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rehfan · 1 year

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New Ralph Penbury fic…. This is only chapter one. More to follow!

The Hat Shop Girl

Inexperienced!Ralph Penbury x Fem!Reader/AFAB!Reader

Summary: You were working as a clerk in a hat shop when Ralph Penbury walked into your life. Nothing was ever the same.

Tags: Under 18 - DO NOT READ PLEASE, Eventual smut, slow burn, class differences, fantasies, implied/references to drug use, sexual inexperience, first kiss, first French kiss, vaginal fingering, nipple play, PIV sex, blow jobs, cream pie.

Read the story on AO3 — LINK HERE

DO NOT REPOST MY STUFF TO ANY OTHER SITE PLEASE.

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CHAPTER ONE: THE BOY WITH THE SUNSHINE SMILE

“Good grief! You don’t mean that she’s actually tricked me into purchasing my own hat?” the man’s brown eyes got bigger in his incredulity.

“I’m afraid so, sir,” you whispered quietly. “This hat is yours? Your name is on the band inside,” you showed him the inside of the boater that you were holding out to him, “‘R. Penbury’? That is you, isn’t it?”

“It is,” he blushed beautifully in his humiliation, his brilliant smile gone. You couldn’t help but feel for him. He wasn’t the brightest bulb, but he had shone just the same. When he had first entered the shop, he was all smiles, eagerness, and jolly good times. He had tried several different styles of hats, showing increasing enthusiasm for each one that was brought to him. He had been especially impressed with the styles and materials that you had designed, describing them as ‘wizard’, although you hadn’t mentioned that personal point to him. You had been flattered by his candid positive reactions.

Your boss, on the other hand, just wanted him to buy all the damn hats and be done with it. You were bringing out his twenty-third selection to him when she pulled you aside and said: “God, he’s insufferably stupid. More money than brains, that one.” She paused, an evil glint in her eye. “Do you know? I bet I can sell him his own hat back to him and he would never notice.” So she did; she wrapped his straw hat which he had discarded when trying on the new styles in a hat box and brought it out, flourishing it as though it were the perfect answer to sir’s troubled soul, the very thing that sir was looking for, and would sir care to try?

And sir did. And he said it was perfect. When he said to put it with everything else he was purchasing, your boss gave you an avaricious grin and wink as she smoothly carried it off to the growing stack of other selections he had made, expecting a little extra in the till at the end of the day from that trick.

But you couldn’t live with that. While she cooed over him again about one of the more expensive hats and would sir care for a handkerchief to match? You stole the hat back and timed it so that when Elvira went to the back to fetch another, you pulled him aside to share the bad news.

He was sweet, a true innocent, and there was a motherly side of you that leapt up to protect him from harm - including that of your own opportunistic boss, the owner of the haberdashery shop you were employed in. At least, the one you were still employed in. By preventing your boss from taking advantage of this poor man, you may not have a situation to report back to in the morning.

But Elvira, or Evil-virus, the nickname given to her in secret by you and the other clerks who worked under her iron fist, was living up to her nasty reputation and you weren’t going to take it any longer. “I should have applied for a job at Selfridges,” you muttered, more to yourself rather than the humiliated man beside you.

You heard him sniff and saw his terrified indecision. “Don’t worry. We’ll pretend that she’s gotten away with it. I’m the one who will tally everything up, sir. I won’t charge you for it. Promise. I won’t let her do this to you. Alright?”

He smiled through eyes that welled up. “I’ve been a ruddy fool, haven’t I?” he said, his voice shaky. “I expect you will all have a jolly laugh about it after I go.”

“I won’t be laughing, sir,” you said. You were angry. Angry that this terrible excuse of a human being would take advantage of a man made of starbursts and sunshine. “I’ll be looking for other employment, but I won’t be laughing.”

“D’you know what?” he said, donning his hat and setting it at a jaunty angle in the mirror, “I’m going to reward you for your kindness.” At that moment, Elvira came out of the back with the next hat in hand. Mr. Penbury straightened his spine and said to her: “Never mind, my good woman. I’ve changed my mind about your shop. Sell me my own hat, will you? Well, I’ll be certain to inform all in my considerable social circle not to bother with this place.”

Elvira’s face dropped and she stared daggers at you. You swallowed hard, expecting a vicious private word once the gentleman had gone, purchasing nothing. Elvira’s smile recovered seconds later but Mr. Penbury brooked no arguments, further machinations from the woman, and he certainly wasn’t about to allow her to abuse you - even with so much as a look - right in front of him.

“Now don’t bother blaming your clerk here,” he said, “She’s got moxie. Honesty is the best policy after all and I’ll be damned,” the word spoken with emphasis and care, as if the man never swore in his life unless he truly meant it, “if you think for one minute I’m going to leave her here to be reprimanded for doing the right thing.”

Turning to you, he said, “Retrieve your belongings, my dear. You’re coming with me. Let us leave this horrid woman to her horrid ways in her horrid little shop.”

You blinked at him in amazement, jaw dropped, wondering if this was a dream, or a trick, or a hallucination. His smile and encouraging nod to you reinforced his statement; he had meant what he had said. You went to the back, gathering your coat, hat, and handbag and, with a last look around the place, you left. You were going to be sacked either way, so you may as well go off with a man who could at least prevent you from having a strip taken off of you by your boss.

Out on the pavement, he turned to you with another burst of smiling energy. “I heard you mention Selfridges and I happen to know the chap who’s one of the floor managers. What luck, eh? He’s set to join us at a party at our country estate tomorrow. Would you care to go? I could make the introductions and you could have some champagne and we’ll all celebrate your new position!”

You were utterly gobsmacked. “Sir? Are you joking?” You had to ask because not only was he too good to be true with his tailored suit, bright face and gorgeous brown eyes, this was too similar to dreams that you had had about being swept away by a handsome, wealthy man who could make all your dreams come true. Not that you were a gold digger. No, not you. But you had been an adult in the world long enough to know that money may not buy happiness, but it could purchase a close cousin or two.

“Why, no.” He looked a little offended.

You quickly added: “I only ask, sir, because I’ve never met anyone quite like you. You don’t seem real, really.”

“I don’t?”

His eyes were killing you. He didn’t see himself as others did, that much was obvious. “No,” you laughed, “you’re like a dream. Like you’re some knight come to rescue me and I’m secretly some queen or sommat.”

His grin spread ear to ear. He held his arm out to you. “Then let me guide you to my motor and on to my castle, your majesty. I plan on treating you like a queen for the favor you’ve done for me today.” His arm was warm and strong and it seemed more and more as if he was that knight from your fantasies.

He strolled with you on his arm openly down the street, the two of you creating such an odd pair: a dapper man-about-town with a woman who was obviously a shopgirl on her day off. But he didn’t seem to notice. He kept giving you proud glances as you walked along until suddenly, stopping next to a rather impressive Rolls Royce, he announced: “And here we are! Your chariot, my queen.” A liveried driver came out from the front of the vehicle and opened the rear door for both of you.

Your head swam. This had to be a dream. You tried to relax into the soft buttery leather seat, Mr. Penbury next to you, his straw hat on his knee as he regaled you with the plans for the party on the weekend as the vehicle smoothly pulled away from the kerb. It was no use. All you could think was that you really shouldn’t be there. You weren’t of his class and it showed. Lord only knew what the chauffeur thought of you. Probably thinks I’m some chippy, you thought. Mr. Penbury, on the other hand, didn’t seem to mind one bit.

As Mr. Penbury spoke, you realized that he really just floated along in life without any concern or stress at all. He didn’t have to worry where his next meal was coming from. He didn’t have to worry about the worn appearance of his clothing and whether anyone else would spot it. He never had to make do with the bread and butter in the larder because his pay packet wouldn’t arrive for another two days. You, on the other hand, well… your bills were always paid, but you were living close to skint; Mr. Penbury had never had the experience. The gulf between the two of you widened that much farther.

Yet for all his wealth and privilege, he didn’t seem selfish at all, which is a realization that gave you pause. All the wealthy folks you had met in your life - including the Hollingsworths that your parents had worked for - they had always been too busy with themselves to worry about any other human being. They sat in high judgment of people like you and people who were poorer than you. To them, you were nothing more than ‘the help’, there to make their lives easier without a thought to how much more difficult they were making your life. There was no self-awareness on their part. There was nothing but the next thing that would keep them amused, comfortable, and insulated against the cruelties they were happy to inflict on others.

Mr. Penbury wasn’t anything like that - or so he seemed. Sure, he was ignorant of the day-to-day details of your life including the insecurity of shelter and food that you fought off on a daily basis, but he seemed aware that poorer people existed and - miracle of miracles - actually seemed to acknowledge that you yourself were actually a person.

He was interested in music - specifically jazz - which you also loved and his eyes lit up even more when you told him about an American cousin you had that would send you phonograph records from artists you couldn’t find in England.

“Oh you must bring your collection to the party!” He instantly gave his driver a command to take them to your place. You supplied your address and off you both went, Mr. Penbury simply beaming at you. “You really are the mutt’s nuts, aren’t you?”

He clapped a hand over his mouth. “Oh! Was that rude?” He laughed freely. “I’m sorry. I just get so excited.”

“I can see that,” you said, smiling. “I’ll be glad to bring my meager collection.”

“And a change of clothes! Bring your party dresses. And your dancing shoes!” he said. You shook your head at him, unable to tell him that you didn’t really own party dresses (plural) nor did you own dancing shoes. You did, however, own one dress you were quite proud of and you set your mind to bring that one. You only hoped it would be nice enough to get a new job, but not too prudish not to have fun in. Mr. Penbury would probably fancy it if you showed up in sackcloth and sandals on your feet. Lord knows what the manager at Selfridges would fancy.

It didn’t take you long to arrive at your home, a seven storey structure in a more modest part of Spitalfields. It struck you what Mr. Penbury had just said. “Wait,” you said when the car stopped. “What did you mean by ‘bring a change of clothes’, sir?”

“Oh,” he stammered, blushing suddenly, “I only meant- I mean- If you weren’t going to be working at that horrid shop anymore…. Why don’t you just spend the weekend? Or the week? You don’t have to start at Selfridges straight away, do you? You could just… have a bit of fun first?”

Fun. You haven’t had any of that in years. You’d almost forgotten what it was like. And you didn’t have a position to return to anymore, did you? You had paid all your bills for the week so, why not? Why not go and have some fun with this ball of absolute joy? He was looking at you expectantly, seemingly ashamed of his forwardness. It was your turn to smile at him.

“That sounds wizard,” you said. His excitement warmed your heart and you went in to gather your things for a weekend you weren’t sure you were going to remember, but one you knew you would never forget.

CHAPTER TWO: The Whirlwind Twins LINK HERE

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Tagged People: @h-ness1944 / @crazyjenny8675309 / emma77645 / @hahahafucku

#Ralph timewaster #Ralph Penbury #writing #fanfic #Joe Quinn #Joseph Quinn #ralph x reader #ao3 #ao3 writer #The Hat Shop Girl #THSG

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