashamed to admit), totally worn down, and she softened a bit. She finally said she didn’t believe I’d done anything intentionally, and she still wanted to spend time together in the real world. We made up, spoke warmly as friends for an hour, and I left the call exhausted but relieved. After a few days’ reflection, though, I decided against ever travelling to meet her for real, as the experience had shaken me considerably - and I figured it’d be risky to meet someone in real life when I didn’t trust her completely not to accuse me over either nothing or an innocent misunderstanding. I was still wondering how to explain this to her when things got wild on the server.

A few days ago, a Tumblr user with a stated age of 18 contacted me to say nice things about my blog, which (I hope this doesn’t sound conceited) isn’t out of the ordinary. When she told me she was English and totally new to the scene, I suggested the Discord server as a place where she might make some friends (given the large UK membership) and sent her an invite link. The rest is set out in the mega screenshot saga below, which begins in the staff chat. I’m “SwiftX”, my real name is in teal, the server owner is in blue and her friend and co-moderator is in purple. All other names and locations are in black:

Before sending the last message, I actually typed out five different versions of a counter-argument before eventually deciding to step back. Being totally dismissed and lectured by two people about British labour laws and pub ID measures by two non-Brits nearly a decade my junior was irritating, yes, but the baseless suggestion that maybe I’d done something in private with the new member and was somehow “arguing against” ensuring she wasn’t a child because of that horrified me. As if I’d allow a child access to explicit content to cover my own discomfort - and anyway, I’d done no more than exchange greetings with the girl and point her towards the server, where she was actually verified and granted access to all channels by the guy in purple, not me! After a couple of hours’ contemplation, I politely asked to be removed from the moderator staff, but a disdainful response to my request prompted me to explain it, and why I was upset. Not all of what I said was necessary to say, but all of it was true:

She immediately muted me for 48 hours - “staff disrespect and degrading comments”. Not a problem, I had work to be getting on with. Late that evening, however, her friend arrived in my DMs:

Him: ...it’s creepy that a 32 year old man is potentially teasing a minor

Me: Well I can prove I haven’t teased her, her profile says she’s 18, and the person who exposed her to explicit content was you when you verified her - despite admitting to having had doubts about her age.

Him: ...I’ll drop that subject

Moderator of the year, ladies and gentlemen 🙄 Anyhoo, later that day I received a ban notification from both servers run by this owner, citing “crossing consent multiple times, guilting and being degrading along with causing several conflicts”. I was surprised to feel a flood of relief, but the consent mention really disturbed and worried me, as I’d been under the impression that the server owner had fully accepted that the earlier stuff had been an innocent misunderstanding. Later that day, good friends of mine began sending me worried DMs questioning my record and asking if I’d been inappropriate with a bunch of people, so I’m concerned that the staff may have said something that (deliberately or not) has encouraged speculation. This post is intended to be a landing page to which I can direct anyone concerned about my character so that they they can form their own opinions.

When my follower count began to take off, I became determined to avoid any kind of rift with another prominent member of the community. It’s so frustrating to watch an already niche subculture splinter into factions over needless disputes. This is why I’ve kept names etc. out of this post. If anyone suspects they might know who the server owner is, or actually knows who she is because they’re here from Discord, I would implore them not to out or target her in any way. There are two reasons:

- I don’t want to start a flaming war, I’m desperate to move on and begin improving my mental health after an awful couple of months ... I just need to protect my reputation first.

- I don’t actually think she wanted drama ... I think her genuine perception is that I’ve said something horrible to her. That’s more upsetting than the idea of her trying to smear me, to be honest. I suspect she feels like crap too, and I don’t want to add to her mental load. I honestly hope she’s OK.

Hopefully this will reassure my friends and anyone else questioning my character because of whatever’s been said in that server. I’d also hope that my history of positive interaction here, including being on great terms with everyone I’ve ever had a session with, supports what I’m saying further. It’s a shame this had to happen, but I’m trying to think positively about what lies ahead and trust in my real friends. I’d also like to thank the other members of the server staff who’ve privately sent me messages of support and sympathy having already seen the entire exchange.

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glitterslag · 5 years

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First Time for Everything - Roger Taylor x Reader

Summary: In which Roger inadvertently becomes co-parent to a four year old before he’s even finished university. Oh, and he loses his virginity in the process.

Word Count: 8k

Warnings: single mum, broken family, bad relationships with parents, difficult sexual themes, period typical attitudes, homophobic language, poverty, some angst. Smut (virgin!roger, oral - male and female receiving -whipped cream), some language

A/N: First of all I wanna say thank u to the absolute lejond who requested this: you really unearthed a kink I didn’t know I had.

This, as usual, has turned into a bit of a Whole Other Thing. I’ve wanted to do a single mum oneshot for a while, and thought it would go really well with virgin Rog. Plus Roger with a toddler = automatic cuteness.

As y’all know I struggle with writing smut, and so I tend to quit while I’m ahead. Because of that, I’ve only included oral, and not the whole shebang. Plus, I felt like it was in keeping with the tone when Roger finds himself a bit overwhelmed with all the new sensations. I think we’d all agree that that still counts as losing virginity, though.

I’ve got to say I’m really proud of this. I think it might be one of my favourite things I’ve written since “Funny How Love Is”. It would be great if you could give it the same kind of feedback 🥰🥰

Enjoy xo

★★★★★

You had Robbie at sixteen.

Your parents sent you away to a Catholic institution for the duration of your pregnancy, as people often did back then, such was the scandal of being found out pregnant and not married. They had wanted you to give him up for adoption when he was born but you refused, and after meeting her grandson, your mother had relented.

They’d given you a little money to set yourself up, but insisted that you couldn’t stay with them. Too much shame on the family. You sometimes speak to them on the phone but it’s always strained, especially between you and your mother, and you always end the phone call feeling just a little sad, and empty.

Now twenty, your little boy is nearly four, and you’re living in a box flat in a tower-block in the middle of London. Roger’s just moved in next door.

He’s a student, just moved out of halls, making him the same age as you. It’s a strange realisation, to look at him. Realising that your life could have turned out a lot differently, had Robbie never been born.

You’re expecting him not to be very nice. People usually aren’t, not to a young single mother. Not one whose dye-job comes out of a packet, and who lets her four-year-old tricycle up and down the wooden hallway at all hours of the day. But he’s positively lovely.

That’s what Robbie’s doing, when Roger moves in.

“S’cuse me, little man.” He says, holding a cardboard box aloft as he waits patiently for your son to get out of his road. “That looks fun.”

And then:

“Hello,” he’s saying to you.

You feel him check you out, eyes travelling from your face down and then back up, and then back down again, all the way this time. The routine you know too well. You get it from nearly every man you meet. He doesn’t leer at you like most men, though, and you think to yourself that that’s something.

“Get out of the man’s way, Robbie.”

“Is your big sister bossy?” Roger asks him knowingly.

You swallow and start to say something.

“She’s not my sister, she’s my mummyyy!” Robbie declares before you can, throwing his hands up in the air.

You laugh and scoop him up. There would come a time when he might not be as proud to say that about you anymore, but for now, he would remain blissfully unaware that his unmarried twenty year old mummy wasn’t supposed to have a three year old baby.

Roger looks at you hard for a second, and you cuddle Robbie to your chest as you wait for his response, almost using him as a shield in in between the two of you, nervous. But there’s no need to be.

“Oh. Sorry.” He says easily, quickly disguising any judgement with a sunny smile. He sticks his hand out. “I’m Roger. How do you do?”

★★★★★

Over the months, you two develop a close neighbourly relationship. He comes over to fix your leaky taps, change lightbulbs, rewire the smoke alarm. As you get to know and trust him more, you eventually entrust him with Robbie some afternoons when you have appointments – doctors and dentists, things you can’t avoid.

One day, Roger’s complaining about his hair becoming too long and his roots showing and so on, and so you offer to do it for him, free of charge, as a favour. He says yes.

If he’s feeling dubious, he never shows it.

You come over that afternoon armed with all your gear, and when he opens the door Robbie charges past him shouting “Rogerrrrrrr!”, disappearing into the flat before Roger can even say hello.

“Have you got an old t shirt you don’t mind getting ruined?” You ask, eyeing the silky button up Roger’s wearing halfway undone to his belly button.

“Sure,” he says. “I’ll go and get changed.”

The door to his room is open a fraction, and you peep through the crack as you watch him pull his shirt over his head and search for another one. He’s standing with his back to the door, and you admire his wiry physique, lean muscle rippling as he shrugs on a faded old Breakaways t shirt. You snap out of it before he can notice, and busy yourself corralling an excitable Robbie, setting him up at the kitchen table with his crayons and his juice.

You pull on washing up gloves and bleach Roger’s dark roots first, making sure not to get it on the ends and frazzle them.

“How’d you get so good at this, anyway?” He wonders as he watches you loading the product onto the brush in his bedroom mirror.

“My housing benefits don’t exactly cover trips to the hairdressers.” You say, gesturing towards your own bottle blonde head. “How light do you want to go?”

You show him the colour chart on the back of the packet, and he calls you “very professional”, about which you’re pleased.

You notice the crack in his bathroom window as you take him through to wash his hair, covered over with an old Woolies bag but still leaking freezing air into the flat. You don’t say anything.

You make him sit on the floor with his back to the tub, leaning his head back as you support it in one cupped hand, using the other to angle the shower head over his hair.

“Just like a real salon.” He quips, and you grin.

You massage the shampoo into his hair and he groans in relaxation.

“I love having people play with my hair.”

Maybe it’s because you’ve not had any action for such a long time, but the noise does something to you.

You dry him off and then it’s time to cut. You trim his fringe last, squatting down in front of him and frowning with the concentration of trying to cut straight, and you’re a bit nervous being this close to him. He keeps making silly faces to put you off, though, and soon he’s got you giggling like no one else can.

You gently blow all the hair off the back of his neck and he lets out another little strangled moan.

”Sorry” he says quickly, embarrassed. “Jus’ tickled is all.” You bite your lip.

“Right, of course.”

★★★★★

The next day you see him in the foyer when you’re both down checking the post. You compliment him on his new hair, and he tells you he’s been thinking.

“You should cut people’s hair in the tower block.”

“What?”

That boy has had a few crazy ideas since you’ve known him, but this has to take first prize.

“It’d be cheaper than going to the hairdressers.” He points out. “Plus you’re really good at it, you could make good money.”

“What would I do with Robbie?”

“Well you’d be doing it at home, wouldn’t you? He’d be there.” He says, matter-of-factly.

“Or..”

He trails off.

“What?”

“Or I could take him. While you’ve got appointments.”

You gape at him.

“I- I could make you some posters to put up if you like?” He continues when you don’t say anything. “There’s a photocopier at uni I could use. Use it to make stuff for the band all the time. ”

Perhaps against your better judgement, you reach over and hug him. He feels warm and solid, smells clean and good and you realise you’re welling up.

“Thanks, Rog.”

“Hey, hey, hey.” He says, using his Robbie voice on you.

“No need to get upset.”

“I love you.” You mumble.

Maybe you hadn’t realised it before, but it’s true. The boy’s gold.

He puts his hand on the back of your head, stroking your hair.

“Love you too, darling.”

★★★★★

He comes over one night to borrow flour.

He’s started letting himself in at this point, using the spare key you’d given him “for emergencies only”. He always knocks to announce himself first, but you can guarantee he’ll be strolling in like he owns the place whether he gets an answer or not.

“Where’s the tyke?” He wonders when there’s a distinct lack of “ROGERR!” the second he walks through the door.

“Started at nursery this week.” You announce proudly.

“Christ.”

“Yeah.”

“Nursery.” He repeats.

“Yeah.”

“Already?”

“Yeah.”

“Christ.”

You can only grin back, chest puffed out with pride.

Anyway, he needs plain flour.

“Since when do you cook?” You ask sceptically, raising an eyebrow at him from the sofa.

“Got a date tonight.” He grins.

“Ooo.” You say, setting your cup of tea down on the coffee table so you can turn yourself properly to face him. “Is it that girl?”

“Tracy, yeah. She’s coming to my place for dinner.”

“Big step.”

Roger hadn’t had a girlfriend for the time you’d known him, and at first you’d suspected him of being more of a one-and-done kind of guy. But even though he was often coming in late from the pub or the club or wherever, there had been surprisingly little activity of the female kind coming from within the walls of his flat at night.

“Yeah, well. We’ve been on a few dates so far and it’s gone well, so I thought I’d invite her over to mine, y’know. Take things to the next level.”

You try to hide your disappointment.

“So do you think tonight might be the night..?” you trail off, but Roger knows what you’re insinuating.

He grimaces.

“Maybe…”

“Maybe?” You repeat. “What do you mean?”

He looks hesitant.

“Look, if I tell you something, do you promise it won’t leave this room?” He asks.

“Yeah.”

“Do you swear?”

“Roger,” you begin. “I’m a single mother. I’m stuck inside all day and my only friends are my son, the woman at the post office who I go to collect get my benefits from, and you. Who am I going to tell?”

“Right, of course.” He nods, eyes closed. One of his hands is out on the kitchen table to steady himself, the other on his hip. He hasn’t been able to stand still since he walked through the door.

“What is it? Just tell me.”

He takes a deep breath, and then he lets out a big puff of air.

“I’ve never slept with anyone before.”

★★★★★

You fight to keep your expression neutral as you process what the hell he’s just said.

A virgin?

Him?

How was it possible?

Roger was the best looking man you knew, and the kindest. And it was obvious he was popular, especially with women. It just didn’t add up.

“You’re not saying anything.” Roger says nervously, and you blink up at him.

“I guess I’m just..” You search for the right word. “Surprised.”

He closes his eyes and nods in agreement.

“Roger, how?!”

It’s the only thing you can say at this point.

He huffs a laugh.

“Well, if I’m honest, I was never very popular in school.”

“You weren’t?”

“They, um,” he lowers his voice, as if someone might be listening. “They called me a poofter. And, erm… other things.”

“Oh.”

To be honest, it didn’t come as much of a surprise to you, that people had called him that. It was horrible, all the same, but not surprising.

In fact, there had been a while when you’d even wondered the same. It might explain his gentle nature, you’d thought, if he was gay, and the lack of dating, and the fact that he’d never tried anything on you, even though you’d been close now for such a long while.

Not that you were cocky - not anything of the sort, but still. Most men would try it on with you, and even though you mostly wished they wouldn’t, you couldn’t say it hadn’t hurt when Roger didn’t try to go there at all.

“Was never really into rugby or anything like that.” He explains. “I played tennis, and I was alright at football, but I was never on the team, or anything. They all - the other boys – they- they’d laugh at me. In the showers?”

The ends of his sentences are going up like questions, and he looks like he’s having a hard time swallowing. You wonder whether this speech is something he plays over in his head often.

Whether it helps him justify it to himself.

“For being skinny. Y’know? And I was always a head shorter than everyone else ‘til I was about 17.”

“I’m sorry, Rog.”

“And then by the time I got to uni, I’d lost my confidence, I suppose.” He says it with a sad laugh that makes your heart sink.

“And it wasn’t the flirting that was the problem. I’m good at that-”

“I don’t doubt it.” You cut in without thinking.

He looks at you for a moment and your cheeks heat up, and then he’s looking at the floor again.

“And, well, I just never actually got around to any of… that.”

He makes an airy gesture with his hand.

“Why don’t you just get drunk and do it?” You offer. “No one would know any different.”

“Nearly did a few times.” He admits. “But when it came to the crux of it, I just couldn’t go through with it. Too nervous about stuffing it up.”

He gives a watery laugh.

“Oh, Roger. Why didn’t you tell anyone how you felt? Girls would be understanding.”

“You might be,” he reminds you. “But not everybody. I just felt like they’d all laugh at me. It’s completely acceptable for a girl to still be a virgin at 18, 19 20. But a guy? It’s just embarrassing!”

“Well that’s just a double standard-“ You cut in.

“Do you not think I know that?!” He says in frustration, and you butt in again, before things can get too heated.

“Anyway.”

He looks up at you expectantly.

“What are you going to do?”

You mean about Tracy, but he takes it more generally.

“I don’t know.” He says miserably. “I guess I’ll just have to stay one forever, now. I mean it’s just too mortifying at this point-”

“Oh it’s not that bad Roger for goodness sake, don’t wallow in it.” You scold him. “At least you aren’t me.”

He’s taken aback somewhat by that.

“What on earth d’you mean?”

“Well it’s not as if I get any action, is it?”

Bless him, he’s really looking at you as if he has no idea. And you’d be flattered, maybe, if the whole thing wasn’t so exasperating. You try to explain.

“At least you didn’t do it once or twice when you were sixteen, be unlucky enough to fall pregnant and then get saddled with a kid.”

You say it through your teeth, glancing around as if Robbie might hear you all the way from nursery school.

“And now that’s gonna be me for the next eighteen years, isn’t it?” You say it with a laugh that all of a sudden feels too close to a sob. “Until he grows up. Moves out. And then I’ll be what? Nearly forty? All before my life can even start.”

“Hey, come on-” Roger’s saying, sounding like he’s regretting starting this whole conversation, but you’re on a roll now.

“And it’s not like I’ll ever get married now, is it?”

You smile sadly, looking out of the window instead of at Roger, because you’re afraid that if you look at him directly, you might cry. For some reason he seems to be have that effect on you.

“Shot that horse in the face when I split up with his father. And no one’s gonna want me with him are they?”

You jerk your head towards Robbie’s empty bedroom.

“Oh, love..”

“Jus’ baggage, isn’t it?” You mumble, head down, staring into the dregs at the bottom of your cup. “No-one wants used goods.”

You can see Roger’s face out of the corner of your eye. He looks so pained. You’re too afraid to look up.

“Or at least, they don’t want me for the right reasons.” You sniff and continue, face set hard. Determined not to crack and cry. “Some of ‘em just think single mums are these slags they can do anything they want to.”

“Hey, enough.” Roger says stiltedly, voice strained. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

“Yes, it is.” You insist. “That’s all they ever want me for. And all the ones who are any good are just put off by it. ”

You shrug and look out the window again, eyes fixed on the tower block opposite. There’s a woman in one of the windows, rocking her baby to sleep.

There’s nowhere else to look, so you just close your eyes.

“It doesn’t put me off.” Roger says in a small voice.

You hear him slowly coming over, feel the dip in the sofa cushion as he sits down next to you. He puts his hand on your knee.

“What d’you mean.” You say, forcing yourself to open your eyes and look up at him. His blue eyes blink earnestly back at you.

He takes a deep breath.

“All of that- it would never put me off from wanting to date you.”

Your mouth drops open.

“What?” You whisper. “Really?”

He nods, moving his face close to yours.

You can feel your heart in your mouth.

His hand is still resting on your knee. It’s burning a hole through your jeans.

“I would date you too, you know.”

He swallows.

“I guess we could both help each other out, then.” He says hoarsely.

His lips are inches from your own. You drag your eyes away from his to look down at them, pink and wet. Ready. You can feel his breath on your cheek.

All you would have to do is lean in, and his mouth would be on yours.

Just then, you hear a sudden knock at Roger’s front door out in the hallway, and you spring apart guiltily.

“That must be her.” You mutter, turning away from him.

Roger’s rubbing the back of his head.

“She’s early.”

You stand, taking your empty cup over to the sink. He stays where he is.

“You better go and answer her.”

“Wait-”

You shake your head, bending down to search through the cupboards as he slowly stands and comes up behind you.

You push the bag of flour into his chest. He stares down at it dumbly, barely remembering it was what he came in for.

Tracy knocks again.

“Good luck.” You swallow.

He nods faintly, looking so lost you have to turn back around again, pretending to be busy at the sink.

“Let me know how it goes.” You say over your shoulder as he leaves.

But you don’t want to know. Not even a little bit.

★★★★★

You manage to stop yourself from going round until after you’ve dropped Robbie off at nursery.

You’ve been dying to see Roger all morning, but you were worried that things might have gone well the night before, and Tracy might still be there. The prospect of walking in on something you didn’t want to see was enough to deter you until the afternoon. A stab of jealously twists at your gut just thinking about it.

“So,” you say apprehensively as you walk in. Roger looks around from where he’s standing at the stove. “Did you?”

He shakes his head.

You make a noise of dismay.

“What happened?”

“Bottled it.”

“Oh no!”

He nods, grinning bashfully.

“Well you’ll just have to do it next time.” You say, taking a seat at the kitchen table. You’re trying not to look too relieved.

“Not sure there’ll be one.” He says casually.

“Why?”

He scratches at the back of his head with the spatula. Something he only does when he’s nervous. His t shirt has ridden up at the bottom, exposing his soft tummy. You look away.

“What happened?” You press.

“Think she was starting to get the vibe I wasn’t interested.” He says quietly. “Just saw her as a friend.”

“Because you weren’t pestering her for sex on the third date?” You frown. “God what is she, a bloke?”

Roger laughs.

“Not… just because of that.” He says leadingly. Nervously?

What was up with him?

“Then what?”

He dumps his eggs onto a plate, scraping out the pan before he spins around to answer you. He takes a deep breath.

“Because I couldn’t stop talking about you.”

He says it quite earnestly, matter-of-factly, even, and you stare at him, studying his face for any sign of a joke. You find none.

You feel your entire body go warm.

“Let’s go on a date, then.” You whisper.

“Ok.”

He says it steadily. You’re fighting to stop your voice from shaking.

“When?”

“This Saturday.” He throws out, coming to sit down opposite you with his plate.

Scrambled eggs on toast, HP sauce splattered messily all over them. Just how he likes it.

“What would I do with Robbie?”

“Could you get your mum to look after him?”

You snort before he’s finished saying it.

“Unlikely, Rog.”

“Well could you get a babysitter?” He suggests, voice thick through a mouthful of eggs.

“That costs money, Roger.” You say patiently.

It’s hard for people who don’t have children to put themselves into your shoes. Thinking like that doesn’t come naturally to them. They aren’t used to having to automatically come up with the Reasons Why Not.

“We could just..” He waves his fork around. “Have one at home. Y’know, with him here.”

You scoff.

“Yeah. And what a great date that would be.”

“Well it would be.” Roger says. “Robbie’s my little mate.”

You smile at that.

“ ‘sides, it would be quiet without him around.”

“Yeah.” You say suddenly. “Yeah, it would, wouldn’t it?”

The smile’s growing on your face. He grins back.

“It’s settled, then.”

★★★★★

“Mummy’s going on a date, Robbie.” You say to him, playing with his toys at your feet as you get ready in front of the mirror.

“Date.” Robbie repeats back to you, smiling uncertainly. He doesn’t know what it means.

“Roger?” He says, looking up at you hopefully. You smile.

“Yes, that’s right. A date with Roger.” You say, and he gives you a toothy grin, placated. “What a clever boy you are.”

You’ve no idea what he’s cooking. He did pop round this morning to borrow an onion, but apart from that, you’ve no clue.

You’re nervous.

“ROGERRR!”

Robbie runs inside before you can say anything as usual, and it takes you a minute to notice Roger’s wearing a tie. Top three buttons of his shirt unbuttoned as always, but a tie all the same. And he’s combed his hair.

You’re touched by the effort he’s gone to.

“You look nice.” He comments, as he pulls the door back all the way to let you inside.

“Thanks. So do you.”

He’s got wine, and apple juice for Robbie. He’s made him fish fingers and potato smileys, and spaghetti Bolognese for the two of you. At your encouragement, he gives Robbie a little bit of spaghetti on his plastic plate (you’ve come with a bag full of his things so he doesn’t fuss about the disruption of his routine).

“I’m trying to get him on to Grown Up Food.” You explain in a whisper.

It doesn’t feel quite like a date. More like old friends having dinner after not seeing each other in a while. You saw Roger this morning, but it’s been a long time since you’d had time to sit down and eat something together.

Honestly, you don’t mind it. You were worried there was going to be this weird tension there, now that you’d put a label on the occasion. But it just feels natural. Like catching up.

At one point, Roger reaches across and takes your hand over the table, threading his fingers through yours, and even though it takes you by surprise, you don’t let go. It feels nice. You eat the rest of your meals with one hand.

Robbie gets tomato sauce all over himself, naturally, and you realise it’s probably almost time for his bath anyway.

“Roger bath me?” Robbie pleads after dinner, tugging at Roger’s sleeve and you hesitate, looking up at him.

“I don’t know..” You start

“Want me to give you a bath, bud?”

“Yeeahhhh!” Robbie yells.

Roger looks at you triumphantly.

“Can you do it?” You ask, doubtful.

“Course.” Roger says. “We’ll be fine, won’t we mate?”

“Yeah yeah yeah!”

You sigh and relent.

“Alright, I’ll do the dishes.”

“Mummy’s only next door in the kitchen, Robbie.” You’re saying to your excited toddler moments later, after having unpacked all his bath stuff and giving Roger the walk-through. He’s pulling at Roger’s hand, impatient to get on with the fun.

“Don’t get the water too hot.” You tell Roger soberly. “And don’t fill it up any deeper than his tummy. Oh, and don’t let the water out until after he gets out.”

He shoots you a quizzical look.

You lower your voice.

“He’s thinks he’ll get sucked down the plug hole.”

“Gotcha.” He says solemnly, and then gives you a little wink and a grin. Your stomach flutters.

“Come on then, little man. Bath time.”

You leave them to it and clean up the kitchen. For a bolognese, Roger’s managed to get through pots and pans in Biblical proportions. And he’s got sauce splattered all the way up the tiled walls. You sigh.

You can hear Robbie squealing and splashing, both of their laughter floating down the hallway, and you realise you might have drawn the short straw.

You’re sweating by the time you finally finish up, and walk through to the bathroom to check on them.

They're in such a bubble of their own that they don’t notice you at first, don’t hear you coming to stand in the open doorway, leaning against it with one hip. You fold your arms. You’re trying to keep a hold on the grin that’s threatening to spread all over your face.

Roger’s got Robbie sitting up on top of the sink, wrapped up in a fluffy towel, and he’s brushing his teeth for him.

“Open wide, Robbie, that’s it- no, don’t bite my finger - good boy. Nice and clean, hey?”

In that moment, you’re struck with the realisation that Roger’s become a man while you weren’t looking. That somewhere along the line, he’s changed from that haphazard, clueless uni student you’d known when he moved in, and turned into this mature, capable man. You’d like to believe that Robbie has something to do with it.

You think that maybe he’s more of a man than any guy you’ve gone out with before. Maybe even more of one that anyone you’ve ever known.

You want to make him feel like a man. Tonight.

You know it’s time.

You clear your throat a little and he turns, grinning brightly. You smile, throat suddenly thick with an emotion you can’t place. You walk over and lay a hand on his shoulder.

“My boys.” You murmur.

Slowly, deliberately, you lean up and press a kiss against his still-smiling lips. It’s quick and chaste - Robbie is there, after all - but it’s romantic as hell.

You pull back and look at him. His eyes are shining.

“Mummy kissed you!” Robbie shrieks before bursting into a fit of giggles, doubling over on the sink, and instead of ruining the moment it just makes it better. You’re laughing too, and so is Roger, picking him up and lifting up high.

“Yes she did!”

He kicks his little legs in the air as Roger spins him around the bathroom, positively squealing with childish laughter.

“And now I’m gonna kiss you TOO!” You shout, lunging for your son and pressing kisses all over his chubby face, screaming his head off all the while.

“Mummy no!”

“Yesyesyesyesyes!”

★★★★★

You all have to do the bedtime routine together.

Getting Robbie into his pajamas, watching his night time cartoons for an hour and then reading him his bed time story. You put him down to sleep in the spare room and watch a film in the meantime, hoping that by the time it’s finished he’ll be in the floppy stage, so you can just carry him back through to yours and put him down for the night and he won’t stir.

“It’s a sleepover.” You’d told him as you were through changing him into his pajamas, while Roger set up the telly ready for Magic Roundabout.

“Sleepover.” He’d repeated, bouncing excitedly.

He’d fallen asleep barely a page into his bedtime story.

You and Roger cuddle throughout the film, your face set on fire the entire time. It’s the first time you’ve been this close to him.

When it finishes, you carry Robbie next door, tucking his warm, sleeping body into bed and kissing him on the forehead. He doesn’t stir. You quickly check your hair in the hall mirror before creeping back out, letting yourself back in to Roger’s flat.

He grins lazily at you when you come in. He’s lying sprawled across the sofa with his feet hanging over the arm, still watching TV with a glass of wine in his hand. He looks loose and happy.

“Hi.”

He leans over to put his glass on the coffee table as you walk towards him, opening his arms for you to fall into him. His body is so warm.

“Is he fast asleep?” Roger mumbles into your hair.

“Out like a light.” You confirm.

He hums.

Finally alone together.

“What d’you wanna do now?” He asks.

It’s casual, but you know better. You can feel the excitement thrumming under his skin. It’s like a live current. It’s contagious.

“What do you wanna do?” You counter, playing his game.

“You know.” He murmurs, lips skimming the outer shell of your ear.

The electricity jolts through every part of your body, sending his words right down to your toes. You feel every single hair on your body stand on end.

You shiver.

“Hey, we haven’t had pudding!” He shouts suddenly, and you jump a little, pulling back to look at him in surprise.

He looks genuinely annoyed with himself for forgetting.

“Pudding?”

“Yeah!”

“You made pudding?”

“Yeah! Well, no. Not made. Bought.” He says, quickly rolling off you to cross the kitchen.

“It’s alright, Roger, you don’t have to-”

He’s yanking open the fridge door before you can stop him, hunting for the forgotten dessert and you roll your eyes and smile.

Once Roger had an idea, there was no slowing him down. He always did like everything just perfect.

“I got strawberries!” He shouts over his shoulder, waving the packet around.

Not your favourite.

You weren’t about to tell him that, though.

You stick him a weak thumbs up from the sofa as he ratches around for bowls and spoons.

“Thought it might be romantic.” He explains with a smug grin as he tips them into two bowls at the kitchen table.

“Tonight’s already been romantic.” You assure him. “Have you got chocolate?”

“No, sorry. Did you want some?”

“That’s ok.” You say, trying to hide your disappointment. You walk over to sit with him at the table.

“I might have pouring cream?” He offers.

“That’s ok, Rog-”

“No really, I’ll go and have a look.”

You let him go, staring down at your strawberries gloomily. If you could’ve had chocolate sauce, it might not have been so bad.

You ate strawberries all the time while you were pregnant with Robbie, always craving for them at the most bizarre times of night. Ever since he was born, however, you’d just never fancied them in the same way again.

“I’ve got squirty cream?” He half-yells from inside the fridge, and your eyes light up.

“Aw yeah, wicked!”

He laughs.

“Great.”

“D’you want some strawberries to go with that cream?” Roger teases when you spray half the bottle into your bowl.

"Shut up, I like it.”

You end up getting a lot of it all over your face, and Roger takes great pleasure in watching you trying to wipe it off.

“Oh for god’s sake, get here.” He says, after you wipe at your cheek in vain for the fifth time. “You’re not even getting anywhere near it.”

He licks his thumb and wipes at your cheek, scooping up all the whipped cream from your chops. Without thinking, your hand shoots out to grab his own, and you lick all of it off his thumb, relishing the taste. You fucking love whipped cream.

Your eyes snap open when Roger makes a strangled noise of pleasure, and you realise you’ve inadvertently turned him on.

You smirk, swirling your tongue around the tip of his thumb, making sure you get every last drop. He throws his head back and groans.

“Oh, come on.”

You laugh and pop your mouth off him, looking at him in faux-innocence.

“What? I was just making sure I got it all.”

He digs his palms into his eye sockets, his answering grin was tortured.

“How much longer are we gonna drag this out for?”

You look at him in disbelief.

“You were the one that suggested dessert!” You argue.

“Yes, and I’m now very much regretting that decision.”

His hands are still over his eyes, so he doesn’t see the lightbulb go on in your head, and the wicked grin that follows it onto your face.

“I’ve got an idea.” You say, voice low. He looks up at you.

“What now?”

“How about we bring dessert into the bedroom?”

★★★★★

“Sorry I haven’t tidied up in here.” He mumbles as he trails in after you, surveying the mess before you. “Didn’t exactly think it would get to this.”

“This is lovely, Rog.” You say as you sit down on the bed, thumbing at the blanket with a wistful smile playing on your face. It’s a patchwork quilt, warm and worn, thrown haphazardly over the bed. The grey sheets are all peeled back and rumpled, and there are pillows strewn about all over the place.

“My mum made it for me.” He mumbles again, looking embarrassed. You smile, rubbing your finger along all of the different textures.

You realise what he’s said too late.

“Roger..” You say, whipping around to face him, standing above you beside the bed with the cream bottle still in his hands. “You do want to do this, don’t you?”

His eyes fly open wide.

“Yes!” He almost shouts, and you have to stifle a giggle. “Shit, sorry. Yes. I just, I only meant - I didn’t expect you to let me- y’know - on the first.. date.”

You shift slightly on the sinky mattress.

“What are you trying to say?”

“Oh, no no!” He backtracks, putting the food down on the bedside table and plopping down next to you. “No, god. I don’t mean it like that. ”

He stares earnestly into your eyes.

“Are you nervous?” You whisper, glancing sideways up at him.

“No.” He says steadily. “Not with you.”

“Good.”

“Are you?”

“A little.” You admit.

But it’s a good kind of nervous. The kind you haven’t had in a very long time.

You love him.

Maybe not in that way, not quite yet, at least, but as a friend.

And maybe soon as more.

You love him.

And so you close your eyes, lean in, and kiss him.

★★★★★

“That’s cold!”

Roger squawks as you squirt a squiggle of cream down the middle of his bare chest. You cackle, running a finger through your mess before bringing it to your lips to taste.

“Mmmm.” You exaggerate, closing your eyes in mock-rapture as you suck the cheap foam from your fingertip.

“Where else are you gonna put it?” Roger asks eagerly and you grin.

“Patience.”

You have to hold his hips down to the bed to stop him wriggling as you suck and lick the sweet cream from his nipples, his chest, his belly-button. He’s moaning and giggling with every swipe of your tongue, and there’s a dark patch growing in size on the front of his stripey underwear. He’s rock hard, straining at the waist-band, and you can see his bright pink tip poking out of the top.

You decide the fun’s not over yet.

“My turn!” You declare, pushing him so that he rolls off to the side, flopping down on your belly in his place. “Now you’ve gotta do it to me.”

You flip onto your back and close your eyes, grinning while you wait for him to plan his attack.

“Don’t get it in my pubes.” You remind him. “And don’t put it anywhere near my vagina.”

Roger’s the first person you’ve been totally naked with, lights on and all, since Robbie was born.

You love your marks and scars - they remind you of Robbie - but it had been hard to accept that your body was changed permanently, and at such a young age, too. For the first year or so, you could hardly even be naked around yourself.

With Roger, everything was different. His face when you’d first taken your top off, so full of this quiet awe - it was enough to make everything you’d been worried about fade into background noise.

You jump when he spurts the cream onto your lips.

You resist the urge to poke your tongue out and clean it off, because the next thing you know he’s climbing over you and kissing you deeply, the sweet taste filling both of your mouths.

Neither of you can stop giggling, smiling against each other’s lips, teeth clashing together and breath merging into one.

After he’s licked you clean (and sucked a strawberry out of your belly button), he decides he wants to pay you lip service in another way.

So far, he’s taken all the foreplay in his stride with a quiet self-assurance, but now you’re getting towards the real thing, he’s suddenly nervous.

He stops between your legs and looks up at you, a little unsure of what to do next.

He’s lying on his belly, legs bent and crossed behind him at the ankle, in nothing but his y-fronts and a pair of purple socks.

You feel him mumbling your name into the inside of your bare thigh, following it up with a sweet kiss against your skin.

“You okay?” You wonder, propping yourself up on your elbows to look down at him.

“I’m not sure what to do.” He admits, burying his face into your leg and blowing out a big huff of air. It tickles.

You try not to giggle at him, arms folded under himself and his face planted into your thigh.

“Just do what feels natural.” You tell him, stroking his blonde head and he groans, frustrated. “You’ve been doing good so far.”

“What if I do rubbish?” He argues. You laugh at that.

“Half of you are rubbish at it anyway.”

“That’s not very encouraging-”

“Look, all I’m saying is that practise doesn’t always make perfect.” You remind him gently. “You’re a good kisser, you’ll be good at this as well.”

He doesn’t say anything.

“Just do what feels right, you’ll pick it up in no time.”

He looks up at you then, one cheek still resting on your leg. His breathe tickles against your skin.

You get an idea.

“Come up here.” You say. He looks at you confused, but you haul him up by the arm nevertheless, until your faces are level.

“Give me your hand.”

He hands it over, mystified.

You take the palm of his hand and bring it to your lips, kissing him there once first, gently, to make him smile.

“Do it like this.”

You say, and then you move your lips and tongue against the palm of his hand, simulating oral sex, in just the rhythm and pattern that you like it.

“Sthee?” You muffle into his hand. “Juth’st like tha’ ”

You look up at him to check if he’s taking it in. His cheeks are turning a dark shade of red.

He nods stiffly and starts moving down your body.

“Got it.”

“The clit is-”

“I know where it is.” He snaps, and you nod, leaning back against the pillow to let him get on with it.

He does it just like you showed him.

You knew he’d be a fast learner, but you didn’t expect him to pick it up quite so quickly, and quite so well.

He’s so eager to taste you, pushing your legs open wider, pulling you onto his mouth so you’re flush up against his nose and lips. He groans against your clit when you push and grind against him, and the vibrations send shockwaves straight through you.

“That’s so good, Rog.” You’re telling him, stroking his hair as he groans into you. “Just like that.”

“Yeah?” He breathes, taking a break to turn his head to the side and suck a dark bruise onto your thigh. “Am I doin’ good?”

“So good.” You repeat, eyes squeezed shut and your nails digging into his shoulders like you’re trying to kill him.

You let him carry on until he makes you come, shaking and grinding against his face, pulling him closer by the back of his head. He moans as you tug at his locks, cleaning you up enthusiastically.

His tongue soon becomes too much against your sensitive heat. You push him away with your foot, and he props himself up on his elbow, grinning.

“How was that?” He asks, turning his head to wipe his wet chin off on his shoulder.

“Come ‘ere.” You murmur in answer, hauling him up towards you and pulling him down for a deep kiss.

“That good, ey?” He mumbles against your lips, and you shut him up by kissing him harder.

“Your turn.” You’re saying next, anxious to move onto the next thing as you push him off and move to get on top of him.

His breathe hitches as you push him down against the pillows, and you stop just before you move to slip off his boxers.

“Has someone done this to you before?” You wonder.

His eyes don’t move from your face. His chest is rising and falling rapidly under you as you trace a finger along the waist-band of his underwear. You feel his cock twitch.

“No.” He says breathily.

“Get ready, then.” You say, moving to finally pull his underwear off but then his hand shoots out and stops you.

He’s gripping your wrist tight, face anxious.

“Are you okay?”

“I won’t-” He starts, glancing up to the ceiling as if he’s having to will himself to say it, “I won’t.. last long, if you do that. At all.”

You breathe a laugh.

“That’s the point, Rog.” You say. “If you finish now, you’ll be able to last longer when we fuck.”

“Oh.” Is all he says, laughing at himself self-consciously.

You lean up and kiss him again, trying to reassure him. He’s still grabbing onto your hand tight.

“Ready?” You ask, thumbs hooked inside his waist-band.

His skin is fever-hot.

“Yeah.”

He’s right. He doesn’t last long.

Not that you were expecting him to, but still. It’s quite satisfying how quickly he’s coming uncontrollably into your mouth, hips stuttering and unable to stop himself from thrusting all the way down your throat.

“Oh god, oh god, oh fuck.” He’s whispering like a prayer, body twisting on the mattress below you as you take all of him, nose pressing into his belly. He’s got a fistful of your hair, and in the last moments, it’s like he doesn’t know whether to push you off or pull you closer.

It tastes hot, and slightly sweet, and when you crawl back up to let him taste himself on your tongue he can’t help but moan all over again.

He’s a bit like a zombie after that.

You decide to just leave him to recover for a while, realising it’s about time someone went to check on Robbie. You pull Roger’s dressing gown off the back of the door and slip it on, turning around in the doorway to tell him you’ll be back in a minute.

He’s lying on his back, staring at the ceiling, a goofy grin plastered all over his face.

“Won’t be long.” You whisper.

You wonder whether the words even register at all.

“Is he..?” Roger wonders when you come back in. He looks like he’s come back to life a little, now sat up on his elbows.

“Flat out.” You grin, coming to sit back down on the bed.

You don’t bother taking the robe off, suddenly a little chilly after all of the sweat has cooled.

“So do you want to fuck then, or..?” You wonder, trailing a finger around one of his nipples in a circle.

He sits up fully and looks at you at bit sheepishly, scratching his head.

“Er, actually...” He trails off, and you look at him encouragingly, waiting for him to finish. “Would it be ok if we, er, left it? For tonight?”

You blink at him.

“Of course!”

“Sorry.”

“No, don’t be silly!” You say, reaching over to pull him into a one armed hug. He leans his head on your shoulder.

“It was really awesome, though.” He mumbles into your collar bone, pressing a wet kiss where his dark blue robe had slipped down. “Loved it.”

“Me too.” You say appreciatively, resting your cheek - sore from all the smiling - against the top of his head. His hair smells like coconut shampoo.

“M’really glad it was with you.”

He yawns, suddenly knackered, and you begin to feel the same.

He moves off you and to the edge of the bed, and starts pulling his underwear back on.

“And plus,” he adds, looking at you over his shoulder. “There’s always tomorrow.”

You grin back at him.

“You’d do it again?”

“Are you joking?” He snorts, as if you’ve asked him the most stupid question he’s ever heard. “Any time you like, darling.”

★★★★★

Robbie can’t be left on his own overnight, so you have to collect up all of your things and traipse back through into your flat, bare feet cold on the wooden hallway floor.

Roger comes with you, not wanting to send you off to sleep alone after all of that. You do a final check on Robbie, before slipping into bed next to him, huddling into him immediately for warmth. It get’s cold in your little flat at night time, and the heating was something both of you could only afford to put on in the very depths of winter. Roger wraps his arms around you.

“So was this more of a one time thing, then?” He whispers into the dark just before he falls asleep. “Or were you looking to fill a more... permanent position?”

His voice is light and silly, but the moment’s a somber one. You can tell he’s feeling nervous.

“I’d wake up to you every day if I could.” You say seriously.

He kisses you then, gentle and deep - no lust in it but full of passion, and it makes your toes curl.

“Tomorrow’s a start, then.”

You stare up at the ceiling, listening to his rhythmic breathing and thinking about the forgotten strawberries, left out to go over-ripe on the bedside table. You can’t help but lament all the lost nights you could’ve been spending curled up in bed at Roger’s side.

You wonder whether all of this shouldn’t have happened a long time ago.

Or maybe it had happened at exactly the right time.

★★★★★

@ixchel-9275 @oogachuggaoogaoogachugga

#roger taylor #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor x reader #borhap #borhap imagines #queen band #Queen #queen imagines #roger taylor headcanons #young roger taylor #bohemian rhapsody #borhap boys #ben hardy!roger x reader #ben hardy! roger taylor #my writing #1k celebration #requests #ask #blurbs

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advernia · 4 years

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hi hi!!! ( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ mmm… i try not to expect something out of an unreleased route (bc most of the time i am horribly betrayed lmao) but there are loads of stuff i hope to see! forgive me for being rambly tho haha!

mousse. i actually have no idea what to expect from his route but what i do know is that his current position as a diplomat bothers me in a lot of ways lmao! but anyway… naturally we should be getting details on why he left the red army in the first place, so maybe on that side i do wish we’d get more insight on the workings of the red army, i guess? not that i’m expecting something super detailed or anything (tho it would be great if cybird feeds us with details), but for starters, maybe something more concerning the chosen bloodline - for instance, how did it come to be that for the red army, those thirteen certain families are the only ones strictly allowed to fill in that one position in the chosen ranks??? do relatives or family branch members count??? additionally, is mousse the first case of someone stepping down / refusing to take over their designated rank??? i’d like to think that he isn’t, but then again i maybe wrong???

alternatively… maybe mousse’s route could fill in some bit of cradle lore too? lmao i mean he is a diplomat and alice is a ‘visitor’, so he’s the best suitor to fit in the role of a tour guide. maybe a little more idea on how cradle works as an actual country, bc god i can’t even imagine how it functions properly. who knows, maybe he actually knows about that abandoned building in the forbidden forest + why it’s there in the first place. maybe he can actually elaborate the background of the goddamn 500 year conflict. if he actually does, bless my soul.

on relationships… while mousse is neutral but a former red, i imagine we’ll be seeing more of the ra guys rather than the ba, maybe… that’s fine with me since i’m interested in learning more about his relationship with lancelot, and maybe how he interacts with kyle + edgar since we already have a general idea of how he is around jonah + zero. but since the neutral faction has increased now, i’d like it if most of his interactions would involve more of his fellow neutrals. they need more screentime.

and finally, romantically… man, that ‘love at first sight… or is it?’ bit on his profile really gets me. oh, i will be ridiculously happy if that whole ‘love at first sight’ thing is interpreted as just sheer interest on mousse’s part. he’s in love with the visitor from the land of reason, with alice the second who hails from the same land as the first alice. he’s in love with the thought of her, a person who lives in a world so different from his own…but has he ever seen alice the second as the woman she is, as another human being??? this is probably unlikely to happen as mousse doesn’t seem too cold as a character but OOOOHHHHH I’D LOVE TO HAVE A TWIST（○□○）

tl;dr: a focus on red army history / more expository stuff on cradle. a toss between mousse interacting with the ra + neutrals, preferrably more of the latter. if cybird pulls a surprising twist / interpretation on mousse’s ‘love at first sight’ for alice, then i will LIVE.

dean. for starters, i’d like a little more understanding on how the boarding school he works in operates haha… i get it’s open to all regardless of status (red/black, noble/commoner maybe?), but what type of school is it, is it a regular one or a military academy of sorts??? if it’s a military type, to what extent are the students trained - basic combat/magic or are there advanced classes or all that shebang??? from what age are you able to enroll in it??? who runs it??? probably someone from the neutral faction / government itself but seriously speaking, is this the only school available in cradle??? if you’re wondering why i think that, i just find it odd that two different factions that have been in constant conflict still send their kids to study in that one school where anyone and everyone is accepted… i’d imagine the red side isn’t so happy about this more than the black side is, but maaaybe it’s a government-mandated / treaty / pact thing??? tbh i’m still on the fence on those ideas since there’s a lot more questions that would arise from that but… yeah. just… details, pls _(:3」∠)_ oh, more bonus points if we get more info about the day everything went dark!

anyway… dean being a professor appears underwhelming but it’s pretty interesting to take into account that he probably trained all(?) of them army suitors so… personally i’d be interested if there’s your teacher vs. student(s) fight scenes lmao. preferrably with dean still able to hold his own. bonus points if he taunts his opponent in the process with words like ‘i see you’ve forgotten your fundamentals’ or something haha! even more bonus points if we get dean/alice fighting the forces of evil magic disciples together!!! oh, that would be so good.

it would be fun if dean’s the type to subtly poke his former students with their dark history past mistakes when he sees them / needs them to settle down or smth. maybe he has dirt on someone like luka (and no, it isn’t about him feeding birds on the rooftop lmao). maybe he’s the only one who can make sirius & lancelot feel nervous easily, holy shit. but again, as dean’s a neutral, i’d prefer his interactions to involve more of his fellow neutrals. especially dalim. though that might be a given considering their relationship. i will greatly appreciate seeing more of the tweedle twins dynamic. even more if it turns out that the main conflict/antagonist of their individual routes happens not to be amon, but their other half and it’s not because of alice. AHHHHHH ( ･ᴗ･̥̥̥ )

idk what dynamic they’re gonna shoot for with dean & alice, but i do hope it doesn’t give off your ‘teacher-student’ vibes aha…… considering how dean’s personality appears so far though, i’d like to think that a slow burn would be fitting for them…? maybe something similar to lancelot’s where the conflict is given more focus than the romance itself.

tl;dr: background on the school + the day everything went dark. teacher vs. student(s) fight scenes + dean/alice fighting duo. dean being lolz evulz to his former students. tweedle twins drama, bless. if dean/alice gives off the teacher-student dynamic, well… can’t say i didn’t see that coming.

dalim. oh boy, while i’m trying hard not to expect anything for now, i can’t help but pray for something good with dalim. i think he has the best potential among the new three since he’s only (or first) suitor in an actual antagonistic position - he knows it, he accepts it, and he’s still going with it. if cybird handwaves a redemption arc for him thru the flimsy power of kira-kira labu (or friendship), i will be very, very, very disappointed. seriously.

anyway, there’s a lot of question marks surrounding him that i want answered but of course, more dirt on the magic tower. perhaps whatever details about the tower that they failed to address in harr’s route they can add + elaborate here, though i really wouldn’t mind knowing more nitty gritty on the human experimentation bit. then there’s the matter about the regression magic he developed. though maybe all before that detailed stuff, maybe some background about how dalim came to be a magic disciple would be good. and how and why he manages a pub on the side. origin stories are a must.

not gonna lie though - i’m more interested in his social life, his relationship with amon the first priority. how long has he known amon, did he approach amon or was it the other way around, when did he start serving amon, do amon and he have similar goals, how ‘loyal’ is he to amon, was he already amon’s subordinate when amon killed his father, did he help amon kill his father, why does he even serve such a guy in the first place... yeah, all that and more. hopefully those are going to be addressed. then there’s dean... if dalim’s goals + ambitions are purely for the sake of his older twin, i’m gonna cry a river. even moreso if his determination is so strong that he still chooses dean over his kira-kira labu for alice. now if cybird really does pull that off, consider me IMPRESSED. HOT DAMN.

them aside, in general his relationship tree seems complicated... he has strained relationships with harr + zero + loki + oliver, though it seems that he and harr still can seem to hold ‘conversations’ with each other... lancelot + seth don’t like him... idk if he was already involved in the day everything went dark operation, but if he was then ray + fenrir would definitely knock him down... lmao that’s a lot of hostility there, and that’s as dalim. as dum, zero + ray + fenrir + oliver are still wary of him haha! well, i hope his interactions with the rest of the cast will fare better / some of those relationships may not be as strained as they seem???

and the romance... since dalim’s human experimentation is a step farther and darker than edgar’s history of murder, there is no way you are going to make me swallow the possibility that he could go down the same route and be pardoned by cradle through trial. or in any way going to be redeemed + forgiven / set free quickly. no, i won’t accept it either if amon does something similar to a claudius and suddenly decides to say that he pulled dalim along for the ride (rather, i’d be furious). ends i’ll accept are dalim himself demanding for or receiving proper judgement for his actions. the feelings between dalim and alice are there & acknowledged, sure, but sadly regardless of what ending they physically cannot be together.

too angsty??? maybe it is, since i personally feel that his situation has the potential to feel more... well, military/war-fitting than the other suitors. i’m not hoping for that scenario simply because i want that extreme angst + drama, but rather because it somehow doesn’t sit right with me that someone so goal-focused, someone who seems to have walked down the wrong path of his own volition, who stated himself that he isn’t human and won’t let ethics stand in his way (zero’s route), would allow himself to be easily forgiven for all that he had done. it’s like a disservice. believe me, i like redemption arcs. but for something severe like what dalim dabbled in for what seemed like years... redemption almost sounds too kind.

i hope whatever they have planned for dalim would appear reasonable and satisfying, both to how they will portray his character and to the plot of his route as a whole.

tl;dr: more magic tower info. his history with amon. tweedle twins drama, bless. more insight into his relationship tree. cybird, dalim/alice’s foe yay has potential, pls don’t mess it up.....

#askdfghjl #the read more break went into the ask bubble like???#it looked odd so i transferred my response to text instead #i'm alright thinking about mousse + dean but dalim... ooooh boy #this ask made me laugh bc i recalled that some friends and i talked about something like this last year and it was messy #this post isn't any better than those convos lmaooo but i'd like to say i tried #i have other backlogs but i'm too excited to be home + finally sleep in my bed again BLESS

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bennyboyjones · 4 years

Text

The Getaway (Ben Hardy Fanfic) Chapter Three

A/N: Hi! So, here is chapter 3 to my Ben Hardy AU Fanfic! There are currently several chapters written, which you can find on Wattpad, but I’ve decided to also upload it here as well. It might be a bit behind, but you’ll still get all the chaps eventually.

What it is: basically, a girl from a small town who is bored of her life decides to take a trip to Nice where she runs into ben, who is also running away from some shit and some romance ensues.

Word count: 3.9k

in this chapter: FLIRTING AND MAYBE A DATE?

WATTPAD LINK IF YOU WANT TO READ AHEAD

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