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queenshelby · 3 years

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My Friend’s Father (Part Eight)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Age Gap, Smut

Words: 5,416

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When you arrived at the restaurant, you felt somewhat awkward when you saw Denise and her mother sit on the large table which had been set aside for you.

Most of Denise’s friends had already arrived and spread around the table and you were quick to sit down next to Denise as she had saved the seat for you.

‘You look fantastic Denise’ you complimented her as she was wearing a very nice and colourful dress.

‘And you look tired’ she joked before carrying on. ‘You had a good afternoon with Chris, I see’ she then said somewhat amused, referring to the university lecturer she thought you were meeting with that afternoon.

‘What makes you say that?’ you asked quietly and she discreetly pointed to the small bruises on your neck which caught Amalie’s eyes as well.

‘Oh…uhm…yeah’ you barely managed to say just as Cillian and three more guests arrived, one of whom was Cillian’s brother Patrick and the other two were Denise’s cousin and his wife, both of whom were related to Denise’s mother.

Cillian sat down directly across from you and gave you a shy smile while Amalie was quick to change her seat, sliding next to Cillian and causing Denise to roll her eyes.

‘You look nice tonight Mr Murphy’ Amalie said and Cillian politely thanked her for her compliment while his brother, who sat down next to him as well, had a quiet chuckle.

‘So, tell me Y/N, what did you get up to other than the obvious’ Denise then asked quietly while Amalie was preoccupied flirting with Cillian.

‘Not much else’ you said shyly, unsure what else to say as your cheeks were blushing red and you glanced over towards Cillian who, occasionally, glanced back towards you.

‘Oh my god…I need details’ she then said excitedly before she dragged you to the lady’s lavatory so that she could bombard you with questions.

***

‘Tell me everything’ she then demanded as she reapplied her lipstick and you stood in front of the mirror and applied some foundation over the little bruises on your neck.

‘There is nothing to tell Denise’ you said with some embarrassment.

‘So, you had sex for hours and there is nothing to tell…common Y/N’ she said somewhat disappointed just as Amalie entered the bathroom to see what you were doing.

‘Did you say hours? Aren’t you fucking sore now?’ Amalie asked somewhat amused and you couldn’t help but laugh.

‘A little…but it was worth it. Now can we please return to the table and order dinner. I am starving’ you said but neither Denise nor Amalie had a bar of it.

‘Of course, you are starving. You had sex for hours which is incredible. Is he older? Because, the only guy I ever had extensive love making sessions with like this was already over thirty’ Amalie observed and you certainly didn’t want to answer this question.

‘I don’t kiss and tell guys…it’s nothing serious and…uhm…I just want to keep it myself, okay?’ you stammered but Denise demanded to know.

‘Oh, common Y/N. How old is he? I am your best friend and you need tell me’ Denise then said, causing you to bite your lips nervously.

‘She is embarrassed, so I guess early or mid-thirties’ Amalie then said and you shook your head nervously.

‘I am not embarrassed, I just don’t want to discuss my sex life in a restaurant lavatory’ you then said, but Denise and Amalie looked at you sternly, demanding an answer.

‘Alright! He is in his mid-forties. Now can we go back and order dinner?’ you then quickly admitted and both Amalie’s and Denise’s chins dropped.

‘Y/N that’s a huge age gap. I don’t think I could…’ Denise went on to say but got interrupted by Amalie pretty much immediately.

‘Well, I could if it was your dad’ Amalie laughed, causing you to gulp and Denise look at her in disgust.

‘Oh god Amalie, that’s so disgusting’ she said before agreeing to return to the table and order dinner. The last thing Denise wanted to talk about was Amalie’s desire for her father.

***

After you sat back down at the table, Cillian would glance over towards you occasionally again but, every time he did, Amalie tried quickly to catch his attention, asking him the weirdest kind of questions much to the amusements of Denise’s mother, who, when Amalie, excused herself in order to get some more drinks from the bar, joked about it.

‘Even attracting your daughter’s friends now, are you?’ she said and Cillian couldn’t help but choke on his pint of Guinness.

‘Excuse me?’ he asked somewhat surprised, thinking that his ex-wife was referring to you.

‘I think the blonde one sitting next to you has got a little crush on you’ she then whispered just loud enough for you and Denise to hear it as well.

Immediately, Cillian sighed somewhat relieved before having a little chuckle about it.

‘Well dad, according to some of my friends, you are a DILF’ Denise then said before pulling a face quite similar to an emoji which was about to throw up.

‘Some of your friends, huh?’ Cillian then chuckled before looking at you, causing your cheeks to turn red yet again.

‘And what about me?’ Cillian’s brother then asked, causing Cillian to cock an eyebrow.

‘It’s the haircut man, I highly recommend it if you want to be a DILF’ Cillian then said, causing both, his ex-wife and Denise to roll their eyes.

****

Over dinner, you and Denise talked a lot about university and your upcoming trip to France while Amalie continued to annoy Cillian who, politely, engaged in a conversation with her.

You were amused by the situation and he would often give you a little smile or wink when no one would notice.

His smile was incredible and, if it wouldn’t had been so obvious, you could easily have spent the evening by simply staring at him.

When your desserts finally arrived, you thought about teasing him a little and, discreetly, licked off your dessert spoon in the most seductive way imaginable.

‘I just love whipped cream’ you said and, whilst Cillian gulped, Denise wasn’t suspicious in the slightest. After all, you were telling the truth and had always been a sweet tooth.

You slowly twisted the spoon around in your mouth, licking off the whipped cream for the third time before reaching for the candied cherry on your plate and putting it into your mouth. You ate it slowly before removing the pit with your fingers and licking the sugar from the tips as you pulled it from your mouth.

Then, you licked your lips and discreetly lifted up your foot beneath the table after slipping out of your shoes.

‘Don’t you like your desert?’ Denise asked Cillian as the ice cream on his plate was melting.

‘I am…no…’ he stammered just as your foot brushed over the bulge beneath the denim of his jeans and it was obvious to you that he was hard and straining against the fabric.

When he gulped again, you removed your foot, realising that you shouldn’t tease him any more than that and, just as you did, your phone buzzed and you received a text message from him.

‘Naughty Girl’ it read and you couldn’t help but chuckle.

‘You can punish me for my actions when I see you tonight’ you responded, confirming that you would be coming over to his apartment again as discussed after you go for celebratory birthday drinks with Denise and her friends.

***

Following dinner, Denise, you and her friends went to a local bar for drinks to celebrate Denise’s birthday amongst yourselves for a few hours and it was at around 11 o’clock that night when you excused yourself, telling Denise that you would have to go home as you had plans with your parents the day after.

Whilst you felt guilty about lying, you couldn’t really tell her what you were really doing and, when you left the bar, you nervously walked around the corner to visit Cillian at his apartment again.

After a five-minute stroll, you arrived and Cillian was quick to let you inside, kissing you passionately as soon as you walked through the door.

‘Let me have a shower first, my hair smells like smoke and booze’ you demanded after Cillian’s hands began to roam your body pretty much immediately.

‘I will be waiting in the bedroom then’ he winked and you nodded in agreement before disappearing into the bathroom.

***

‘So, I am curious Y/N, are you one of Denise’s friends who said that I am a DILF?’ Cillian asked amused as you came out of the bathroom while he was waiting for you on his bed, wearing nothing but his black Calvin Klein briefs.

‘Yes Mr Murphy, I am. In fact, I think you are a sexy daddy who I most certainly can’t wait to fuck right now’ you smirked as you dropped your towel to the floor and revealed your naked body to him once again.

‘I thought you were sore?’ Cillian then asked but you shook your head and climbed onto the bed with him in the most seductive way possible.

‘I am aching for you my sexy DILF’ you whispered as you climbed onto Cillian’s lap and bit your lip seductively.

‘Well, I better won’t let you wait then naughty girl’ Cillian said as he pulled you close for a passionate kiss. The touch of your lips was like someone brushing a feather across his, and it sent a rolling warmth down through his whole body, making him tremble.

‘Naughty, huh? I can’t remember being naughty’ you winked as you slid into his arms, and he held you to him, letting his hands move down from your face to wrap around your middle. You gently rubbed your lips together, enjoying the contact, the moist touching. It was more playful than usual.

‘Really? You can’t?’ he asked after you sighed into his mouth, slipping your arms around his neck while sitting on his lap and grinding your naked mound against Cillian’s core.

‘No sir, I can’t’ you said playfully before your heads began to move, slowly, side to side, bringing your lips into greater contact. A hunger started to claim you, and any inhibitions that you had been feeling dropped away.

‘Well, for starters you teased me at the restaurant licking off your dessertspoon so fucking seductively, didn’t you?’ Cillian whispered against your lips and you couldn’t help but grin.

‘And then this fucking cherry you put in your mouth’ he went on to say and you grinned again.

‘It made you hard, didn’t it?’ you asked seductively, hoping that your little discrete playfulness at dinner was having an effect on him.

‘You know it did…now that’s naughty, isn’t it?...Making me hard in public’ Cillian teased before his lips met yours once again and you nodded against them.

By now, soft groans permeated the semi-darkness, the sounds of two people breathing harder, gasping, needing, wanting.

Cillian tentatively slipped his tongue forward, and you met it with enthusiasm, thrusting yours right back into his mouth. Your juicy lips rolled all over his, sending waves of pleasure running down his back.

You clung to one another while you kept grinding against him as your kisses were becoming more desperate and needful.

Then, your lips drifted away from each other and your eyes were wild, so filled with lust, it was almost scary how primal your expression was at that moment.

‘What are you doing to me?’ you then whispered.

‘I am going to make sure that you won’t be walking straight for days’ Cillian said as he ran his hands over your breasts firmly.

‘Hmm, I can’t wait’ you moaned and the skin against his hands was smooth, warm, and he closed his eyes for a second and just took in the wonderful feel of your breasts.

‘God, you have the most beautiful breasts’ Cillian the observed as he ran his fingers around the edges of them, feeling their heft, the way they just barely filled his palms. They were so firm, the solid core of a fruit that had, as of yet, gone mostly unsullied. You were always so self-conscious about them and disappointed that you were only blessed with an A-Cup but Cillian seemed to adore them.

‘And I love you touching them the way you do’ you gasped before you kissed him again deeply, with all the passion that was suddenly let loose inside you.

You sighed and met his excitement full-on, pasting your creamy, silky lips to his and letting your tongue roam around his mouth. The room filled with the sounds of ragged breathing, quiet moans of desperation.

Cillian let his mouth slide free, covering your neck with gentle kisses, moving ever downward before somehow pushing you off and beneath him. He took those sweet breasts in his hands again and brought his lips to them one at a time, just brushing across your tight areolas letting the skin rub on his face, his tongue flick out for a taste.

‘Oh god, that feels so good’ you moaned as he was the first man who had paid so much attention to your small perky breasts.

Your stiff nipple barely moved when his tongue rolled around the edge of it. He licked it harder, listening to your gasp when he pushed his mouth around the whole of it, drawing the entire erect knot inside. Your cries grew louder when he started to suck on it, catching the skin between his teeth and pulling it away from your areola, gripping your nipple hard.

‘Oh god’ you moaned, enjoying the slight pain which was a totally new experience for you.

Cillian smiled, setting your nipple free only to grasp it again between his teeth. The teasing went on, long licks, running his tongue in circles around your areolas until they shined with his spit.

Your arousal was blooming into a pulsing heat in the pit of your stomach and spreading down between your legs. You could feel the dampness, your labia swelling and pulling away uncovering your pink fleshy hole.

‘I want you so badly Cillian’ you hissed as he roughly squeezed and suckled your tits.

‘And I want you Y/N…you are driving me absolutely crazy’ Cillian said as he brought his fingers to your juicy labia, running them slowly down your slit, feeling just how wet and slippery you had become in a very short time.

‘Oh god Cillian’ you moaned as you arched your back slightly, groaning and biting one nail while looking down at him.

‘You have the sweetest pussy, so fucking beautiful’ Cillian then said as he gave you a wicked smile before covering your entrance with his mouth and letting his tongue run free.

‘Ah…yes…just like this…fuck’ you moaned loudly as the juice that poured out of you were coating his tongue.

Cillian ran it straight up between your labia to catch your clit at the top of your hood and you nearly came off the cushions beneath you.

‘Oh Jesus Cillian, I don't know what you're doing but...GOD! Don't stop!’ you moaned loudly as he found yet another pleasure spot of yours and you realised that, clearly, the boys you had been with before didn't have a clue how to please a woman.

With one hand, he fingered your tight opening, and with the other, he played with one firm breast. His tongue lashed your clit like a badly behaved child. You were beside yourself, unable to lie still, pushing up with your hips and forcing your pussy tighter to Cillian’s face while you moaned and grabbed at the sheets

‘Oh god, fuck. I'm going to fucking cum’ you screamed and Cillian caught it full-on, your juice roaring out to drench his face while you whimpered and threw yourself from side to side. He had never seen a woman go off so hard before, and it turned him on so bad he knew he had to have you right there and then.

***

‘You are incredible Cillian’ you huffed out while you recovered and Cillian pulled off his briefs and you couldn’t help but stare at his beautiful cock again.

‘So are you…so fucking sexy’ he growled like a caged animal, unable to contain his needs any longer.

‘Do I feel good around your cock?’ you asked as you found yourself pressed over onto your back with Cillian on top and looking down at you with a lust that was almost frightening in its intensity.

‘So fucking good’ Cillian groaned and you screamed in pleasure when he entered with one deep thrust.

‘Jesus, you are so tight’ he moaned as your eyes squeezed shut, and you cried out with the feeling of your slit being slammed open by Cillian’s cock.

Despite of what you told him earlier, you were still sore from the afternoon session that you had with him but you wanted it again so badly and ignored the sharp burning sensation which, somehow, felt incredibly pleasurable at the same time.

‘Oh god, fuck’ you moaned, pushing upwards against Cillian, meeting his thrusts.

His cock pushed into you over and over again, shoving aside your dripping pink walls, descending toward your cervix.

‘Your cock feels so good inside me’ you moaned just as Cillian arched his back, revelling in the sensation of being squeezed inside your body and held tight in your slippery hole.

The euphoria quickly started to fade though when he looked back down at the pained expression on your face, and it hit him that he had allowed his overcharged libido to take over, taking you harder than he had ever did before. He should have gone slow, been gentle, but you were doing incredible things to him.

‘Don’t stop, fuck me hard Cillian’ you gasped when he slowed down. ‘I want you to take me and fuck my pussy hard’ you spurred him on and you were surprised with the filth that was leaving your shy lips. Cillian certainly unleashed the wild desires deep within you.

‘Fuck, you are a naughty girl, aren’t you?’ Cillian groaned and you nodded as he slowly resumed his pace. ‘It feels so fucking good inside you’ he observed as he thrusted deep inside you again, making you scream.

‘And you feel so good inside me Cillian, I've never felt it like this...It was never this good with anyone before...Don't hold back…’ you moaned as your bodies fell into sync. Your hips were meeting with the distant slapping of skin on skin and you began to moan and thrash beneath him, digging your long nails into his back with each thrust. He gasped and cried right along with you caught up in the sheer, unbridled joy of it all.

There was no denying your allure. Your body so perfect, every curve, every flawless inch of skin. The way you looked up at him with so much hopeless, naked desire.

Your movements began to reflect your internal struggle between the need to be released from this exquisite torture and the longing for the pleasure never to end.

You pulled Cillian’s head down, covered his lips with yours in a fiery, intense kiss.

‘Fuck Cillian, you are going to make me cum again…oh god…fuck’ you warned him a breathless whisper and he felt you go. A climax so hard he found it difficult to push through it.

You looked so gorgeous caught in the spiders web of your orgasm, shaking, mouth falling open in a silent scream. It was an image of beauty that would be seared into his brain forever.

‘Fuck Y/N, you are so beautiful’ Cillian groaned, trying to hold back on his own release.

‘Don't fight it, Cillian. I know you're close. Cum inside me, I want to fucking feel it’ you groaned, spurring him on and Cillian was seized by an implacable urge to move ever faster like an engine fed too much fuel. The sounds of his hard, panting breaths became more audible. His body snapped tight, back arching as he emptied himself into you.

‘Oh god, Y/N, fuck’ he groaned and you clung harder to him, holding him close while feeling each pulse and jerk of his cock shooting inside you.

‘That's it! Give it to me! Give it all to me’ you moaned and you fell into another sweet kiss as Cillian filled you with his cum before pulling out of you slowly.

‘God, I love when you cum inside me, it feels so fucking good and it looks so fucking sexy when it comes out’ you huffed out while you were still shaking from your orgasm.

‘Does it just?’ he chuckled, causing you nod, biting your lips.

‘Yes, watch’ you said as you spread your legs and pushed out some of his cum from your soaking core before collecting it with your finger and bringing your finger up to your mouth.

‘And it tastes so fucking good too’ you then said, licking the cum of your finger, causing Cillian to gasp.

‘You are something else Y/N, you know that?’ Cillian said before you collapsed on the bed together and the sheets slipped around your naked bodies as you slid between them cuddling together.

Cillian kissed your forehead and stroked your hair while you pillowed her head on his chest.

‘I should probably get home soon’ you murmured as Cillian was holding you close.

‘Stay’ Cillian said rather suddenly, gently taking hold of you and pulling you even closer towards him.

‘Uhm’ you said, thinking about whether you could stay or not. You didn’t want to tell Cillian, but your father had been keeping close tabs on you ever since your sister got herself into trouble a few years ago and you knew that, if you were going to stay, you would need to come up with an excuse and text one of your parents.

‘I am going back to Manchester tomorrow afternoon and I want to make the most of this’ Cillian then said and you nodded reluctantly, agreeing to stay.

‘Alright, I will stay’ you said before kissing him passionately and then reaching for your phone.

‘I will be right back, just getting a glass of water and putting this on charge. Can I use the charger in the kitchen?’ you asked and, of course, Cillian nodded.

When you walked into the kitchen, you quickly texted your parents, letting them know that you would be staying with Denise at her hotel room and that you would see them tomorrow at 8 o’clock.

***

When you returned to the bedroom, you crawled back under the doona, curling up against Cillian’s chest.

‘So…uhm…what is next for us? I mean…when will I see you again?’ you stammered as Cillian ran his fingers through your long hair gently.

‘Probably not until the 14th or 15th of this month’ he then said and you gave him a disappointed pout.

‘That’s two weeks away Cillian’ you observed and Cillian nodded before caressing your face and kissing you gently.

‘Yeah, I am sorry. I’ve got a busy filming schedule and Denise is visiting me in Manchester next weekend so I can’t come home’ he then explained before suggesting that you could come with Denise to visit him.

‘I am working that weekend. Despite, I think we would be playing with fire if I did’ you said and Cillian agreed.

He then told you that he would come to Galway the following weekend and, after that, he would only have two more weeks of filming left.

‘So, do you have many scenes with Laura Jennings during these last four weeks on set?’ you asked cheekily and Cillian couldn’t help but chuckle. He was somewhat flattered as you gave him a mildly jealous stare.

‘No intimate scenes, if that is what you are asking’ he explained before telling you that he wouldn’t be seeing her anymore on an intimate level, which is more than you had expected to hear from him.

‘Cillian…uhm…I didn’t mean to…’ you began to stammer but Cillian quietened your lips with his.

‘I know, it’s fine Y/N’ he said as your lips drifted apart.

‘So, does this mean that, whatever this is between us, is somewhat exclusive?’ you asked and Cillian confirmed that, indeed, he was not interested in seeing other people nor would he feel comfortable if you did.

‘Okay…I like that’ you confirmed and, with that, you curled up against him again with his arms still wrapped around you.

For a while, your fingers played with his chest hair while his hands stroked through your hair, slowly making you tired and it wasn’t long until you drifted off to sleep in Cillian’s arms.

***

The following morning, you were woken by your alarm which went off at around 7 o’clock.

‘Hmm, what was that?’ Cillian murmured still half asleep and you informed him that it was the alarm on your phone before you gently crawled your fingers across his chest and began placing gentle kisses over it and then all the way down to his stomach while moving the doona away from his warm body.

‘What are you doing?’ he gasped, still with his eyes closed and dreamy in his mind.

‘What I didn’t get to do last night’ you said with a sultry smile before you rolled down his underwear, letting his cock spring free.

‘Oh my goodness Mr Murphy…you are already hard and I didn’t even get started yet’ you observed as you glanced at his hard shaft, the head of which was swollen and dripping with clear fluid.

‘Sorry, but I usually wake up like this even at 45, especially after dreaming about making love to a beautiful woman like you’ Cillian chuckled as he slowly opened his eyes and saw that your head had already disappeared in between his legs.

You touched his cock gently, electing a moan from him as you watched his long, vein-covered shaft poking up at you. Whilst he usually woke up somewhat aroused most mornings, he couldn't remember ever being this hard before. His cock stood high, curved toward the ceiling, and he thought his balls had never felt so full even after you had spent almost four hours having sex the day before.

Despite your seeming inexperience, you moved slowly, letting the pressure mount while you ran your fingers up and down his cock, exploring every inch before wrapping them around it. The jerking motion that followed made Cillian groan, and you compounded his growing excitement by rubbing your lips on the underside of his shaft. He grew crazed with the need to feel your mouth on it, but every time he pushed towards your waiting lips, you pulled away.

‘Such a tease, aren’t you?’ he gasped out.

‘Poor Baby...You need me. Don't you?’ you asked, your voice filled with lust.

‘God yes…please’ Cillian huffed out, begging you to take his cock into your mouth and you took pity on him at last, letting your tongue roll around the head before rising to take him fully into your mouth.

‘Fuck Y/N, just like that’ Cillian moaned as he bit his lower lip and tossed his head back, eyes shut. The pleasure was amazing, and you had more than a little natural skill. Your head bobbed up and down his shaft taking him deeper with each push until you were gagging on it. When you pulled back, his cock was covered in your slick spit, and you went to jerking him hard and fast, watching with fascination his balls surge and harden. He felt a moist heat on his swelling sack, and you took his pleasure up another notch when you started to lick and suck on his balls.

‘Holy...fuck! Y/N! That feels so good!’ he whimpered as your mouth sucked on his balls and your tiny hand masturbated his straining cock the whole time, driving him crazy with the desire to join his flesh to yours.

‘Let me fuck you Y/N…if you keep going like this, I won’t last’ Cillian groaned as your mouth wrapped around his cock again firmly and you began to massage his balls with your hands.

‘No time’ you huffed out in between sucking and licking. ‘Gotta go to church with my parents at eight’ you then said as you began to stroke his cock hard and fast with your hand.

‘I want you to cum in my mouth and watch me swallow it’ you smirked before wrapping your mouth around his hard shaft again before bobbing your head up and down.

‘Jesus Y/N, fuck’ he groaned and, about two minutes later, he let go and gave into the pleasure.

‘I am close’ he warned you and you began to moan around his cock, sucking him harder, wanting to taste him so badly.

‘Give it to me Cillian’ you moaned around his cock and, just after you did and firmly wrapped your mouth around his shaft, you could feel him pulsating and swell.

‘Fuck’ he groaned again loudly as he jerked upwards and held your head steady while he filled your mouth with rope after rope of his sweet and warm cum.

You collected it all in your mouth and on your tongue until he let go of your head, which is when you pulled back and opened your mouth for him, showing him your mouth filled with his seed.

‘Are you going to be a good girl and swallow it all?’ Cillian teased and you nodded with an open mouth, smiling, before closing your lips shut.

‘Hmm, so fucking good’ you smirked after you swallowed with a big grin.

‘Jesus, I am not sure whether I am more turned on by the fact that you swallowed everything or that you used the word church while you had my cock in your mouth’ Cillian chuckled before pulling you close towards him.

‘Yeah, I should probably make this part of my confession later. I shouldn’t have mentioned such a holy place while performing such a sinful act, huh?’ you winked before telling Cillian that you needed to hurry into the shower and get going.

***

You arrived at church ten minutes late and your parents were not impressed with your punctuality.

‘We ask you to make an effort once a month and you are late’ your father said, causing your sister to chuckle.

‘Sorry, my alarm didn’t go off ‘you said as you sat down next to your father, pinned up your hair and reached for one of the bibles in front of you.

You were beyond exhausted and tired and couldn’t stop yawning throughout mass, which irritated your father even more and, when he looked over towards you, he noticed something else he most certainly disapproved of.

After mass, he confronted you about it in front of your mother and sister.

‘It wasn’t Denise you stayed with last night, was it?’ your father asked and you looked at him somewhat confused.

‘Go and look in the mirror’ he said harshly before asking you whether you were still seeing Connor.

‘No and, even if I was, why do you care? I am an adult and quite capable to decide who I go out with’ you explained and your father shook his head.

‘Connor is almost thirty. That’s unacceptable. He is too old to be dating you and, surely, you realise this. Despite, so long as you live with us, you be adhering to my rules’ your father said and, little did he know that you had been applying for positions at other universities, allowing to move now that you had saved up enough money to do so.

‘Sure dad’ you simply huffed out before walking to your car and, just as you did, you remembered your mother’s 50th birthday a few years ago and how much he did, in fact, disliked Cillian.

If he would know the truth, he would probably kick you out of the house right then and there.

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shoichee · 4 years

Note

Heyy congrats on 100 followers^_^ Could you do prompt no 25 with kise?

HELLO HELLO HELLO THANK YOU FOR BEING PATIENT;; i am finally here with this request! This Kise is a mixture of dramatic, whiny, wholesome, and asshole (if you REALLY squint though) just sweeter overall~

Kise x Reader

25. “You’re mine. I don’t share”

Word Count: 2953

prompt list here

»»—————　☼　—————««

The day he had always dreaded slowly crawled by after the sluggish, harsh months of winter took their sweet time.

Though, he’s quite certain that the dreaded day would also… ironically take its sweet time to pass to the subsequent day.

“(y/n)-cchi!!” He sees you fumbling with your school bag on the school benches before he sprints to your side. “What’s with the frown anyways?” He stops to rub a thumb to smooth out the furrow out of your forehead. “Come on, if you keep that up, those wrinkles would actually stay there permanently, y’know… it wouldn’t be good for your skin at all.”

Upon seeing your exasperated reaction to his dramatic exclaim, he couldn’t help but childishly grin. Perhaps today wouldn’t be bad after all. Not when it started off on such a good note like this seeing you first thing in the morning.

“Anyways,” you sigh. “You didn’t have to run all the way over here… I was gonna catch up to you in a few minutes.”

“Yeah, but…” Kise gives a chagrined laugh, fiddling with his locks. “You looked really scary having a scowl like Kagamicchi, (y/n)-cchi. Wanna let your boyfriend in about your troubles?” Of course he had to pull the puppy eyes on you. Typical Ryōta.

“Hmmm…” you hummed for a bit, clearly trying to stall for an appropriate answer but putting up a facade of being dramatic like Kise. “Not really of importance. Just something I’ve been thinking about to deal with some scheduling and last-minute things.”

“Eeeeeeh? It didn’t really look that way to me…” Kise pouts, jamming his hands into his blazer pockets as he continued to stare at you. You slightly squirm under his intense scrutiny, but you sigh before turning to walk ahead. “But if that’s all it was, you can always ask me for help, (y/n)-cchi.”

“And since when did our all-star player and model have spare time?” you tease, swiftly changing the topic. “Hurry now, Ryōta. We have to get to class or we’ll be late.” Yet, even as you continue to briskly walk, you still felt something piercing at the back of your head before that feeling eventually subsided. You turn to call for him before you continue strolling into the building.

Kise sports a harsh frown, staring at the ground pensively for a few moments before sighing. He finally walks to class after you, trying to mentally prepare himself for the inevitable incoming chaos.

———

“Kise!!”

“Wh-Where did he go?! He was… just here a moment ago…!”

“Do you think he’s with that basketball club…?”

“Bummer… I really wanted him to have these.”

“So why do we have to help you hide when you could always tell them off to leave you alone?!” Kasamatsu scolds, irk marks apparent on his temple. “You’re always creating these problems for yourself!”

“Kasamatsu,” Moriyama ticks his tongue in disappointment. “Don’t be crass. We should be thanking him for bringing everyone over here. In this way, we all have a greater shot of getting chocolates, or even better… a cute date!” At his words, the captain only groans before facepalming; however, when he takes a deep breath and turns to lecture Kise about these matters once more, he notices the 1st-year’s sullen and distracted expression.

“Oi, does this sort of stuff really bother you?” Kasamatsu roughly ruffles his hair to snap him out of his thoughts. “You shouldn’t be encouraging this type of behavior from others. Just put a stop to them for your own good.”

“It’s not that…” Kise mumbles while looking off to the side with his arms crossed. “Besides, they always follow me around regardless of what I do anyways.”

“Oh!! I saw him moping a(l)ound after (y/n)-san [went ahead] this mo(l)ning! Su(l)e(r)y it’s about that!” Hayakawa explodes into the conversation with enthusiasm, eyes slightly sparkling at the fact that he hit the nail on the head about Kise’s mood. Kise only pouts more in silence in response.

“Well, if that’s the case,” Kasamatsu huffs irritatedly, as if the solution was as clear as day. “Then talk it out with (y/n)-san! Quit moping around like you have all the time in the world!” As he said this, he puts a firm foot on Kise’s back, ensuring that there would be a visible footprint on his blazer.

“Ow!” Kise laments. “But Kasamatsu-senpai… We’ve just started dating, and it feels out of line if I’m always snooping around in (y/n)-cchi’s business… It wouldn’t make sense for me to be nosy if they already told me they could handle this on their own… but…”

His teammates lean in closer to try to pick up Kise’s next words.

“Today’s Valentine’s… day, so I was kinda hoping… things would be… different?” Kise stops to crane his neck around out of uncertainty, which was quite uncharacteristic of the usually self-assured ace player. “Though (y/n)-cchi never seemed to be someone who liked stuff like this, but it would be nice if I got…”—he coughs out the next words—“... chocolates from… y’know.”

“W-W-What?!” Kasamatsu’s entire face erupts into a red tomato, slowly backing up. “That’s what you’ve been upset about?!”

“Ah,” Moriyama says, as if he understood everything. “Yes, yes… I see it now. Kise, if you want to get chocolates from (y/n)-san, you have to create the perfect inviting atmosphere and present yourself as an elevated gentleman. I guarantee this method will work…!”

“Moriyama-senpai, what are you even talking about?” Kise raises a skeptical brow but nonetheless tries to be polite to his senior. Hayakawa slings an over-friendly arm around his shoulders, but with the sudden weight, Kise’s head slumps down a bit.

“You can do this!!” Hayakawa shouts, pumping a fist up.

“What? Do what? No way I’m taking Moriyama-senpai’s suggestion!” Kise firmly pries Hayakawa’s arm off before he does his easy-going sigh. “It’s not that big of a deal. Don’t worry, I’m sure we can all go do karaoke night instead, right?~”

“Hmph, no taste. I still suggest for us to go pick up dates after school today,” Moriyama huffs with a slight pout, but it looks like no one paid any mind to his comment, because everyone started packing up their belongings to go back to their respective classes after lunch.

———

Kise plasters on his usual beguiling smile across his face, trying hard to not grimace at the ever-growing piles of sickenly sweet desserts on his desk… and the ever-louder fawnings of surrounding students vying for his attention. While the coos and ah’s are thrown in his direction, his mind is elsewhere… to you.

You’ve been actively avoiding him today. That much was obvious… especially during breaks.

Even when he eyes at your desk every so often, you don’t even notice his gaze, deep in thought with a scrunch in your brows every single time. Did he do something to upset you recently without him realizing it? He taps his pencil with a steady rhythm on his desk while racking his mind for any possible offenses he might’ve committed… all with that convincing smile still visible on his face.

“Kise, Kise! Will you accept my chocolates today?”

“Ah… hm…”

“Kise-sama, what do you think about these?”

“Nothing in particular…”

“Please take these…”

“Now, now everyone…!” Kise’s voice finally rings out loud and clear, taking Kasamatsu’s suggestion. “I’m touched that everyone put in their efforts for these! But you see… there’s way too much for me to carry and take home as of now… so I would really appreciate everyone to save it for someone much worthier of these chocolates than me!~”

Either way, Kise was going to dump all of the sweets off to the Kaijō team for them to enjoy these more than he ever could. After the clamors of disappointment and understanding, he was relieved to see that he was finally left alone, with the mountain of chocolates being his sole company. Yet, he was still hoping that you would stop by his desk after the crowd dispersed.

You didn’t.

———

He’s unbelievably antsy.

So much so that even the other upperclassmen besides Kasamatsu had to kick him out of his thoughts to focus on practice. Still, could anyone blame him for being so jittery when it was already after school, with still no signs of you nearby?

“What did I just tell you about that gloomy face?” Kasamatsu asks, smacking the back of Kise’s head. “Did you not talk to (y/n)-san about this?” The team starters were walking out of the gym, their outstretched shadows covering the orange-cast path with every step they took.

“Er… well… (y/n)-cchi didn’t look like they were in the mood for a conversation with me—Kasamatsu-senpai don’t give me that look! I swear I didn’t do anything wrong at all!”

“Tsk tsk,” Moriyama butts in. “Looks like you didn’t try my foolproof plan either.”

“Your idea is the last thing I’d ever do!”

“Hmph, suit yourself.”

Kasamatsu stares at Kise for a few moments, turning to face his shadow on the ground before looking at his face again with a frown. Kise catches his gaze and returns it with an inquisitive look of his own.

“Kasamatsu-senpai… that look you’re giving me is sorta scary, y’know…”

“Kise,” the captain says. “You said that (y/n)-san likes you right?”

“Of course!... or at least I hope so.”

“Then you shouldn’t worry, dumbass. Didn’t you say that they might not be a fan of doing things like this? Valentine’s Day isn’t for everyone.” He sighs before continuing. “So don't get yourself in a twist just because you didn’t get candy from them. Just because everyone has always given you chocolates every year doesn’t mean that there won’t be a first time where someone won’t really do that. Keep your ego in check, rookie.”

“E-Ego?! Rookie?! Kasamatsu-senpai, you’re cruel!”

“The captain means well, Kise,” Kobori says, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. “He’s right that today isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. Perhaps (y/n)-san merely thought of it as another ordinary day.”

“Well… when you put it like that… I guess you’re right… It’s not the end of the world if I don’t get chocolates from them, and I guess it’s not fair of me to expect something like that out of them and get upset when it doesn’t happen. Thanks, senpai.”

“Well if you got it, then quit moping! If our ace player is in low spirits, the rest of the team will follow suit! Jeez…”

With his spirits uplifted by his seniors, Kise stops and waves off his upperclassmen before he sets off to look for you. Even if he doesn’t get anything from you, he wants to spend time with you before Valentine’s Day was over at the very least. Now… if he remembered your normal schedule, you should still be on campus near the…

He stops, wide-eyed.

Were you giving chocolate to someo—were they giving you packaged chocolate too?—

Before he could fully register the dull pain settling itself in his heart, his legs moved into overdrive, sprinting at breakneck speed that would’ve ended Aomine’s fast-pace career had he actually done this in the courts.

“(y/n)-cchi!!~~~~” He cheerfully calls out, completely masking the hurt from his voice and from his face. In hearing his unmistakable nickname for you, you turn to him mildly shocked seeing him bolting straight for you without a single warning.

“R-Ryō—!”

“(y/n)-cchi!~” He pounces on you with a fierce embrace from behind, his arms wrapped around your upper body and his head on your shoulder. But his chirpy closed-eye smile completely wipes off into a cool, narrowed stare directed at the person in front of you.

“... You’re mine. I don’t share.”

“Ryōta!” You turn around to face him within his hold with a chastise, and then you turn back to the person in front with an embarrassed apology. “I’m sorry, he’s usually not like this, I don’t think. Please don’t let him scare you like that…”

“(y/n)-cchi!!” Kise spins you back around to face him with his hands on your shoulders. You note the tight grip he had on you. “You’re awful, you know that? I waited the entire day for you to give me anything for Valentine’s but then thought maybe you didn’t celebrate today at all… and then you’re here giving chocolates to someone else?!”

“Um… (y/n)-san… should I leave?” You look out of your peripheral vision before giving a defeated sigh.

“I’m really sorry, but yes, that will be best. I hope you find the rest of the evening well.”

“H-Huh?! You’re… gonna ignore me? Oh, come on! We’re dating, right, so at least—” Before Kise went into full hysterics, you promptly placed a finger against his lips to shush him. Kise, who had a few tears accumulating on his long lashes, was stunned into silence, and it was frankly effective in stopping his theatrical tears.

“Ryōta…” you whisper, pulling your finger away from his lips to fiddle inside your school bag… just like this morning. He keeps quiet, but he resumes watching your every movement like a hawk. “I have your… chocolate here.”

“H-Huh?” Kise makes a noise of confusion but still keeps the silence, opting to try to figure out what the hell was going on.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, dummy.”

“I don’t get it.” He narrows his eyes, but you merely tilt your head in confusion while holding out the fancy package.

“H-Huh?” It was your turn to be befuddled. He crossed his arms petulantly in response.

“If you had it all this time… why didn’t you give it to me first thing in the morning? But you went and gave someone else chocolate first, and you know… it just didn’t feel good seeing you hand chocolates to them like that. Like, if I didn’t know better, I’d totally thought that you two were a couple—”

“Ryōta… were you jealous?”

“(y/n)-cchi, who wouldn’t be after seeing that?!”

“Ah, dummy,” you tease, realization dawning on your face. “Those were giri choco… they were the last club member I had to find to give to them in honor of our newfound friendships. You know, after the bonding activities we did in our club room this year?”

“Ah…?” Kise merely blinks before he slightly flushes from embarrassment. “But it still doesn’t make sense!”—he stops to wipe “tears” from his eyes with his arm—“I know we’ve barely started dating, but not only did you not give me anything until now, you actively ran and hid from me! You really broke my heart the entire day!” You grew nervous in an instant, slightly wringing your wrists and tapping one foot behind the other.

“People told me…” you started hesitantly, “that you hated Valentine’s Day. So…”

“Hn…” Kise stops his theatrics to give a casual shrug. “They’re right, more or less. I do find the entire thing annoying, to be honest.”

“Yes, exactly,” you reply. “Knowing you, they were probably right. Even still, I made you homemade sweets, but I didn’t know if it was a good idea to go through with this and give it to you. Besides, what if I was being too fast or forward? I don’t know… I lost all of my courage when I saw you that morning.”

“Eh??? Still, did you have to run from me like that? I seriously thought I did something wrong!”

“... I was jealous,” you whisper, looking down at your feet. “I didn’t like the fact that everyone was so bold to give you all their affection and confessions through their chocolates, but I didn’t feel like it was my place to tell them to back off. Felt like… it was better if I just… didn’t see it all. But… after seeing your outburst earlier, I decided it was the perfect time to give it to you…”

“(y/n)-cchi!!” Kise glomps onto you again, nuzzling his cheek against yours. Him being relieved is a huge understatement. “To think you were jealous too…!”

“Wh-What the—? Does that really make you happy?”

“Of course! It means that you care about me that much!” With one hand holding your Valentine’s chocolate, he tilts your chin with the other to plant a short kiss. “I was never a fan of this type of stuff, but… I love anything you give to me, I swear.”

“Ryōta…! K-Kissing? Right here in public?!”

“No one’s here anyways! They all went home, and speaking of home…” Kise grabs your hand to lead you out of the campus gates. “Do you want me to walk you home, or do you have any other place in mind you wanna go to?”

“Huh? Now? I mean, wait. How are we gonna go somewhere when you have all those… chocolates from school today? Wait, where are they anyways?”

“Oh, those? My teammates found them delicious apparently. I wouldn’t know.”

“You gave them away?!”

“Duh! Yours was the only one I wanted, (y/n)-cchi! Before you start lecturing me about how inconsiderate that is, if I just kept it, they would’ve all sat and melted on the tables anyways.”

You merely roll your eyes at him and sigh, but Kise only grins at your usual reactions to his antics.

“Just you wait for White Day next month, (y/n)-cchi~ I’m gonna go all out, and there’s no holding me back.”

———

Today might’ve been a bittersweet rollercoaster ride of emotions for the two of you, but the ending has morphed into something truly delectable. Just like the dark chocolate truffles in your Valentine’s gift to Kise.

#knb #knb x reader #kise x reader #kise ryota #kise ryota x reader #kise ryouta #kise ryouta x reader #kuroko no basket #knb fic #knb fics #knb scenarios #100 followers #100 follower milestone #valentine fic #knb fluff

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blinder-secrets · 4 years

Text

White Lies, Twice Over - Tommy

#33 - ‘Please come get me.’

tommyxfem!reader, 3.5k words

prompt list

You’ve had your fair share of bad dates. Boring dates, awkward dates, dates with people you felt sorry for. It’s just never been enough to put you off. This was the first time, though, that a date has felt wrong. Dangerous. Your gut had told you the moment you sat down, but you’d ignored it. And when his foot slid up the side of your shin, you’d ignored that too. But the longer you sit with it, the feeling, the more nervous you get.

He’s being nice enough. Asking questions, smiling. He ordered a starter for you, then a main, now wine between to rest your palette. It all worked. It was all delicious. Every action has been smooth, charming. Flattering without being condescending. You want to enjoy it, but there is just something off about it all. Beneath the jokes, and the compliments, there’s something about him that bothers you. An edge to his questions. A game to the touches he’s placed.

Everything he’s done has felt rehearsed, practiced. So far nothing has happened without a motive behind it; he seems to know the cause and effect of every move that would be made, yours included.

He’s looking for a waiter, to pour you another glass, when you decide to do something about it.

‘I should call Ada,’ you say, hoping to sound convincingly innocent. ‘Do you think they have a phone here?'

His hand drops back to his lap, his eyebrows scrunch. ‘Ada? Who’s that?’

‘We live together.’ You try to smile as you answer. ‘She said she’d wait up for me.’

‘And?’

‘And,’ you drawl, buying time, ‘if we’re staying longer, I should tell her not to. She may as well go to bed.’

‘I see.’ He likes your reasoning. His foot finds your calf under the table.

He must have been successful in catching the waiter’s eye, because now there’s a man stood beside you, smiling and unknowingly offering you an escape route.

‘Do you have a telephone?’ you ask, praying that the answer is yes, and that it’s free to use. And that it’s far, far away from the man that you should’ve never said yes to.

‘By the bar, ma’am.’

‘Thank-you.’ You stand, too quick to be graceful, and bring the purse up from your lap. ‘I won’t be long.’

His lip pulls sideways into a smirk. ‘I hope not.’

You turn and walk toward the bar, hoping your gait is easy, relaxed. Hoping your shoulders haven’t pulled up the way they do when you’re anxious. It’s not that he’s done anything wrong, just that he might, and that the more you sit with the thought, the more positive you are about it. There are always feelings you should ignore, but never the ones that bite hard enough to linger. If it was first-date nerves they’d have passed by now.

The phone is free, hanging on the wall by the bar as he said. You don’t want to look back at the table but you do. It’s more natural. A quick smile over your shoulder to satisfy him, convince him you’re keen still, to make him think his games are working. He nods back at you; he’s been watching the whole time.

You pick up the receiver with a sigh and put in the numbers you need, tracing the vines on the wall-trim in front of you while you wait. They curl up and along, over each other and away.

The line connects. Your finger stills on the wall as it rings.

After what feels like an unusually long time, someone picks up, but they say nothing. ‘Hello?’ you chance, ‘Ada?’

‘So, there you are.’

It’s not Ada, but Tommy. The absolute last person you wanted to speak to. He leaves his statement alone to rot in your ear-drum. He knows it’s you that has to explain yourself, you that needs to fill the silence with answers to questions he shouldn’t have to ask.

‘Tommy…’ You start your plea, but the words sink back under your tongue.

You’d told him you were busy tonight, with Ada, that you couldn’t be free to do what he asked. The truth, of course, was that you had nothing planned. Not until your date had offered his company for the evening. Before that, you had just lied. Plain and simple. He’d asked if you were free to help him, and you’d said no. You hadn’t wanted to. You couldn’t be another peace offering to a scorned business partner, you wouldn’t be the distraction. If he wanted a woman he’d have to find another one.

Stupidly, it hadn’t crossed your mind that he might go to Ada’s. That he’d check what you’d said was true, that he’d keep order of the things that weren’t his. It had seemed like an easy lie when you’d told it.

‘I can explain, Tommy,’ you say, ‘but not now. Let me talk to Ada.’

‘Where are you?’ he asks, his voice so bare of emotion it makes you shrink inwards, against the wall you’re facing. ‘I came here to find you.’

‘Out,’ you answer. ‘Busy, like I said.’

‘But not with Ada.’

‘No, not with Ada.’ You’re holding onto the receiver with both hands. You don’t want to look back again. ‘Please pass her the phone,’ you add quietly. ‘It’s important.’

‘What is it, Tom?’ you hear Ada ask, though the question falls flat on him.

He interrupts you both before you can even get the word out. ‘Tell me what is is,’ he says. ‘If something’s happened, I need to know.’

You’re impatient enough to allow him that one. Ada or Tommy, the result is the same. It doesn’t matter who comes, just that they do, and quickly. ‘I’m at Vitelli’s, the one in Camden. I need you to come get me and give me a reason to leave.’

‘Camden?’

‘I know, I’m sorry, I know.’ You lower your voice again, though with the noise of the restaurant it’s hardly likely your date can hear. ‘I shouldn’t have come.’

‘Who is he?’ There’s a pinch in his tone, like he’s finding amusement in your disaster. ‘Must be some man, eh, to have you ringin’ for help.’

‘Does it matter who he is?’ you snap. Tommy doesn’t know him, and he won’t. You won’t let him. ‘I don’t like him,’ you say, adding, ‘I don’t trust him,’ after a pause. It’s that part that makes Tommy stop. When he replies, the humour has gone.

‘What’s happened?’ his voice is low, serious. ‘Did he touch you?’

The question sinks in your stomach. ‘No.’

‘Will he?’

You hesitate. The blankness of his tone hinders you; whether he’s asking if the man has ulterior motives, or if you were planning to take things further yourself, you can’t tell. He leaves the question open on purpose. ‘I don’t want to be here, Tom,’ you say. ‘Please come get me.’

‘Alright.’

You hadn’t expected him to agree so quickly.

‘I’ll be there soon,’ he continues, his voice steady, calm. ‘If you feel scared, wait in the bathroom. I’ll find you.’

You nod, promising it to yourself. ‘Okay.’

He clears his throat on the other end, the sound acting as static on the line. ‘Now,’ he says, ‘smile. Make him think Ada wished you well.’

‘Okay, I will,’ you answer, louder than before. You smile and the action carries into your voice. ‘Thank-you, I’ll see you later.’

When you hang up, you turn to find your date has left the table and is now a few steps away from you. From the smug-laced smile he’s wearing, your final act was a convincing one. The line had landed as instructed.

‘You’re in the clear then?’ he asks, with his hand falling all too easily onto your side.

‘Yes.’ You force another smile. ‘She said I should take as long as I like.’

‘Well, aren’t you lucky.’

You step away from his hold, putting your hand to his wrist for a moment to soften the blow, to make him think you’re still sweet. ‘I’d like dessert, shall we go back?’

His head shakes once. ‘I’ve already paid the bill.’

‘Oh,’ you swallow the bile in your throat, ‘you have?’

He’s back close again; his hand wants your hip but you twist and force him to settle for your waist instead. ‘Why don’t we have dessert somewhere else?’ he says. ‘Somewhere quieter.’

‘I like it here.’ You won’t leave with him. You’d thought it after the starter, but now you knew it for sure. He’d have to drag you out the restaurant, kicking and screaming, if he wanted you to join him. ‘Can’t we at least look at the menu?’

He laughs in response. It’s a sour noise, one that makes your whole body tense.

‘I know you aren’t thick, but you’re acting like you are.’ He lifts his hand, pushes the shawl from your shoulder to leave your collarbone bare. His gaze falls onto the exposed skin. ’We’ll have something sweet,’ he says. ‘Promise.’

‘At your place,’ you finish, as blankly as you can. It isn’t a question so you don’t pose it as one. Everything in his voice, his posture, the way he’s trying to claim you, tells you that it’s already decided. You’d be going where he wanted you to go, regardless of your feelings toward it.

‘I suppose I should be flattered?’ you ask, faking another smile and ignoring the itch to cover your shoulder again. ‘You must like me a lot.’

‘That’s right.’ He’s said it sincerely but you’d put money on it being false; he’ll take any girl he can home. From the way he’s been watching you all night, you know that liking them isn’t a factor, liking their body is. His routine has worked a thousand times over, you’re sure.

‘Okay, but I need to visit the bathroom first,’ you lie. ‘To freshen up. You can wait outside, if you like.’

‘I’ll wait here,’ he replies, too quickly to be pleasant.

Your smile tightens into a straight line, or a grimace — you turn before he can decide which it is.

Without looking back, you walk towards the bathroom. If he’s watching you go, you don’t want to see it, you’d rather pretend he’s lounging against the wall and thinking about things that’ll never happen. It’s better that he feels like he’s won, that you’ll be out and in his hold again without complaint. It’ll only make things difficult if he suspects the opposite.

Once you’re in the toilets, your shoulders relax. The tension clatters off them and onto the tiles. You pick the cubicle furthest from the door and lock yourself into it; the more layers between you and him, the better. All you can do now is wait, and hope that Tommy finds you like he said he would. It shouldn’t be too hard, if he doesn’t see you in the restaurant, he’ll know to look in here. Your date won’t think anything of it, he doesn’t know Tommy. Or that you know Tommy. It’ll just look like some man, any man, has come looking for his wife. Or his girlfriend. There’s no reason to be nervous about it. For once, Tommy will slip by, unseen, and then the two of you…

You put the toilet seat down and sit on the lid. That part you can’t think about.

The idea of walking back out again, with Tommy in tow, is enough to kick your heart-rate up. He could get in unseen, but getting past your date unnoticed will be impossible. And, knowing Tommy, it wouldn’t be without conflict either. He’s used to that but you aren’t. Aggravating your date could lead to any number of things, scenarios that you’re already beginning to concoct, of course. Even with the tinge of wine in your system, your mind proves to be the biggest enemy. The possibilities it’s coming up with are starting to worry you more than the man waiting outside.

But, you won’t think about that. You won’t. You’ll just sit and wait for Tommy, and what happens after can be dealt with when it has to be dealt with.

Sighing, you sink your face into your hands. The door to the bathroom swings open, but from the giggles, and the chittering of heels on porcelain, you know it’s no-one for you. The girls fill the room comfortably. One takes the cubicle next to yours, the other waits by the sinks. You watch her ankles under the door.

‘I think I’m drunk,’ says the woman to your right.

Her friend laughs. ‘It’s cause you’re sitting down. It’s always worse on your own.’

You want them to stay. You want them to crack open your door and sit, and talk, and make you forget about men with questionable intentions. If you were anyone but yourself, you’d ask them to. Instead, they talk, and you listen.

‘Come on, Daisy, they’ll get bored without us.’

They leave after that. The door echoes when it closes.

You haven’t got a watch but from the ache of your thighs, punctured by your leaning elbows, you know it’s been long enough to seem strange. If he hadn’t already, your date would soon wonder what you were doing. You watch the lock on your door like it’s going to betray you.

After a long stretch of quiet, you hear footsteps in the corridor. They’re too blunt to be heels so you stand quickly, wishing, wishing and then hoping and then the door opens.

‘[Y/n]?’

You don’t need to hear it again to know who it is. ‘I’m here,’ you say quickly, like he’d leave if you take too long. ‘I’m here, Tommy.’ The lock rattles beneath your fingers, before slipping back to release you.

He’s across the room in two strides, his hands taking your forearms like you might fall. ‘You alright?’

His lips part as he waits for an answer, his breath quiet but faster than resting. He’s been worrying, you realise, like you had. Imagining things that might have happened.

‘I’m fine,’ you say.

He lowers his head to keep your gaze. ‘You sure?’

You nod, the gesture small but enough to reassure him.

‘Good.’ He lets your arms go. The motion causes your shawl to slip, but he catches it before it can fall, and pulls it back onto your shoulders. ‘Can you wait here a bit longer?’ he asks.

Your face folds into a frown. ‘Why?’

Tommy sets his jaw. He doesn’t answer, you get there before he can.

‘No,’ you say, in a voice close to disgust, ‘no, don’t go cut him.’

He sighs, and for a second you remember that he’s annoyed at you. Or that he should be. It flashes onto his features, sneaking between one expression and the next, like he’d forgotten to stop it. ‘Did I say anything about cutting?’

As if every cut he’s made has come with a warning. As if it has to be said, to know that it’ll fall.

‘Tommy, I’m serious,’ you start, ‘I don’t want you—‘

‘You think I would?’ Now his voice is the one teetering on disgust. ‘In a restaurant?’

‘I don’t want you talking to him,’ you finish. ‘Please, I just want to leave.’

You watch a breath fall from his chest, and then another. It’s new to him, to enter a situation and then leave it again, without changing a thing. You can see in his eyes that he doesn’t know how. He wants to help, take control. He wants to fix it for you but some problems just aren’t his to solve.

‘Please,’ you say again. ‘I don’t want anything to happen.’

‘You won’t have to see it.’

‘Tommy.’

He nods. It costs him to agree to it. ‘Alright. I won’t.’

The relief covers you, drips from your head to your shoulders, along your arms to your fingertips. He listened, for once he listened. You’d thank him but he’d take it as an insult.

‘You shouldn’t have lied,’ he says. It drones out of him, turns from his lips like an ache. ‘Someone should know where you are.’

‘Ada knew,’ you offer.

‘Yeah. Ada knew,’ he scoffs, ‘Ada knew and she wouldn’t tell me cause she does what she does, and trusts you before her own brother.’

You sigh and close your eyes just long enough to take a breath. ‘I asked her not to, Tommy.’

His hand flies upwards, gesturing to you as he shakes his head. ‘And look where that got you.’

‘Can we save this for later?’ You don’t have it in you to fight him. ‘I made a bad call, alright? I just wanted something nice. ’

Your tone catches him, pierces his frustration. Pulls him back to you like water to the moon. ‘You’re sure he didn’t touch you?’ he asks. ‘You’d tell me, ey? If he did.’

He’s serious enough that you resist the urge to roll your eyes. You just nod, and wait for him to relax again. Once he has, your eyes flick to the door, your urgency to leave returning as quickly as it had earlier.

‘Is he still outside?’ you ask, ignoring the small spike in your heartbeat.

Tommy shrugs. ‘There’s no-one outside.’

‘Blonde, tall,’ you list, ‘he’s by the phone.’

Something shifts in the look he’s giving you, recognition maybe. His chin juts down once. If Tommy’s seen him, he doesn’t say. If he’s still out there, you don’t know. It might be the only time you’ve appreciated Tommy’s aversion for words; you thought you’d wanted him to tell you where he was, but you realise now that silence is better. If he isn’t spoken into the room, he doesn’t exist. Tommy knows that. All he does, is ask, ‘Have you got a coat?’

You shake your head quickly. 'Leave it, I don’t care.’ The coat is old and menial enough to be sacrificed. It’d be stupid to risk a trip through the tables for that. ‘I’ve got what matters.’

He nods, reaching for you. ‘Come on.’ He guides you to walk in front of him, his hand gracing the lowest point of your back. ‘You first, I’m right behind. We’ll go out the back, alright?’

Somehow his calm starts to itch at you. You weren’t nervous until he started talking so simply, so ordered. It didn’t feel dangerous until he set a plan in motion. He’s doing it to reassure you, you know that, but the effort is setting you on edge.

You push open the door, meeting the restaurant noise with reluctance. Tommy extends an arm to hold it open and, conveniently, prevents you from looking left, down the corridor to the bar and the phone and—

‘That way, it’s just ahead,’ he explains. ‘S’alright.’

‘I’m okay, Tommy,’ you say. It isn’t loud, you don’t even convince yourself, but he hears and pretends to believe it all the same.

‘I know,’ he answers. ‘Watch your step here.’

It’s easier to let him walk you through it. To let him help you, even if it makes you worry. You hope that it stills the need, keeps that voice in his head quiet, the one that tells him to take control of things. The one that wants to end the date on your behalf.

You feel his fingers pull away from your back. It’s slow, like he hasn’t realised it’s happening, but enough of a loss to make you hesitate. When you turn to search for him, he’s already in the process of turning back to you.

‘I’m here,’ he says, before you can ask. ‘Just checking, that’s all.’

Over his shoulder you think you see the familiar curve of a flat-cap. The peaked-tell of his foot soldiers.

‘Don’t,’ his voice is hush, his face softened in a plea. ‘You don’t want the answer.’

‘But you said—’

He sighs, putting his hand to your back again, though this time his palm’s flat against your spine. ‘Let’s just go, ey? They’re bringing the car round for us.’

You nod. You don’t know why, but you do. If he’s done what you think he has, then he lied to you, he stood and told you he wouldn’t get involved, knowing he was going to anyway. It wasn’t him, but the order was. That should bother you. Instead, when he pushes you toward the exit, you let him. And when he says, ‘We both lied, [y/n],’ you sigh, and tell him, ‘I know. Take me home, Tom.’

The car’s waiting outside, like he said it would be. His hand doesn’t come away from you until you’re in the passenger seat with your bag on your lap.

‘Tommy,’ you say, catching him before he can shut the door. He looks at you, face tilted up slightly. It’s dark; you search for his expression in-between the shadows. ‘Would you always come?’ you ask. ‘If I needed you?’

He holds your gaze for a moment, and then nods — but it’s so slight you might’ve imagined it. His hand slips from the edge of the door to squeeze your knee. You wait for him to say something, but he doesn’t, he just pulls away again and shuts you in.

Perhaps he can’t promise it. Perhaps he’s spent enough time reassuring you, and making sure you’re alright, that he’s hit his limit. If he can’t lie to you twice, he won’t say anything at all.

#tommy shelby x reader #tommy x reader #tommy shelby imagines #peaky blinders fanfic #prompt fic #he does his best bless him :(#nortie boy

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youreacowgirllikeme · 4 years

Text

Blind Date

Note: just an idea I had, hope you like it. some soft fluffiness, but also smut bc I’m still h word for Jake, especially after how he looked tonight on tv.

Pairing: Jake Tapper x reader

Warnings: smut, NSFW

(sorry for eventual typos, I wrote this in a bit of a frenzy)

enjoy

“You look horrible. “Abby stated matter-of-factly as she sat down in the restaurant chair across from you.

“I missed you too, great to see you, thanks. “you responded, not even bothering to argue with her.

Abby was your best friend since college, if she said you looked horrible it was either a joke or a fact. Considering the way she was looking at you, probably the latter.

“Hard week at work?”

You let out a tired huff.

“You have no idea. We got this new client who booked us for a nation-wide tv ad, and they’re so incredibly demanding. I’ve been working overtime for three weeks straight, it’s a miracle they didn’t call me in today.”

Your monthly Saturday brunch with Abby was sacred, work be damned.

Your friend was giving you a worried look across the table. “Well, I’m glad they didn’t, you deserve a day off.”

“Enough of my sad life, how is it going over at Fake News?” you joked.

“Amazing actually. You won’t believe it, but I’ve heard through the grapevine that they’re thinking about offering me John’s Sunday spot on Inside Politics. Can you imagine, my own hour, as an actual anchor. It’s nothing official yet, but I’m so excited.”

“Oh my god, Abby, that’s awesome. I’m so proud of you. We should celebrate.” you exclaimed, beckoning a waiter to order two glasses of champagne.

Abby gave you a warm smile. “Thank you, babe. But let me be honest, I’m worried about you. You look exhausted, even your voice sounds tired. When was the last time you did something actually relaxing?”

“I’ve watched a movie, like, a week ago. And I do yoga, at least sometimes.” You tried to argue, not entirely sure if you wanted to convince Abby or yourself.

A smirk settled over your friend’s face, and she looked at you like she just had the most brilliant idea ever. You did not like that look at all, it usually meant trouble.

“Well todays your lucky day, because I know just what you need to de-stress a bit.”

You just raised an eyebrow at her.  “Care to elaborate, genius?”

“You, my friend, need to get laid.”  You snorted. “Fun times, Abbs, you almost got me,”

 “I’m serious, Y/N, when was the last time you had sex?”

“Okay, it’s been a while, but I’m fine. I don’t need a man to interfere with the little free time I have. And it’s not like the streets are full of men chasing me. I don’t have time to date, and, like I said, I’m totally fine with the way things are at the moment.” You tried your very best not to sound defensive.

The expression on Abby’s face told you everything you needed to know. She didn’t buy a single word coming out of your mouth. “Y/N, trust me when I tell you, blowing off a little steam would do wonders for your stress level. And maybe you’d even meet someone nice. And, lucky for you, I know just the guy. He’s someone I work with, and I think you’d get along perfectly.”

“You’re not actually suggesting setting me up on a blind date.” You couldn’t believe your friend. The last thing you needed was an evening full of awkward small talk with some boring, sleek CNN guy.

“Come on, Y/N, take a leap of faith. What’s the worst thing that could happen?”

+++

(One week later)

“I can’t believe I actually agreed.” You murmured to yourself as you rummaged through your closet, looking for an outfit to wear on that damned date Abby bullied you into.

You thought about the peaceful evening you could have had, curled up on the sofa with a glass of wine, maybe getting some work done.

But it was too late to back down now.

“Let’s just get this over with” you told yourself, applying some lipstick as if it was war paint. “Let’s hope that the guy is at least good-looking.”

The restaurant Abby sent you to was nice enough, a small and intimate place, perfect for a date. You couldn’t wait to have your first glass of wine, because you could feel your nervousness increasing with each passing minute.

You entered the restaurant, looking for the third table on the window side that Abby had described to you…and directly turned around, practically fleeing through the door again as soon as you set eyes on the man sitting there.

Back outside, you took your phone out of your bag and furiously dialed Abby’s number. She picked up right away, but you were shouting at her before she could even say a word.

“You better tell me that you did not set me up with Jake fucking Tapper.”

Was she out of her mind? This was the Jake Tapper, the face of CNN, hell, the face of the media in this country. What the fuck were you supposed to talk to him about.

But your friend just chuckled at you through the phone. “When you saw him on TV some months ago, you said he was your type. Plus, he’s intelligent, funny, and single. Perfect for you. And now stop making a fool out of yourself and go in there. You got this, girl. Love you, bye.” And with that, she hung up.

You took a deep breath and tried to calm your nerves. You could not just leave now, and stand up Mr. Breaking News himself. So you pocketed your phone again, squared your shoulders and went back into the restaurant.

You made your way over to the table, coming to a stop in front of it. The man sitting there looked up to you and smiled. And wow, what a beautiful smile it was, sincere, warm and inviting, taking over his entire face.

“Hi.” You said, trying to sound confident.

“I’m Y/N, Abby’s friend.”

“It’s so nice to meet you, I’m Jake. I’m working with Abby, but she probably already told you that much.”  “She did, but I’ll be honest, I know you, of course. Big fan of your show.”

God, why did you just say that. He was probably going to think you were some kind of crazy fangirl now.

But he just continued to smile his open, friendly smile at you. “Always happy to hear that.” He chuckled, pointing to the opposite chair. “Do you want to sit down?”

“Yes, of course, sorry.” You said, feeling silly because you totally forgot that you were still standing. You quickly sat down and tried your best to appear calm and collected, even if your insides were in turmoil.

“Would you care for some wine? They have a pretty impressive list, I could pick one for us if you don’t mind.” Jake asked.

“Wine sounds fantastic. I love it, but I’m not really an expert, so go ahead.”

Jake took some reading glasses out of the pocket of his suit jacket and put them on his nose.  While he was studying the wine list, you took your time to study him instead. He appeared to be in his late forties, so there was an age difference of probably 15 to 20 years. You didn’t mind that at all, older men had always been more your type.

He had a really handsome face, kind eyes that looked even better when he had those glasses on, and you loved his salt-and-pepper hair. He was wearing a light blue dress shirt with a dark grey suit jacket. You caught your mind wandering to how he might look underneath his clothes and gave yourself a mental slap on the wrist. This was your first date, no need to get ahead of yourself.

“Everything alright over there?”

Shit, he had caught you staring.

“Yes, sorry, I zoned off for a moment. I had a stressful week at work.”  “Oh, yes, Abby told me you’re working in advertising. Any interesting projects at the moment?”

You went on and chatted about work a bit. You were fascinated by what he was doing, and taken aback by the confident, yet humble way he was talking about it. This was absolutely not the behavior you were expecting from the leading anchorman of the nations most renowned network. He wasn’t arrogant or self-centered at all and you were definitely charmed.

The wine Jake ordered arrived with your starters, and soon after you had your first few sips you felt some of the initial nervousness fading away.

Soon, the conversation was flowing freely, and you discovered that Abby was right, you really did get along perfectly. Jake was incredibly funny in a dry and witty way and his sarcastic remarks made you laugh more than once. You also discovered your shared interest in graphic novels and argued a while about weather DC or Marvel was the superior comic universe.

Jake showed you one of his own cartoons on his phone, and with each moment you found yourself more drawn to the man in front of you. At some point his hand started to lightly brush against yours on the table, and each touch sent a warm feeling through your chest.

You talked some more over dessert, had some more wine and overall, a really good time.

The alcohol gave you a pleasant, fuzzy feeling, and the desire to just get up and crawl on Jakes lap grew with each look he gave you.

“Excuse me, Ma’am, Sir, were closing up now.” A passing waiter told you and put the check on the table.

“Let me take care of that, please.” Jake said, taking out his wallet. You just thanked him and enjoyed the view of him putting on his glasses again to read the check.

He really was a perfect gentleman, you thought to yourself, as he got up to hold your coat and then the door for you on your way out.

 “I really had a wonderful evening.” you said softly, as the both of you were standing on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant. Jake shot you another one of his brilliant smiles, and you could feel your heart beating faster. “Me too.” He replied. “I really enjoyed spending time with you, and I’d like to see you again.”

Now your heart was almost jumping out of your chest, and you could feel your own smile taking over your face. “I’d love that.”

Jake took one step closer, now standing so close you could almost feel the warmth radiating off his body. One of his hands came up to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear, his thumb slowly stroking over your jaw. His touch sent goosebumps all over your skin, and you slightly parted your lips, looking him directly in the eyes. They were warm, and dark, and you felt like you could get lost in them. And then he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your mouth.

It felt incredible, a kind of warmth that was totally unrelated to the wine spreading through your body, your skin prickling where his hand was still on your face.

You put your hands on his arms and kissed him back, enjoying the feeling of his soft lips against yours. He still tasted slightly like red wine, and you wanted nothing more than to explore the rest of his body with your mouth just as thoroughly.

First date, you reminded yourself, and broke free from the kiss before your lust-clouded brain could make you do something you might regret later. You glanced up at Jake, who looked at you with an unreadable expression. Then, after what felt like forever, he finally spoke.

“Could I maybe have your number?”

“Of course.” You said, with maybe a bit much enthusiasm, but Jake didn’t seem to mind. You quickly typed your number into his phone, and just as you were finished, the cab you had called earlier was arriving.

Jake held the door open for you, and shot you one last, beautiful smile. “Good night, Y/N, get home safe.”

“Thank you for the wonderful evening, Jake. Good night.”

You closed the door and the taxi drove off. You already missed his face as soon as he was out of sight, and you turned around to watch his receding figure through the rear window of the taxi.

Great, you were already down bad after one date. The man really got to you, and you desperately hoped that you would hear from him soon.

As soon as you were home, you really felt the effects of the wine, so you quickly went to bed to get some sleep. Just before you were nodding off, you sent Abby a quick message.

You were right, he is perfect. THANKS xxxx

When Abby answered five minutes later, you were already asleep.

Told you so ;) xxxx

+++

When you woke up the next morning, there was a new message from an unknown number on your phone. Your heart made a flip in your chest, and you opened it as fast as you could.

Hi, this is Jake. It’s probably way too soon to text you, but I just wanted to let you know, again, what a great time I had yesterday. If you’d be up to it, I’d really like to see you again soon. Let me know if that would be alright with you. And have a nice Saturday :)

He had already texted you. That meant he didn’t think that you were crazy, or awkward, and that he wasn’t just acting nice, he genuinely wanted to see you again. You were filled with a giddy sort of happiness, and decided to answer him right away, there was no need to play any games here. Leap of faith, just like Abby said.

Good Morning Jake, I really enjoyed yesterday as well. I’d love to spend some more time together; would tomorrow evening be too spontaneous? I could make dinner, to return the favor since you paid yesterday ;) my place at eight?

As soon as you hit the send button you started getting anxious again. What if tomorrow was too soon? What if he thought you were being too eager?

“Stop it, Y/N!” you said out loud to interrupt your mental spiral. You wouldn’t make a fool out of yourself for this man, even if he was handsome, and intelligent, and funny. No way.

But as you were standing in the kitchen five minutes later and heard your phone chiming from the other room, you were there in the matter of seconds to read the new message.

Tomorrow sounds perfect, just text me the address. I’ll bring the wine. xx Jake

You clutched your phone to your chest, the biggest, goofy smile on your face.

You spent the remaining day extensively cleaning your flat, stressing out, going grocery shopping and stressing out some more. You face-timed Abby and bullied her into helping you pick out an outfit, since she technically was the one who got you into this mess in the first place.

Jake was occupying your mind whatever you did, and when you finally got into your bed that night, all you could think about was how his lips had felt against yours. Those thoughts sent a hot, burning feeling down between your legs and when you finally touched your pussy, you were already so wet and aroused that it only took you minutes until you reached your peak, Jakes name falling from your lips.

+++

To say you were a nervous wreck the next day would be an understatement. When you woke up, you decided to watch some TV to get yourself a bit of distraction. An ad was currently playing, and so you decided to check your mails first.

“Good Morning from Washington, where the State of our Union is in turmoil over the latest…”

Your head snapped up at the sound of the familiar voice coming from your TV, the voice that occupied your mind ever since your blind date on Friday. You had totally forgotten that Sunday morning meant Jake Tapper time on CNN, because usually you were either asleep or at work at 9 am. But now you took your time to really appreciate the man on your TV.

He looked way more serious than the Jake you got to know, no smile, just a stern expression and a dark suit and tie. Which didn’t mean that he wasn’t looking totally hot, and his intelligent and sharp remarks did nothing to calm your fluttering heart or the heat in your lower abdomen. You definitely wanted him, bad.

 This is getting ridiculous, you thought to yourself, and turned the TV off to take a very long shower.

Afterwards, you spent the whole day pacing around your flat and annoying Abby with numerous text messages and another two face time calls. She assured you multiple times that everything would be just fine and by the time it was 7:45 p.m. the food was in the oven and you sat on your couch, waiting for the doorbell to ring.

When it finally did, you all but ran to the door only to stop and force yourself to take a couple of calming breaths before opening it. Jake stood outside, a bottle of red wine in his hand. He looked amazing with his white dress shirt and dark grey slacks, but again it was his smile that got your attention, he looked just as happy to see you as you were feeling.

Out of a sudden impulse, you surged forward and threw your arms around the man, hugging him and burying your head in his chest. He seemed surprised, but still put his free arm around you, embracing you.

“Hi.” You whispered, suddenly shy, but as you looked up to meet Jakes eyes you could see nothing but warmth in them. “Hi.” He replied, pressing a kiss to your hair. “It’s good to see you.”

You slowly let go of him so he could actually enter your apartment. He followed you inside and you fetched some glasses for the wine. You talked about everything and anything over dinner, family, football, the book Jake was working on. You listened closely, and so did he as you told him about your passion for art and music. He even asked you to put some of your favorite records on as you moved over to the couch after dinner.

You were still talking animatedly but having Jake in closer physical proximity made it increasingly hard to focus on what he was saying.

Instead, your eyes and mind wandered to his hands. Without thinking, you reached out and put one of your hands into his, He stopped speaking, and looked at you. You could see the kind look in his eyes being replaced by something darker, more passionate.

He spoke again, voice lower this time. “I’ve been thinking about you and our kiss without a break since yesterday. And just as long I’ve wanted to kiss you again, touch you again.”

He reached out, cupped your jaw with one of his hands and slowly ran his thumb over your bottom lip. It took every willpower you had not to suck his thumb into your mouth. This man had you hot and aching for him with just a single touch and a couple of words.

“Is that something you want me to do, Y/L?” his voice was only a low rumble now.

“Oh my god yes. Yes please.” You whispered, not really trusting your own voice to come out steady enough.  The hand on your face slid to the back of your head and you uttered a surprised gasp as Jake just grabbed a fist of your hair and pulled you close, until your faces were only inches apart.

“You are beautiful.” He said, looking you deep in the eyes.

And then he kissed you again. And as soon as his mouth connected with yours, you realized just how much you had missed the feeling of his lips, the warmth of his body. But that was where the resemblance to the kiss you shared last night ended. Because this one was more.

More passion, more lust. Jake softly bit your bottom lip and used your surprised gasp as an opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth. The kiss deepened and you could feel small sparks of arousal all over your body with every touch of tongue and every time he lightly tugged on the hair in the nape of your neck.

Your hands found their way around Jakes shoulders, roaming up and down his back. You were really glad he was not wearing his full State Of The Union Outfit, even if it had looked extremely hot, because as soon as you could feel the solid muscle through his thin dress shirt, you knew that those clothes had to come off at some point.

You lightly tugged on the hem of his shirt to pull it out of his pants and spread your hands over the warm skin underneath. Jake broke the kiss as soon as he could feel what you did, just to tilt back your head and kiss your exposed neck.

You couldn’t stifle a moan as he lightly sucked on your pulse point.

The feeling of his mouth on your skin made heat coil between your legs, and you tried to shift even closer to him, until you were almost sitting on his lap.

Jake continued to kiss your neck, while his other hand crept under your shirt to palm your breast through your bra. He lightly squeezed it and you moaned again, you nails raking softly over his back, making him groan against your skin.

“You like that?” he asked, and pinched one of your nipples through the thin fabric of your bra, and you could feel your panties getting soaked with arousal.

You decided that it was time to get rid of some clothing and started to quickly unbutton Jakes dress shirt, revealing more and more skin with each button undone. As soon as you were finished, he pulled the shirt of his shoulders and the view of his body made your mouth water. You ran your hands over his muscled chest, and you could see the way his eyes darkened again.

“I can’t wait to touch you everywhere.” He said in a husky voice and pulled your shirt over your head in a swift motion, and instantly his lips were on yours again, his hands roaming over your back, unclasping your bra. When your nipples came in contact with the skin of his chest, you couldn’t contain yourself anymore.

“Jake, please. Touch me, kiss me, anything. I need to feel you.” You pleaded, your voice slightly breathless.

“Take the rest of your clothes off, now.” Jake said, his commanding tone sending another surge of wetness between your legs.

You got up from the sofa and stood in front of Jake. Slowly, you opened the zipper of your jeans and pulled them down, leaving you only in your black lace panties.

Jake was watching you, his intense stare burning on your skin.

“Everything. Off.” He said, never breaking eye contact.

Having the undivided attention of this man was so hot, you almost got lightheaded.

You slowly dragged your underwear down your legs, and as you were looking up again, you saw that Jake was palming the bulge that had begun to form in his pants. You wanted to touch him so bad.

“You are gorgeous. Amazing. Beautiful. Stunning.” Jake said, taking in the sight of your naked body. His voice was strained, this was clearly affecting him.

A light flush was beginning to form on your skin, you weren’t sure if it was because of arousal or embarrassment, but you definitely knew that you needed Jake to get his hands on your body, now.

You made your way over to him again and leaned down to open the fly of his trousers. His briefs were already tented by his erection, and you palmed him through his underwear, making him groan.

“Those need to come off.” You whispered, smiling at Jake, who just nodded and lifted his pelvis so you could pull down his trousers along with his underwear.

Finally, he was naked in front of you. He grabbed you by your waist and pulled you down on the sofa, lying on top of you. The feeling of his warm skin against yours was thrilling, you tried to get your hands on every part of his body you could reach, stroking his back, pulling his hair. Finally, you wrapped your hand around the base of his hard cock, giving it some light strokes.

“You feel so good, Y/N, I’ve been thinking about doing this since I first laid my eyes on you. I’ve been in a state since we kissed, and now” he whispered against your neck „I can’t wait to finally have that sweet pussy of yours.”

You couldn’t believe the words coming out of Jakes mouth, hearing him say filthy things like that was turning you on more than you could’ve ever imagined. Obviously, your thoughts were written all over your face.

“You like it when I talk like that, don’t you, sweetheart.” He said, pinching one of your nipples as he did.

“I…Oh shit, yes, yes I do. Please.” You whimpered, almost going you crazy with the need to finally feel him.

He had mercy on you, reaching out between your legs. When he touched your pussy for the first time, you felt like the pent-up tension could make you faint any moment. “God, you’re so wet, Y/N.” He thrust two of his long fingers into you without warning, and you almost screamed. “And so tight.”

“I need you, please Jake, fuck me.” You were begging now, way beyond caring about any sort of decorum as his digits touched that sweet spot inside of you again and again.

He withdrew his fingers and shifted on top of you before he put his hands on your tights, spreading your legs. You couldn’t even begin to complain about the loss of his fingers, he was already lining up his cock with your entrance, and pushed in, slowly, filling you inch by inch until he bottomed out with a deep groan. His length stretched you in the most delicious way, and you cried out as he was starting to thrust in and out of you, leaving you almost no time to adjust to his size.

You couldn’t talk coherently anymore, you were just chanting his name over and over as he was fucking you into the sofa. Your nails clawed into his back as he was leaning over you, his hair falling into his face. Just as you thought you couldn’t feel any more pleasure, he grabbed one of your legs and probed it onto his shoulder, the new angle making you see stars with every move of his hips.

“You feel incredible, so tight and warm around me, you are amazing.” He looked down on you, taking in your face, squinted with pleasure, his name falling from your lips over and over again.

He reached between your legs and started rubbing your clit, never slowing down his relentless, hard thrusts. The combined stimulation was almost too much for you and your orgasm was approaching fast.

“Don’t stop, please, just don’t stop.” You cried out, the pleasure running through your body like a wildfire.

“Look at me when you come, I want to see you. Look at me!” Jake growled, breathing hard as he sped up even more.

You hit your peak with a cry, sparks dancing over your skin as your walls clenched around Jakes cock. Your eyes were fixed on his, and he looked at you like you were the only person on the entire planet.

Seeing you come undone beneath him, Jake only lasted for another few deep thrusts before he came, shouting your name and spilling his hot release inside of you.

He laid on top of you afterwards, his face on your shoulder, breathing deeply. You pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, and he turned his head to look at you.

“Hi” you said.

“Hi” he replied, your favorite smile spreading across his face again.

“I liked that very much.” You said, pressing another kiss to his lips. He chuckled and propped himself up onto his arms with a small sight, rolling off you. Luckily, your sofa was large enough so you could comfortably lie next to each other.

“Me too, that was fantastic.” He replied and pulled you closer, putting his arm around you. You buried your face into his chest, soaking up the heat of his body and his wonderful smell.

“Maybe you should come over more often.” You suggested, sounding a bit nervous again. You didn’t want to appear clingy. But this man had just rocked your world, and you couldn’t just act like nothing happened.

“I’ll come over whenever you want me to, sweetheart. Consider me at your beck and call.”

“Stay the night?” you asked in a hopeful voice. You had work in the morning, but you just couldn’t imagine letting him go anywhere now.

He just nodded, smiled, and kissed you again. That soft, tingly feeling in your chest increased even more, and you just happily snuggled up to him.

Later, as Jake was already asleep next to you, you took up your phone and sent a quick text message to Abby.

Next brunch is my treat! I owe you xxxx

#jake tapper #jake tapper x reader #jake tapper fic #smut #cnn #cnn anchors #sorry not sorry #fanfiction

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reversemoon255 · 3 years

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(From September 2020 to February 2021, I worked on a Pokémon themed Dungeons and Dragons campaign for a few friends. We didn’t get very far, but I put a significant amount of work into the world, story, and several Pokémon that would appear throughout, including an original set of starters. I want to to leave some record of my work, so I thought I’d write a few summary posts. And while I designed these Pokémon, their fantastic art was done by @extyrannomon on Twitter. I highly recommend you check them out.)

Dungeons 'n' Dragonites - Phase 1: Hello Stelopy City

Our story starts in Stelopy City, located in the Wellou Region. We get a brief introduction from DJ Tomomitsu, a radio host, before each player got their own brief story segments. Our first player was Ethan, as aspiring chef, who lived on campus at his high school. Ethan was approached by one of his dorm mates with a favor (to get him out of the building), as well as having an attractive girl meandering around the kitchen (if he wished to try flaunting his culinary skills). He would then get to choose to either finish up his side-quest or go to the local fisher's market, with him transitioning between those locations taking him to the area where he would meet his starter Pokémon:

"As you enter the alleyway, the walls are covered floor-to-ceiling in moss that seem to appear as soon as the shadows overtake the sunlight. The farther you walk, the more weeds you see popping through the cracks. Once you reach the half-way point, you come to a small open space. With the sunlight now flickering down through the plants brave enough to venture off the verdant walls, the entire area shines a bright, emerald green. In the center of this area is a decently sized fountain. It's no longer flowing, but there's a decent amount of rain water filling it up close to the brim. As you approach it, even through the murky iridescent waters, you can see a thick, fuzzy amount of lichen growing all throughout the inside of the basin. As you pass by the fountain, you hear an audible sploosh. Do you turn around? (Y/N)"

There he would meet the first of our new Starter, the Grass-Type Flymph. I kept it secret that I was doing original Starters. Part of my personal excitement in planning everything was the eventual reveal of these designs I had created. Kept me going when things started feeling like a grind.

Our second player, Johnny, started off at home, woken by his father asking him to run an errand. After being able to talk to his family a bit, he proceeded to a somewhat beaten-up house on the edge of the Pokémon-overrun abandoned district where he would receive some boat parts before leaving and the sidewalk underneath him collapses. Stumbling around the abandoned subway tunnels for a bit, he would run into our second Starter, the Fire-Type Calfyre.

Johnny's player wanted to become an entertainer, which didn't give me a lot to work session one, so a lot of his opener was focused on expanding the world and giving everyone an idea of areas they would be exploring later.

Third was Orion who had a quiet morning at home before being provoked via text messages from his siblings to chase down a mysterious "Wailord in a Top Hat." This pursuit would also lead him to the fisher's market and the nearby docks, where, after just catching sight of his quarry, he would encounter the Water-Starter Squisque.

Orion's player wanted a lot of his story to be based on his relationship with his father, so most of his opening was based on reinforcing his family dynamic. Not home, everyone’s busy, focus on work. This particular Saturday was strange in that Orion didn’t have anything going on.

Our last player was Arthur, who also lived on campus. While our other three players started their segments in bed, Arthur was playing lacrosse. After having an opportunity to show off (or fail), he would be told by a friend that he had upset his girlfriend that morning (kitchen girl from Ethan's story), and needed Arthur to pick up her favorite dessert while he attempted to woo her for the rest of the day. After doing so (while being given a chance to explore some of the local stores) he encountered a hungry Houndoom who proceeds to chase him up a fire escape. Once up there he encountered our final Starter, the Fairy-Type Utaw.

After each player met their Starters, they would have a brief tutorial battle against three Pokémon they were advantageous against before running into each other, and were subsequently arrested for "stealing" Pokémon, which would cap session one.

=====

Let's talk design. Stelopy City is loosely based on Chicago, is a portmanteau of "Steel Canopy," and Wellou is a joke on Illinois. The vast majority of the campaign was to take place in this location. Most of my players had very busy schedules (so busy it took us three sessions to get through the above opener), so DJ Tomomitsu was a way for me to easily start each session with a list of things to do (side-quests), and they as a group could decide which they were the most interested in based on time. Tomomitsu himself was based on DJ Sagara from Kamen Rider Gaim, with Tomomitsu being the name of the actor who played him.

As for the starters, I tried to stick to the reoccurring themes we’ve seen over the past 8 Generations. Flymph's name is a portmanteau of Dragonfly, Errol Flynn, and Nymph (the larval form of a Dragonfly). He's meant to be a special attacker, but, like an early DND Wizard, doesn't have access to a lot of them so he brandishes his sword-like arms to intimidate his foes instead. His diet consists entirely of lichens, algae, and similar flora, storing them in his transparent stomach pouches, and can be seen sunbathing in the water, belly up, feeding the plant matter the sunlight they need to grow. He also does not like Bug-Types, and isn’t Bug himself because of Grass/Bug’s myriad of weaknesses (for balancing), plus he changes Types after his first evolution. The theme of Grass Starters is extinction, which won’t become clear until his final evolution, but you may be able to guess how he relates.

Fire Starters are themed after the Chinese Zodiac, and of the remaining four yet to be used (including Snake, Ram, and Horse), I went with Ox. Calfyre's name is a play on Calf and Fire, and is meant to play like a Barbarian. When it comes to personality he's very timid and unsure of himself like a first-time DND player might be acting in a group. Unlike most Fire-Types, Calfyre lacks a Flame Sac. Instead, his spiral horns are filled with a freon-like liquid that, when swirled, rapidly absorbs energy from the air, which he uses for attacks. This chills the air around him, and makes him one of the few Fire-Types that are cold to the touch. Which sucks, because he’s a snugly sleeper.

Water Starters are usually themed after a weapon or character class. This usually shows in the later evolutions, but it's pretty obvious Squisque (a portmanteau of Squirt, Squire, and Bisque) is themed off a lance and shield. He's a paladin in both role and personality, charging in at the slightest sign of trouble, even if there isn't any real danger. It's the typical non-nuanced idea of what people think when they hear "Paladin." He was to a degree supposed to play a catalyst role, charging into situations the players may not want to in order to force them into helping people or combat if need be. He was also the first design I settled on, being based on an old Kaijin idea I had of a lobster-knight using its asymmetrical claws as different medieval weapons.

Utaw is unique, not just in that he was a fourth or Fairy Starter, but in conception. I was only supposed to have three players, but ended up with four. As such, his design is responsive to the others. Why a dinosaur? Because I had a mammal, crustacean, and bug, was unsure if I wanted a bird or reptile, and decided to meet half-way. Why is he Fairy? Because it has very little interaction with Fire, Water, and Grass, while still having defined weaknesses and resistances to certain types. (Also, this player wanted a Dragon-Type.) He’s based on a Utahraptor, hence the name, and is misspelled to include “Claw” or “Caw.” He’s meant to play team Bard, and uses sound moves. As for personality, he's a bit of a birdbrain who enjoys fighting. Not maliciously; it’s just fun, again acting like a new DND player who’s more interested in combat than role playing.

The idea with the personalities was that each Pokémon was supposed to start out like a rookie DND player on their first campaign. Not knowing how to play their class, being uncomfortable acting in front of a group, leaning too hard into your role without bending, or just fighting everything you see without diplomacy. It felt like a fun extra layer to each of these Pokémon that tied them just as much into the DND side of things as the Pokémon.

=====

Back to our story, after being briefly detained (mostly as an excuse to give the players time to introduce themselves to each other, something my DMs have struggled with), they meet Professor(-in-training) Bianca. The four Pokémon had been found by Silph Co., and had decided to donate them to the Unovan Pokémon Research Lab. However, after seeing the Pokémon interacting with these people, Bianca decides to give them up instead. "Pokémon should be with people," after all.

I had three side quests set up following this (after they all go to the DMV to get their Trainer's licenses). The first was a general "there's wild Pokémon here" quest where they could train and catch things. There was a sale at the mall where they could get some cheap held items and have their first trainer battle, and an event at the fisher's market where they could win some free items and would lead into their first dungeon.

The dungeon was what I was hoping they would pick, and would have them chase a group of Poipole through a warehouse, with them having different battles if they chose to enter from the front or the back. After defeating them, the Poipole would be sucked through a spontaneously generating Ultra Wormhole, with a high enough perception check revealing a strange laugh, or on a 20 have them catch a glimpse of a grey Charizard O_O

From there it was a matter of coming up with (or possibly recycling unused) side-quests until we reached the point where the Starters were about to evolve. I had a few things planned; introductions to a few reoccurring NPCs, a field trip to the local museum where they would be able to catch a Yamask (and possibly learn something about the origins of their Starters), and a raid battle against a group of Onix who would recur through the campaign.

The end of Phase 1 would come about with another dungeon. In the middle of the night, Ethan and Arthur would be awoken by their Pokémon to a group of Durant having busted through the floor of the dorm and raiding their kitchen. Easily driving them off, their Pokémon would encourage them to pursue. Later, full party in toe, the four of them would explore the Duranthill. There would be a number of possible encounters, but only one mandatory fight before reaching the depths. In said encounter, while being surrounded by a group of Durant, they would receive unexpected help from this Pokémon:

With some interpretation, they would discover that this Princess Durant was afraid for the sake of her colony. A new queen had taken up residence there, and was commanding the Durant to attack the surface and steal food for her. With additional party member in toe, they would descend further with better direction, eventually discovering the lair of the Queen Durant...

#Pokemon #Dungeons and Dragons #DND #DND Homebrew #durant

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savannah-lim · 4 years

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Don’t Be Shellfish || Savannah & Dave

Timing: Current Location: The Codfather Parties: @savannah-lim and @seizethecarpe Content: Gore, violence, discussion of death Summary: Savannah and Dave go out for dinner and the food is a little bit more fresh than they anticipated.

Savannah could only have been more relieved if Dave had asked her to go for drinks instead of a meal, but she understood his reluctance considering the recent bar fight. There was nothing to stop them having drinks with their food, right? She hardly ever used her daily allowance for food and drink, so still reeling from her conversation with Felix, Savannah decided that fuck it; she was going to treat herself. What was the point of living in the East End and not trying out the best restaurants in the area? The FBI could foot the fucking bill.

Savannah had called ahead to make the reservation a few nights prior, and even upon arriving, she could tell this place wasn’t her usual setting. Maybe that was why it was so appealing though. For once, she wanted to distract herself with something that wasn’t leftover Chinese food or a burger and fries. Savannah arrived first, ordering some wine while she waited for Dave to arrive, hoping he had the sense to dress for the occasion.

Dave had been a bit hesitant about coming to the Codfather. He didn’t have the clothes for a place like this, never mind the money. But when she’d suggested this place, Dave could hardly say no to what he ate on the daily, but made fancy. He’d have to cut his food small enough that he wouldn’t need to chew with his teeth caps on, but he had plenty of practice with that. With his neatest plaid and a pair of jeans that were only scuffed and torn at the bottom hems, he walked in to the restaurant only mildly uncomfortable, quickly smelling Savannah out through the crowd, and using her scent to lead him to her rather than sight. “Evenin’. How’ve you been?”

Rather than be judgmental about Dave’s choice of attire, Savannah found it oddly amusing. There was a sort of cheap thrill that came out of debunking everyone’s expectations. Savannah herself hadn’t dressed completely fancy; just a plan navy blue dress and a little bit of jewelry, but some of the patrons wore what could only have been the most expensive garments. She could sense the entitlement around them. “I’ve been…” she started to answer, shrugging with a vague laugh. “Well, I don’t know. I’ve been fine, but I’ve seen a lot these last few weeks. I’ve learned a lot. How about you?”

“Yeah, Jesus, sounds like you’ve had a more exciting month than me.” Well, that was likely debatable - the bruises around Dave’s neck had slowly shifted into faint shadows, but they still ached. He wasn’t moving his arm as much as normal, where the cut was still healing around carefully practiced stitches. Still, contributing to the banishment of Bloody Mary was no small thing, but he wasn’t the one being chased by witches on broomsticks. Hell. He’d almost bought a vial of Nepenthe, he had stared at it on the counter with his dealer for a long old while before deciding he didn’t want to be that kind of guy, not when he had other options. “Been better, been worse. Fishing’s always a bit rougher in the winter, but I make do.”

“You’re not a very open person, Dave. You know that, don’t you?” Savannah ordered them each a drink, (whatever Dave wanted), a small, humorless chuckle leaving her lips. “Better and worse. Not very specific. You’re one of the closest things to a friend I have in this town, and I still know nothing about you.” She sipped her beer, shrugging. “Okay. I’ll go first. I’m from Boston. I’m from a Korean-American family, thoroughly upper middle class and very set on their kid’s achieving things. They expected me to be a doctor or lawyer, but this is close enough. I was married. Now divorced, but still keep in touch and have inappropriate conversations every once in a while. No kids. Don’t want them… No pets either, but maybe some day.”

Dave chuckled, tilting his head in in wry acknowledgement. “I’ve been told that before.” He thanked her for ordering the drinks, watching the waiter go. “Damn. I don’t know if that says more about me or you.” He said it teasingly, but listened intently, focusing on her lips as she talked, mouthing the words subconsciously to make sure he didn’t miss any of it. He smiled at her reference to inappropriate conversations. “Alright, then. Well, I’m from Texas. We travelled around the coast when I was young, not really sticking to any sort of place. Grew up exactly as my parents expected, athletic and charming. Still am, I’d sure you agree,” Dave laughed at himself there. The sands of time had worn away most of his natural charisma. “Was married. Three sons. Haven’t really lived in one place long enough to settle down in the last couple decades. I live on what I fish and what I hunt by and large. Sometimes I sell what I catch, sometimes I help folks find things they’ve lost in lakes and shit.” Dave smiled thinly. “That help at all?” Their drinks arrived, and Dave took a big gulp of his lager with enthusiasm. The problem was that he couldn’t tell her everything. Seemed shitty to be her closest friend here when his whole life had to be a secret, when he idly wondered whether the kind thing was to get someone to take her concerning memories.

As secretive as he was, Savannah enjoyed Dave's company. Maybe it was a fire-forged friends thing, an unspeakable feeling of kinship without rhyme nor reason, forged out of almost being human sacrificed together. "You're probably right. It does say more about me," she shrugged. "I've often focused more on my work than my relationships. Hence the divorce." She listened as he told her about himself. "Any of your sons close to my age?" she teased, shaking her head. "That right there is more about you in thirty seconds than I've learned in... weeks? Months? Time doesn't seem to exist in this town." She flipped the menu over, handing one to him. "Since you're the resident fisherman, what would you recommend? Fuck the price. I haven't spent my full FBI living allowance in weeks."

“Me too. Never been able to stick to a relationship since my first. Too distracted with other stuff.” Dave said. Too busy getting justice for his first family to be able to get justice for his second. “Hey, watch who you’re calling old,” Dave replied with a wry smile, but it didn’t last. “My sons died, decades ago. Hence the not talking about myself.” He shrugged, the wrinkles of his smiles not quite reaching his eyes. “Prefer to keep to myself. Work keeps me busy, and I’m usually out on the water in one way or another. Not much of a people person.” He flicked his eyes over the menu, looking it over. “I know these folks catch local and fresh, and the lobster in the area is good. That’s what I’ll be going for, either way.”

Oh, shit. His sons had died. Well, now she felt like a dick. “Sorry to hear that.” Savannah took a sip of her wine, as if it would cure the embarrassment of jokingly flirting with a man’s deceased children. “Okay, I won’t ask you any more personal questions until at least dessert.” She signalled the waitress over and ordered a mixed platter of starters to share and a lobster each for the main course. Savannah’s family were decently well-off, as you’d expect successful doctors to be, but she had reasonably simple tastes and rarely went all out like this. She asked Dave about generic things like fishing and hunting while they ate, keeping her promise not to delve into anything more personal. By the time their plates were clean, Savannah exhaled a massive, satisfied sigh. “Wow. I don’t even know that I have room for dessert after that. It was amazing.” It was just as well, because Savannah wouldn’t even have had time to reach for the dessert menu before the soft background music and casual conversations around them were pierced by the sound of dishes and pans clattering in the kitchen, followed by yelps and screams.

“Me too,” Dave said, sipping from his beer with the same vigour. Talking about dead kids always put a weird vibe in the conversation, but he had the feeling Savannah would have been able to tell if he had lied too obviously, and he couldn’t maintain the same straight face talking about family as when he lied about the supernatural. As the food came, they settled into easier conversation, the kind he could do while remembering how to eat lobster the fancy human way and not the crunch-the-exoskeleton-with-your-jaw way. He managed it, and by the time they were done he was more than satisfied, he wouldn’t even have to go for more later. Dave was about to wave away the dessert, happy to watch her enjoy, when he realised that the room was reacting to something he couldn’t hear. Everyone was looking over to the kitchen, including Savannah. When someone staggered out of the kitchen with a bleeding arm, hand dangling on by just a couple inches of flesh, Dave jumped to his feet, grabbing his bag before striding over to the kitchen to see what was up, without even looking over to see what Savannah was doing.

Savannah’s eyes widened in horror at the sight. They got out, someone was screaming. They fucking got out! “Call 911,” she demanded of the nearest person, knowing that giving the task to a specific person was more likely to yield results than letting the whole restaurant fumble and assume someone else was going to do it. Luckily, she’d finally realised she needed to bring her gun to literally every place she went in White Crest, and she followed Dave towards the kitchens, calling after him. “Hey! Hold up. It might be dangerous! Something got loose in there.” However, danger was unlikely to deter Dave, given they’d met one another while volunteering to be human sacrificed as a ploy. The kitchen door swung on its hinges, back and forth as Dave walked through it. Savannah did the same, gasping at the sight that befell her; lobsters the size of everything from cats to Golden Retrievers, running around the room, destroying everything in sight. “I don’t think--I don’t think this is gonna help,” she said, gesturing feebly to her firearm. Where was Kaden and his harpoon when she needed him?

Dave reached into his satchel, pulling a strange metallic device the size of his forearm. He stepped back from the Karkinoids, quickly unfolding the prongs of the trident and extending out the haft until everything clicked in securely. An imperfect weapon, but decent for driving between the chinks of a nearby Karkinoid’s armour. “No, it won’t. Get out of here!” He barked. He used the trident to fling the karkinoid across the room, looking for where the hell they’d come from. In the corner of the room was an extremely large bucket, that looked surprisingly sturdy for holding just lobsters. It had been knocked over. Unless, of course, they knew they weren’t. Dave groaned, jumping away from one little slash at his ankles. There were what, four or five? He couldn’t kill them with the trident, just whack them around. He’d be able to do more with his teeth, but if he could get them all back in the bucket, it’d be a hell of a lot easier. Dave swore, pinning down one of the nearby karkinoids with his trident while he tried to get something resembling a plan.

Savannah’s eyes widened in awe as Dave pulled what appeared to be a giant fork from his satchel. What kind of dinner had he thought they were going for? “I’m not--no!” was all she could answer when he told her to leave, and not having a trident to hand, she could only make do with spraying the creatures back with a fire extinguisher to give herself enough room to climb up on top of the counters. Rest in peace to this place’s hygiene rating, but that was the least of their problems right now. Dave was holding his own, and she gazed on, shocked and impressed, but they couldn’t just keep up this avoidance tactic forever. God, she was going to have so many words with the manager after this. “What do you want me to do?!” she asked. Should she call Kaden? No. They’d be lobster food by the time he even got here.

Dave tongued the covers off his teeth, his fangs descending. He moved spryly on his feet. “I want you to leave,” he growled, words not forming as easily around his canines, although he was careful not to show his teeth to Savannah. “They’ve got to get back in the barrel.” One of the karkinoids swung its giant claws for Savannah, and Dave moved with a feline reflex, grabbing it by the tail and hurling it across the room into the barrel. That was one, but the karkinoids were looking for freedom, and the two of them were the only thing holding the rest of the world from the karkinoids.

“I can’t leave!” Savannah called back to him. His voice was almost guttural. They’d kill her before she even got to the door, and she couldn’t just leave Dave to fight the things by themselves. “Why the barrel? Just--kill them!” As if it was that easy, or that obvious. There had to be some kind of weapon in here, something they used in the event of this ever happening or to get the things in there to begin with. Then she saw it, or rather, them. There were a pair of catchpoles on the wall. One for each claw. “There!” she yelled, pointing. “We can get them restrained!”

“How do you propose I do that?” Dave snapped back, clambering onto a bench to avoid being snipped at. Instead the claw of the karkinoid cut right through the steel drawers underneath the counter, and the rest of it began to groan as that support was taken out of the picture. This wasn’t his sturdy trident, it was his back up in case of emergency. In the water, this would be piss easy, but while they weren’t fast moving on land, nor was her, and it wasn’t so easy to get his jaw around them here. “Can we?” He repeated, following the line she was pointing at. “Great,” he growled, before jumping over to another counter, and then dropping back down to the floor heavily, rubbing his knee before grabbing the poles, throwing it across the room to Savannah. That was just enough time for a Karkinoid to pinch the flesh of his calf and cut into it deeply. With a roar, Dave caught its tail, picked it up - it was only cat sized - and with his teeth crunched through the red exoskeleton and tore off its pincer, before throwing it onto a counter where the hot top was still on, and it struggled to get off the heat. He checked whether his leg could hold his weight, before looking up to Savannah. They each had a catchpole to deal with the other two.

“I don’t know!” Savannah answered. Somehow this situation made her even more frantic than the mermaid. At least with Kaden, they had come prepared. “I’ve never killed a giant lobster before.” It wasn’t as if they could boil them until their shells were nice and soft. The catchpoles were all they had to work with. Dave quickly took care of one, though Savannah couldn’t fail to notice the rip in his pants and the blood dripping from his wound when she turned back towards him after grappling with her own. She tried to keep her grip steady around the handle as the lobster struggled to break free. “I think we know why our meal was so filling,” she said, using the pole to edge the creature back towards the huge barrel it had escaped from. “Keep the other one back,” she instructed as she struggled with the creature, clearly less practiced in this area than Dave.

Dave has killed giant lobsters before, as Savannah called them. But not like this, not in an enclosed space, not with his back up Trident that wasn’t very secure, not while above ground in his human suit. Definitely not, while trying to hide his true identity from an FBI agent. Every time he shifted his weight or tried to step away or towards one of the karkinoids, his leg threatened to give away underneath him. He nodded as Savannah told him to keep control of the Karkinoids that she wasn’t pushing towards the barrel, but even the split second he took to read her lips was enough to get another deep gash on his leg. Yelling, Dave kicked the lobster. He’d aimed for the joints of its exoskeleton. It bounced against a nearby table, stuck on its back for a second. Dave grabbed a nearby counter to take his weight off his leg. Jesus, fuck, that hurt. If nothing else, he was relieved that he hadn’t tried to dress up for today. With the Trident he pinned the Karkinoid in place, And managed to get the Catchpole that he was holding over one of its pincers. The other pincer sliced right through the table and a flurry of pots and pans clattered to the floor, along with a large piece of salmon that had been prepared earlier. Grimacing, Dave used the Catchpole to drag it over to the barrel and drop it inside.

It was incredibly frustrating to not be able to use her gun in this situation. She wished she had Kaden's harpoon or the other tools he was sure he had access to. "Shit, shit, shit--" Savannah repeated frantically under her breath as she tried to wrangle the creature, to get it under control. It was evident that Dave was badly injured, maybe not in ways that would cause permanent damage, but certainly enough to impair him in this encounter. She narrowly missed being grabbed by the one she was wrangling and finding herself in a similar situation.

Dave fought to get the creature back in the tank, and Savannah did the same. Once they were done, she let go of the catchpole, not even caring that it fell into the pot with them, and then she pulled the lid back on, sealing them inside. She collapsed onto the ground in the pile of recently fallen pots and pans. "Are... Are you okay?" she gasped, eyes widening as she saw the extent of the blood on his leg. "I'll call an ambulance..."

Dave lowered himself to the floor slowly, extending his injured leg out in front of him. “Been worse,” he said gruffly, the waver in his voice a clear sign that it was not great either. “Looks worse to you than it is,” he groaned, wrapping a nearby tea towel around his legs, staunching the bleed. All the same, this would take him out of the running for a few weeks at least. When she reached down, he pushed his teeth guards back into his mouth. Like hell was he acknowledging that he’d ever taken them off, to begin with. He huffed laughingly. “Think they’ll comp us the dinner?”

#paras #with: dave

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fics-not-tragedies · 4 years

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In a Week: Chapter 13 🌲

Words: 1483; Warnings: none, unless you want another warning for drinking alcohol, then you have it; Summary: The evening unwinds, the dinner ends, but it seems like there’s much more for her to experience than Flo thought.

Hozier tag list:

@letoursilencebreaktonight; @angelpeachamber; @sgt-morgan; @julessbrown;

Monday, 10:15pm

When the starters had been cleared away and the main courses were placed, Andrew’s green eyes were wide and ravenous at the size of his plate.

“It’s quite, em, massive” he chuckled, then lowered his tone to make a joke about his steak, “Have you ever seen, em… a bigger piece of meat than this one?” He chuckled.

“Behave” she tittered, a little light-headed from the first sip of her second glass of wine after Andrew had insisted they just bring her the bottle.

They ate hungrily, both focused as much on each other as the food. They took time to ask questions they’d forgotten to so far, trying to take in as much information about families and their hometowns, the movies they’d seen and the ones they had been meaning to.

“Have you seriously never seen Dirty Dancing?”

“No, should I?”

“Absolutely.”

“Perhaps you’d watch it with me?”

“Perhaps.”

Monday, 10:20pm

They were almost finished with their second course when Andrew turned back to the view, the lights dotted along the skyline so mesmerizing.

“Stunning setting for that date, isn’t it?” He drawled, sitting back a little in his cushioned chair, the buzz of alcohol on his lips giving him the cocky, confident edge he first tried with her. Of course it had failed him last night, she has seen straight through it, but it was certainly worth a second shot, even just for fun.

“We’re on a date, are we?” She laughed back, not breaking her eye contact once.

“Well it has all the obvious signs of a date…” he shrugged, lips a little pouty.

“Which are?” She sipped from her glass, her fingers wrapping around it, intrigued. He paused, lifting a final forkful to his lips and chewing in thought.

“Good food… butterflies in my stomach… beautiful girl giving me the eye-”

“I most certainly am not giving you the eye, Andrew…”

She took another long gulp from her glass and squeezed her lips together defensively. Andrew shifted forward in his seat, resting his hand on the table as close to hers as he could without touching her. For a moment Flo thought he was going to take hers and hold it like almost every other couple in the restaurant, unsure if she’d actually be able to resist his touch. But he was purposely being a tease in his actions, had noticed how she noticed and was thriving off it. His words were a little slower, his nose wrinkling with effort as he spoke.

“Hmm… I know when a woman wants me…” he drawled, eye contact steady, his overconfidence fueled by the alcohol he already drank, hoping this persona will do him better than the usual one, “and I hate to break it to you, my love, but, em, you are giving me the eye.”

There was an impossible silence in which Flo could feel her heart rate increase, had to close her eyes for a moment and focus so not to fall for his honeyed words. His fingers danced close to her wrist, trying to spark a reaction.

“Are we really doing this now?” she asked quickly, her question direct, her eyebrow arched.

“Mhmm.”

“Are you sure?” She had been waiting for his abrupt forwardness to show again, had been desperate to retaliate to something after being civil about it all for so long.

“Go for it” he sighed through gritted teeth, loving how easy it was to challenge her.

“Well…” she began, taking one last sip from her wine glass before placing it out of fear she’d smash it somehow, “I’m pretty sure you’ve been trying to get me into bed with you since we met. So don’t act the innocent.”

“But you are tempted, aren’t you? You’re curious.”

“I didn’t start it.”

“Didn’t say you did” he smirked, jaw tense, “But you are tempted and I bet you already, em, thought about it.”

“And you haven’t?”

“Oh, I definitely have. Numerous times…” Flo bit her lip hard, unable to ignore what he was telling her, what he was admitting out loud and what she had too in such a short amount of time, “You’re blushing, Flo.”

“I know.”

She couldn’t meet his eye, couldn’t bring herself to give in, refusing to let him win this easily. And then his fingers brushed over the smooth skin of her wrist, reminiscent of the very first time they touched and she almost whimpered, clamping her other hand on the table just to keep herself still. The alcohol had made her feel dizzy and she was now aware of his cologne too - it was all too much. His calloused fingertips ran over the veins of her wrist, his muddy eyes locked on hers, waiting to be blessed with her full attention again.

“Well, we clearly don’t have very much self-control around each other” she stated, her breath shaky and uneven, hoping he won’t move his fingers to slide them down her wrist, “...only friends…” she repeated, her cherry-red lips pursed together as she brought her eyes up to meet his.

“W-what?” Andrew was obviously confused, not sure what her point was. His face was still, but the movement of his fingers against her skin stilled for a second and it caught her off guard when he started to move them again.

“Back there, when we came in…” she swallowed dryly, “you said we were ‘only friends’.”

“Aren’t we?” He smirked gently, his lips parting as he waited for her answer.

“You tell me, Andrew…”

“Can I interest you in any desserts?” Jack asked suddenly, cutting the pair off as he stopped beside their table. It took a moment for Andrew to register he was actually there, but when he did he flinched violently, like he just been caught doing something very wrong and retreated into his own personal space. Flo felt the absence of his touch painfully, pulling her own arm back and turning her focus to the waiter.

“I have the menus here if you’d like to take a look.”

“Are you in?” Andrew asked Flo, though the dessert was the very last thing on his mind.

“I’m in.”

Monday, 10:30pm

Flo and Andy were both feeling rather frustrated and flustered by the conversation, with neither of them winning anything, rather just confirming that they couldn’t have what they now knew they wanted equally. The silence was unbearable, the awkwardness hard to see through and as much as Andrew had wanted to wind her up about their sexual tension, he hated to think of her genuinely affected by anything he’d said or done. The next time Flo heard Andrew speak was when he ordered.

“I’d like the triple chocolate cake a-and, em, the raspberry cheesecake, please, Jack…”

“Both?” She laughed hesitantly, his childish smile back at her easing her nerves a little.

“Yeah, both” he replied with a shrug, “Couldn’t decide.”

“I’ll have the tiramisu, please” she hummed, giving Jack her best flirtatious grin before he disappeared, just to annoy Andrew a tiny bit more, “Do you have room for two?” She sighed, turning back to him.

“Watch me.”

Monday, 10:45pm

To even his surprise, Andrew polished off both plates in no time, licking his lips with delight as he threw his fork down in triumph.

“Told you, love…” he sat back in his chair and sipped on the remainders of his second whiskey, fully indulged by food, drink and her.

“Well, I’m very proud of you” she giggled.

“Oh. Andy?” She mumbled, obviously suppressing a laugh.

“Yes?”

“You’ve - uh - got a bit of chocolate on your lip…” she smirked, pointing to her own slightly smudged lips to indicate where it was.

“Oh, that’s not good…” he grumbled, patting at his mouth frantically with a napkin and managing to miss the blob of brown each time. She laughed and he sighed in frustration.

“Let me…” she giggled, lifting her hand to his face and swiping at the chocolate with her own napkin. She lingered there for a moment, staring at his chapped pink lips, wondering whether he’d taste more of chocolate or raspberry or whiskey, “… Help you.”

“Thank you…” he replied, softly, weaker for her than ever when she reluctantly pulled away.

“Flo?”

“Andy?”

“I’m sorry if I… overstepped… any boundaries…”

“It’s fine…” she replied, trying to reassure him with the casualness of her voice.

“I wouldn’t ever wanna make you feel-”

“Andrew, it’s okay…”

Flo lean forward and without thinking covered his hand with hers to reassure him, the softness back in his face providing her with such comfort, her fingers brushing over his with little care for the consequences. With her permission now he linked his fingers with hers, caressing the side of her thumb with his.

“I’ll get the bill…” he suggested, at least ten seconds later, his voice deeper, gravelly, “I’ve one place I really want to show you…”

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serahsanguine · 5 years

Text

School, Sex and Subterfuge NC-17

Chapter 9 of?

part one, part Two, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, AO3

tagging @today-in-fic @skullsmuldon @foxystarbucks @baronessblixen

**********************************

Notes; im so sorry this chapter has taken so long to get out i have struggled quite a bit over last few months with depression, writer's block and my three kids. I would make one thing very clear i will never ever leave a story unfinished i have read a story where this has happened and it annoyed me so much. It may months or even years to complete but i will always finish a story this goes for both long-running stories I have.

on a lighter note, I have many many ideas for this story some i really think you will enjoy :)

***********************************************

Chapter 9; An Answer?

Mulder knew she was going to be confused but he certainly didn’t expect her to run out on him, maybe a slap or some hateful words but not this. This is something he didn’t not know how to deal with, the confusion of not knowing either way. This is when he truly realized he had hurt her a lot more than he thought and his actions of past events coming back to haunt him. How could he be so stupid?

He let everything go, his whole heart poured out in words, he was willing to let her in, he had let her get this close. He sat down on the closest seat he could find, the emptiness of the room hitting him like a freight train. He could hear people scuttling about outside the office door. He looked around at the books, the certificates, the countless women he had brought back to these four walls. The memories they had, the stories they could tell but not one of them meaning anything to him in reflection to the memories he had of Dana Scully. The minutes ticked by and silence fell upon the room once more.

*********************************************

Scully ran and ran her heart racing, blood pumping, breathing fast and uneven. She flew past people, whizzing past the gardens, cars and buses. She ran until her legs could not run anymore. She was in shock, he said I love you, and he wanted to start over. She stopped a couple of miles from campus next to a small lake, the water reflecting the moonlight in all directions, the sun had set and the air was warm. There was peace and silence in the air all around her. The nightlife chipping and chirping as small bats flew above her.

She stared into the open water her mind fogged, her heart bleeding. Could she start over with him? Could she love him? Was she already in love with him? Was Missy right all along and she cared for him deeply? She started walking back to her dorm. The question running over and over in her mind and the answers nowhere to be found. She was torn in two her rational side saying no, but her mind screaming to let him in.

The Next Day.

She still hadn’t made a discussion on what she was going to do she needed to talk to someone, rationalize it in one way or another. She took Serah out to dinner somewhere different, somewhere she won’t be seen by him. It was a small restaurant, quiet, even for the dinner rush hour. With homemade food from starters to desserts, plus it didn’t cost a lot either. They both sat in the corner booth with a window overlooking the garden and cobblestone road.

Scully explained in a shorter version of everything that happened and Serah just sat there and listened.

Serah took Scully’s hand and clasped it inside her own. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t no Serah, the rational side of me has a bunch of issues,” She looked over at her friend and she just nodded and let her continue.“At the end of the day, he still is my professor, he's older than me.”

“Oh, come on Scully. He may be older than you but not by much it’s only 8 or 9 years and it’s not like your a child, your a beautiful woman with her own mind and age is just a number baby.”

“I suppose you’re right but what would Ahab think? Let alone, my friends? Present company excluded. Should I transfer classes, or just quit going?”

“Wooo, wooo, wooo. Let's answer them one at a time”

“I don’t know what your father would think but if he loved you and could see you were clearly happy with Mulder then I suspect he would be happy too. If your friends can’t see that you are happy with him you don’t need them in your life. And to answer the last two questions is an unequivocal no. If you were to listen to your heart what would it say?”

That was the question wasn’t it what would her heart say, he was amazing everything about him, his intelligence, his heart and soul, certainly his looks. And come on he is mind-blowing in bed he knows how to treat a woman and make feel her on top of the world. She blushed at that thought.

“If he means that much to you you should at least email him or go to his office.”

Scully looked at her friend with a curious look “Did I say that out loud?”

“Yes dear you did,” Serah said sarcastically smiling from ear to ear.

She blushed hard when she thought about what she said about Mulder in bed. She laughed it off.

“Maybe I will.”

“Humm.”

“Talk to him that is; see where we go from there.”

They both finished up the lunch grabbing their things and headed towards their next lecture.

Several hours later

It was getting late and many of the students had gone to either the dorms or out into town. Scully stood there at Mulder's door anxiously hesitant to knock, she could see his shadowy figure walking back and forth across the room. Several minutes passed, she was lost in her own thoughts when she lifted her hand to finally knock, he opened the door bowling into her sending papers everywhere.

“Shit I’m sorry,” he said before even looking at who he had run into. She started helping to pick up the papers.

“It’s ok, it was my fault,” she said sheepishly ad he looked up at her and their eyes locked, both frozen in there place.

“Dana.” He said matter of fact.

“Fox.” She replied in the same manner.

He picked up the last of the sprawled papers “Come in.”

“After you.”

They both stepped into his office shutting the door behind them. He placed the papers on the nearest surface and walking through to his private office where they couldn’t be seen.

The atmosphere was tense, so tense you could cut it like butter. The only noise in the room was the gulp of air from the water container and the hum of people chatting walking by. They both stood there not saying a word if a pin were to fall you could hear it shatter around the corners of the room.

She had a whole speech prepared, why they were not good together. What would happen if they were to get caught? But standing in front of his presence she lost all rational thought. Her stomach was in knots. Her heart hammering in her chest, her hands clammy, her mouth dry. But it despite all that she was the one to talk first.

“I love you too,” the words just poured out of her mouth her brain finally caught up with what she had spoken.

His face was in shock but was the kind of shock when someone is happy. She stuttered when she realized what she had said. She went to say something, but secretly she said fuck it, she deserves to be happy and damn to the consequences, at least for now. If something were to happen further down the line they would cross that bridge when they came to it.

She ran to him, wrapping her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist and kissed him with such force they both toppled to the floor with her on top. He hit the ground with an ugh but they both started laughing hard.

************************************

He was hurt but didn’t care, she had said the words back to him, and he was over the moon. He touched his lips to hers, his hands in her fine silk hair. She pulled away and asked,

“Why me? Out of everyone, why me?” he looked into her eyes with such clear and understanding and such force without hesitation.

“You’re beautiful, so quick-witted and funny, you keep me on my toes always surprising me. You laugh is infectious and you smile lights up the whole room. You...are my friend, and you told me the truth. Even when the room is full of people, you are my constant... my touchstone. "

Her smile meant everything to him and he didn’t expect her to say anything back not quite yet anyway.

He kissed her neck her body started grinding on top of his, he felt his erection grow underneath his trousers and felt the flush of her skin against his own. His hands sitting on top of her t-shirt just above her hips.

“Mulder please…”

He lifted her top above her head and discarded it on the floor next to them, soon unclasping her bra and discarded that too. She moved her body slightly and it took him no hesitation to take her breast into his mouth letting the nipple roll around underneath the flesh of his tongue. Her hands undoing the buttons on his shirt. She smiled at his bronze chest as she raked her fingers down his stomach before undoing the zipper and button on his trousers then pulling his cock free from his cotton boxers.

“Fuck Scully” she only licked her lips, God those lips he thought and she smiled a wicked smile as she started pumping him at an antagonizing slow pace. He let her continue until he couldn’t take it anymore moving his hands from her hips lifting her skirt. He sat up just a little bit.

“Do you have any idea what wearing this little black mini skirt and black knee-high socks does to me?” he whispered sultry in her ear. Before moving her panties to the side and slipping his fingers through her dripping wet folds.

“I have…..Jesus Christ” her words left as he could tell she was lost in what he was doing to her he found her bundle of nerves at the apex of her legs.

Swishing, gliding, flicking, rushing and slowing his fingers bringing her to her peak and stopping before lowering her body every so slightly and sliding his member into her opening. He felt her hugging him, clinging even as he filled her up stretching her to her limits. She threw her head back her wet matted hair sticking to her skin. As she let out a moan of pleasure. She placed her hand either side of his head on the floor.

Creating an even deeper angle he let a growl her lips touched his and he took it as a sign to started thrusting into her, her tiny body matching his pace, her naked chest pressed up against his hot flesh. With the sound of their moans and skin slapping skin and the smell of sex clinging to the air.

“Mulder, I’m so close.”

“Me to let go,” and she did with the force of the world-shattering around her. He moaned right along with her, the height of pleasure exploding in there bodies at the same time.

After a few minutes, they lay spent half-naked on his office floor. He looked down at her.

“Next time I’m taking you to dinner first and make love to you somewhere other than my office floor”

“Maybe you’re apartment?”

“It’s definitely in your future, ” he smiled.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“I hope you do,” he said before holding her close giving her one last hug before helping her up off the floor and finding her clothes. After they finished getting dressed and looking presentable. He looked at her and asked, “so dinner?”

“I didn’t think you meant now?”

“No time like the present," he smirked.

He left the office first and she soon followed slipping into his car hoping no one saw before he drove her to the restaurant for dinner.

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A MASSIVE HAPPY NEW YEAR TO EVERY ONE!

#txf fanfic #txf #The X-Files #the x files #the xfiles #mulder and scully #msr fanfic #school sex and subterfuge

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snidgetsafan · 5 years

Text

Good Omens

Rating: T

Summary: It all starts in a garden...In a world where Heaven and Hell play an ineffable game of backgammon with humanity, an Angel and a Demon have been stationed on Earth since the dawn of time. And after 6,000 years, any being, whether they be ethereal or occult, would go at least a little native. And after 6,000 years of being the only two immortal souls on Earth, could you blame these beings for braving angelic and demonic taboos and growing close?

A Good Omens AU (no prior knowledge of the book or mini-series needed) (on AO3)

Notes: Here is my entry for @csseptembersunshine! Good Omens is my favorite book ever, and the mini-series has reawakened my obsession. I haven’t been able to write anything else, this idea wouldn’t leave me. Just so you know: this was supposed to be a bullet point outline. And here we are, 10k later... I wish I could say I was sorry for all the puns and dumbass jokes, but you know I’m not. Last but not least: a HUGE thank you to @shireness-says, who has edited this fic in two days, cheered me while I was writing, and tolerated both my fixation and puns (and even made one of her own! I’m SO PROUD)

Wordcount: 10.7k

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

It all starts in a garden. No, not a garden – the garden. You could even say the Garden, since it’s currently the only one in existence.

It’s a gorgeous Garden. You could even call it heaven on Earth, because it is.

It doesn’t actually start in the Garden proper, mind, but rather on top of the wall surrounding it, where an Angel is watching the first two humans walk towards an undetermined future. More determined, however, is the lion slowly prowling towards them. A slight breeze brings the smell of ozone from the coming storm (the first storm – God really casting the humans out in style), as well as the slightest whiff of iron. That last smell is explained a few seconds later by the appearance of a huge snake slithering up the wall before slowly taking human shape as it reaches the parapet, as if unsure how to go about the transition. A Demon, then.

And thus the Demon spake unto the Angel, “Well, I don’t think that could have been any more dramatic.”

“I beg your pardon?” are the first words the Angel spake unto the Demon. The Demon smiles in amusement, their dark hair fluttering in the wind as it steadily blows stronger; the storm is growing nearer. They catch a few strands between their fingers, looking at it in puzzlement before shrugging and turning towards the Angel.

Then their smile turns into a frown. “Didn’t you have a flaming sword?” they ask, tilting their head to look behind the Angel, just in case their lanky frame could somehow hide a huge sword on actual fire. Such a feat would have to be quite the mirac– well.

The Angel averts their blue eyes, pretending to be fascinated by the approaching clouds. When they see the Demon patiently waiting for an answer (and isn’t it odd, seeing a Demon display one of the seven Virtues?), they mumble an answer, turning their head away once again.

(Those clouds really are quite something. They’re the first ones, for starters).

The Demon’s serpentine eyes widen. Surely – “You what ?” And then the Angel says Words, words that will shape the next six thousand years of the world, from its very beginning to its end (and its aftermath, too, but more importantly its end).

“I gave it away,” they repeat defensively, not looking at the Demon, unwilling to see the mockery on their face. The Demon is glad that the Angel’s not looking at them; this way, they have time to hide the absolute awe they’re feeling at the moment. It’s not that the Angel has compassion; angels are made of love, compassion is innate for them. No, it’s that this Angel, without even realizing it, has shown free will, has had the complete and utter balls to find and use a loophole in God’s orders.

They’re so awed, they don’t even acknowledge the envy and wrath this realization awakens in them (why didn’t this angel fall, when what they did was worse than what the Demon did – when they only asked questions? )

It’s the first time of many that the Angel will cause the Demon to ignore their very nature, reminding them of Before (before Eden, before Hell, before the fall, before the doubt).

And with the dawn of human history begins the dance of Emraoth and Kiliel (for they do learn each other’s names eventually). Because while “how many angels can dance on the head of a pin?” is quite an interesting question, it would be more appropriate to wonder what an angel and a demon would dance if left to their own devices (or to be more precise, not an angel and a demon, but rather this Angel and this Demon).

For instance, right now, you could say they’re line dancing; following the steps set by the choreography, occasionally facing each other but each staying in their own space, in sync with their side. They meet in Mesopotamia, Etruria, and what will become Australia. They assume their roles at the foot of the Ararat Mountains, though they’re not very good at it (an angel unenthusiastic about the Flood and a demon raving about the children not deserving this fate – what would their ilk think?)

––-

And then Jerusalem happens. Kiliel watches with sorrow in his eyes as God’s Son is nailed to one of the crosses. He knows God’s Plan is ineffable, and that Jesus’ death is a vital part of it, but his heart still bleeds as he hears the man’s cries and whimpers. He oddly feels relieved to smell the whiff of iron, turning his head to see Emraoth suddenly standing next to him (but not watching him - almost never watching him, not since Eden). She is draped all in black with a veil covering her brown hair in the local fashion, and she looks grim, no sign of amusement on her face.

“Did you meet him?” Kiliel can’t help but ask, both out of curiosity and as a way to cover Jesus’ cries of pain.

“I showed him all the kingdoms of the world,” she murmurs, not looking away from the cross now slowly being raised.

“Why?” Kiliel asks, not understanding what temptation she was trying to accomplish. And just like Emraoth’s whole worldview had tilted on its axis on the Garden’s wall, so does Kiliel’s on top of the Golgotha as Emraoth snorts, although there is no mirth in it.

“He’s the son of a carpenter. How else was he supposed to see them before he died?”

And just like Emraoth hadn’t expected to find free will in an angel before the Garden, Kiliel hadn’t expected to find pity in a demon before

They wait in respectful silence for the end after this, feeling Jesus deserves to not be left alone in his last, most terrible moments. Neither of them says a thing when the spear pierces his side; they’ll later get commendations from their respective sides for the act, and they won’t say a thing. What could they say? Could Kiliel say that out of the two of them, it was the Demon who showed mercy? And what can Emraoth say when Hell rejoices in her worsening the Christ’s agony? That it was the farthest from her mind?

So they continue line dancing. While they imperceptibly move out of sync with their sides, their steps start complementing each other’s instead, though no one notices, them least of all.

(God of course notices, just like She’s noticed everything since the beginning, but keeps Her own counsel on the matter).

––-

For once, Kiliel is the one who first spots Emraoth in Rome. She looks dejected, slumped against the counter with her head leaning on her fist. Kiliel feels quite nervous; he’s known Emraoth since the Garden (as much as one can know a demon, duplicity being second nature to them, he thinks, remembering Liamel’s warnings every time he reports in Heaven), but he doesn’t know how to deal with a demon capable of compassion.

But Kiliel is… curious, and he approaches her (and if Emraoth’s abrasiveness settles him into a relative sense of comfort, well, nobody has to know). They eat oysters, of all things. Emraoth hates them, but seems to like the honey cakes he orders for dessert (if the way she gobbles her plate and steals his last morsel while he is distracted is any indication, anyway). And during their meal, they talk. Not of deep things – they don’t trust each other enough for that - but of what they’ve seen. Kiliel talks about the Library of Alexandria; Emraoth mentions seeing it. Kiliel is suspicious until Emraoth snaps that it wasn’t her that burnt it down; Maleficent, one of the Duchesses of Hell, has pyromaniac tendencies.

They part, but something has changed. Both have enjoyed the other’s company, despite their natural enmity. Both Angel and Demon know that if their sides were to know this, they’d – at best – be called back to Heaven and Hell, never to set foot on Earth again. They tacitly agree to keep their acquaintance a secret.

The line dance stops, rearranges itself; they’ve shifted into a tripudium, right in time for the Dark Ages. The Church considers dancing to be immoral, wanton, but how can you stop humans dancing when there’s music? You can’t, so you compromise: people may dance, but under no circumstances should there be physical contact. Touching is impure, a mark of the Devil.

And isn’t that right on the nose for Kiliel and Emraoth.

They continue to meet from time to time (and if they sometimes investigate stories of miracles or curses wondering if they’ll find the other at the source... well, nobody has to know). Human technology and knowledge takes a step backwards after the fall of Rome. Kiliel misses running water and notions of personal hygiene; Emraoth misses good entertainment and good wine. They complain about it to each other over what passes for a drink at that time in inns, taverns, and on one memorable occasion, during a coronation feast.

They meet again in Ireland in the 5th century, and the discussion becomes quite heated over, ridiculously enough, salmon. Heated enough that Emraoth transforms back into a snake out of a frustration that makes her want to hiss properly. And heated enough for Kiliel to, for the first and only time, discorporate Emraoth where she writhes. They certainly didn’t intend to be seen by the locals, and Kiliel certainly didn’t expect it to gain as much traction as it did. He didn’t chase all the snakes out of the island; he just banished the only snake that ever stepped foot on it, is all. Still, he gets a commendation for smiting a demon and bringing Christianity to Ireland. Above is so happy with him that the medal is directly delivered by the Archangel Blue on a rainy Tuesday morning. The meeting leaves him feeling on edge; while he was outwardly rewarded and praised, this felt more like a trial than anything else. Blue’s parting words certainly didn’t help:

“It’s surprising how well you’ve adapted, Kiliel. Be careful not to go too native, though.”

(Emraoth takes her revenge a decade late when she sees Kiliel on the battlefield of Châlons, making sure at least three arrows are miracled to pierce him when he’s distracted. Why she had to make sure one hit him in the arse, Kiliel wonders before he is sent back to Heaven, he’ll never know).

––-

Kiliel joins King Arthur’s Round Table in the 6th century. Above wants to see how all of this quest for the Grail turns out, and he’s been sent to observe it all; Arthur had seemed like such a good lad at the lake when Kiliel had handed him the sword. (Not just a sword, either, but his sword, the one he hasn’t seen since Eden, though it’s not flaming right now. When it’s delivered to him by Blue he keeps a straight face. Nope, nothing to see here).

When talk of a dark sorceress reaches Camelot, Kiliel volunteers to investigate, centuries of habits making him guess who is behind these tales. And just as he thought, he finds Emraoth in the woods, lounging in a mossy clearing. She does look impressive, if a little… surly. Snakes don’t like the cold and the damp, after all. Neither do angels, for that matter. (Or Kiliel, to be more precise. Heaven, while beautiful and peaceful, is cold . Being posted on Earth had been a blessing in disguise; the warm caress of the sun had felt scorching after the chilly harmony of Paradise).

And in the middle of that mossy clearing, as Kiliel’s neck itches under his chainmail, and as Emraoth keeps having to miracle the bottom of her gown dry as they catch up, that clearing is where the Demon vocalizes an idea she’s had since at least Pompeii.

“If I’m here to wile, and you’re here to thwart, and all we do is cancel each other out all the time… wouldn’t it be more sensible to just… go home?” the Demon asks, her serpentine eyes fixed on Kiliel’s, “What’s the point of staying here in the damp when what we’re doing won’t have any impact anyway?”

Kiliel entertains the idea for a second (that chainmail really is itchy, and the less said about his braies, the better) before he sees through Emraoth’s attempt at sloth.

“No!” he exclaims, “what’s wrong with you?” Emraoth just shrugs, miracling her dress dry once more. She hadn’t even been trying to tempt the Angel; it would have just been more practical for both of them to go home, that’s all.

Oh well.

It only takes a decade for Kiliel to see Emraoth’s point as he takes Arthur to Avalon on his final trip, once again appearing as Viviane, the Lady of the Lake. That mess with Lancelot and Guinevere really soured Kiliel’s time in Camelot, and he feels that Arthur giving back Excalibur and dying marks the end of his time at the Round Table.

(He can’t help but feel a little responsible for Lancelot. He did have a hand in his upbringing, after all, and may have been a little heavy-handed in his lessons about love).

He has half a hope to be able to keep his sword at the end of it all, but it’s whisked away by Blue minutes after Arthur has breathed his last, nattering about how it’s going to be needed later on. He finds Emraoth still in the same mossy clearing, and the Arrangement is born. Instead of fighting fruitlessly against one another, one of them can accomplish both the blessing and the temptation.

And if the other one stays home… well, no one has to know.

––-

And so they now seek each other out, meeting in inconspicuous places: gardens, balls, markets, and isolated clearings. Kiliel is the one who goes up to Iona in the 9th century to inspire some Vikings into attacking the monastery there. He is also the one who helps the monks flee to Ireland. During the trip, he happens upon a gorgeously illuminated book, and is absolutely charmed. He helps the monks settle, and decides to stay for a little while, just to make sure the monastery stays safe (and the books, because there’s a second one ). A little while ends up being five decades. It’s in that time that he decides to adopt the name the locals have given him: Killian. It’s close enough to his real name, and attracts less attention than his foreign-sounding one.

During this time, Emraoth goes to the continent to wreak a little havoc. She has way too much fun nicknaming the successive kings of that period. Kiliel empathizes with Charles: being constantly mocked for your hairiness by being nicknamed King Charles the Bald must have stung something fierce.

When Emraoth comes back, she tells him she now goes by Emma. He guesses he’ll get used to it, even if it’s been almost five millennia of calling her by her demonic name. And if Emma doesn’t meet his eyes when she tells him she just liked the name when she heard it, Kiliel won’t call her out. Just like he won’t mention having read about the angel Immanuel in the Book of Isaiah (although he can’t – he can’t remember ever meeting her before the Fall. So is the curse of the Fallen, that their annihilation from Heaven be so complete that their very existence is banished from Heaven’s memory).

The Arrangement continues and strengthens with time; the dancers get closer and closer, until there is at last, some measure of trust; they touch, even if it is still hesitant. The dance once again changes, the parudium leaving its place to a stately minuet, where the dancers twirl around each other, growing closer then separating in order to come near again. (And if the dancers twirl closer and closer, well, again – no one has to know).

Kiliel learns not to tell Emr– Emma that she is nice, or kind, because she will spend the next decade trying to prove she is not . He spends all of the 10th century protecting the Kells library from different pillaging attempts because the Demon knows he loves those two books and is being spiteful. The monks there comment that it’s a miracle the two manuscripts always seem to survive the attacks on the monastery. Kiliel (or brother Killian, as he’s known there) smiles nervously and changes the subject every time.

Years, then decades, then centuries pass in this fashion. Neither Heaven nor Hell seem to catch onto their ruse. Quite the contrary, in fact; the commendations both from Above and Below become more frequent. The only downside to the Arrangement is that Kiliel sees Blue much more often than before, and every meeting leaves him feeling out of sorts, as if he’s missing something, as if Blue’s hiding something behind her affable smiles and azure garments. Kiliel can’t help but feel guilty after each meeting for doubting his superior; Blue knows what she’s doing, and if she weren’t following God’s Plan, then surely the Almighty would have already taken care of her.

Emma absolutely loathes the 14th century, and she makes sure everyone around her (especially Kiliel) knows it. Her drunken rants about all the evils of the era become legendary in their length, virulence, and irony. The last straw is when the umpteenth bout of plague decimates the village she is staying in; she decides in a fit of pique to sleep the rest of the century away. Kiliel does not miss her. He had just grown unaccustomed to only speaking to mortals, that’s all. Plus it’s nice not to have to protect what has become known as the Book of Kells from constant attacks because someone was annoyed and feeling childish.

(Emma has been a constant in his life since the beginning of human history; truth be told, he sees her more often than those on his own side. Of course he’s grown accustomed to her).

As time goes by, Kiliel grows more and more fond of books in general. Even though the Angel loves illuminated manuscripts and thinks them objects of art, no one is more excited than he about the advent of the printing press. He is quite proud, in fact, of having inspired the first sentence to be typed. “Fiat lux” – let there be light – had, indeed, been quite enlightened of him, he thinks. It helps balance the quite scandalous things that print will be used for. Being able to produce several books a day will certainly help spread not only the Gospel, but also stories and histories to people who didn’t have access to them before. And if more people can read, then more people can write books. That’s a win-win situation for the discerning angel looking for new material to read, after all.

Libraries start popping everywhere around Europe. Kiliel is all in favor of giving people free access to books; it’s just that books deserve respect , deserve to be handled with care, and so many of these humans seem unable to grasp that fact. They are precious, not only because they are rare, but because of the knowledge they hold. Even he will admit that he went a bit far in the Hereford Cathedral’s library. Chaining the shelves was frowned upon both by the Archbishop and by Above; he’s supposed to influence humans to do God’s will, not miracle the chains himself during the night. He had received a strongly worded letter the following week; phrases like “more judicious use of your grace” and “try to deal with less trivial matters in the future” were used, making Kiliel grimace in discomfort. Head office was not happy.

Emma comes back from her jaunt in the Carribbean with a tan and a new accent and laughs herself silly when he tells her what happened. Kiliel didn’t know demons could laugh. They snicker, cackle or chortle ominously, but Kiliel had no idea they could make such delighted (and delightful) sounds. And if he thinks that laughter really suits Emma, much more than her customary smirks... well, no one has to know.

A century later he is more careful in Dublin; chains are too obvious to protect the books. He just makes sure to devise a system that makes it near impossible to find specific volumes. After all, arranging them by weight and size is logical and practical when you think about it. So little space, so many books. And well, if the Book of Kells finds a privileged place in the college’s library, then that’s just a coincidence, isn’t it?

(His classification system serves as inspiration again when he opens his bookshop at the end of that century. Again: so little space, so many books ).

As Kiliel slowly sets up his shop at the end of the 18th century (he finally found the perfect place, a corner shop in the middle of Soho deserted by its previous owners due to the latest plague outbreak), he hears that the revolutionaries in France are requisitioning all the belongings of the nobility and selling them. He thinks of the libraries of the Versailles palace, of Paris, of Brittany. He thinks of all that knowledge being dilapidated and lost and can’t bear the thought. He needs to do something .

So the Angel travels to Paris with his pockets full of écus , and starts making enquiries. Except that the situation is so... peculiar in Paris these days that a rich well-dressed man automatically translates to aristocrat. And nobles aren’t very popular in Paris right now, except on the guillotine platform. And so an Angel finds himself chained in a cell in the Bastille. He’d miracle himself free, but he’s not supposed to be in Paris (he should be blessing away in Norwich, but Emma had drawn the short straw this time) and he doesn’t want to attract Above’s attention. And he’s sure he can explain himself to the court; their Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen sounded perfectly reasonable when he’d read it the previous month, very progressive and full of good sense. He might even suspect Heavenly influence, if it weren’t for the fact that he’s the only angel in Europe right now.

It turns out the French are not reasonable at all, especially when they see the content of his pockets and decide it would look better in their coffers. Really, he shouldn’t be surprised; they’re a pretty uncouth and smelly bunch and would be unsalvageable if it weren’t for their cuisine and wine. Kiliel finds himself in a new cell, one in which he can hear all the poor souls being decapitated to the cheers of the crowd. Nothing Heavenly about this, he thinks. Hell must be the ones behind this. He hopes Emma was not involved (and doesn’t dither too much on why he doesn’t want her specifically to be responsible).

He barely waits an hour before the executioner arrives, looking decidedly too cheerful for a dealer of death. Under his jolly appearance and upbeat tone, Kiliel can sense a man rotten to the core, who takes pleasure in making heads roll. No reason nor help coming from this side either, then. Getting discorporated is going to be such a bother, Kiliel thinks, disgruntled. At this rate, he should really use a miracle to free himself; he’s going to be reprimanded anyway, but at least he won’t have to fill the paperwork to get a new body.

“I really don’t understand how you can behave like such animals while pretending to fight for freedom,” Killian grumbles while raising his hand to snap his fingers, not realizing Jean-Claude has stopped moving entirely.

“Animals don’t use clever machines to kill each other,” sounds a voice from behind him as he realizes the crowd outside has grown silent. Emma . He turns around, smiling delightedly, never happier to see the Demon. She’s wearing the local garb, Phrygian hat hiding her brown curls, smoked glasses firmly planted on her nose to hide her serpentine eyes. Her hands are also on her hips, and her eyebrow is raised in the universal sign of annoyance.

“What the heavens are you doing here, Angel? Don’t you have a bookshop to open?”

While it might be surprising to see an angel lectured by a demon, it’s important to remember that this is not just any angel, nor any demon. So Kiliel tells her everything, ignoring the way she rolls her eyes so hard her head follows the motion. Explaining to Emma why he hasn’t freed himself is a little trickier, though (a lot more embarrassing, more like). Where he expects Emma’s laughter, or her anger, he’s only met with fond exasperation as she shakes her head, looking at him over her glasses. Emma can’t hold time prisoner for long, though, so she switches Kiliel’s clothes with Jean-Claude the executioner’s just in time for two soldiers to come fetch the “English pig” to take him to his date with Madame Guillotine. Both men ignore Jean-Claude’s protestations that he’s French, which probably has something to do with the fact that he’s suddenly forgotten how to speak French. The Angel doesn’t feel guilty about Jean-Claude’s fate. After all, it’s divine retribution for his crimes; he will die as he lived, on the scaffold – only this time, he’ll be the one with his head on the block.

After getting out of the Bastille and breathing in the relative fresh air (Revolutionary France really was letting itself go in terms of waste disposal and personal hygiene, not that it had been this stellar to begin with), they go to a café and have some crêpes. Between Emma riding on the high of a successful rescue and Kiliel feeling relieved at not having had to resort to any miracles, the tone is jovial. They joke around, Emma telling him about Norwich, Kiliel telling her about his latest purchases. After the first bottle of cider, Emma finally teases him about his coming to Paris, making the Angel smile (he’d been waiting for it; after almost six thousand years, he was starting to know the Demon).

They end up walking in the Tuileries after dark among canoodling couples and groups of friends. It would be hard to guess from this sight alone that the city was in the middle of the Reign of Terror. They stop on a bench overlooking the Louvre. Amusement and the alcohol they’ve drunk make Emma relaxed, and that the flimsy little glasses she wears keep sliding down her nose as she talks animatedly. Kiliel looks at her, finding her positively charming, her flushed cheeks and relaxed brow making her appear younger.

(Than usual, that is, not than her actual age. Any breathing body automatically looks younger than six thousand years. To be honest, any body looks younger than six thousand).

Fresh air and Paris and wine as well as a good time had with a friend make Kiliel unable to keep his thoughts to himself. “You have the most beautiful eyes, love,” he blurts out, emboldened by being able to see them for once, no smoky glasses shielding the serpentine orbs. Ever since she had discovered smoked glasses, she almost always had a pair over her eyes, the most notable exception being when she’d turned into a snake in Ireland (and hadn’t that encounter ended spectacularly badly).

And yet, even as the words escape his mouth, he knows he’s making a mistake; those glasses are an armor for her, one behind which she can hide and upon which she’s based her whole persona, her whole shell. Her face closes off immediately, and in another two minutes she’s gone, pretexting a temptation in Orléans. It’s only after she’s disappeared behind a row of trees that he realizes he’d never asked her how she had known where to find him.

Neither of the dancers notice, but Paris in 1793 marks a significant change in the dance, as the minuet slowly becomes livelier, sharper, more challenging. Both dancers prod at each other, enter each other’s space to see if they’ll take a step back, twirl and walk and collide in a fiery facsimile of a fight. Though it hasn’t been invented yet, the angel and the demon are the first to dance a pasodoble.

Kiliel doesn’t hear from Emma for 10 years. She waltzes back in his life one Tuesday morning in 1803 as he’s trying to convince a gentleman that no, he doesn’t want to purchase that Shakespeare folio, that it’s not for sale even if yes, it is on display in a bookshop. The gentleman is quite insistent until Emma snaps her fingers and he seems in a hurry to get… somewhere else. Kiliel doesn’t want to know. He’s just glad to be rid of the man, as he had quite odd ideas; arguing that bookshops have to sell books, how preposterous. It’s taken him more than three centuries to amass his collection, he’s not going to start squandering it. He didn’t nearly die in Paris for this.

That first meeting is all business, as she has a new pet project in Manchester (or, to be more accurate, the pet project is Manchester). They make a deal: Kiliel will ignore what’s happening in Lancashire, and Emma will steer clear of County Mayo in Ireland. Not that it’s a sacrifice for her; she still hasn’t forgiven him for what happened there in the 5th century. But if Emma plans on influencing a whole city, then Kiliel should definitely do the same, just somewhere else. He remembers popping by Cathair na Mart two decades ago for a blessing, inspiring the lord of the place to rebuild the village he had destroyed to extend his grounds, instead of just turning the inhabitants into the streets. A second blessing on the architect ensured that the new town would be decent; he’s particularly proud of the promenade along the river.

So Kiliel starts spending more time there, dusting off his Killian moniker and encouraging the citizens to do good. His efforts show, as four churches open. More importantly a proliferation of missions and charities begin to operate in and around the city. He hasn’t often concentrated so much on one place, and he finds he quite likes it, even if he misses his bookshop (though his frequent absences help establish him as a particularly difficult merchant, a reputation that he is far, far from resenting, as it keeps most customers away).

What he doesn’t expect, however, is to enjoy sailing so much. Oh, he’s already sailed before in his long existence – after all, you can’t travel from England to the rest of the world without setting foot on a ship (he could fly, but the air currents over the Channel are a nightmare to navigate) – but this, this is different. Sailing directly from London to Cathair na Mart is quicker and more practical than traveling by land, and for the first time since the invention of the caravel, he actually sails on the open sea, and he finds it exhilarating . When the wind is behind them (and it always is, he makes sure of it), it feels like flying, the ride smooth and swift. He loves it so much that he acquires his own ship, a small brigantine named The Ethereal Swan which employs eight sailors (but which he usually sails by himself if he can help it). He makes sure that a dock is always miraculously free for him both in England and Ireland.

He finds he can’t wait to show his ship to Emma. They are… friends, after all, are they not? They’ve been exchanging letters this whole time (even if months or even years could pass between each one), ostentatiously to continue with their Arrangement, less officially to catch up.

(Emma still refuses to step foot in Ireland; considering the utter mess she’s wreaking in Manchester, that’s probably a good thing. Kiliel can’t approach Manchester now without the stench of evil making his eyes water. They’d meet, but they’re afraid that both of them being absent from their cities at the same time would raise some suspicion).

He thinks he might get a chance in 1835, when Emma sends a message to his bookshop (he’s been spending more and more time there, his work in Mayo County slowly coming to an end) asking him to meet her at St James’ Park, not far from Buckingham Palace. It’s become a privileged meeting spot for them since the 1660s, but they haven’t been there since the canal had been transformed into a lake. Kiliel is quite eager to see the changes (and even more to see Emma; it’s been too long, despite the letters). They catch up with each other while walking the new avenues, Emma telling him all about the mischief she has been up to in Manchester and the commendation she’s gotten for it, before Kiliel talks about Cathair na Mart and Emma tries not to roll her eyes at the sentimentality (well, not too much). Kiliel softly smiles whenever she does so; he knows what she looks like when truly annoyed, and this isn’t it – this is just a front. The Demon Emraoth can be quite soft when she wants to be, although Kiliel isn’t stupid enough to voice that thought (not anymore, at least – he doesn’t know where she’d find Vikings to attack Trinity College, but he trusts her to somehow manage it).

It’s while they’re sitting down in front of the new lake, looking at the new facade of Buckingham House (“Palace, Angel, get with the times”) that Kiliel finally broaches the fact he bought a ship. “You what?” Emma laughs, looking delightfully surprised (just as she had on the wall of Eden, at the very beginning, and Kiliel is proud to still be able to surprise her). So he invites her to Rotherhithe where the Ethereal Swan is docked, planning on taking a cab to go there. Emma stops him, bringing him to a black buggy which she drives with… unabashed enthusiasm, a part of Kiliel tries to think diplomatically (though the rest of it is screaming that she’s driving like a madwoman). Between sharp turns and exhortations for Emma to watch the road, Kiliel performs six minor miracles to ensure there are no casualties to Emma’s driving, while the demon snaps that pedestrians know the risks when they venture onto the streets. It’s with the greatest relief that Kiliel finally glimpses the masts in the marina, and directs Emma as close to the Swan ’s dock as possible.

He suddenly feels bashful as he guides Emma onto the gangplank, ridiculously wanting her to approve of the ship. He can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief as soon as he steps on the deck, feeling more at home than anywhere else (even more than his shop, and he’s lived there for the last five decades, longer than anywhere else). Emma has already started exploring, climbing on the upper deck to see the wheel and peer over the railing, before coming back towards him. Kiliel waits patiently for her, watching her walk around his ship, the sight oddly right.

They end up in the captain’s cabin, sharing a bottle of rum Emma miracles. She had brought back some from her time in the Carribean, and Kiliel had developed quite a taste for it. “Plus,” she smirks, ”it’s quite appropriate to toast the ship with some naval rum, wouldn’t you agree, Captain ?” Kiliel just smiles while sipping his drink, letting the alcohol and the company warm his insides.

It’s as she leaves that Emma plants a seed in Kiliel’s mind, looking around her at the books littering the window’s edge and the furniture.

“If you feel so much at home here, why do you even bother with your bookshop?”

(And isn’t that the way of demons, sowing seeds and making sure humans grow them all by themselves? Ironic, when you consider how hopeless Emma is with plants.)

At the time, Kiliel just smiles, but the wheels of fate have already started turning, even if he’s not aware of it yet.

––-

After that, they start meeting more often, always following the same pattern: they meet in the park, and end up either in his bookshop or on his ship (and always, always with Emma’s mad driving in the middle, regrettably). Excepting the infernal rides, Kiliel likes this new development. Even though she is supposedly his mortal enemy, he feels a kinship with Emma born of almost six millenia spent on Earth and of their own alchemy.

This state of harmony comes to an end on a stormy Tuesday morning four years later when Blue herself graces him with her presence, stepping into his bookshop as he waits for Emma’s arrival. They’re planning to go eat at Claridge’s. Apparently, his achievements in Cathair na Mart have earned him a medal, as well as a promotion. A promotion that means he’s being summoned back to Heaven, permanently . Something which he definitely doesn’t want, but can’t really say to Blue, now can he? Kiliel tries to argue that he is an asset here on Earth, that he knows the enemy and manages to thwart them quite effectively, but to no avail. She doesn’t seem to care at all that if he were to go, Hell would be left to roam Earth unchallenged, even enjoying the thought. And this promotion doesn’t feel like one either. What did Petrarch used to say? “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer”? Kiliel somehow doesn’t feel like a friend there. He manages to win a little time before he has to leave, just enough to sort his business here (just enough to say his goodbyes).

But it doesn’t come to that, as Blue comes sulking back two hours later, this time with Gabriel in tow. The head Archangel looks perplexed (which would translate to frantic agitation in any other person or angel). Apparently, Kiliel’s promotion has been postponed, as he is considered far more useful on Earth than Above – but he can keep the medal, thank you and goodbye. Blue doesn’t look perplexed or alarmed; instead, she looks frustrated, her mouth turned down into a subtle frown that Kiliel somehow catches. Her insistence on his being on Earth as merely temporary is also odd; it’s almost as if she wants to get him away from Earth, and not up to Heaven.

He sits at his desk, puzzled, when he realizes that Emma never came. It’s as he’s wondering where she is that she appears, as if summoned by his thoughts. She listens as he recounts his morning before rolling her eyes behind her glasses (she unconsciously rolls her neck at the same time, which Kiliel does not find cute; if Emma knew what he was thinking, he’d be discorporated on the spot) and inviting him to lunch. They don’t talk about it any more, and at the end of their lunch Emma heads off to Camberwell to officiate a blessing for Killian on her way to Croydon.

(Kiliel is not amused by the result of this blessing; young John William Bean was supposed to feel divine inspiration to bring change to his life, but not by shooting at the Queen. Emma is, however, and keeps arguing that the gun was full of coffee, anyway, the worst that could have happened was that Her Majesty’s dress would have sported a suspicious brown stain)

The incident stays in his mind, however, and he realizes with a certain shock that he can’t trust Blue anymore, that she doesn’t seem to have either his or Earth’s best interest at heart. The thought scares him, as an Angel is not supposed to question his superiors (is not supposed to question anything, really), and he knows that several of his former brothers and sisters have fallen for just this reason. He fears this will be his fate, until he realizes that it’s not God he’s questioning (he still has the utmost Faith in Her, doesn’t doubt Her Great Plan), but rather a particular Angel. The thought saddens him, as angels are not supposed to be suspicious of each other, but it is what it is.

And that’s where Kiliel starts to plan. Because whatever Blue’s goal is, it involves him not being on Earth, and he has no intention of being a part of it if it’s not the Almighty’s Plan. So he needs some sort of… deterrent. But what can an angel do against an archangel? There’s only one answer, and it’s a terrible, unthinkable one. Which is why Kiliel chooses to unthink it for a decade, pretending everything is fine as he conducts blessings as usual, interspersed with the occasional temptation for Emma.

But really, the thought keeps nagging him despite his best efforts; Hellfire is the only thing that can kill an angel. And he’s not talking about a simple discorporation, your mortal vessel dies, whoops, Up Above you go, please fill these forms to get a new one and don’t let us see you again. No, death by Hellfire would mean complete annihilation of the body and the soul; you’d be burnt away from existence, with no hope of resurrection whatsoever. It is an abomination, made even more abhorrent by the fact that it’s a weapon kept solely in the hands of their mortal enemies – just like the Heavenly Host has Holy Water. The stakes are balanced, each side having the means to destroy the other.

(While God’s Plan is Ineffable, this part is pretty clear, the balance perfect. They’ll see which side tips the scales when Kingdom comes.)

And yet, it’s the only solution. And as far as he knows, there’s only one way to get some Hellfire, and that’s through a demon.

Good thing he knows one.

Except the meeting doesn’t go as planned. They meet at St. James’ Park, feed the ducks, then head to the bookshop (which he keeps mostly closed these days; he’s getting tired of fending off customers) like usual. He makes his request after a few drinks, but Emma flies off the handle, categorically refusing to even give him an ember.

“I will not give you the meansss of destroying yourself. I need sssome time, Kiliel,” is the last thing she tells him, hissing her s in a rare show of true anger before leaving his shop, not looking back despite Killian calling after her.

He doesn’t hear from her for 64 years.

For the first time since the beginning of the world, the Angel and the Demon dance separately. The Demon has walked away from the paso doble, leaving the Angel alone on the stage.

And so, lonelier than he’s ever been, the Angel dons a mask that hides his face, and performs the steps that ensure he doesn’t stand out from the ensemble. He begins a Kabuki performance that will last until November 14th, 1941.

––-

Kiliel (or Killian Jones, as he’s come to be known by mortals) should really have realized this operation was too good to be true. He’d been contacted the previous week by a Captain Teach, who’d told him some Nazi agents were looking to obtain his collection of books of prophecy, and that the SOE wanted to use this occasion to root out the cell. He had readily acquiesced, always eager to thwart evil coming from demons and humans alike.

The Nazis has indeed contacted him, proposing a substantial sum of money to convince him to part with his precious volumes. He had accepted and called Teach back, giving him the time and place of the meeting. He thought it was quite fitting that they were to be brought to justice by an angel in a church, but he guessed that it made sense to meet in a place that was public but usually deserted, and which wouldn’t be crowded in case of an air raid. However, he didn’t like that Her house would be used for such nefarious purposes, but guessed that the ends justified the means in this case.

Except that it turns out Captain Teach is only a pseudonym, and that he’s really a mercenary who doesn’t care where the money is coming from, as long as it’s hard cash. Kiliel is fuming as he stares down the nozzle of the gun pointed right between his eyes; he can’t believe he got swindled by these half-witted Nazis .

His execution is stopped by colorful swearing and the off-rhythm staccato of heels hitting the church’s stone floor. The men turn as one to see a woman hopping quickly towards them. Kiliel can’t believe his eyes; he hasn’t heard this voice in 64 years (nor seen these calves since Ancient Greece, if he remembers correctly).

“The notorious Emma Swan,” Teach breathes next to him, sounding astounded.

“Swan?” Kiliel asks in confusion, ignoring the humans behind him.

“Yeah, what of it? I had to think of something,” Emma grumbles, coming to a stop near them, sitting on a pew and taking her feet off the ground with a sigh of relief escaping her red lips. Kiliel tries to hide his smile, flabbergasted she’s here, in front of him, after all this time, and that she walked on consecrated ground to come to him. Turns out it’s not the only miraculous thing to happen today, though; she explains to Teach and the Nazis that they’d better run if they want to avoid getting killed by the bomb that’s heading their way. She mentions that only a miracle would allow someone to survive the explosion, looking meaningfully at Kiliel over her glasses, who understands her meaning and prepares to use his Grace at the right moment.

Teach is the only one who heeds Emma’s advice and scampers out, running out of a side door. The Nazis don’t move, thinking that Fraulein Swan is bluffing, even as they can detect the buzz of planes coming nearer. They only realize she’s definitely not when they hear the tell-tale whistle of a bomb heading towards the ground at breakneck speed. Kiliel walks closer to Emma before blinking and making sure their little corner remains untouched by the blast and the debris, allowing only a warm breeze to ruffle their hair. When the dust has settled, Kiliel turns his head towards the Demon. She looks regal, draped over the pew, her black outfit untouched by the dust as flames reflect on her sunglasses, making her appear absolutely diabolic. She’s never looked more beautiful to Kiliel.

And then he realizes he completely forgot about his books. They’d been in the Nazis’ hands before the bomb had fallen, and they must be completely crushed under the rubble, or even burning, he thinks with dismay, sighing noisily. They had been among his most prized possessions, some of them even signed by their authors (he especially loved the dedication by Nostradamus – such a nice man, if somewhat misguided). But then Emma gets up, heading towards the biggest pile of rubble and picking something up before tossing it to him. Caught by surprise, Kiliel fumbles to catch it before looking down and seeing that it’s his satchel, untouched by the destruction around them.

“Little demonic miracle of my own,” Emma says as she passes him, gingerly walking towards the exit, the ground still consecrated even if the church doesn’t exist anymore.

Kiliel doesn’t follow immediately, floored by the thoughtfulness of his friend as his heart soars and his stomach swoops and – oh . How could he have been so oblivious? Angels are beings of love: they are made of it, and they thrive in it. An argument could be made for his love for Emma blending into the love he feels for all creatures, high and low, but that’s not it, is it? He doesn’t merely love Emma, he’s in love with her. He doesn’t just want to see her happy, he wants to make her happy. If he could give her back even a tenth of the bliss she elicits in him just by existing, then he’d be satisfied.

He’s jarred out of his thoughts by Emma calling after him to hurry up. With a soft smile, he follows her to the street, where she heads towards a parked car, clicking her tongue at the gravel and dust covering it. Stepping on the sidewalk, Kiliel blinks once more, and the car is sparkling clean. Kiliel is surprised to see that it’s more yellow than black – a surprising color scheme for a demon but then, when has Emma been remotely conventional? It’s surprisingly her , he thinks fondly. His smile is soon wiped away, however when he sees her get behind the wheel, the passenger door opening on its own in a wordless invitation to get in as he hears sirens in the distance. Surely she’s calmed down on her driving, right? What with the different vehicle and the risk of rubble on the streets she’s going to be more prudent, he’s sure. Kiliel gets in, clutching his satchel.

He was wrong. She’s even worse than before, the maneuverability of the vehicle allowing her to do more daring stunts, like taking turns on two wheels, or slaloming between craters at top speed. Kiliel is glad Soho is not far from the church, as he would surely have discorporated if he’d had to stay in the car for five more minutes, either from an accident or from his heart giving out on him (Emma scoffs when he tells her that, reminding him that he actually doesn’t need a heart, stop being so dramatic, it’s not cute at all ). The only good thing about the ride is that since they’re in the middle of an air raid, there are no pedestrians on the street.

Emma stops when she enters the bookshop, looking at the empty shelves with amazement before turning to Kiliel, silently waiting for an explanation. It’s simple, really; what with the Blitz raging over London, he wanted to make sure that both his ship and his books would be safe. He went with the most practical solution, which was to put the books in his ship, and his ship in Cathair na Mart. He doesn’t understand what’s so funny about it, but Emma is highly amused (and if her mocking allows him to hear her beautiful laugh, then it’s a small price to pay).

They spend the evening drinking, catching up, and not mentioning their last meeting at all. The Angel asks about Emma’s new name, and has the pleasure of seeing a slight embarrassed flush bloom on her cheeks as she mutters that she needed a new name and that was what came to her – it’s not her fault demons have no imagination. Kiliel charitably doesn’t say anything more, as they both know Emma can be quite creative when she wants to be, choosing instead to ask about her car. That launches her into how she got it and the modifications she had done to it.

Kiliel keeps expecting to feel different about Emma, but apart from having identified his feelings, it’s just like any meeting they’ve had before. It’s comfortable, familiar, a breath of fresh air after more than half a century of her absence.

When Emma leaves, it’s with no promise that she’ll be back. And yet, Kiliel somehow knows he won’t have to wait 64 years to see her again.

––-

The Demon comes back to the dance floor, and the pasodoble resumes, even more intense than before. But the dynamics have changed; they don’t push against each other as much, choosing instead to move together. The posturing is just that, now: a facade for the audience.

Another change: they barely look away from each other.

Kiliel’s books never go back on the shelves of the bookshop, despite the ship coming back to its place in Rotherhithe after the war. A seed Emma had planted a century before finally blooms, and he realizes that he is much better on his ship alone with his books rather than trying to fend off rude people not understanding that they’re not for sale (“customers, angel, they’re called customers ”).

Arranging his collection to his satisfaction takes some time (and a miracle or two, both angelic and demonic) until he’s satisfied. The whole cargo hold is transformed into a new library, with only his most prized books in his cabin. With this new organization, Kiliel finds himself with a lot of room below deck empty; he uses it to store bits and bobs, such as nautical maps and instruments, his old clothes (though his toga doesn’t survive the trip, and miracling it whole wouldn’t be the same), and various furniture and decorations (and if the pew on which Emma had lounged in 1941 finds its way to the galley… well, no one has to know).

Once he’s satisfied with his organization, in 1952, he invites Emma aboard to show her. He’s a little miffed by her laughing fit, because he’s not a proper pirate now, whatever she says (though her laugh is still as delightful and precious as ever, even more so now that he knows how much he loves her. For a few minutes he thinks mission accomplished , he’s made her happy).

Emma is so amused that for the next fifteen years, she only refers to him as Captain and asks him every time they see each other how his pirate booty is doing. Kiliel feels like he is the butt of the joke in some way, though he’s yet to find how.

They also see each other more frequently, approximately once every couple of years. They don’t mention it, but Kiliel is glad; he missed Emma before, and in a world that has become so fast changing, it’s reassuring to have a constant, even if she insists on following human fashions, making each meeting a lesson in the zeitgeist of the time.

On a foggy Tuesday morning, Blue comes to visit Kiliel at his old bookshop. Though his collection has been relocated, he keeps the shop to maintain a base of operations in Central London, now filling it with much more recent books that he is willing to part with (though he keeps his hours as erratic as before; he doesn’t mind selling these books, but even he has his limits when it comes to customer service). She wants to ask him what he knows about a heist that took place in Mayfair’s Christ Church. Apparently a door was broken down, but nothing was stolen – except, oddly enough, all the Holy Water vats were emptied, not a single drop remaining. Kiliel hadn’t heard about this, and plays it down as probably a local homeless man wanting a dry place to sleep for the night and who was thirsty. Blue almost seems disappointed by his explanation, asking him to look into it nonetheless; they can’t have Holy Water falling into the wrong hands, after all.

Kiliel diffidently agrees, even though he can feel his anger rising. He knows. A quick visit to the church confirms his suspicions; a slight scent of iron betrays that a Demon has recently come here and burnt her feet on the consecrated ground. Though why would she take such a risk, knowing that even a mere handful of liquid could do her serious harm, even kill her if she were splashed?

How dare she take such a risk, Kiliel thinks angrily, when she could just as easily have asked him to – oh.

Oh, the hypocrisy .

While Kiliel has adapted quite well to the human world, he remains at his core an angel, and while angels are known for their benevolence, they’re also known for their righteous fury when provoked.

And Kiliel? Oh, Kiliel feels provoked alright.

He heads to her new apartment (she wasn’t even subtle, just went to the closest church, that damned serpent) and barely restrains himself from literally knocking down the door, but only because he can feel human eyes on his back and he doesn’t want to cause a scene. So he pretends to have a key and miracles the door open, striding into the living room. The Angel can feel that Emma is absent; there’s no one in the flat, so he sits down, and waits. He waits until the sun has gone down, and until it goes up again, his anger feeding on itself to remain a burning fire in his chest.

When Emma finally shows up, she enters her living room cautiously, already knowing he’s there. Kiliel doesn’t even let her open her mouth to talk, laying into her immediately. Because beyond the anger, he is hurt , hurt that she wouldn’t trust him, hurt that she’d do the exact same thing she had refused him the previous century, and hurt that she would risk herself in such a way. And beyond the anger, beyond the pain, he is afraid, because what could a demon want with Holy Water?

“That’s none of your business!” Emma exclaims, her eyes flashing behind her sunglasses.

“None of my business? Are you kidding me? It is my business when a demon does what no other has ever done and sneaks into a church to steal Holy Water ! It is my business when that stupid, stupid act attracts the attention of the archangels, and they ask me to investigate! And whether you want to admit it or not, it is my business when my friend takes ridiculous risks to obtain something that could obliterate her from existence, and refuses to tell me why!”

“We’re not friendsss ,” Emma hisses, as if the word is the ugliest swear she’s ever uttered, “I don’t even like you.”

Of all that he said, that is the thing she chooses to respond to? Infuriating woman, he doesn’t understand how her animal traits are not those of a bull; she’s the thickest-headed being he has ever had the displeasure to meet.

“Yes you do ,” he snaps back, at the end of his rope. He doesn’t know when he stepped closer to her, but he is now towering over her smaller form, forcing her to raise her head to look him in the eyes (and despite the glasses as a barrier between them, he’s not fooled by her) but for once he will not back down. This is too important. “What’s going on, Emma?”

He can see her wavering, senses it in the way her breathing hitches, how her body shifts as if she wants to slither away, forgetting she’s in human form for a moment. But she rallies (because she wouldn’t be his Demon if she didn’t) and answers his question with another one. “Why did you want Hellfire for anyway? Quite hypocritical of you to rake me over the coals, so to speak, for something you tried yourself barely a century ago.”

Kiliel doesn’t let her barb get to him and instead decides on honesty, knowing that this will catch her off guard. “Because I need… something to defend myself with, just in case,” he says simply.

“Defend yourself? From angels? What the fuck is going on, Kiliel?” Emma almost never uses his name, preferring one of the numerous nicknames she has for him, so he knows she’s rattled.

And so he tells her everything: that while his faith in God has never wavered (quite the contrary; seeing Her hand in the wonders of the world, both big and small, has only strengthened it), he has started to have doubts about Blue, finding her actions and words quite peculiar. He tells her about his fear of Falling for doubting his superior, and that the fact Blue herself hasn’t Fallen means that she is still faithful to God, and the incident that triggered his request for Hellfire. He’s surprised, however, when she snorts as he recounts Blue’s change of mind.

“Yeah, I know, I was there,” Emma says, smirking. “I heard her when she was at the bookshop with you, so I took action.”

What kind of action exactly, she will not say. Kiliel is mystified: not only had she known about Heaven’s plans, but she’d actually thwarted them with no one being the wiser, the clever, clever woman. Doesn’t like him, right .

Emma then opens up to him; demons don’t trust each other by nature, but Hell has been even more tense recently. Something big is brewing, although she doesn’t know what yet. More demons have been making noise about coming to Earth, too, even high-ranking ones, such as two of the Duchesses of Hell, Maleficent and Cruella. Nothing has stirred Hell like this, ever ; even the Great Flood hadn’t excited demons in this way.

Something wicked this way comes , Kiliel can’t help but think. Good old William – he’d heard Kiliel tease Emma back at the Globe, and he’d run with the line. He doesn’t know what’s better: being the inspiration behind Macbeth ’s most famous scene, or Emma’s offended face when she had seen the three witches for the first time.

But they have no idea what it is, so all they can do is prepare as well as they can and agree to keep each other in the loop from now on. Kiliel manages to get a promise from Emma that she’ll get some Hellfire for him, which he hopes she’ll honor.

Neither of them talks about the fact they are actually plotting against their own side, choosing their mortal enemy (though just one in particular) over their own brethren. But they have been here on Earth so long that it has started to feel more like home than Above or Below ever have; they have spent so much time together that they feel more kinship to each other than to their own kind.

The next day, Kiliel finds a lantern glowing with an ever-burning fire on his cabin’s desk. It ends up in his safe, warded against any accidents, whether external or internal. Emma is not the only one who’s paranoid.

––-

Months pass, then years, then decades. The Angel and the Demon see each other more frequently, though not regularly, in order not to arouse suspicion. Short, short, long, go the intervals. Quick, quick, slow, goes their rhythm. They fly across and around and over the world in an otherworldly foxtrot as Earth evolves around them, faster and faster, busier and busier. But the world can’t go on accelerating; it’ll need to either stop turning or rotate right out of its orbit, both outcomes meaning its downfall.

––-

On a perfectly fine Tuesday morning, Blue visits Kiliel in his used bookshop, startling him from his inventory (he had to do something with the space, after all, and filling it with books that have been loved by previous owners creates a warm glow that warms him from inside; he is an Angel, after all, and angels thrive on love). From the start, the Angel knows that something is different. Blue is positively glowing, her eyes sparkling and the corners of her lips seemingly permanently turned into a slight secretive smile.

The secret, for once, is quickly spilled; the Archangel seems delighted to announce that the Antichrist has been delivered to Earth, and by none other than the Demon Emma, as if it’s Kiliel’s personal fault. She doesn’t elaborate on this theme, however, preferring to tell him that he had best put his affairs in order, as eleven years will pass quite quickly. Her parting words - that he should also start training for the War, that he seems to have gotten quite out of practice, if his reflexes are to be believed – hit their mark, despite Kiliel’s best efforts not to let them. He used to be one of the Host’s best soldiers, after all, his exploits earning him a post at one of Eden’s gates.

But six thousand years on Earth have changed him; he doesn’t want to fight anymore, doesn’t see the point in it (and he doesn’t want to face even the slimmest possibility of finding himself opposite Emma on the battlefield). And yet, the arrival of the Antichrist shows that the Ineffable plan is going along, that it is God’s will.

So be it.

On a perfectly fine Tuesday afternoon, Kiliel stands at the prow of the Ethereal Swan , looking unseeingly over the water, when his phone rings. Without pulling his gaze away from whatever it is he is seeing, he answers the phone, already knowing who’s on the other end.

“Emma. I suppose you’re calling about…”

“Armageddon, yes.”

Well.

––-

The music stops, and so do the dancers, their hair and their clothes snapping around them as they lock gazes, lost in their own world. A world that’s coming to an end.

Welcome to the End of Times.

#captain swan #cs ff #cs fic #ouat #septembersunshine #snidget writes #good omens

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acourtofhopeanddreams · 5 years

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Today is gonna be a special date

Written for @gotsecretsanta femslash February exchange for @cocoalover1956 I really hope that this is the cuteness, the fluff and a little bit of the friendship you were looking for!

Sansa had no idea how much Daenerys loved her, but she was gonna find that out tonight and it took every ounce of willpower from Arya to hide her own excitement.

Modern AU // Pure Fluff // multiple POV’s

“Sansa!” Arya shifted her weight from one foot to the other. For the millionth time today she stared at the clock and by now it had reached an alarming hour.

They were late.

“Sansa! Come on! Daenerys and Myrcella are waiting for us!”

“Let them wait a little longer! I’m not done yet!” Sansa yelled back and Arya licked her dry lips. For her sister this was just a double date like they had had so many already. They didn’t need to impress their girls anymore. They knew everything and anything, any bad habit and any horrible character trait, and yet they were still here.

But for Arya this date was special. Because she knew how incredibly special this date was gonna be for Sansa.

She gave her sister five more minutes. “If you don’t come down now, I will drive on my own and tell Daenerys you stood her up!” She crossed her arms over her chest. “And don’t think I won’t do it, because I will!” She reached for her car keys and put on her jacket. As soon as she opened the front door she heard her sister’s footsteps rushing down the stairs.

“Why the rush? We’re just gonna have dinner. They really won’t give our table away if we don’t show up at seven sharp.” Sansa quickly checked her reflection in the mirror and used her fingers to comb her hair one last time.

Arya smiled and shook her head. “Daenerys loves you, okay? No need to change anything else.”

Sansa had no idea how much Daenerys loved her, but she was gonna find that out tonight and it took every ounce of willpower from Arya to hide her own excitement.

“I’d just like to be on time for once. Show them we can do it.” She shrugged and waited for her sister to put her jacket on and follow her out of the house.

Sansa eyed her sister wearily when Arya stopped the car in front of an expensive restaurant. She had noticed how Arya had kept her mouth shut during the entire car ride, something that rarely happened. And she had noticed how Arya had grabbed the steering wheel as if her life depended on it.

“Are you nervous about something or what?” Sansa grinned while she opened the car door and stepped out. “It’s a restaurant like all others.” But Arya didn’t leave the car. “What are you waiting for? Get out!”

Arya shook her head. “I’m not coming with you. Myrcella and I will be just around the corner enjoying a giant bucket of popcorn while watching that new romantic comedy.”

“You really have it bad, have you?” Sansa grinned, but then she furrowed her eyebrows. “But wait, wasn’t this supposed to be a double date?”

“Nope!” Arya shook her head firmly and Sansa didn’t trust the gleam in her eyes and the playful smile around her lips. “Have fun with Daenerys. I’ll pick you up after the movie. Let me know if I don’t have to!”

“Why wouldn’t I…”

But Arya already leaned over and closed the door to drive away to find a parking spot nearby.

“…want to come home with you?” Sansa sighed.

There were moments she though she had her little sister all figured out. Of course, when they had been little they had fought a lot. They were nothing alike and would never be. But the older they got, the more they started to like those differences. But not once had her sister just threw her out of the car before.

“That took you long enough!”

Sansa turned around and whatever she had been thinking or worrying about disappeared as soon as she saw the white haired beauty walking towards her. “I wanted to look pretty!” Sansa raised her voice.

“You always look pretty!” Daenerys wrapped her arms around Sansa’s waist and pressed her lips to hers.

They had kissed before. And if it were up to Sansa they would kiss a lot more in the future and yet every time their mouths collided Sansa felt this nice and wonderful flutter in her chest.

“Come on! I have the best table reserved.” Daenerys reached for Sansa’s hand and all too willingly Sansa allowed her to pull her inside.

Daenerys had not been joking when she had said she had the best table reserved. A fancy looking waiter, with his hair combed back and an entire stash of gel in it, lead them to a table in the corner in the back, a little away from prying eyes and ears, but with a view on the charming garden where the roses were blooming and climbing the entire wall.

“Wow, you really went out of your way this time for me, didn’t you?” Sansa let her eyes wander over the table. Three sets of cutlery, two giant wine glasses and a beautiful rose in a gracious vase. “Are you sure you are willing to pay for this? I would absolutely and totally be fine with us going to a cheaper restaurant. As long as I spend the night with you, it really doesn’t matter where we are.”

“See?” Daenerys shoved a chair back and gestured for Sansa to sit down. “And that is why I love you.” She pecked Sansa’s cheek. “But we’re staying here. I pay for everything and I don’t want you to hold back. We’re gonna get a starter, a main course and at least two desserts. Understood?”

Sansa nodded and reluctantly she reached for the menu. She didn’t dare to look at the prices. Of course, she didn’t mind ordering whatever she wanted when her father or big brothers were paying, but it felt different with Daenerys.

Maybe long ago Sansa had thought that love was about fancy dinners and thoughtful presents. But that was before she had met Joffrey and Ramsay and had decided that all those fairytales had it wrong. It was before she had met Daenerys and had realized what love was truly about.

It was about being with someone who understood you without you having to explain yourself over and over again. It was about being there for each other, even when it’s hard and painful and even when the other lashes out. It was about knowing that the other isn’t perfect, but loving them anyway and letting them be whoever they are. It was about not caring about anything as long as you were with them, knowing that all you need to make it through whatever life throws your way was their hand in yours.

Daenerys tried whatever she could to keep the conversation going. She came up with topic after topic after topic. The palms of her hands however were sweating and once in a while Sansa caught her mind wandering. Whenever Sansa asked what she was thinking about, Daenerys didn’t answer.

In a way dessert couldn’t come soon enough. In a way Daenerys needed way more hours to prepare herself and find the right words.

How does one describe love? How does one tell the person they love how that feels and how deep that goes? How can words ever do justice to those deep and overwhelming feelings accompanying one wherever one goes?

“Shall we bring you your first desserts?”

But Daenerys’ time was up. It was now or never. There wouldn’t be a second chance.

Her hands were trembling and luckily she was still seated, as she wasn’t entirely sure if her knees were capable of carrying her any longer.

Every time a waiter walked their way Daenerys tensed all her muscles, getting ready as if this was a battle and her life was on the line.

In a way that was the case. Her life was on the line. She didn’t doubt that Sansa loved her. She did however doubt how much Sansa loved her. Would the beautiful red head love her enough? Wouldn’t this be too soon? Wouldn’t it go too fast?

“The giant ice coup with two spoons.” The waiter smiled when he handed both Sansa and Daenerys their spoon and Daenerys felt her heart racing in her chest.

With wary eyes she watched how Sansa started eating. Sansa took agonizing small bites and she allowed every flavor to linger on her tongue for as long as possible.

Only after ages the metal of the spoon touched the metal of something else.

“Dany…” Sansa leaned forward and looked at the ice cream.

Daenerys knew what she was seeing. She had asked the waiter to put it in there, carefully, wrapped in a little layer of protective plastic, but still.

“What is…” Sansa grabbed the ring and she used her napkin to wipe the plastic clean. While Sansa was focussed on her treasure Daenerys slipped from her seat and knelt down next to Sansa’s chair.

“Sansa…” She cleared her throat. “I hope I don’t overwhelm you, because that is the last thing I want, but…” Her voice still trembled and once more she coughed in an attempt to give herself time and breathing room. “Both our lives have not been easy. I never thought I would trust someone this much ever again. I never thought I would hand my heart on a silver platter to another person once more.” She licked her dry lips and then she made the mistake of looking up at Sansa.

Sansa’s eyes were wide open and her jaw dropped. She wasn’t moving. She wasn’t smiling. She was just staring at Daenerys.

All of a sudden Daenerys realized how ridiculous it looked. One of her knees touched the tapestry and she quickly reached for Sansa’s hand to give her own hands something to do.

After one more deep breath she gathered all the courage she could find in herself. “But I do trust you. I know that you will take care of my heart and will be careful with it. I know you will never step on it and that you will never crush it without mercy. I know that your love is pure and honest and without a hidden agenda. And I want to make sure that no one else will ever be able to snatch you from me.” She swallowed. “Therefore, Sansa Stark, do I ask you if you will marry me, Daenerys Targaryen?”

The silence was deafening. All the eyes in the restaurant were on them. No one was breathing or eating or moving. It seemed to last hours and hours.

“Yes.” Sansa smiled and she freed her hands to press the palms of her hands to Daenerys’ glowing cheeks. “Of course I will!” Her voice sounded an octave higher than normally, but there was a beautiful glimmer in her eyes.

Daenerys reached for the ring and her fingers trembled when she freed it from the plastic bag. “I can’t wait for the day you will officially be mine, until then this ring marks you as mine. Mine to love. Mine to cherish and mine to take care of.” She shove the ring on Sansa’s finger and pushed herself up again. Then she leaned forward to kiss Sansa’s lightly parted and eagerly waiting lips.

In a way it was a kiss like so many. But it was also the most beautiful, wonderful and special kiss they had ever shared. And only a promise for everything else that would follow.

They had years and years together. Years of kissing. Years of touching. Years of loving. And for the first time in her entire life, Daenerys looked forward to the future, the future with this smart and beautiful girl.

#gotsecretsanta #daenerys targaryen #Sansa Stark #game of thrones #got #got fanfiction #game of thrones fanfiction #sansa stark fanfiction #daenerys targaryen fanfiction #sansa/daenerys #sansa x daenerys #daenerys x sansa

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histrionic-dragon · 5 years

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Weekend Reading Recs: Captain America (MCU) Fanfic Disambiguation List

A much longer list than my usual Weekend Reading Recs, but hey, it’s a holiday weekend (in the US, at least).

It may or may not happen to anyone else, but I know that there are fanfics with similar names and/or premises that I get mixed up frequently. I have these stories bookmarked, but I will still have to open them to tell which one it is.

So, partly for my own clarification and partly for your edification--and partly because, hey, if you know and like one, you might like the others!--I’m making a fic rec list pair by pair, sometimes group by group.

All MCU Captain America, mostly set at least partially in the 21st century, many but not all Steve/Bucky.

Set 1: Reference Works

Encyclopedias/dictionaries/glossaries, or, stories about Steve adapting to the 21st century and the bumps inherent in doing so.

A Partial Dictionary Of The 21st Century By Captain Steve Rogers, US Army by copperbadge

Summary: Steve is adapting well to the new millennium, and he has the dictionary to prove it.

Halbereth’s notes: The one that’s actually in alphabetical order and has Professor X in it. Also, the Steve/Tony one.

A Glossary of the 21st Century by kinky_kneazle

Summary: Steve's sick of not understanding what's going on, and the team are not all that helpful, so he starts keeping an illustrated notebook for further research. With the help of wiki, google and Logan he starts to settle in and find his place in the twenty-first century.

Halbereth’s notes: The one where Steve has a notebook full of things to look up (even though I’m pretty sure this was written pre-Winter Soldier release), he’s frustrated but eventually the others realize what’s going on and help, there’s really well-done tension between Steve and Tony that gets resolved well, and Wolverine’s in it. This is the one that has (had? It’s all the Livejournal logo now) art, the one with Steve and Bucky as lookouts at a speakeasy as kids; the one that’s meant to be early Steve/Natasha, only I didn’t realize that until my third time reading it.

I feel like there was a Steve/Bucky one, too, but I’m not sure what it was. Possibly The Steven G. Rogers Guide to What You Missed the Last Few Years by what_alchemy.

Summary: Steve's got the hang of this 21st century thing.

Halbereth’s notes: post-Winter Soldier. Bucky’s himself again and living with Steve. Steve helps him adjust to some of the different things about this time, but it’s also obviously really good for Steve to have someone else who kind of boggles at things too.

Set 2: Courtship through food

The Quickest Way to a Heart by VictoryCandescence

Summary: Steve and Bucky: an edible history.

Halbereth’s notes: Bucky is living with Steve, post Winter Soldier, and fresh-made food keeps appearing in the kitchen, food that reminds Steve of when he and Bucky were younger. A slow burn romance with most of the slow burn via flashback. Cute and touching and makes me hungry every time. Also, it’s nice to see Bucky helping Steve remember for once. The one with the cookies and whipped cream and booze.

the food of love by biblionerd07

Summary: Bucky and Steve communicate through food. Sam is a good person, so he doesn't complain about his kitchen being taken over. Not too much, anyway.

Halbereth’s notes: Featuring a semi-feral post-Winter Soldier Bucky who Steve leaves food out for on the fire escape. Of Sam’s apartment. The one with this line: “He did not expect to glance out the window as he got a drink of water at 5:40 am to find Bucky Barnes waiting patiently on the fire escape, eerily still and peering in the window. Sam screamed out loud and dropped the glass of water.”

Set 3: involving apple cake

Bucky Barnes Versus Sarah Rogers' Apple Cake by fedzgurl, rayskeptic

Summary: Bucky Barnes learned two crucial, lifelong lessons during the summer of 1941. The first was that he absolutely hated apple cake. The second was that he loved Steve Rogers enough to make up for it.

Halbereth’s notes: The one where Bucky makes it for Steve, with many, many tries to get the recipe right, starting in the forties. Absolutely would also go in Set 2.

Apple Cake (and other remedies for an ailing soul) by Mici (noharlembeat)

Summary: It is something that’s mentioned in the Smithsonian exhibit, for reasons that Steve cannot actually parse. He is an American Hero (so they say) who saved New York (more than once), and under all that information on one of the see-through plastic descriptions of his heroic deeds is, for some unintelligible reason, the sentence, “he currently resides in the D.C. Metro area, and his favorite food is apple cake.”

Halbereth’s notes: The one where Bucky doesn’t make it for Steve.

Find My Way by Brenda

Summary: Well, someone had to write the post-Winter Soldier fic where Bucky gets a decent meal and some homemade apple pie, right?

Halbereth’s notes: The one where it’s not even apple cake but it has an apple dessert in the summary and I found it while looking for the others, so here, have the rec. Now, what is this one again? *skims* Ah, yes. Bucky in a diner in the middle of nowhere. Hmm, I think “Bucky recovery-fic set in diners” ought to be another category.

Set 4: In which Bucky moves into Steve’s apartment while Steve is looking for Bucky

To Stop My Mind From Wandering by Lynchy8

Summary: "Leaving the man – the mission – the mission who was a man who was also important, so important, more important than this mission… which was terrifying because nothing had ever been more important than a mission before… leaving That Man on the banks of the river, had been almost impossible."After the fall of Hydra, Steve goes in search of Bucky in the hope of bringing him home. Meanwhile someone has broken into Steve's D.C. apartment, but what kind of burglar or assassin buys paint and drywall mud?

Halbereth’s notes: Bucky remodels Steve’s apartment, starting with fixing the bullet holes he put in the wall when he shot Fury. Featuring Jeff at the hardware store. Just a great story about Bucky healing and making himself comfortable--and taking care of Steve, kind of, too, by making his SHIELD-issued DC apartment actually a home.

. . . OK, as of now I don’t seem to have a specific second one bookmarked, but this is a whole freakin’ subgenre of Captain America fanfic, so. I’m sure you can fill in your own.

Set 5: Steve/Tony with past Steve/Bucky, then Bucky comes back

What We Asked For From Each Other by Speranza

Summary: "I don't like pain," he told Banner. "Or assassins. Or boyfriends, actually."

Excerpt from the author’s note, which is a better summary: Anyway, I'm totally not putting this in the summary line, but this below is the actualfax summary, as I explained it to Merry:Ces: I mean Ces: in my head this is a story where Ces: Bucky shows up and just kicks Tony out of any universe where there was a Steve/Tony pairing Ces: and its mostly a story about Tony going OOF Ces: and HEY Ces: and I WASN'T SURE I WAS—okay, yes, I'm done with that. Ces: All yours.

Halbereth’s notes: ^That. It’s the one with Stucky endgame. It’s sweet. It’s short, well-written, well-characterized, and plays with the dynamics and relationships involved in 11K words. (By comparison, my Heroes are Easy, People are Hard also focuses on Steve, Tony, and Bucky, albeit in a different way, and is 152K words long.) Encapsulated, for me, in this exchange: "Okay," Tony said finally. "The thing is: I kind of wanted to be the kind of guy who would want you." "Yeah," Steve said levelly. "You should meet him. He's in there.”

gonna be trouble by fictionalcandie

Summary: In which Bucky comes back, Tony is doomed, and the Avengers want their breakfast.

Halbereth’s notes: The flip of What We Asked For From Each Other. Encapsulated by “seriously, your buddy’s a genius, I’m going to make him the best goddamn prosthetic arm in the universe, I love you, we’re idiots.”

Set 6: Bucky recovery fic in diners

As noted above.

Find My Way by Brenda

Summary: Well, someone had to write the post-Winter Soldier fic where Bucky gets a decent meal and some homemade apple pie, right?

Halbereth’s notes: see above.

Third and Sixteenth by Le_Rouret for sheraiah

Summary:The thing about Manhattan diners is, you can never tell who's gonna walk in the door.Bucky struggles to remember who and what he is, taking refuge in a small New York diner. But the outside world simply won't leave him alone.

Halbereth’s notes: A really good Bucky recovery fic. Starts in a diner; ends up with Clint Barton and family, because Clint gets the post-brainwashing deal--and also, Clint adopts strays regardless.

Set 7: Becca Barnes

My Ghosts are Six Feet Under by what_alchemy

Summary: Steve showed up on Becca’s doorstep a month after the invasion in New York, larger than life and trying to hide it.

Halbereth’s notes: set entirely in the 21st century.

My Brother, The Hero by Odsbodkins

Summary: Becca Barnes is eight years old, and her big brother can do no wrong. The events of the two Captain America movies, from the perspective of one of the sisters Bucky leaves behind.

Halbereth’s notes: the one that follows Becca from age 8 to after Bucky falls, and then picks up again around when Steve comes out of the ice and follows through past the events of Winter Soldier. The one with Mystery Cake.

This will possibly be added to--I think there was something I mentally associated with Source Code by Closer, for starters--but that’s enough for now!

#Weekend Reading Recs #fanfic recs #rec list #Captain America #Captain America fanfic rec list #Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes #Becca Barnes #Sarah Rogers' apple cake #Tony Stark #Natasha Romanoff #diners #Clint Barton #Sam Wilson

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iamkatehardy · 6 years

Text

Dessert (Eddie Brock x Reader)

Requested by: @bxbblesstuff

“Heyyyy.... yeah it's me again, sorry if I'm bothering, but could I get an imagine with Eddie Brock where the reader is British and well, if you're a Brit in America you could have some struggles like not being understood. So let's say that they are like in a date and the waitress does not understand the reader. Sorry if it's too much. Love your blog, bye”

Author’s Note: I’m sorry if I butchered the British slangs, but I don’t use them frequently, don’t kill me if you’re a British reading this , please 😂 for those of you who aren’t familiar with some of the slangs, I put the meaning 😋

Also, first time writing for Eddie, and as I’ve said before, I don’t usually do it, because there are so many great fics with him around,that I don’t know if I can make something worthy 😛

Warnings: Things get a little spicy in the end... Swearing, Descrimination.

Let me know what you think, loves ❤️

Dessert

Eddie worked with you for some weeks now. You and him hit it off right away; you loved how pure and genuine he was. He found you quite interesting too, from the thick British accent, to how lovely you looked when you were huffy, not to mention you were a sight for sore eyes.

You were in charge, the editorial manager, but you were very laid back, treating every person in there equally. For the first time, Eddie knew when his boss called him to her office it didn’t always mean trouble, sometimes it even meant being praised.

He often talked to himself, at first you wondered if he was crazy, but over time you discovered that that was just Eddie being Eddie; he wasn’t all there sometimes, but he was the sweetest, and hard worker.

Eddie was alluring, and you had been plucking up courage to ask him out, you just had to become become better acquainted with him first, to make sure he would accept just because you were his boss. He had been thinking about the same, but he wanted to make sure Venom understood he shouldn’t step in, because Eddie wouldn’t know how to explain the whole situation to you.

After staging the whole situation in your mind for couple hundred times, you decided to do it.

“Eddie, could you come to my office, please?” - You asked him.

This time he thought he was in deep trouble, he had been absent from work for almost a week.

“Sure...” - He was noticeably nervous.

“ I won’t be biting you, I swear.” - He made you laugh , and you walked to your office. Effie trailed behind you.

You sat down, relaxing in your chair, but when Eddie sat down he was all but relaxed.

“Bloody hell, am I that scary?” - You removed your glasses. Eddie shook his head.- “ I was just wondering if maybe we could grab dinner after work, one day.” - You said, with an expectant look.

Venom, who sometimes had an awful timing, decided to intervene.

“Eddie, do we eat bosses?” - Eddie heard inside his head.

“What? No!” - Eddie said in annoyance.

“Oh, sorry... Hmm, ok...” - Your smile faded, as you thought his answer was meant to answer your question.

“Fuck... No (Y/N), I didn’t mean...” - He scratched his head , taking a deep breath. - “Look, I’ll be right back, my answer isn’t no, yeah?” - He got up, rushing to the bathroom and locking himself inside.

“We do NOT eat bosses! At least not (Y/N), she’s everything but evil...”

“Hmmm...” - Venom grunted in his head.- “Not even the eyes? I like her eyes.”

“I like her eyes too, and that’s exactly why we won’t eat them! We won’t hurt her at all , ok?”

“ What if I get hungry? Really hungry...”

“NO! And I’d really appreciate if I could have dinner with her, with no trouble. I could get you a ton of chocolate of your choice...” - Eddie sighed.- “I like her, I really do, I can’t show you to her just yet, that would frighten her.”

“That would cost you at least 15 boxes of chocolate”

“I’ll give you 30 then!”

Eddie walked back to hour office, where you remained, crestfallen.

“Only if it’s today!” - He smiled.

“I beg your pardon?” - You looked up at him.

“Let’s have dinner tonight (Y/N), I’m really looking forward to it!”

“But I thought...”

“I’m sorry for what just happened, I was just nervous, never meant to decline your invitation, I couldn’t. Pick you up at 8?”

You giggled, because he was probably telling the truth, Eddie being Eddie again, one of the reasons that made him so cute.

“8 is perfect for me!”

After work you went home and immediately dolled up for the occasion, you wanted Eddie’s jaw to drop, and it did, in the second he laid his eyes on you when he came to pick you up. He knew the very professional you, not the casual version, but he was dying to.

Eddie was glad Venom was behaving , but he was so nervous that even without Venom bugging him, he was afraid to screw things up at any minute.

“Eddie, the chair. Remember the movie in which you cried , the other night, pull the chair for the girl.”

He pulled our chair and made a note in his mind to give Venom extra chocolates for that one.

“Thank you.” - You smiled warmly at him, impressed

A waitress came and delivered you both the menu.

“Oh, thank God! Besides cream crackered (tired) , I’m completely Hank Marvin (starving)! I’m salivating just by having a butchers (having a look) at the menu!”

Eddie smiled, he knew you always used British expressions and a thicker accent when you were truly excited, and that was definitely a good sign for him. The waitress shot you a side-look, as if you were from another planet.

“I’m absobloodylutely gobsmacked! These all sound and look great. But I’m feeling homesick today, so maybe I’ll ask you to get me some laverbread for a starter, then I’ll have a Scotch egg and chips, could that be?” - You smiled nicely at the waitress.

“I’ll trust your good taste and have the same!”

“I’m sorry ma’am, perhaps you could speak slower, and in a more understandable English?” - The waitress said almost laughing on your face, of how odd your accent sounded to her.

“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, this one isn’t a good one, can we eat?!”- Venom asked excited.

Eddie was shocked with how inconvenient the waitress had been, and he almost felt like letting Venom bite her head off.

“That’s par (disrespectful comment), miss. Definitely not how you should treat a punter (costumer), but sure, I can try to translate my English for someone as dim (with lack of common knowledge) as you miss.”

“You really shouldn’t (Y/N) , I think you speak beautifully.” - Eddie put his hand over yours, reassuring you.

The waitress looked at you with a mix of disgust, confusion and ignorance.

“Look, I’m nearly losing my plot (going crazy) right now. It’s a shame how people make you feel like an alien sometimes. What a poor ability to understand people’s roots and culture some people have, but you’re taking the biscuit!”

“(Y/N)” - Eddie got up. - “Let’s go, I won’t let anyone make you feel bad, or ruin our evening.”

“It was an absolute clanger to come here!” - You got up , trying not to lose it. - “Have a nice evening!” - You stormed out the restaurant, Eddie followed you and grabbed your arm gently.

“I’m really sorry about that (Y/N)...”

You fought tears back.

“Did you ever feel like an alien Eddie?” - You looked up at him.

“All the time, yeah...” - He caressed your cheek.

“It’s just... So fucking revolting when people misjudge what they don’t fully understand, when they don’t even make the smallest effort to...” - Eddie knew this better than anyone. And there she was, the huffy (Y/N) he found so cute, but with a hint of sadness , which he wanted to make disappear. - “ I’m sorry I ruined the dinner...”

“First of all, it wasn’t your fault, and who said it was ruined, huh? What about going to my place and having a douchebag-free dinner? Well, except for me!” - He watched your lips curving into a smile , only he could do that in that moment.

“You’re no douchebag!” - You nudged him and you both went to his house.

You refused to let him make the dinner alone, insisting in helping him in whatever tasks you could. Eddie was lovely when he was focused, doing his mental checklist, as you watched him in delight. He wanted things to be just perfect, he just didn’t know his presence was all that you needed for everything to be perfect.

After enjoying the meal, you both sat on the sofa, chatting over a glass of good wine. From time to time Eddie had a piece of chocolate, just to keep Venom in check. He offered you some.

“No, thanks, you’re sweet enough already, if I have more sweetness in my life right now, I’ll have diabetes.” - You giggled.

The warmth of a few glasses of wine and the depth of the conversation made you both get closer.

“But do you know what dessert I wouldn’t mind having right now?”

You moved closer, leaning in, and your lips brushed on his, your heart fluttering. He ran his fingers down your check, bringing you closer with his other hand, until there was no empty space left between you. Your arms reached up, tangling around his neck, as he pressed his tongue gently to the seam of your lips, delving inside your mouth sweetly, the second you let him.

You had imagined this moment, but it never made justice to how good it felt in reality, the warmth, the feeling spreading throughout your whole body.

Eddie kept hungrily kissing you; the way your lips felt on his , that must have been the definition of magic, it obliterated his every thought, his mind was locked in that single moment.

His hand , which was resting on your waistline, suddenly turned black, Venom decided it was time for Eddie to make the next move and touch your skin, slowly sliding under your shirt. It was warm, and slippery.

“Eddie, you’re tickling me, I can’t focus like that!” - You broke the kiss laughing and took a moment to breath, opening your eyes and resting your forehead on his.

“I’m sorry...” - He smiled, and kissed you again before you noticed his hand. He then took it off your waist, shaking it frantically , trying to make Venom understand that that was not the moment for him to step in.

He pinned you between him and the sofa, his body pressing against yours. You bit his lower lip , pulling it playfully, and he lost control, letting a low moan escape his lips.

“Eddie, that’s not the physical reaction you have when I bite people...” - Venom made a cheeky remark.

“I just love dessert, man...” - Eddie got up, lifting you and helping you wrap your legs around his waist, as he filled you with kisses on the way to te bedroom.

#eddie brock #eddie brock x reader #eddie brock fanfic #eddie brock one shot #we are venom #venom 2018 #venom movie #symbiote #venom x reader #venom x you #eddie brock x you #tom hardy eddie brock #tom hardy #tom hardy x reader #tom hardy one shot #requested imagine #request #requested fanfic #eddie x reader

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icontainmultitides · 5 years

Note

22, 29, 30

Thanks @welt-verbessererin

22. I was a VERY picky eater growing up! I didn’t eat any fruit or veg except apples and potatoes! I’m much more adventurous now though, ever since I moved out and started cooking my own meals. There’s only a few things I won’t eat: mushrooms, blue cheese, raw tomatoes, shellfish, hard boiled eggs. Actually eggs in general freak me out and I can only eat them in specific ways. Like poached. I get anxious going to new peoples houses for dinner in case they serve me something weird.

ETA: I don’t really mind my foods touching off each other though!

29. Em, I’d like to think I could defend myself. But I’m not very physical. I mean I’m kind of big for a woman, nearly 5’10” so hopefully I could use my size against them?! I’ve no skills though!

30. Death row meal: Curry. It’s my favourite food of all time! I’d have a huge Indian feast: starters, bhajis, batata vada, curry, biryani, naan, raita, poppodoms, veggie sides. And then I’d have Elton mess for dessert: strawberries and raspberries and crushed meringue and whipped cream! And a bottle of Marlborough white from NZ!👌👌👌

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hunterartemis · 6 years

Text

The Assistant: Chapter 6 : An Evening In Paris

Word count: 4151 (shorter than before), 4235 after edit

Chapter Summary: A day trip in the most romantic city in the world, and Boss and Assistant open their hearts to each other.

Chapter theme: Arrival of the Birds by the Cinematic Orchestra : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MqoANESQ4cQ

Despite her despair, Maxine kept an ear on the door, and when the slam on the master bedroom followed with Newt’s uneven footsteps, she undid the lock, siphoned her tears and hid the letter. Little did she know what was Newt up to. He took the letter he wrote to Dumbledore from under his pillow, and put it in his pocket, and then he came towards Maxine’s door.

“Max...” before he could knock, Maxine opened the door, and Newt stood there with his blue mackintosh on. “We are ready to depart... Rosie is doing really well and James says we can clear off now... if you don’t—want to stay a bit longer--” he hesitated and shifted his eyes from her to the floor.

“Actually no...” Maxine clarified, “I have had enough, and we can clear off real quick... ” She commented casually and patted on her suitcase, “see I’m already packed...” Newt was really surprised to see this.

“That’s it... no resistance, no persuasion, nothing?” he commented suspiciously.

“No... The splattering tumour really got me...” Maxine said and laughed out loud, “besides, don’t you have a ministry Christmas party to attend to?”

Newt stayed quiet for a few moments, and then mumbled “I’m not going...”

Maxine looked at him with an offended expression, “not going?... why?” she understood that something must be going on, and toned her judgmental face a bit.

“I am not good at public gathering and those kinds of things... people make me anxious.” Newt said without making and eye contact. Maxine pursed her lip as to suppress her smile, and then after keeping her mouth opened for a little bit, she smirked at Newt. She titled her head to make an eye contact with him, which he maintained for a second and then broke off; amused she commented “I don’t think that it does... I mean, you were great with the chaps out there...” she pointed towards the window, obviously towards the Dragon Handlers.

“They’re different...” Newt lowered his eyes, “they are not like other people... they are—they are special...”

“Do I make you anxious?” Maxine asked as her bottom lip wobbled with a suppressed laugh.

“No... No, of course not. You are one of the most brilliant witches of your age; you are great what you do. You are confident, hilarious and intelligent--” Maxine was nodding with an amused expression, really enjoying Newt scampering words to express himself. “—you are a great speaker, you don’t let other people dictate you, you follow your heart and I lo—like that about you.” He paused for a second, and then as if slapping himself mentally he admitted, “and you’re the best assistant I’ve ever got.”

“That doesn’t really signify that I don’t make you anxious...” Maxine said and folding her arms, and then suddenly she broke into a laughter, and it was so infectious that it affected Newt from within.

...

“Newt...” Maxine called while they were walking on the main road of the Carta Village, and Newt looked at her face to respond, “May I suggest something?”

“Sure, why not...” Newt answered with a good humour.

“If you got the time... if you are not too eager to just go to London just yet, can we catch the Portkey in the evening?” Maxine asked eagerly, while taking the turn to the back of that restaurant where they took the portkey. Newt didn’t answer and whirled along with Maxine in the same place; Rue de Rivoli, and looked at her with a curious expression.

“Do I get to know why?” Newt asked her and then hastily shielded her from the rushing Cugnot, by casting his hand in front of her and shuffling her at his back, “be careful... ” he mumbled.

“Nothing big... actually it’s really silly.” Maxine spoke while walking, “you risked your life and reputation and put up with my stubbornness when I insisted on going to Romania. No boss in this whole world will ever do that for an assistant, so I want to thank you.” Maxine said with a good humour, “by showing you my city.”

“I’ve been in Paris before—not my fondest of memories...”

“Oh c’mon Newt... ” Maxine came in front of him and grabbed his hands, “no tasks, no trails, no tracking this time... just simple day tour” she lowered her head to meet his eyes, “I promise, it will be a lot of fun... ” she veered again to be right under Newt’s gaze, “we could go to a lot of places, the Musee, the menagerie... I will show you all the cafes, and eat really delicious food... It’s almost Noel, and you can’t even imagine how both muggles and wizards celebrate here...” she straightened up and let go of Newt’s hand. Newt stood still for a few moments then finally giving in.

“Alright...” he threw his left hand up in the air, and Maxine smiled her usual smile.

“I promise you won’t regret it...” then they disapparated with a crack.

Maxine and Newt strolled around Paris, from Louvre to Notre Dame, Eiffel tour to Musée d'Orsay etc. Newt was observing the muggle Paris with a wonder and fascination. He particularly liked watching sculptures in Louvre, and he almost lost himself in the magnificence of Renaissance art. It was fascinating to him that a man without any magic carved such beautiful piece of art out of marble. Maxine stopped on her tracks to let Newt space out on the art around him.

She watched with fascination how he forgot about his surroundings and drowned himself in the beauty of art, each time he came across an exceptionally beautiful painting or sculpture. She couldn’t get him to move past the entrance when they came to Notre Dame. He raised his face in his usual slant manner, and looked past his curtain of unkempt bangs. His blue-green eyes looked like his soul has left his body to assimilate itself in the beauty of the hallowed place. He fell on his face when a rude tourist pushed him to go forwards. Maxine obviously cursed at the tourist and helped Newt up from the floor, and for a fraction of second it seemed like Newt took a moment to come back to reality.

“Newt... are you alright, that man was a real son of a--” she swallowed her profanity, and looked at Newt, who was anything but attentive to her. He looked almost sad. Maxine at once understood his pain. He was enjoying the beauty on his own, in private, in secret, and the harsh reality broke him from his dream.

“C’mon... there are plenty of things to see in here... ” she stood Newt up with a comforting hand at his back, and spoke nothing. The entire time Newt was in a different space: vacant, sublimated and completely out of his body. His blue green eyes glistened with moisture and with the light inside the cathedral; Maxine spotted a thin rivulet trickling down his left eye. She remembered a single line from a sacred hymn she heard in Vienna long time ago, particularly one line:

Domine, labia mea aperie: et os meum annuntiabit laudem tuam*

It was a common way of the world that a man should never indulge into his emotions; Maxine thought herself it too, but then again, emotions shall be worn like clothes—the ones that suit one well: only a most beautiful soul can embody the emotions so beautifully. She saw his face, lit up from within like no misery could even touch him, like the statues or paintings of the archangels and she forgot that she had to watch the Notre Dame.

After they got out, Newt was in his own space. Maxine waited for him to talk to her, as they walked through the road of Montreal. After 10 minutes Newt spoke on his own.

“I’m hungry...” he looked at Maxine, and Maxine smiled at him; not her usual crooked smile, but a warm one.

“I know just the right place...” Maxine cornered both of them and with a crack, they apparated into another place.

“Where are we? This looks different” Newt was now speaking normally.

“Boulevard Saint Germain...”* Maxine answered and smized at Newt while crossing the street, “it should be around the L’ancienne Comedie”* they walked hurriedly dodging the bustling crowd on the road, holding hands, “and it should be around here...” they stopped in front of a low canopied cafe.

The sign read Le Procope*. It looked like a cosy cafe, perfect for an easy luncheon. Newt was afraid that Maxine would drag him someplace expensive and really intimidating, but this cafe looked relaxing enough. Maxine smiled at him, as if she could read his mind.

“At first I was thinking of Grand Vefour,* where I always go with my family when I am in Paris. But then I don’t want to ruin your day with hankering waiters passing you wine lists and dessert menus.” Maxine smiled and a hostess led them to a table. Fortunately one was empty near the window.

“This is far the oldest cafe in Paris, almost as old as Beauxbatons.” She laughed at her little joke, and sat opposite of Newt, and briefly glanced outside the window to the bustling road, “food is a lot cheap here, but the quality is really good.”

“Do you have muggle money?” Newt asked nervously, and she smiled easily, “of course, have almost two hundred Francs on me. Quite a cabbage, but we’ll be over way before it... excusez moi” Maxine called out and a waitress with neat hair and vibrant red lips like Maxine came towards them with a smile.

“Bonjour Madame and Monsieur, welcome to Le Procope” she handed them two menus “what can I do for you?” she spoke in fluent Parisian French.

“Well... I will have Onion soup with baguettes, boeuf bourguignon served on aligot with chunks of soft-roasted garlic in it and crepe suzette”* Maxine ordered confidently and almost forgot that she had Newt with him too, who was still struggling with his menu. She gripped the upper corner on Newt’s menu and tapped it four times; suddenly Newt became way more confident with his choice.

“Tourin without croutons, Cassoulet, and crème brulee.”* He said softly but confidently, following Maxine’s pattern of starter, mains and desserts.

“Will you fancy a drink?” the waitress noted the orders and asked in French.

“An espresso and--” Maxine looked at Newt, who answered “water for me...”, Maxine replied “l’eau pour le monsieur.”*

“Good... your order will be done shortly” the waitress left them.

Within five or so minutes, the starters arrived, an onion soup, generously topped with broiled gruyere and crisp baguette and a plain but fragrant tourin. They spared no moment to dive in. the sun way softening from crisp white to egg-yolk yellow and the colder air only added to the comfort of the soups. Newt smiled between his seventh spoon, and Maxine, being Maxine spared no moment to interrogate him.

“What’s so funny, Newt?” she asked while pulling the spoon up, freeing the cheesy string from the soup.

“I never noticed, this is the first time you ever mentioned your family as Maxine Valois.” Newt answered, “Makes me curious about you...”

“I am flattered by your curiosity... and to be honest, my family isn’t half as extraordinary as yours.”Maxine scooped some of her soup.

“Really... what do you mean?” Newt asked her

“Oh you know... you and your children: Finn, Tom, George, Milo, Molly, Pickett--”* she smugly smiled and Newt laughed with her, “no, but seriously... I am curious about you.”

Maxine stopped for a second, then she looked at him again, “Newt, there’s something I must--”

“Your mains Monsieur and Madame... boeuf bourguignon served on aligot with soft-roasted garlic and Cassolet” the good humoured waitress put the dishes and collected their half finished soups.

“C’est ne pas Madame,” Maxine looked at the waitress harshly, “c’est mademoiselle...” the waitress stepped back with a flabbergasted face and perhaps with tears in her eyes.

“That’s a little harsh of you Max, shouldn’t have said...” Newt frowned again, while scooping a piece of duck, “what did you said?”

“She kept referring me ‘Madame’... instead of ‘mademoiselle’... I don’t like it” Maxine tore her face from Newt. Even though he knew very little French, he understood the difference between the two honorifics, and somehow it made him queasy.

“Maxine I am sorry--”*

“It makes me sound like my mother...” her face was less brilliant this time.

Newt put his fork down and reached for her hand that was resting on the table, gloved with magenta sheepskin. His knurled fingers gritted against the smooth leather, and Maxine looked up at Newt’s eyes; slightly looking at the right, avoiding the eye contact, but full of compassion and tenderness.

“I am your friend Maxine; you can tell me anything you want...” Newt said gently, and Maxine felt a stalwart firmness in his voice.

“You met her...” Maxine said softly, and Newt looked at her curiously, and then as if he understood he veered his eyes at the other side “so Audrey Page was your mother?”

“Yes... her maiden name was Audrey Page...” Maxine stopped in her tracks for a second, perhaps debating whether to unload to a stranger like Newt. No matter how hard she tried to get closer to Newt, something was holding her back, preventing her from getting closer to him.

“I never saw her in person...”

Newt waited for her to reply, his hand firmly on hers, never seizing to stroke gently.

“I was born in Marseilles, in my family estate, as I was told by my elf Lampito.” Maxine huffed, “she was an Englishwoman, a muggleborn witch from Edinburgh. She told me that she stayed till I was a year old, and then one day she disappeared. She cannot tell me anything else than that—when she speaks about my mother, she looks terrified.” Maxine gulped, as if swallowing her own tears. “But one day, a letter arrived when I was in school... ”

Newt looked at her most earnestly, trying his best to feel her pain.

“It was always addressed to me as “Ma chère” and only came when I was in school, perhaps in fear that if I was in my home, it would be intercepted. It was normal... always normal... “How are you”, “did you eat well”, “are you studying well”, “there is not a day when I don’t think about you”, at first they were written in French, the worst possible French you can imagine...” Maxine smiled with sadness, “and then, it was written in English... when I--” she stopped and veered her words “when I was old enough to understand... Newt, when she started to write in... English--” her eyes lost their usual focus, and became hazy and moist, “I felt like, I could see her soul... as if I could hear her speaking to me... and one day, she enclosed her image, she with me... ” she stopped her speech, her voice decrescendoing. She took a breath and started again, “last year another letter arrived; she wanted to meet me... here at Le Procope--”

“Did she come?” Newt’s voice was hoarse with his silence and withheld tears.

“She never did...instead I found something else--” Maxine looked at Newt’s way, “and it had her letter... it was attached with your book: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them” Maxine wiped her tears and looked at Newt with liveliness, “she wrote... ‘—do not wait for me darling, I called you to give you this book...’ I didn’t understand her... I was angry, because if I wanted to read it, I could buy it anywhere, but why she would give me this?” she frowned, “so I started to read it, on the spot... got scolded by the manager, but I would have him handled. I read all day and it was nearly closing time when I got to the very last page”

“What did she say?” Newt whispered, while keeping his eyes lowered.

“Nothing....” Maxine smiled vacantly, “nothing was there... she wrote nothing, and that was the moment I decided to leave my job... to work for you.” Newt slowly removed his hand from hers. They didn’t eat the whole time, and their meal was cold.

“And Newt... I haven’t found a greater peace with myself” she smiled gratefully at him. “Excuse me... could you heat up our meal?”

...

“And there’s one place I want to take you...” Maxine paid the bill and came at the crossing of Saint Germain, and hid behind a shop, “and I swear this would be our last destination in Paris...” she smiled and apparated with Newt at the middle of a bustling street.

“I know this place...” Newt’s face lit up after seeing something he knew, and he turned to Maxine, “isn’t this Champs-Elysees?”

Maxine smiled at his way, “I am afraid no, this is Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré, this is the fastest route to our destination. C’mon this way...” Maxine grabbed his hand and almost ran towards the pavement where countless of fancy shops aligned, proudly and smugly as if enjoying the prying eyes of the pedestrians for their luxurious glory.

“Max... what are you doing...” Newt enquired, half-amused and half-worried, as Maxine almost dragged him to one of the shops.

“It is pointless to travel in Paris if you don’t shop here... it won’t take long, I promise” Maxine reached for a door labelled no 22, which was a squarish, gray shop with sleek black and silver window panes, titled Lanvin*. The door chimed open as both of them entered into the shop.

“This is a bad idea... I don’t want this Maxine, please let’s go out...” Newt said with an alarming voice, looking around and seeing expensive clothes and bags and shoes as the lightly perfumed interior registering into his mind despite his discomfort. But Maxine was a stubborn woman. She bowed as one of the shop assistant with crisp, clean uniform and cloche hat greeted them. Maxine just spared one mischievous glance at Newt and then instructed the shop assistant to bring suits for her boss.

“I am looking suits for my boss. His colours are Aegean blue, brown and mustard. His style is comfortable, practical and low profile.” Maxine answered crisply, while another woman was kind enough to make Newt sit down and handed him a glass of champagne. Newt, as nervous as he was, downed it within a second, contemplating whether to run away or scold Maxine, but as her boss, both would be inappropriate. He did not believe in insulting or reprimanding his employees.

“Oui mademoiselle...monsieur puis-je vous mesurer?”* the shop assistant approached Newt with a measuring tape, and Newt stood up from his stool as if he was being electrocuted.

“No thank you, to whatever you are saying... Maxine, please can I get out of here?” Newt yanked Maxine’s arm and pulled her at the side, “why you are doing this...?”

“Please, Newt... please let me.” Maxine implored softly, “I want to do this for you. I know it is intimidating and certainly very demeaning that a woman is buying a suit for you--”

“You know I regard for those concepts as little as I regard Grindlewald...” Newt impatiently interrupted.

“—but listen to me—listen!” Maxine grabbed his shoulders, “have you seen your tweed suit? It is frayed and battered... I saw you struggling a lot in Romania with them... I believe there are several frayed patched under the arm—NO!” Maxine stopped, “it’s no excuse that you should be poorly dressed when I, as your assistant is always dressed in silk and leather. It is most unkind of me to point it out” Maxine answered sternly, but then the heat in her voice melted “think of it as a Christmas Present... please?”

Newt paused for a few moments, hesitating and squirming, but finally giving in, observing Maxine’s sincerity, and it was well worth it. She smiled at him most brilliantly.

After trying a bunch of tweed, cotton, silk and wool suits, they found a nice desaturated bluish algae coloured suit, quite similar to his previous one, but way more polished. It was accompanied with a plaid mustard waistcoat and a thin bow tie. To top it off, a rich brown double breasted mackintosh was added.

Newt looked himself in the store mirror, and Maxine slowly walked towards him and stood at his back. “See... you are a great man. Now you look like one...” Maxine smiled at him, crookedly, as if she was devising some wicked plot, “I can’t decide who is most polished, you or Theseus.”

Newt looked at her briefly, with an inquisitive eye, as if to ask “what do you mean?”

“Oh, let it go... you know you have to attend the Yule Party, or else Theseus will lecture you to the end of the world.” Maxine walked towards the counter to pay the bill, “I have worked with him for four years, and when he is upset or disappointed with you, where he comes to rant? Me... When he has a problem... he comes to vent on me... ‘Maxine, can’t believe Newt did this’, ‘Maxine, I can’t believe he didn’t come to dinner ’... sometimes I believe I was his personal therapist.”

Newt stopped for a second as he walked out of the change room, giving his clothes to be packed. He looked at Maxine till she noticed him looking at her way, “what is it Newt?”

“Do you love Theseus, Maxine?”

She looked at Newt for a second and then broke into a contemptuous laughter, “why did that occur to you that I might love him?” she asked with her arms folded.

“Please answer me, do you love Theseus?” Newt asked a little more firmly, a little firmer than usual, Maxine was taken aback at Newt’s demeanour, and answered with her eyes cast down “I never gave it a thought... now can we go?”

“I have done everything you asked me, and I demand to know it... do you love my brother?” Newt asked Maxine while stopping her by holding her right hand. Newt didn’t know what she was thinking, but something was stirring in his mind that he might have asked something she cannot evade, “tell me do you--”

“No...” Maxine answered in a small manner and then turned towards Newt, forcing a smile, “no... I don’t” she said and then looked at the south towards the Place du Concord, walking alongside Newt through the Rue Royale, with the Lanvin package in her hand, “I don’t believe in those sorts of things.”

“You don’t believe in love?” Newt asked while looking at her face, he always felt compelled to look at her face whenever she spoke, because he found her voice incredibly deceptive.

“In romantic love, no.” Maxine answered strategically as they came at the crossing of Rue Royale and Champs Elysees, “what is it supposed to be? Two people suddenly realise that they love each other and the whole world suddenly seems insignificant to explore? People less important... self care less important?” she smiled shrewdly, assuming that Newt wouldn’t know how to answer it.

“No...” Newt answered softly, walking alongside Maxine, straight towards the west, “no... Love isn’t supposed to be like that. It is a sense of security you feel when you look into another’s eyes, it is the power that motivates to push your boundaries to better yourself, it is the power that makes you selfless, as if you are them...”

“Comme si tu es eux”* Maxine mused on her own, and several moments past as they marched towards the west, coming closer and closer to their destination. After leaving behind the long park at their right and countless Parisian socialites and tycoons on the avenue, strolling and driving around perhaps in the most glamorous road in the world, they were now very close to their destination.

“Do you have someone with whom you feel that way?‘ Maxine asked Newt and looked at him. His face was looking at the sky, drinking the liquid rays of the sunset. first he didn’t answer for some moment and then he looked at Maxine briefly and then at the setting sun, “yes...“ he answered softly, but confidently, “I do...“

After that, both of them didn’t speak for some moments. The bright gray winter sky was shivering in the last weak light of the sun and its face gratefully reflected all the colours of pink, red, purple, copper and gold as if it was saying thank you to the sun for keeping it warm.

Finally they found themselves standing at the bottom of the Arc du Triomph, a magnificent circus of eleven roads, beckoning them to pursue each and every single one of them. They both lifted their face and the sky, and Maxine with her absentee husky voice mused “— Bienheureux celui-là qui peut avec amour, Saluer son coucher plus glorieux qu'un rêve!”* and then looked at Newt who was staring at her way, trying to understand the foreign words, “it means, ‘Fortunate the one who can lovingly salute, His setting, more glorious than a dream’ “ Maxine turned towards the setting sun, and then to Newt, “you remember the second week on my job... when you say, good things are fragile? Well you were wrong...” she looked at the sun, “good things are abnormally common, they are so close before your eyes that you don’t realise they were there, you only realise when they are gone.”

“And yet you believe that you don’t believe in love?” Newt looked at her way, smiling. His blue-green eyes sparkling hazel in the sunset, like molten gold under a thin film of black stained glass, concealed from the world.

“You believe I am a Romantique?” Maxine asked Newt with humour, as she gripped her fur scarf closer with the chill north wind.

“No...” Newt calmly said, “it is still too early to decide.”

Tags: @my-current-fandom-is

I had a lot of fun writing this. I love travelling but I have never been in many places, and I still daydream about travelling the world. Regardless to say that I have never been in Paris. I wrote this literally with google images and google map opened in tabs.

I hope you caught some hints, however I cannot press any more details. I don’t like conventional love stories, the ending seems forced. Although I am no pro, but I try to keep it realistic. I don’t know how far I am successful.

Domine, labia mea aperie: et os meum annuntiabit laudem tuam: a line from Allegri’s “Miserere Mei Deus“. It means “God, open my lips and my mouth will speak out your praise”. I believe that Latin and Greek are part of normal wizarding curriculum as most of the spells are written in them. Most of the French (religious ones) I believe have some Catholic upbriging, and even though Magic and Christianity don’t go together, some hymns here and there is inescapable.

you can listen to the track here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H3v9unphfi0

Boulevard Saint Germain: a street in Paris. (13 minutes and 1.9 km south from Notre Dame, but they apparated)

Rue L’Ancienne Comedie: a road that is connected with the St Germain, where the restaurant Le Procope stands.

Grand Vefour: It is a five star restaurant in Paris at Le Beaujolais, approximately 2.7 km at the North from St Germain, famous for serving Royalty

Le Procope: oldest cafe in Paris, established at 1665 (if I am not wrong), famous for affordable food. I realised that if wizards knew about muggles, they would know very old and traditional establishments of theirs.

“ Finn, Tom, George, Milo, Molly, Picket “: she was referring to Newt’s creatures.

Onion Soup: it is most famous French soup made of caramelised onion, beef broth, and broiled with baguette and soft Alpine cheese (Gruyere, Camembert, etc)

Tourin: a rich garlic soup, often served with croutons

Boeuf Bourguignon: a rich beef stew cooked in red wine, which originated in Burgandy region (hence the name ‘bourguignon’)

Aligot: a cheesy mashed potato, served as a side or a main, made with Tomme d’Auvergne cheese and famous in south of France. Usually it is not served as Maxine wanted, but she has an extravagant taste.

Cassoulet: Cassoulet is a rich, slow-cooked casserole containing duck, Toulouse sausage (spicy pork sausage, like a French version of Chorizo) and white beans.

Crepe Suzette: Crêpes Suzette is a French dessert consisting of a crêpe with beurre Suzette, a sauce of caramelized sugar and butter, tangerine or orange juice, zest, and Grand Marnier (a very posh cognac)

Creme Brulee: also known as burnt cream or Trinity cream, is a dessert consisting of a rich custard base topped with a texturally contrasting layer of hardened caramelized sugar.

l’eau pour le monsieur: Water for the gentleman.

“Maxine I am so sorry--“: Newt is perhaps afraid that Maxine was offended that the waitress assumed them husband and wife.

Lanvin: Lanvin is the oldest designer shop opened at Champs-Elysees. It is also the first brand to produce Menswear as Haute-Couture. Although it is in 22 Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré, which is 2.6 km north-east from Arc de Triomph.

monsieur puis-je vous mesurer : “Sir, may I measure you“

Comme si tu es eux : “Like you are them”, Maxine is echoing Newt’s words, with a bit of sarcasm.

— Bienheureux celui-là qui peut avec amour, Saluer son coucher plus glorieux qu'un rêve! : I have already mentioned the meaning, so I am not going to do that again. The line is from Charles Baudelair’s Le Coucher du Soleil Romantique (the sunset of romanticism)

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