#i just wanted to be girly for one single night and wear that ridiculous dress
Text
His Butler, The Final Solution
Roturier
Summary:
Sebastian tackles 'the Midford disaster'. Chaos, a drunken master, ill-conceived explosives experiments, naked servants in the driveway, orgies, Lau's girls and funny-smelling 'incense' in the smoking room not to mention uninvited ungulates on the tablecloth. Can the four Kittehs of the Apocalypse (War, Famine, Anestofleas and Bafftime) be far behind?
Chapter 1
Notes:
This was intended to be longer, and there was one more chapter left back on ffnet I didn't bother bringing over as I got stuck on the 5th chapter, the party...spooked myself with all this buildup I suppose. But after all these years and no progress I've given up on finishing it, and so marked it finished. But if you still want to see Tanaka dressed up as a kappa and Sebastian strutting about in hooker boots as the ultimate Hallowe'en costume, I recommend heading over to ffnet for the 4th chapter.
Chapter Text
Yes, it is me, Sebastian Michaelis, the Phantomhive butler.
Please forgive my ridiculous appearance. It isn't as though I chose to wear this asinine bonnet. If you are familiar with the household, you will no doubt recognise the signs: Miss Elizabeth is with us once again, and the mansion is in a frilly pink shambles in the wake of the visitation of the infamous 'isn't all-the-world-just-too-cute' Midford disaster.
As things stand, mere weeks remain between us and this shambolic condition becoming our daily reality. My young lord's morbid sense of humour made him suggest, in a recent family meeting, his nuptials be celebrated on All Hallow's Eve. That was shot down by the Marchioness, but the fall date was retained because the young mistress thought a harvest themed wedding would be-wait for it- 'cute' and her parents wanted the wedding sooner rather than later.
So, the Midford, like some dreadful, girly parasite, continues to embed itself deeper and deeper into the flesh of our formerly carefree, bachelor lives. Though this latest manifestation seems to have been the final straw for nearly everyone.
I have just come from the kitchen where I actually had to touch both Mey-Rin and our joke of a gardener, in order to 1.) get their hysterics under control, 2.) get them to focus on my words, and 3.) assure them I do realise Steps Must Be Taken, and since no one else here appears to have the testicular fortitude to intervene-
No, that's not entirely true. I must give Bard credit: he at least attempted to take action.
Last night he crept rather clumsily into a guest bedroom and placed enough dynamite under the bed to bring down the entire west wing. He was just running the fuse out the window and into the back garden—with a lit cigarette hanging on his lip!—when I was forced, against my better judgement, to stop him. So. It would appear Americans are not entirely without a certain charm or usefulness. It was the wrong guest bedroom, but with that much dynamite it was, as they say, the thought that counts.
But I digress. Since no one else will act, for the sake of the long-term sanity of everyone living on this estate –not least my own!- I must take the initiative and Do What Must be Done
...whatever that is. A plan has yet to suggest itself.
Having left Mey-Rin blubbing, with her head on the kitchen table and a half empty bottle of sherry at her elbow, I realise it is down to me to clear the dining room. The other two refuse to show their faces upstairs lest they get the 'cute' treatment again. Tanaka, from what I can tell under that blond wig, is in a sake'-induced coma. I couldn't coax even a single 'ho' from him, let alone any assistance.
Luckily we recently installed a dumb waiter which communicates with the butler's pantry, so such a task as single-handedly clearing up after a late supper with numerous guests is a good deal less labour intensive than formerly and well within the powers of even an ordinary, non-demonic, non-Phantomhive butler to accomplish, so I hurry up and get on with it.
A nasty shock awaits me before I can even begin, however. There by the sideboard stands my Young Master, gulping down brandy like it was lemonade, gulping it neat from its cut glass crystal decanter. The servants are not the only ones suffering it would seem. Well, after all, he is the sacrificial lamb in all this.
Have everyone in this house lost their damned minds? As Satan is my witness: things can not continue this way.
"My lord. Have you no shame left whatever?"
"Where she's concerned? Tch." he snorts blearily and tosses back another slug, swallowing the wrong way and erupting in a fit of coughing and atomised brandy.
I am inclined to let him choke. He's brought this on himself, after all. Also, the utter despair he's wallowing in is doing simply wonderful things to the piquant flavour of his soul. However, I must cleave to my aesthetics: I do owe him a certain amount of protection, so...
"Tell me, my lord, what would your opinion be of someone willing to ruin lives, make innumerable people unemployed, sick at heart, and despairing of life simply because he lacks the courage to speak up and tell the truth?"
His head bumbles up and down with his silent, smirk-filled snickering. "Hell's bells demon, I'd greet 'im like a long los' brother and invite him t' sit down and have a li'l drinkie...pro'lly needs one at least as badly as I do."
You know, I never thought I would say this, but my lord the earl, the bravest little soul with which I have ever been privileged to join contractually, is naught but a big girl's blouse when it comes to standing up to this wretched, overpowered fiancée of his.
Gah! The entire situation makes my arse throb! Please forgive my language.
"My lord, I believe I would be doing you a kindness in taking your soul right now, so please come here." I hold out a commanding hand and I am rewarded with the sound of the brandy decanter hitting the floor.
Chapter 2: Chapter Two
Summary:
Sebastian shows his last two aces up his sleeve in trying to persuade his inebriated Little Master.
Chapter Text
CHAPTER TWO
"My lord, I believe I would be doing you a kindness in taking your soul right now, so please come here." I hold out a hand to him rather commandingly. I am rewarded with the sound of the decanter hitting the floor.
"Wh-whassat?"
"You heard me. The kindest thing I could do for you, not to mention everyone else in this cursed household, is take your soul right now, so please take your hand off that sherry decanter and come over here to me. Now."
"Psht! Don't be a aba ba bass, Ass-chun," he slurs, clucking his tongue, then pulling a face. "Sorry, that came out ... tongue's fthick f'some schtrange reason."
Look at him: he can barely stand up, the silly creature...
"Looka ... looka wotchoo made me do," he mutters. "Schtupid d-d-demon," he is staring sadly at the spilt Napoleon puddling around his boots, listing gently from side to side, clinging to the sideboard for balance, staring at the carpet. He licks his lips thoughtfully. I can see his knees give a fraction. BaalBerith's balls, I do believe he is seriously contemplating getting down on his noble knees and sucking the alcohol straight out of the turkey rug. Not that you couldn't safely eat-or in this case drink- off my floors, but I ask you: where has my proud and haughty master disappeared to?!
"Has that mere sprog of a girl frightened you to such an extent you would actually rather become a fourteen-year-old drunk to telling her what you truly think of living "happily ever after" with a... a squealing pink dervish?"
Apparently the answer is 'yes' because all he does is peer at me owlishly. He makes a few odd twitches and head movements that look as though he's about to comment on my question but nothing comes out.
"Do you realise in three years time you could be as wide as you are tall and completely unable to walk? I shall have to roll you everywhere like a barrel."
More wordless peering and blinking.
"Is it really easier for you to die of drinker's liver than simply tell the girl the truth?"
"Sh... shu'rrup, you. Aneewaay...'s'not like I could change anything iffeye did tell her. Iffeye could ever get a word in edgewise. Th'hell do you think I'm drinkin' for?"
He makes a sort of 'pssh' noise at me, waves a dismissive hand in my direction, turns away and, snatching the last decanter from the sideboard, weaves off more or less in the direction of the grand staircase and ultimately, presumably, his bedroom.
I suppose every human has an Achilles' heel of one kind or another. Something they love, hate or fear to such an unreasonable extent they can be made to do things otherwise quite uncharacteristic of them. There's little doubt in my mind where my master's particular weakness lies.
The same child I have seen face down rapists, Mafiosi, death gods both sane and barmy, demons, zombies, even the devil himself, the child I've long since accepted as my little master, morphs into wet newsprint before this girl. I simply cannot comprehend it.
Then again, when I consider the mother...
With no other convenient vent for my frustrations, I fling myself onto the mess on the dining table in a whirlwind of stacking, scraping and clearing, all the while deliberating over some effective plan of action for my master's problem. Quite soon I have all the detritus of the evening meal bundled into the dumbwaiter and bound for the pantry. Now if only Mey-Rin isn't in such a drunken stupor by now she cannot unload it all and see to the cloth, the dishes and the leftovers, it will be one less thing I need to worry over.
Afterwards I find my master in his bedroom, sitting on the floor on the far side of the bed, his back propped against the bed post, still drinking and sadly staring out the window at the impenetrable darkness. Since calls to his logic, his pride and his sense of shame as well as threatening to eat him on the spot have all failed, I intend to now try a different tack.
I sit down beside him on the floor and pretend to join him in his binge, taking the bottle from him momentarily. This will get the alcohol out of his hands at least some of the time and slow down his consumption, and with a bit of luck I can perhaps make one last attempt at talking some sense into him before it is too late. I have several last ditch cards up my sleeve, one of which I try now:
"You know your servants have resigned, my lord," I tell him, tipping the decanter back and pretending to take a long, deep pull at it.
"What?!" That got his attention.
"Bard, Mey-Rin, Finnian and even Tanaka have each approached me privately since yesterday and resigned their positions effective immediately."
"Tanaka?!" he staggers to his feet, profoundly shocked. "But... but what the hell for?"
Well that sobered him up in a hurry. I take this as a hopeful sign.
"What do you imagine the reason to be, my Lord?"
"But... but why the hell didn't you try to stop them?"
"Stop them!? My Lord, I wish to join them."
"You—you wish to..." He blinks hard at me and then sits back down, hard.
I am actually glad to see this: at least something matters to him. Nothing else seems to.
"Sebastian. Are you leaving me? Are all my servants leaving me?"
I scrub my fingers through my hair because I can't the grab the child and shake him as I am aching to, and I simply must do something. These fingers of mine are dying to tear at something and my hair will have to do.
"I persuaded them to give me one last opportunity to try and work something out with you. If not, then yes, perhaps you will soon be alone here."
His face drains of all colour. I let that sink in for a moment before delivering the killing blow:
"But take heart, my Lord. You won't be alone for long. Very soon now, you will have your darling fiancée Elizabeth at your side, every single minute of every day from now on, for the rest of your very long life. And perhaps aunt Frances will move in with her when she sees you are alone, to save you from your native disorderliness and keep you safe."
"Safe?!"
"Yes."
"Keep me safe from what?!"
"Ah hah hah hah, how quickly my young lord forgets. Do not imagine for one moment the previous attacks perpetrated on this manor and your person won't start back up once word gets out your formerly formidable and deadly servants have all left you en masse. Perhaps you will have reason to be grateful the Midfords are all so proficient with the sword. You may wish to invite the entire family to move in with you, even Miss Elizabeth's brother."
"Oh no, not him too..." The child groans and curls up on the floor cradling his head in his hands."Give me back the damned sherry, Sebastian, give it back right now."
"No."
"Now!" he demands. "It's an order!"
"My Lord, listen to me—"
"You can't leave me Sebastian. We had a deal!"
"I most certainly can leave. I may render the contract void if I wish, Ciel, and I am seriously considering it because frankly, not even your soul is worth this!"
"Wanker," he mutters.
"My Lord look at me, I am wearing a pink bonnet! That girl child will have me in a corset and a frilly knickers by the end of the week at this rate! For a girl who grew up with a father and an older brother, do you not agree she has a severely disordered concept of gender differences!? I could not bear watching what will happen to you should you permit this girl to become a permanent part of this household."
"Tch...dunno what you're on about."
I shake the decanter of sherry in his face. "This. This is what I'm 'on about.' It's already starting to happen and I can tell you, Ciel Phantomhive, I want nothing more than to walk out that door and leave you to it, since it's what you've chosen. I am not obligated to stay and watch you wreck all my hard work and destroy yourself. And destroy her as well, because you cannot think for one moment that limply going along with her and her family's wishes is going to lead to anyone's genuine happiness. Not even Miss Elizabeth is so delusional as to continue lying to herself when she arrives on the other side of her vows and realises your disdain for her has not changed one whit. And while it's true your soul will be improved by the sheer anguish you will endure when she turns into her mother and starts tormenting you day and night for duping her, I assure you I would have no appetite for it, nor for witnessing any of what will follow."
I took another mimed swig and retained the bottle, turning to fix him with my steeliest glare so he is in no way allowed to think I am anything but deadly serious- because in fact, I am.
"So, my lord, I am here one last time, to beg you. Beg you, Ciel. If you cannot bring yourself to do something about all this, then give me the order. Permit me the freedom to act in your behalf to stop this marriage so it is no longer looming over us all like some matrimonial sword of Damocles, poised to ruin you and everything you hold dear."
He is silent for a long time. So long, I am on the verge of giving up and getting up to leave—and I mean truly leave. I was only sitting there deciding where to go first once I'd walked through the boy's front door when I heard the tiniest of tiny voices say "You can't kill her, Sebastian. I forbid it."
"My Lord," I tell him tiredly, "as much as I would thoroughly enjoy killing her, as much as we all would," I say, thinking of Bard and the other servants, "I am very aware of your feelings regarding Miss Elizabeth. I give you my word: I was not and will not ever entertain any ideas involving her death."
More's the pity, I thought, though some may well be moved to attempt homicide when I've finished with them. Or suicide.
Chapter 3
Notes:
Sorry about that. I seemed to have been typing with my forehead there for a bit without being aware of it. It's corrected now. Drop me a note if anything further's amiss!
For those who have read this before over on ffnet, I've updated it so there might be a few new lines for you to (hopefully) enjoy.
Behold: the dinner party from Hell!
Chapter Text
By Friday next, Phantomhive manor is prepared to perfection.
Not to my standards, mind you, which most would say are already well over the top. No no. Rather to the ridiculously stringent, exacting standards of that fierce martinet, the Lady Francis Midford.
It would be no exaggeration to say the servants and I have slaved for this. It's been particularly hard on Mey-Rin, Finnian and Bard, since normally, they accomplish nothing more than taking up space, blundering about randomly destroying whatever I have managed to accomplish, eating up my lord's provender and providing comic relief--mostly the latter. But this situation is different and they seem to know it. I often have good reason to belittle their collective intelligence, but even they have the wit to realise their jobs, as well as the young master's future happiness are hanging in the balance—which oddly enough seems to distress them even more than the prospect of losing their ridiculously cushy positions here. Hence they are working with a will and a focus rarely seen under this roof.
Mey-Rin has taken off her useless glasses. Finny is acting as her eyes where needed. She is watching that Finny's strength is carefully controlled. Bard has for once laid aside his idiotic flamethrower and explosives, left the kitchen and the cooking to me, and picked up a bucket, brush and cleaning rags to go do something useful for once. And I? I have thrown off that restriction regarding my magic, which my lord imposed upon me after I conjured up the new manor house and sumptuous supper for him that first night together.
I want to make certain, you see, that when the Lady Francis finds fault with us, it will be for the right reasons.
Very early, well before dawn, a carriage was sent round for Lau and a judicious selection of his more discreet 'girls'—as well as some of his very best...product, shall we call it? Ostensibly the purpose behind involving of the shady Chinese and his women is to help celebrate my young lord's upcoming nuptials—in your time you will call it a bachelor or stag party, but I'm sure you realise there is more behind my machinations than a simple 'Phwee, you're getting married you poor sod' party.
Things have been carefully staged: the front door has been left unbolted and a bit ajar. A selection of empty bottles from my young lord's new hobby—he's been stashing them beneath his bed inside the box in which he keeps his collection of erotic picture books and penny dreadfuls—and some old underthings of Mey-Rin's we were about to tear into bandages were strewn about on the circular drive near the front door.
We are now awaiting the Midford's advent. At Lady Midford's insistence they normally appear quite a bit earlier than promised, So Lau and the servants have been carefully collected and arranged in the smoking room off the dining room and coached as to what they should be doing since before breakfast.
As well, I have a few tricks of my own planned. The servants have not been let in on everything. Lau was given quite a lot of money and some secret instructions regarding smoking up the room and bringing along with him some choice edibles spiked with various intoxicants for his girls and the servants to partake in pre-Midfords.
And I am beginning to really enjoy myself: it's been quite some time since I've hosted an orgy.
***
"What is the meaning of this!" rings out in the Phantomhive foyer at half eleven--proof we were not wrong to begin our plans at the crack of dawn!
At the sound of her voice I exit the smoking room at top speed and go fetch my lord. He'd been deliberately allowed to remain abed with a generous selection of hard alcohol at his elbow. Staging his participation in an orgy is one thing, allowing him to actually participate in one at his age, quite another. Protecting him IS a large part of my contract, after all.
As I pick him up I am pleased to see he has been preparing for his part with enthusiasm and dedication, helping himself to yet another bottle of brandy and falling back to sleep while still in his nightshirt and –oh dear—not much else.
Excellent.
Back down, (straight through the walls to save time,) and into the choking atmosphere of the crowded smoking room, just as our visitors cross the dining room and open the door on us all. I just had time to pose my young lord and make a few last-minute adjustments to the tableau when Miss Elizabeth burst into the room howling "FOUND THEM MOTHER!" only to be stunned for once to blessed silence.
It will not last, of course. You would think after seeing so many adults piled atop one another, barely clothed and lounging about in a room thick with opium smoke, she'd run screaming from the premises, but oh no. Is there no end to this girl's ability to deceive herself? Of all things to latch onto, she decides to comment on the atmosphere.
"What's that funny smell?" she asks, wrinkling up her nose and pointedly staring into my eyes and nowhere else. She is particularly careful not to look at her beloved Ciel, who is passed out just behind me in an overstuffed chair and wearing just his haphazardly buttoned nightshirt He is splayed in a truly spectacular manner, one knee deliciously hooked over the arm. Only the brandy bottle between his legs preserves what little is left of his noble decorum.
The Lady Francis, marching up behind her daughter, is of course, made of sterner stuff than her daughter. "Elizabeth," she bites off, "what have I repeatedly told you about throwing yourself about in this ill-bred manner? A lady does not fling herself through closed doors, bawling like a fishmonger, without first knocking and announcing yourself, especially when you are in other peoples' houses! Now you march yourself upstairs this minute and see to the unpacking. Your brother has already taken your trunk up to your usual room since no servants were available. Unpack and stay right there until I come tell you otherwise."
"But Mother, my darling Ciel looks ill and I—"
"Elizabeth Ethel Cordelia Midford!"
The girl freezes, blanching, her eyes big as cricket balls.
Well! At least there is someone on this pathetic plane of existence to whom this stubborn girl actually listens. "Yes, mother," she says meekly, then scuttles off.
"Now. Exactly what manner of debauchery is all this?!" the Marchioness says in a dangerously soft, controlled voice.
"The very best, my lady!" I answer from my spot on the floor, "for only the very best will do for my lord the earl of Phantomhive." I say, rolling off a startled and beetroot red Mey-Rin, who thanks to the incredibly thick opium smoke has only just this moment realised she and I were lying together on the floor, both of us quite naked, as were most of the other people in the room. We are all in various advanced stages of undress, Lau included. He has on a kimono, full stop. It is only draped over his shoulders thugh, so it hardly counts as clothing. There is just 100% genuine, unadulterated Lau as far as the eye can see. Furthermore, he is making no effort to keep the garment closed in front, and that is all he has on besides an absurdly proud smile.
Well I did tell him 'come as you are'.
Yes yes, an evil trick. Of course, an evil trick! Exactly what did you people expect of a demon, church hymns and a prayer circle?
Mey-Rin shrieks and wriggles away from me, stopping just long enough to stare wistfully at the masculine glories she is abandoning in her clumsy scramble to reclaim propriety (I predict she will never forgive herself.) I myself am anything but shy by nature as you may imaginne, so I let her look.
She takes it hard, poor girl. Ah, but she does want me in the worst way-which, coincidentally, is precisely the way I had been planning on taking her if I'd had time and could manage to get away with it. Sadly, however, Lady Francis came early, and I, alas, not at all.
There is simply no justice in this world.
At any rate, Mey-Rin makes good her escape, stumbling over to the grand piano, ripping away the protective tapestry draped over it, upsetting a candelabrum, a flower vase full of fresh white roses and a vast collection of photographs and bric-a-brac. In the process showering her naked flesh with broken crystal, water, thorny cut flowers and shattered picture frames. Not that she cares, particularly. She is intent on just one goal and that is getting her voluptuous body back under wraps and then trying to edge her way out of the room as discreetly as possible while simultaneously trying to capture the blood that is slowly dribbling down her upper lip before it stains the priceless, pastel Aubusson carpet.
Once under the inhibition-banishing influence of the opium smoke and Lau's spiked 'breakfast treats', Bard and Finnian are an unforeseen, serendipitous bonus: they are currently loudly rutting with a cheerful lack of inhibition on the leather chesterfield in the corner. Thank Asmodeus the upholstery is dark leather! Otherwise I can't think how I should ever get the stains out. They are completely oblivious to their surroundings let alone their audience. And noisy! I could not have asked for better if I'd handed them a script.
I suppose I really should visit the servant's quarters more often. Look at what sorts of antics I have been missing!
Personally, I have yet to move, other than to casually prop my head up with the heel of one hand, the better to observe the Marchioness' reactions to it all. Also, I wanted to give her ample time to appreciate the brand new tattoo I have just that morning conjured up across my bum, especially for her viewing pleasure.
"Honey Hole" it says. One word for each cheek.
Well, she saw it but didn't take it as hard as I'd hoped, so I roll up onto my hip to give her a look at the other side. She pinks up at that, but still does not lose sight of her goal.
Does nothing rattle this woman? Honestly! I can clearly see from which side of the family my young lord 'gets it.'
"You there, butler," she hails me from across the smoky room. "I want these obscenities cleared away, this room aired out, THAT thing (she points to Lau) removed, and YOU (pointing to me) back in your uniform by the time I come back down these stairs in twenty minutes. Do I make myself clear?"
Lau saunters up to her, han fu robe flapping around his long white legs. We are all in various advanced stages of undress, Lau included. He has on his robe, full stop. But it is only draped over his shoulders, so it hardly counts as clothing. There is just 100% genuine, unadulterated Lau as far as the eye can see. Furthermore, he is making no effort to keep the garment closed in front, and that is all he has on besides an absurdly proud smile.
Well, I did tell him 'come as you are'.
"Now now, dear Lady," he croons soothingly, fondling her naked elbow with insulting familiarity-better him than me; my scalp still aches!- "this will never do. We have only just got started here! You are the visitor, a visitor who has decided to show up far earlier than announced which is really quite rude, wouldn't you agree? In view of this, shouldn't it be you who falls in with our ways? Why not relax, grab yourself a pipe and join us, hm? Here, I have a spare on me." He smiles broadly after blowing a huge puff of the stuff right into her face, he then produces an extra pipe from I shudder to think where, and attempts to shove it between her lips. She, however, is not having it.
"I'll just bet that fiery personality of yours would translate beautifully into fiery passion if only you'd let it, hm?" and then he dares to run a fingertip along the Lady's jaw, tipping her chin up and smiling at her as fetchingly as he knows how. For once Lau's total ignorance plays in his favour for if he knew what sort of fierce creature he was fingering, he'd never have risked that digit for fear of having it bitten clean off.
Good old Lau. Pain in the arse generally, but at times like this, he's a true brick. Zero chance of any of this behaviour of his will actually work, but at least he's tried. And who knows, as she stands there in the doorway inhaling the fumes, perhaps something might have possibly changed within her. It is certainly true she is uncharacteristically silent for a moment, studying that inscrutable face leering before her. Unfortunately my master chose this precise moment to vomit most spectacularly all over himself and the chair he is slumped in.
If there had been a vomiting award for distance or trajectory he would surely have taken home the prize. As it is, all he does is manage to bring his aunt back to her senses.
"Take your hands off me sir. I neither know you nor do I care to. Slither back to whatever subterranean realm you crawled out from and never darken this family's door again!" The woman thunders impressively. Lau casts an eye my way for a hint and I signal he should do as she says.
"And you, you ludicrous excuse for a butler: take that bottle away from my nephew immediately and get his clothes back on him. And back on you as well, you iniquitous, utterly indecent creature, NOW!" The woman takes a handkerchief out of her sleeve and dabs at her forehead, upper lip and neck with it, then opens a window and uses it as a makeshift fan. "Thank God Alexis and Edward remained in the foyer as I asked. This is utterly disgraceful!"
Perhaps her mouth is saying 'disgraceful', but Lady Francis' lingering eyes and moistening features are telling me another story all together. I begin to wonder just what this visit might hold for us all.
Behind me Finny and Bard manage to fall with a spectacular thump! clean off the Chesterfield. The Marchioness' entrance hasn't even slowed them down. Lady Francis barely spares them a withering glance before turning on her heel and exiting the room to shepherd the rest of her family up to their customary guest room to unpack.
That's it? My my...are we going to have to bugger sheep on the dining room table during the fish course in order to put this woman off?
***
As one might have predicted, supper turns out a truly dismal affair, even without my lord's epic hangover. He manages to make of all our lives just that much more magical. Of course I too was doing my best to add to the priceless atmosphere of joie de vivre, creating even more delightsome chaos by ordering Mey-Rin and Finnian to help serve in the main dining room, with predictable results.
Each time the maid lays eyes on either Lady Francis or myself she changes colours like an excited squid, turning either white or red, or both in rapid succession, then drops whatever she is carrying, or for variety, tosses it into the air. She does the latter no less than three times with truly spectacular results.
I attempt to give her direction on her abysmal serving technique but I may as well have been talking to a post with glasses. But really it is fine. Nearly every time she reacts badly she manages to slop something scalding over either Lady Francis or Ciel, and once she manages to get Edward in the eye with a flying gherkin which sends him howling out of the room screaming he's been blinded. It is difficult not to cackle with glee.
Finnian keeps trying to engage everyone in conversation and cannot seem to understand why everyone is treating him like a turd in the butter dish. I did teach them 'servants are not to speak, unless directly spoken to first', didn't I? Well of course I did. It's just the child has the memory capacity of a stewed prune.
But Finnian does not truly enter into his own until the soup course, when he leans over the tureen a bit too far and the freshly hatched bird he's been trying to hand raise tumbles out of his breast pocket and into the vichyssoise. He might have succeeded in only turning Edward green since he was the sole witness up to that point, but unfortunately Finnian has no concept of subterfuge, or 'inside voice,' especially when he's excited. He announces at the top of his lungs that 'everything's okay,' because it's just cold soup and his''little Be-Be' will just be wet and a bit startled' and then he plunks his grubby gardener's paw right into the tureen and starts trying to fish out his naked pet.
So of course he has everyone's helpless attention when he suddenly stops, pales and whines "Mr. Sebastian. I -I forgot about my strength again."
My young lord, knowing exactly what this means, stuffs his serviette into his mouth and leaps from the table, upsetting his chair in his rush to find a private corner in which to empty his stomach. The rest, aware at least that they want no soup course, whatever has just happened to the servant splashing about in it, push themselves away from the table and avert their eyes. I steer the now wailing Finnian, still elbow deep in the tainted soup, out of the room and quickly bring on the next course -which I assure them all that I alone have prepared. I hear Francis mutter as I pass her "given where I've seen your hands go today I'm not convinced that is any improvement," and my joy is uncontained-though I do fight to keep it off my face.
Needless to say by the end of the meal tensions are such that I am expecting spontaneous combustions to commence at any moment. And when the Marquis and his wife both find broken glass in their tiramisu, supper is officially a dead loss and everyone stalks off to their respective bedrooms in filthy moods.
This early abdication of the ground floor suits my plans perfectly as I still have a great deal to do to get ready for the Samhain masque we will be hosting come Saturday night.
0 notes
Text
.
#hsm3: the night of our lives. the night of our dreams. it’s gonna be a night to remember.#me who didnt go to prom: 😐...#kayla speaks#kayla tag rants#feel free to ignore#i had/have no interest in parties or dating and didnt want to throw off my friends’ table with a single seat#and there was some other drama that just kind of sealed me not going#(bc even being the good quiet kid with ‘innocent ears’ etc.. you can still get stuck in some bs rumors by stupid guys)#but i always secretly wanted one of those over the top way too sparkly mermaid blue sequin dresses#like that was my favorite part to look at in jc penny growing up even if i wouldnt admit it#i just wanted to be girly for one single night and wear that ridiculous dress#on the night it’s acceptable and expected to look like a late 90s/early 2000s disney pop star/prom scene#and i never got to wear one
0 notes
Text
Day 1 of Jeankasa Smut Week 2021: Roleplay
Ao3
"'Passion' a word which involves so many feelings. I feel it when we touch; I feel it when we kiss; I feel it when I look at you. For you are my passion; my one true love."
Disclaimer: This contains explicit smut. Please make sure to practice safe sex.
Jean got into a bad mood each day they went to the market. He didn’t like crowds, and the population of the island had grown considerably after the signing of the peace accords. He liked his Saturdays quiet and lazy, with her and their baby girl as his only company, not surrounded by shouting vendors and haggling grandmas everywhere.
But he couldn’t deny her anything, and Mikasa knew that very well. It only took a “Jean, please,” with her eyes set onto his for him to become a puddle. Five years together and she still had the same power on him. And oh how he adored that.
“Jean,” she called, walking back to hold his hand and pull him along. “You’re staying behind,”
“Sorry!” Jean said, catching up to her strides. “Are you sure she’s going to be fine?”
“Your mom adores her. She’s been wanting to take her to the beach festival for a while,” she said. “And besides, Connie is with her. They will be fine.”
“Connie spoils her too much,” Jean said, shaking his head. “She’s going to eat three kilos of candy,”
Mikasa turned to look at him over her shoulder, giving him a smile that almost froze him on the spot. She was so pretty; beyond pretty, she was perfect. She usually kept her hair up in a bun when they went grocery shopping to not draw attention, but the sight of her jawline and neck was almost enough for send him over the edge. All jean wanted to do was push her into an alley, kiss her until he ran out of breath, undo that hairdo and pull on her hair as he—
“Jean,” Mikasa said as they reached the next fruit stand. She was facing him now, pretty eyes confused. “Are you okay?”
Jean cleared his throat and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, cursing himself. All Mikasa wanted was buy apples and pears at peace, and there he was, aroused in the middle of the market because his wife was showing a little bit of neck.
Sure, being parents in a two-bedroom apartment made things difficult, and they couldn’t make love as often as they had back when they’d been childless.
He adored their little girl, but she was at a point in which all she wanted was to hug mommy at night, and she either slept in between the two, or convinced Mikasa to sleep with her in her room.
Well, Jean also wanted some time with his woman.
Tonight, he reminded himself. Tonight, they would have the apartment all to themselves, and then they would head out to the beach the next day, to meet up with his mother and Connie.
Tonight, they would finally have the whole apartment for themselves. Tonight, he would lick her for hours. Tonight, he would make her come over and over with his tongue and then he would fuck her right on the kitchen counter.
“Jean, you’re spacing out.”
He shook his head; he couldn’t allow himself to get fired up in the middle of the market, not in front of the old lady that was bagging up their fruit. “I’m sorry,” he said, leaning forward to place a kiss on her cheek.
Mikasa blushed and gave the old lady a sideways glance, making him smile. She’d never been too comfortable with public displays of affection, he knew. “Sorry again,”
“Don’t be,” she replied bashfully, then stepped a bit closer. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” he said, kissing her forehead again and loving the sight of her blush deepening. “I’ll go get the onions.”
“You’re trying to get me flustered, Kirstein,” she said, giving him a mischievous half smile.
“Always, Ackerman,” he said, giving him a proper smirk. “Be right back,”
He’d taken all the bags with him. He’d done it to keep her from carrying the bags. A sweet thing (he was a sweet, sweet man) but a careless thing, too, Mikasa thought as she walked with two large cabbages and a handful of scallions tucked in her arms.
He wasn’t hard to find in the crowd. He’d never been, with how tall he was…also, he was too handsome, too well built to go unnoticed. Everywhere they did, he drew eyes his way, both from men and women. Usually, whenever he was with her, nobody dared to try and approach him.
The fact that he’d been alone for ten minutes was probably the reason why that red headed woman had approached him.
She was, simply put, astonishing. Tall, with large breasts speckled with freckles, wide hips and a plump set of lips. Her hair was cascading down her shoulder, brushed so many times that it shone like molten copper, her eyes of a deep blue and her smile kind and sweet.
“Honey,” Mikasa said, reaching his side. Jean turned to look at her with a wide smile. He took the cabbages from her hands and tucked them inside the bags, readjusting them over his shoulder. “This is where you’ve been?”
Jean blinked, confused. “Didn’t you say you’d meet me here?”
“Oh,” Mikasa said, recalling what she’d said. “Yes.”
Jean smiled, giving her a kiss on the forehead. “I was just talking to Melody,” he said, gesturing to the redhead in front of him. “Melody, this is my wife.”
The girl beamed at her. “A pleasure,” she said, reaching out to shake her hand, her breasts almost spilling out of her cleavage. “Jean was just talking about you and your little girl.”
“Do you know each other?” Mikasa asked.
Melody gave Jean a shy look he didn’t return. “We were friends back in the day,” she said, with a shrug.
Mikasa understood what that meant; Jean had known the touch of many women before they got together. And she couldn’t blame him; she’d loved another person, and then she had mourned him for three years. During those three years Jean had been young, handsome, independent…it was ridiculous to think that he would remain single.
And he was a good back then as well as now, so most of the girls he’d dated, he still treated them politely whenever he encountered them. Still, Mikasa did not like seeing him interact with whoever he’d shared a bed with before. And Jean knew this.
“Melody is here with her husband,” he said. “She’ll be in Shingashina for a little while.”
“Wonderful,” Mikasa mumbled, inevitably looking at the girl. She was two years or three younger, and feminine as a doll. Why had she decided to put on that stained old dress for today?
Because market days weren’t meant to be fancy days, she reminded herself. They weren’t meant to be spent in fancy, tight dresses that enhanced the color of your eyes. Hadn’t anyone told this girl?
But, who was she kidding, trying to think badly of her just for wearing gorgeous clothes and having brushed her hair? Melody was gorgeous, feminine, and maybe yes, Mikasa had a bit of a complex about not being as girly as the other cadets during her teenage years, a complex she hadn’t quite gotten over yet.
“We should meet for dinner one day,” the girl said, but something told Mikasa that her words were meant mostly for Jean. “I need to run now, I’m all done with grocery shopping,”
She looked back at the group of older women carrying her bags for her, waving at them in an almost childish gesture, before giving Mikasa a respectful bow and a smile to Jean. “I’ll see you around, Kirstein,”
Mikasa tightened her grip on the little bag as the girl walked away; Jean didn’t watch her walk, neither did he smile back at her. No, his eyes were only on her. His attention had always belonged to Mikasa, all his desire has always been solely focused on her.
Still, Mikasa couldn’t help but to narrow her eyes at him. “You got distracted?”
“Not at all,” he said, stepping closer to her and kissing her temple. Mikasa closed her eyes, enjoying his touch, and put a hand on his waist to look up at him. “Please don’t tell me you think I’d—”
“I don’t think anything,” Mikasa said, shaking her head, feeling ashamed of herself for the frown she’d put on his face.
“I know you don’t like to see them. But I swear she just came to say hi,” Jean said, putting his hands on her shoulders and giving her another kiss. Mikasa wrapped her hands around his waist fully now, pressing her head to his chest. “Mika, I’ve got no eyes for anyone else. You’re perfect, and I love you.”
Mikasa looked up at him, brought to comfort by the warmth of his arms around her. He was looking at her with the same expression he had for all these years; one that spoke only about deep, passionate, unyielding love. “I love you too,” she said, closing her eyes, inviting him to kiss her lips.
Jean tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and leaned forward to press his lips against hers. The passing vendor that pushed him to the side broke the spell, however, and it also almost made Jean tumble to the ground.
“Are you okay?” Mikasa said, holding on to him and leading him to the side of the street.
“I’m fine,” he said, then glared at the group of children that passed by, running and shouting at the top of their lungs. He smiled at her, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. “The market is not the most romantic of places.”
Mikasa lowered her head. It had been her idea to come today; he’d wanted to stay indoors, make love to her all morning and then cook breakfast together. “I’m sorry,”
“Don’t apologize,” he said,’cupping her face with one hand. “You are gorgeous, and we have a home to look after, don’t we?”
“We do,” Mikasa said, nodding.
“Let’s go,” he said, grabbing her hand and giving it a kiss. “I’ll make lunch for you,”
“I love you, Jean,”
“I love you too, Mikasa,” he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulder so they could make their way along the street. “I gotta say, this jealousy thing you have is an ego boost.”
“I know you get a laugh out of it,” she said, smiling once again when he kissed her temple. She looked over her shoulder, to where the girl had been. Did he miss his bachelor life? Did he miss dressing up and going on fancy dates with mysterious, rich girls? All pointed to him not missing it, but he’d lived as a single man for a long time before anything reciprocal happened between them.
Mikasa narrowed her eyes as she came up with an idea.
___________________________
Most of the afternoon had been too hectic to nap, or do anything else. The whole time, he’d stared at Mikasa as she sorted the food they’d gotten, as they cooked lunch and cleaned the rooms in their apartment. And whenever she’d let her hair down, he’d felt himself growing hard.
Jean entered the shower with his cock throbbing with desire for his wife. He needed her. He’d been lusting after her the whole morning, the whole afternoon, and now he was throbbing in his pants for her.
He turned on the warm water and put his head under it, noticing thick droplets of precum leaking out of the tip of him. If he came to her like this after their shower, he would come in his pants before he even got the chance to give her any pleasure.
So, Jean rubbed the length of his cock, slowly at first, thinking about the curve of her neck, her jealous display that morning. He thought of ripping the clothes off her as he rubbed himself more, then he imagined her nipples in his mouth, her perfect beautiful nipples that got so hard so easily…he would make her scream tonight; he would fuck her hard and long.
Jean pressed his forehead against the shower wall, picturing her squirming and shouting, then spilled his own pleasure as the water ran down his back. It was a quick orgasm, just quick enough to hold on during the night.
When he came out of the shower, however, he didn’t find her in their room. There was a little note, hastily written on their recently made bed.
Balcony.
She’d laid out clothes for him; the military suit he’d worn for the signing of the peace accords, years ago. Jean smiled, confused by what she was planning, but he wasn’t one to complain.
He wanted to take her out for dinner; they hadn’t had a date in two months and this little vacation from parenting was the perfect chance for him to spoil her.
Even in his military suit, he found himself severely underdressed when he saw her waiting at the balcony. The sun had started to go down, and the orange colors of the sky matched perfectly with her red, tight dress she had on. She’d put a soft red lipstick on; Mikasa didn’t wear much make up, and he loved her like that, but the sight of her red lips only brought the image of her lovely mouth wrapped tightly around his cock.
Control yourself, dumbass, he told himself.
“Hey,” he said, smiling as he opened the door to their balcony. She’d laid out wine and a table of bread, cheeses and meat. “Are we staying in tonight?”
Mikasa stared at him with a blank face, almost as if…she didn’t know him.
“What’s going on, honey?”
“Why are you calling me your honey?” She asked, and Jean didn’t know whether he ought to be worried or terrified. Of all the things that had happened to them so far, she couldn’t have lost her memory now.
“It’s not funny, Mika,” he said, coming close to her to grab her arm, but his wife pulled away.
“Do you go around touching strangers?” Mikasa asked and, as she turned to face the city, Jean saw the hint of a smile on her face…and understanding came to him. He smirked; so, she wanted to get playful?
You’re naughty, Ackerman, he thought.
“I’m sorry,” he said, leaning back against the thick railings, a careful distance away from her, still close enough to smell her perfume. “You’re just a lovely looking little thing,”
Mikasa didn’t look back at him, but he saw the hints of a blush on her cheeks. He tilted his head to the side; he’d flirted like this many many times in the past. He’d never flirted with her, though. Their love had grown without the need of flirting, as well as their desire for each other. It had been a natural thing, like the thawing of winter, like the arrival of the spring rains.
Flirting with her like this…it amused him. It aroused him.
“Do you go around calling girls ‘thing’?” She said, giving him a sideways glance that showed Jean in full just how blushed she was. Her smiled at her; she wasn’t used to this, and flirting was clearly not her stronghold. “Who are you, anyways?”
Jean poured a glass of wine each before he stepped closer to her. “Who are you?” He asked, his eyes traveling her body up and down. He didn’t hide his desire for her in his gaze; he was telling her without words that he wanted every bit of her, and Mikasa exhaled deeply when he brushed some hair away from her shoulder. “You don’t look like people around here.”
She cracked a little smile at that. “I don’t?”
“You have really pretty black hair,” he said, his smirk becoming bolder.
“Thanks.”
“What’s your name?” Jean asked, his fingers tracing her shoulder, making her shiver.
“Mikasa,” she said in a low voice.
“That name isn’t from around,” Jean raised his eyebrows in fake surprise. “Are you from the island?”
“I grew up in Hizuru,” she said, looking down. “Half of my family is Azumabito.”
“Ah, hizuran royalty? Tilt your head back a bit, please,” Jean said, and Mikasa did as he asked. He put the glass of wine against her lips and she took a couple of sips. “I hope you won’t mind me, lady, I’m just a military officer.”
“What’s your name?” Mikasa asked. There were some droplets of wine on her chin, which Jean wiped off with his index.
“Jean Kirstein, lady,” he said, his finger going up to her mouth, tracing the shape of her lower lip. “Tell me, won’t this get you in trouble?”
“Yes,” Mikasa said, her dark eyes on his. “But I got a night away from my guardians.”
“And you want to be naughty with the first stranger you see?” Jean asked, giving her a wicked smile that brought a tiny surprised yelped out of her. “Won’t you get in serious problems if you’re seen with a lowly official like me?”
“I might,” Mikasa said, biting her lower lip before casting a glance inside their apartment.
“Do you want to go somewhere quieter?” Jean asked. “Somewhere you won’t be seen? I would feel terrible if you got into trouble.”
“Do you want to go inside?”
“Yes,” he said. Mikasa nodded and walked back, and just the sight of her hips moving in that dress was enough to get his cock hard once again.
He took the bottle of wine with him, then closed the door and drew the curtains. Mikasa was facing away from him, and Jean took that as an invitation. He pressed himself hard against her back, letting her feel how hard he was with her buttock. Then, he brushed the hair away from her shoulders, uncovering her lovely naked neck.
“Do you have a habit of taking foreign men to bed?” He asked her as he put hot kisses on her neck. Mikasa closed her eyes and tilted her head back, a position that Jean used to feed her some more of that wine, directly from the bottle. A little spilled onto her naked chest, which Jean wiped with his thumb and brought up to her mouth for her to suck on. “Do you have a habit of letting men feel you up like this?”
Mikasa shook her head. “What about you?” She turned around to face him. “Do you have a habit of bringing random girls to your apartment?”
Jean put his hand against her cheek. So that was it. She hadn’t liked seeing that girl, that shadow he barely remembered of his past. She’d seen the way Mikasa had looked at the girl’s dress, and knew her well enough to understand the sight of her hadn’t pleased her.
“Not anymore,” he said, caressing her cheek. He knew he had a past with women, she knew that as well. And he was willing to reassure her as many times as it took, that the idea of even looking at another woman was ridiculous to him, unthinkable. “Not ever again, after you.”
Mikasa leaned into his touch, sighing deeply. “Are you not married, officer Kirstein?”
Jean smiled, they were playing again. “Not yet,” he said, leaning forward again, smelling her perfume and the wine intertwining. “I’d marry you tonight if you let me.”
“I’ll definitely get in trouble for that,” she said, breathing heavily. Jean’s cock was beginning to leak by now. He needed her, so so badly. “I’m only a commoner for tonight.”
“What are you after tonight?” He asked playfully. “A princess?”
Mikasa nodded, and he noticed her squeezing her legs together in anticipation. “I leave tomorrow morning.”
“Can I make the hizuran princess come with my tongue?” He asked in a low voice, getting a moan out of her. Mikasa nodded, her eyes half lidded, full of desire.
Just a nod was all he needed. Jean surrounded her body with his arms and kissed her; their mouths joined together almost desperately, and their tongues found each other quick. Her dress was tight, tight enough for him to perfectly feel the shape of her breasts against his shirt.
Jean took her in his arms and sat her on the small coffee table in their living room. “This is so pretty,” he said as he ran his hands up and down the fabric of her dress. “I don’t want to rip it off.”
“Rip it off,” she asked, and Jean was too aroused to not do so. He would buy her a brand-new dress tomorrow, he thought as he ripped the pretty red fabric to reveal her naked body. Her inner thighs were wet already, and Jean was amazed to see her pussy slick and ready for him.
But no, not yet. He would take his time with her. He would fuck her good and hard all night, but now he would focus on making her come. “Can I see you touch yourself, princess?”
Mikasa propped herself up on one elbow. “What?”
“I want to see you,” Jean said, parting her legs further apart. He wanted to taste her, he wanted her pussy all over his face. But first, he wanted to play some more. “I want you to show me, princess, how you want me to touch you. Please?”
_____________________________
Mikasa hesitated a second. Jean had played with her enough times for her to know what she liked and how she liked it, but he rarely asked to watch. He was in his knees in front of her, his penis bulging in his pants, his face red and full of desire.
She wanted to see more of that expression.
So, Mikasa put her two fingers above the little bulge of pleasure just above her folds and gave a little rub. She was soaked through; a little flirting with Jean and just a few kisses had been enough to leave her like a puddle.
She gave her clit a careful rub, moaning at the touch of her fingers. Then, she rubbed a little more.
“Look at me,” Jean asked. Mikasa kept moving her fingers in a circular motion, then one of Jean’s hand was on her breast, squeezing her nipple with two fingers while his other hand…his other hand brought out his penis, huge and throbbing and beautiful.
The hand on his breast soon went to join the fingers she was using to masturbate. He moved his fingers alongside hers, then introduced two inside her wet slit. All the while, he jerked himself. There were thick beads of white liquid on the head of his cock, which he wiped with two fingers and used to wet her nipples with.
“You are so naughty, princess,” he said, squeezing her breast. “Letting a stranger like me play with you like this,”
His fingers twitched inside her, in that hook like motion she enjoyed so much, and her fingers onn her clitoris became quicker. Her breath became heavier, and she could feel that buildup of pleasure becoming incredibly high. She looked at him the whole time, her eyes set on his body. The muscles in his arms became more prominent when he played with himself, and oh his dick looked so big in his hands, all Mikasa could think about was putting it inside her mouth, or her pussy.
“Jean,” she called, the motions of her fingers becoming quicker. She was so close. “Jean! Ahhh…”
Mikasa tilted her head back, her fingers working nonstop, and arched her back. She was coming now. He took that as another invitation. Jean leaned forward, removed his fingers and pressed his tongue against her entrance just in time to drink up all the juices that leaked out of her with her orgasm.
Mikasa’s moans died down as the waves of her orgasm left her, but Jean didn’t move away. Instead, he pressed his face closer to her pussy, and began licking.
“I need to taste you, princess,” he said, looking up as he ran his tongue alongside her whole and over her folds. His smile was wicked, his eyes pure desire. “I need to taste more of your juices, princess.”
She grabbed his head by the head, suddenly possessed by a sudden urge to dominate him, and brought his face back down onto her pussy. “Taste,” she told him, unsure where the sultry sound in her voice was coming. “Drink all of me,”
Jean became a beast; he buried his face inside her, two fingers inside and his tongue incessantly pulsing against her clit, driving her insane. He knew in which way to move his tongue, he knew exactly what to do and knew how to make her come.
Soon, Mikasa came on his tongue and face again. This time, when she spilled her wetness on him, she was screaming his name. She propped herself up on her elbows again, to look at his face. His nose, mouth and cheeks were covered in wetness. He was oh, so beautiful.
“I’m not done, princess,” he informed her, giving her folds another tentative lick that made her squirm in pleasure. Just how many times would he make her come tonight? “Come up, please.”
Mikasa did as he requested, and soon, Jean wrapped the tie around her eyes. Everything went dark around her, but she could clearly feel his fingers pressing onto her clitoris.
“This way, when they ask you who fucked you all night, you can tell them you don’t know,” he said, using his strong arms to lay her back against the table.
“You’re going to get carried away,” Mikasa moaned. “Let me, let me use my mouth—”
“No, princess,” he said, sucking on her clit before speaking again. “Tonight I’m your servant. I’m your knight, the knight that’s going to make you flood the carpet.”
“I’m supposed to be a commoner tonight,”Mikasa moaned, leaning her head back as he buried his face between her legs. Everything was black, but she could feel his fingers entering her, moving back and forth, she could tell that his tongue was enjoying every bit of her.
“You’re never a commoner, Mikasa,” he said, sucking on her again. “You’re a queen, and a queen must always be treated accordingly.”
________________________
He loved her taste. No, he adored it. And he loved hearing her come, her voice high pitched and full of his name. The juices didn’t stop coming; not the first time, not the second time, not the third. And on the fourth time he made her come, even more juices came out.
His face was soaked by the time he felt like he could take it no longer, and when he came back up to kiss her, he almost said I love you to her.
But no; they were playing just now. And now he was the military official, shamelessly fucking the princess on her diplomatic visit. “Here, come taste yourself,” he said, grabbing her by the back and lifting her up. She parted lips for him without trying to remove the tie from her eyes. He pressed his lips to hers, and her tongue explored his mouth for long minutes.
Her hand was soon stroking his cock; she wanted him, she’d wanted to suck on him earlier, and he hadn’t let her. “You’re eager to learn, aren’t you, princess?”
“I want to make you feel good, officer,” she replied, stroking him harder.“Let me use my tongue.”
Jean pushed her back against the coffee table; there was a puddle on the wood, a puddle that was dripping onto the carpet. He would need to change and clean all of that before the weekend finished.
Her parted legs where right there in front of him, though. Changing the carpet was the least of his worries. Jean leaned forward, rubbing the tip of his penis on her clit, making her moan more.
“Aren’t you going to let me?” She asked; her pale cheeks were completely red, and she was breathing heavily from all the times she’d come. Jean smiled; that sweet face was all he needed.
“We need to make you feel good, princess,” he said, pushing the head of his cock inside her. He knew he was big, he knew how much she enjoyed it when he introduced his dick slowly, letting her feel every inch. Mikasa moaned as her went deeper, her mouth opening into a perfect little O. He couldn’t take it any longer; Jean grabbed the tie and threw it away, needing to see his wife’s eyes as he pushed deep inside.
“Jean,” she moaned, giving him a lusty gaze. “All the way,”
“Yes, princess,” he said, pushing his whole length inside her, making her yelp. “We’ll do this a couple of times, okay? I want you to go back home well fucked.”
“Hard,” she asked, her voice sweet and and pleasure filled. “Fuck your princess hard,”
Jean pushed inside of her and then came out, then he came back down, making her moan out loud. She brought a hand up to her mouth, almost as if to stifle her moans. Fuck, she was cute. “Hey,” he said, grabbing her hand gently and pressing it against the table, exposing her mouth. “There’s just us home, okay? Be as loud as you want,”
“But—” a moan escaped her throat as he thrusted inside her.
“Let me hear you scream, princess,” he said, thrusting slowly, with one of his hands rubbing on her clit. “Let me hear you scream.”
“Jean!” She moaned as he thrusted quicker. This is exactly what he wanted; he wanted her loud, he wanted her driven to the edge with pleasure, he wanted her sweaty and all to himself. This is what he’d been thinking about all day.
“Fuck, I love you,” he moaned against her ear. “You’re such a good princess,”
“Mine,” Mikasa moaned, wrapping her arms around his back, kissing him on the lips with urgency as he pumped inside her. “You’re mine, Kirstein. Mine,”
“All yours,” he moaned as well, feeling himself getting closer and closer to his orgasm. “I’m going to cum soon.”
“Inside me,” she panted.
Jean chuckled against her ear. “Do you want to get pregnant, your highness?” He said, thrusting nonstop, feeling thick beads of sweat on his forehead. “Do you want to return home with my child in your belly?”
“I’m not going back,” she screamed; so, his fingers were working wonders. “I’m staying here!”
“Wanna get fucked some more?” Jean asked.
“Yes!”
“Want me to come inside?” Jean asked, his knees weaker, his balls tight with the closeness of his orgasm. “Want me to fill you up?”
“Fill me, Jean,” Mikasa said, opening her mouth, now screaming in full. The quiet, collected princess she’d played transformed into a lustful, insatiable woman. “Fill me!”
“I’ll fill you all the fucking time, princess,” he promised, groaning more and more like an animal. He needed to come, he would go mad if he didn’t. “I’ll fill all of your holes, princess, I promise.”
“I love you,” Mikasa said, grabbing him by the neck to press her forehead against his. Jean kissed her, unable to hold back any longer. He spilled his seed inside her, with his lips still on hers, muffling her moans of pleasure as she came again from his fingers. Their orgasms had the strength of an explosion, and both of them shouted into each other’s mouth as their pleasure spilled on each other.
Jean crumbled on top of her chest, breathless. He was still pulsing inside her, his dick half-hard in her sweet, warm wetness.
“I love you, Mika,” he said, kissing her neck and recalling their game. “Oh sorry, I love you,’princess.”
Mikasa smiled at him, her face red and tired. “Did you like it?”
“I love everything we do,” he said, kissing her lips again. “But I think we’ll do this princess-knight thing more often. It’s so hot.”
Her smile wavered a little, and Jean felt his heart tightening by the sight of her sudden disappointment. He cupped her face, giving her another kiss on the lips. “What is it? Didn’t you like it?”
“I loved it,” she said, looking away from him. “It’s just…do you miss it?”
“Miss what?”
“Getting women like this,” she said, closing her eyes. “You know, one-night stands. Do you miss sleeping with your rich friends?”
Jean stopped smiling, then kissed her cheek. “Did you do this whole roleplay thing because of that?” He asked her. “Did you do it because you thought I missed hooking up?”
Mikasa opened her eyes, then shook her head. “I wanted to play, I wanted…” she admitted, a little ashamed. “I wanted you, but I also wanted to see what it was like. I wanted to see the Jean that seduced all those women.”
"That Jean and this Jean are the same, Mika,” he said, brushing away the hair sticking to her forehead. “Honey, you’ve got all of me. All of me. I don’t need another woman, I don’t miss those days.”
“You don’t?”
“Not at all,” Jean said, placing another kiss on her lips. “I make love to the woman I love, to the mother of my child, to the woman I crushed on for years.”
Mikasa giggled a little at that, making him smile wider. That laughter was only for him and their daughter; that laughter was enough for him to be sure he wanted nothing other than the woman in front of him (or under him, if he had to be accurate).
“Mikasa Ackerman, I adore you with every bit of my being,” he said, cupping her face again. “I don’t want anyone else. I don’t miss the empty, loveless sex. All I want is to make love to you, and have you love me back. I love flirting with you, and I love it when we get naughty, but that doesn’t mean I miss any part of my life as a single man.”
“I love you, Jean,” she replied, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I adore everything about you, too.”
“And I adore making love to you,” Jean said, reaching for her neck. He kissed her again, and the little gasp she did was enough to get him hard again. “Making love to you and then waking up next to you brings me more happiness than anyone before ever did. Mikasa, you’re my one and only.”
“And you are mine,” she said, grabbing his face between two hands and kissing him for a long time before letting go. “Hey, Jean?”
“Yeah?”
“Make love to me again.”
__________________
She had her hands between her legs while he fucked her from behind. After the living room, they’d taken a shower together, then he’d carried her to their room, where he’d licked her some more.
At some point, she’d managed to use her mouth to suck every ounce of pleasure out of him. But Jean’s stamina was unbelievable, and he’d soon been ready to go again. They were young in any case, and being parents had kept them too busy to have a proper go at lovemaking the past few months.
“Jean,” she moaned, hearing the steady slap of his body against hers as he pushed inside of her from behind.
Jean leaned forward, moving his hips in and out of her, then kissed her ear. “What is it, my princess?”
“The sun is coming out,” she said, pointing at the window. Indeed, there was a hint of orange in the horizon, and the birds were starting to sing outside. “You…”
“It had been a while since we fucked all night, right?” He teased, taking her earlobe in his mouth and sucking. Mikasa rubbed herself faster; she could feel when he was close to coming, she could hear it in his voice. “I love fucking you all night, princess. I love filling you everywhere.”
“You filled me…so good,” she said. He went quicker too, then put his hand on her nipple and squeezed. “Together, Jean,”
“Huh? What, baby?”
Mikasa gritted her teeth, he was groaning so hard nowhis thrust were so rough. “Let’s cum together,” she moaned, and Jean went quicker at her words. Mikasa moved her fingers faster against her clit. “Fill me again, fill me again,”
“I’ll fill you every time. I’ll fuck you good every time, princess. I promise you won’t regret staying here,” he promised. He was so good at talking filthy, much better than her, and his deep, pleasure filled voice was perfect.
Then, he buried one hand inside her hair to pull on it. He tilted her head back, and Jean kissed her long and deep, moaning into her mouth as they both climaxed.
They crumbled on the bed next to each other. While she’d made a little puddle in the living room, their bedroom sheets were downright soaked because of her. “I love you,” she whispered as she settled into his arms. “We shouldn’t drive to the beach today.”
“Want to do it some more?” He said, giving her a smirk that made her blush despite everything they’d done since last night.
“I mean because we didn’t sleep at all, Kirstein,” she said, giving him a gentle shove. Jean laughed and she settled onto his chest, closing her eyes to enjoy the sound of his beating heart.
“I love you, Mika,” he said.
“I love you too,” Mikasa looked up at him, suddenly feeling silly for her jealousy burst the previous day. “Hey, Jean?”
“Yes, darling?”
“We’re not going out for dinner with that girl.”
Jean’s chest went up and down in a deep chuckle. “I had no plans to do that, Mika,”
“And if she talks to you again…”
Jean tugged her chin upwards, but his smile wasn’t sarcastic, it wasn’t mocking. His smile, his eyes, his whole expression was nothing but love, and all that it did was make Mikasa fall even harder for him. “If she talks to me again, I’ll show her all the pictures I carry of you in my wallet, and I’ll tell her there is nobody more perfect.”
“Jean, not all of them,” she whispered, recalling one in particular he’d taken the last time his mother had looked after their baby.
“Oh no that’s just for me,” jean said, nuzzling her neck. “Just like you are, right?”
Mikasa nodded, letting him kiss her neck again. “Just yours, all of me,” she assured him. “And you are mine?”
“Body and soul, Ackerman,” he said, smiling against her neck. “All of me.”
#Jeankasa Smut#Jeankasa Smut Week 2021#jean kirsten x reader#Mikasa Ackerman#Smut#Fanfic#ao3 smut#Roleplay#escritos
47 notes
·
View notes
Text
Reminiscing and big news
The day of Dorothy Walker’s memorial service and funeral passed with minimal dramatics, thankfully.
As Jessica had promised, she and Luke had remained outside the service, vigilant for any sign of Phillip or anyone else lurking around the building or attempting a disruption. Jessica owned exactly two dresses that she had worn exactly once each, and one of them was a red wedding dress. She owned no “funeral appropriate” clothing, according to Trish, despite the irony of owning quite a lot of black t-shirts, jackets, and jeans. According to Trish, if Jessica wore any of them, despite the appropriate color, the clothes themselves would likely cause Dorothy to rise from the dead just to sputter her indignation at the scandal.
In the end she borrowed a dress from Trish that was a little short in length and tight on her around the chest, which made no sense to Jessica, since she was usually at least a cup size smaller than Trish. It was not exactly the kind of clothing that was suitable for ass-kicking, which would have made her uncomfortable any time, let alone when she was guarding a place with the actual possibility of ass-kicking. Damn Trish and her adherence to social expectations, but this wasn’t a day Jessica could argue with her.
Phillip didn’t show, although it seemed like every other person even loosely attached to the entertainment industry did. The amount of dramatic grieving from people that likely barely knew or had actively disliked Dorothy made Jessica’s skin crawl just watching them, which made her glad she didn’t have to sit through an entire service of it. No one in particular stood out to her, and the vast majority didn’t recognize her as Dorothy’s adoptive daughter as they passed, whether that was because they wouldn’t associate Jessica with wearing a dress or because Dorothy had managed to put that much distance between them over time. Jessica did notice a short young woman with dark hair and intense eyes look her over a little longer than she considered normal, but the woman didn’t speak to her, and she wasn’t someone that Jessica recognized, so she let it go.
By the time it was all over and everyone was milling around, likely gossiping more than talking about Dorothy, Jessica was more than ready to get Trish and go. She wanted to check in on her and make sure she got through her speech okay, of course, but she also had had to pee really badly. Which was weird, because her morning attempt at coffee and whiskey had not been successfully digested, something she was starting to get actively agitated about. This was not the time to be sick, damn it. She would start to think someone was poisoning her, if she hadn’t been getting all her own drinks herself.
Trish’s eyes were red, her expression tired when she finally emerged with Danny, but she gave Jessica and Luke a smile that was only slightly strained, obviously relieved that everything had gone smoothly. She gave Jessica a hug and kept her in it loosely as she looked past Jessica’s shoulder to Luke and Danny.
“Jess…I know you hate talking and feelings and combinations of the two. But would you please do just one more thing for me?”
Jessica sighed, pulling back from Trish to look at her, but despite the attitude she gave off in her look, she already knew she would say yes. “What are you making me do?”
“I sort of just…I want to go sit somewhere with you, and remember things about Mom,” Trish said softly. “Not like everyone else just did. That was a public thing. It was true, mostly, but it wasn’t the whole story, it wasn’t the Mom we knew. No one else lived with her, no one else but you knew her like I did. Just for a little while. I think it will help me, if you let me talk about things we remember.”
Her blue eyes were so full of both hurt and hope that it was hard to even look at her, let alone say no to her. Her request was about the last thing one earth Jessica wanted to do, but she sighed and nodded, for Trish.
“Fine. Just let me go pee first, I swear I’ve been holding it for like three hours now.”
They ended up sitting together on the couch of Trish’s and Danny’s penthouse, Trish with her knees wrapped around her legs, Jessica a little twitchy and tense at first, but gradually relaxing. She had been afraid that Trish might want to romanticize Dorothy, going into detail about every positive quality that the woman had and conveniently forgetting all the rest, but instead, Trish was wanting to talk about what it had been like when they lived together, or as Jessica thought of it, suffered through mutual Dorothy encounters together.
“Do you remember your first Christmas with us?” Trish said with faint smile. “Mom always insisted on going ridiculously all out with decorating, she would actually hire people to put up garland and mistletoe and fake snow and whatever else was chic that year. And she insisted on that huge photo spread of us as a new family in that magazine?”
“God, what the hell was she thinking, putting up mistletoe in a house three women lived in? Who were we supposed to kiss, each other?” Jessica rolled her eyes, before smirking. “Maybe we should have, just to shake her up a bit. That would have been the most viral photo shoot of the year. Patsy Walker makes out with her own sister!”
Trish giggled. “She made you wear that dress that matched mine, and you absolutely refused to smile. In every single picture, every damn one, there was Mom and me grinning like manic Christmas fairies, and you giving your best death glare, all decked out in velvet and lace.”
“She didn’t try that again, after all the comments to the editor speculating about if her new daughter was brain damaged or mentally ill from her tragic accident,” Jessica remember, her smirk deepening. “I think they would have cut me out of the pictures entirely if that didn’t kind of defeat the point of the photo shoot.”
“She would get so mad at how you dressed,” Trish reminded her, smiling. “I swear, Jess, I think your style to this day is a defiant reaction to her constantly telling you to comb your hair, put on makeup, and wear clothes with a designer labeled designed for the female body. Who knows, maybe you would be a fashion model if she hadn’t actually encouraged you to be one. You have the height and figure for it, she wasn’t wrong.”
“But absolutely zero interest,” Jessica reminded her flatly. “I outgrew the girly thing about the time I outgrew wearing princess dresses with Sketchers. Even then, Barbies in my hands got their hair chopped off and their bodies tattooed with Sharpie.”
“Remember the time the Thanksgiving caterer she hired somehow brought us the wrong food, for some vegan family, and we had this ridiculous tofu shaped like a turkey?” Trish laughed. “And she tried to cook one herself but never actually turned the oven on, so we had like, a thousand side dishes that all looked and tasted like cardboard, and a frozen turkey? And then you tried to microwave it-“
“Hey, I was 15,” Jessica laughed. “I know now to just order take out. Real take out, not vegan catering shit.”
“And that time she decided we should drive to the movie I was shooting in LA, all the way from New York, because it was about a girl going on a road trip with her friends, and she thought I needed to actually experience a road trip to give an authentic acting experience,” Trish continued, her smile broadening. “No matter how hard we tried, we couldn’t convince her that driving across the country with your manager mother at age seventeen is not at all the same as driving with a group of friends.”
“Oh my god, you’re lucky I didn’t strangle you both with my earbuds,” Jessica muttered, shaking her head. “She literally brought along an It’s Patsy soundtrack to listen to on the road. Does she know how many times I had to sit on my hands to keep from grabbing the wheel to force us over the side of a cliff? I didn’t care if it was suicide, I was fucking ready to die within an hour.”
“She would actually go rant at the gas station attendants about the unacceptable lack of cleanliness and availability of healthy food options in their stores,” Trish remembered, snickering. “I was so mortified. And you locked us both out of the car for an hour at one stop.”
“I needed the peace, what can I say?” Jessica shrugged, smirking. “I would do it again, a thousand times over.”
Trish sighed, her expression going more serious as paused before speaking up again.
“None of this was funny then,” she said quietly. “It probably still isn’t, really. But we’re the only ones that remember. We’re the only ones left that really knew her. Mom…she was a difficult person. Really, really hard to love sometimes, and harder to like. But the good things I said about her back there were true too. She was smart, she had high expectations of herself and others, and she was strong. She had to be, raising me on her own, wanting me to be more and have more in life than she could. She messed me up, but she always thought what she did was for my best, no matter how much she had to twist up logic to come to the conclusion that it was right.”
Jessica didn’t argue with her, just nodding slightly. What Trish said wasn’t untrue.
“She was toxic for you,” she offered quietly. “But she did love you, as much as she could love anyone besides herself. She was proud of you. She was shit at showing it, but she was. You were her shining star.”
“I know,” Trish said softly, exhaling. “I don’t know if I should be trying to remember the good times, like when she would tuck me in at night and tell me I was the best and most beautiful girl in the world, or the bad times, like when she would slap my face and call me a fat, selfish bitch. But maybe the best thing is to remember it all. Balance.”
Jessica nodded again, putting a hand hesitantly on Trish’s knee. Trish covered it with hers, squeezed, and then entwined their fingers.
“She loved you too,” Trish told her, unknowingly repeating Luke’s words. “I know it probably didn’t seem like it to you. But she did. I know she did. She wouldn’t waste her breath criticizing someone as much as she criticized you, if that person wasn’t someone she loved.”
This was the first time that Jessica had really considered this, and the first time it rang true. She exhaled, accepting the idea, and a bittersweet tightness spread through her chest as she understood that this was something that both she and Dorothy had never expressed and now never could.
Trish leaned her head against Jessica’s shoulder, shifting to settle her body against her. Jessica inhaled sharply when Trish’s shoulder inadvertently jostled the side of her breast, not having expected the tender pain the slight gesture invoked.
“Ow,” she muttered, shifting away from her enough that Trish could remain leaned on her, but wasn’t touching anywhere near her chest. “Hm, maybe I pulled something.”
“Pulled something? Did you break a rib?” Trish asked, concerned, and starting to lift her head. “Did you go out and fight people last night?”
“No,” Jessica shrugged. “Pretty sure you can’t break a boob. Probably PMSing. Or strained a chest muscle from puking. You probably actually don’t want to get this close to me, whatever I’ve had lately is probably contagious.”
Trish’s lips twitched then, and her eyes danced with amusement that she tried unsuccessfully to hide. Jessica stared at her.
“What, we’re so juvenile now we laugh at the word boob? What do you call yours, mammary glands?”
Trish giggled, shaking her head.
“You just aren’t adding things up, are you, Jess?”
“What is there to add?” Jessica demanded, more confused than ever. “When did we change the subject to math?”
“Jess,” Trish said patiently, still fighting a smile. “Think about this. You’re throwing up. You’re wanting to eat weird things and not drink. You cried in front of Danny yesterday-“
“Hey,” Jessica protested, automatically defensive at the mention of crying, but Trish spoke over her.
“You’ve peed three times since you’ve been over here, and now, your boob hurts. Are you starting to see the picture?”
“Yeah, you spend way too much time paying attention to the shit I do,” Jessica grumbled, not seeing at all. “Why are you tracking everything I do, you weirdo?”
“Oh my god, you are the least self aware person I’ve ever met,” Trish groaned, shaking her head. Putting both hands on Jessica’s shoulders, she looked her directly in the eye, speaking slowly and distinctly. “Jessica. Honey. You need to take a pregnancy test.”
“What? I’m not pregnant!” Jessica exclaimed, automatically stunned and dismissive of the idea. “I would know if I was pregnant, Trish, please!”
“Jessica, Danny already told me that you are,” Trish started, which only set her off into sputtering indignation.
“DANNY told you?! He’s been in a parallel fucking world, how the fuck would Danny know a damn thing about whether or not there’s a human being hatching in me?!”
“He saw the baby’s chi,” Trish explained patiently. Giving her shoulders another little squeeze before letting them go, she stood, then gestured for the door. “Right, I can’t let this level of denial go on any longer. Here’s fifty bucks. Go to the pharmacy and buy a pregnancy test. Two of them, at least, the most accurate brands. Go home and take them, and if I’m wrong, you can laugh at me all you want.”
“Baby’s chi- what crap,” Jessica muttered, shaking her head as she stood, taking the money. “Whatever, I’ll buy the pregnancy test, but I’ll buy a few bottles of booze too. So I can celebrate my not-pregnant state once I prove you wrong.”
But an hour later, she was standing frozen in the bathroom of her and Luke’s apartment, staring at the very clearly marked positive of the third pregnancy test she had taken. Two positives had not been enough to convince her, and she had actually gone out to buy another of a different brand from a different pharmacy before she could accept the outcome. But three positives was evidence enough to come to a conclusion.
Danny and his stupid chi was right. Apparently, Jessica was pregnant.
Her hands were shaking when she picked up the phone to call Luke. “Um, when are you coming home? We need to talk about something.”
#jessica jones#jessica jones roleplay#luke cage#luke cage roleplay#trish walker#trish walker roleplay
42 notes
·
View notes
Photo
A ROMANTIC CRISIS - Modern JonSa
***
Summary: What do you do when you have a crush on your brother's best friend?
And what if he's also your friend?
What if he freaking bites your lip after giving you a cupcake?
Sansa Stark is panicking and it's all Jon Snow's fault.
***
Notes: Prequel to “A Family Crisis”. One shot, can be found here as well.
***
Sansa Stark had been a very girly little girl. She wanted to be a princess; she loved unicorns and fairies, cupcakes and rainbows. She wore pink and danced ballet and baked cookies.
Catelyn was beside herself with such an adorable daughter and Ned was a proud dad, who called his daughter “princess” every night at bedtime, before kissing her forehead.
As Sansa started to grow she kept the whole girly thing in her life. After she passed the phase in which she thought boys were gross, she started dreaming about prince charming, a spring wedding and happily ever after.
She had a list of attributes for the perfect boyfriend and she knew what type of guy she wanted. Sansa imagined a million times how it would be to find this boy, dreamed of sunset kisses, rainy kisses and of everything sweet and gentle.
Then… Life happened.
For such a romantic Sansa had the worst taste in men. It was bloody ridiculous.
First, there was Joffrey, her first boyfriend, back in senior school. He was everything she’d wanted back then: handsome, rich, well educated; he was like a prince.
Only… He wasn’t.
Joffrey was a piece of shit. Unfortunately it took too long for Sansa to see what everybody else could see. It actually took him slapping her in front of his friends for her to understand. She had forgiven his cruel words, the way he spoke about her family –even though she shouldn’t have – and how he tried to mold her to his taste.
The slap she couldn’t forgive.
So it was goodbye, Joffrey.
She had a brief thing with Willas Tryel, Margaery’s brother, but it never went very far. She’d also rather not talk about that creep Petyr Baelish, who was her teacher on her last year and tried to manipulate her.
Then she went to college and fell head first for another piece of shit: Harry Hardying.
Harry was different from Joffrey, that’s for sure. He wasn’t deliberately cruel, he was a sexist pig, that’s it. He wanted her to be by his side whenever he “needed” her, being pretty, or having sex; and when he wanted to be alone, she had to be a good girl and wait for him at home.
After Harry –and a frightening encounter with Ramsay Bolton, the fucking psycho –Sansa had sworn off guys and this whole romance bullshit.
No more love stories, no more sunset kisses and no more fucking clichés.
God, she hated clichés.
And what was she right now?
A fucking cliché!
Why? Because she had gone ahead and fell in love with her brother’s best friend.
God, this was ridiculous.
Why???
Actually, she did know why, and –in her defense- it wasn’t like she had a long time crush on the guy. Those stupid feelings were brand new.
As opposed to her siblings Sansa had never been particularly close to Jon Snow. They all saw him as a brother and she only saw him as Robb’s best friend.
She wasn’t really mean to him, just indifferent. Jon was a bit of weirdo, always brooding, looking like someone had kicked his puppy or like he needed to be fed a sandwich.
Yes, she could admit that she had admired his form in school, but that was only because Robb had all but forced him to join the rugby team during their years at Senior School and he had started to get a pretty great shape. However, this was a platonic admiration. He looked good, she acknowledged that.
So, she didn’t have a crush on him during senior school and she didn’t get jealous over whoever he dated at the time.
Jon was Jon and that was all that Sansa saw.
Curiously, it was Harry who changed that.
She was home for Christmas when she saw a picture that made her stomach turn. Harry was at some party with two girls sitting on his lap; the subtitle to the picture said, “Enjoying being a single man.”
Most his friends had given “likes” to it, laughing that his “shackles” had been removed.
Sansa couldn’t believe that he was doing that; it was downright disrespectful, almost cruel. If Harry didn’t want to date anymore he could have just broken up with her.
She called him, decided to get an explanation. Harry made himself the victim as he called her crazy, controlling and paranoid, he said she didn’t trust him and was chocking him, and that there was nothing wrong with the picture.
Sansa had thrown her phone across the room, hidden her face in the pillow and cried. That was how Jon found her, 30 minutes later.
Poor guy. He had only gone there to call her for dinner –he was also staying there –but he sat down and listened to her until Arya came looking for them.
They became friends after that.
Jon was so fucking caring and generous. He was a great listener and his advice was amazingly insightful.
Slowly they started to get closer and closer: friends, drinking buddies, shopping companions –poor Jon, he was a true hero.
Cue in an inappropriate crush.
Sansa felt like screaming.
She tried to fight it, she really did. She was sure that Jon saw her only as an annoying little sister.
She was being ridiculous. This was ridiculous.
“You are ridiculous.” Margaery informed her, rolling her beautiful eyes. “No straight guy goes shopping with a woman if he doesn’t have every intention of fucking her.”
“Jon isn’t like that!” Sansa defended automatically.
Margaery snickered. “Keep telling yourself that.” She put her sunglasses back on. “Just seduce the man already. You’ll see I’m right then.”
The thing was, even though Sansa liked this idea, she had no idea of how to do it. Margaery had some ideas, but Sansa refused to dress something ridiculously short in front of him or make him jealous.
She wasn’t 15, for fuck’s sake.
She was going to be mature about this and maturely pretend that she felt nothing until it passed.
It was a very adult decision.
It was! It was a solid plan and she had every intention of sticking to it.
If it failed completely it was Jon’s fault and nobody else’s!
Lord, talk about embarrassing.
She had just finished the last test of that year at the University and was considering spending the whole day under her blankets when her doorbell rang.
Sansa considered staying right where she was, but years of being the polite and well-mannered girl couldn’t be ignored. She got up from the bed, still in her pajamas and half walked, half stumbled to the door.
When she pulled it open she had not expected to find Jon on the other side, but he was there anyway.
Sansa wished she had the strength to close the door on his face –his ridiculously handsome face –and run back to hide under her covers. However, this was Jon Snow, wearing jeans, a leather jacket, a freaking wool scarf, with his head a mess of dark curls and a smile on his lips.
What sane woman would close the door?
“Hey.” She smiled at him.
“Sorry. Did I wake you?” Jon asked embarrassed.
“No.” She replied quickly. “I was just being lazy.”
“You have the right to be lazy sometimes.” He smiled at her.
Sansa finally recovered her senses enough to realize they were still standing by her door. “Come in.”
Jon entered her apartment and she noticed the pink box in his hand.
“Are those…”
“Ridiculously expensive cupcakes?” Jon finished for her. “Yes, I bought them for you. I figured you deserved them, since you finished your tests.”
He offered her the box and Sansa almost cried at his thoughtfulness. Why did he have to be so amazing?
She went to sit on her couch, while Jon left his jacket and scarf on the hooks by the door. She opened the lid and saw four heavily frosted and decorated cupcakes.
“These are really great, Jon.” She giggled. “Want one?”
“No, thanks.” He sat by her. “If diabetes has a face… That’s it.” He indicated the pink cupcake she selected.
She showed him her tongue. “More for me.”
God, those cupcakes were overpriced, but they were amazing.
Jon started chuckling and Sansa turned to him confused. “What?”
“You have frosting all over your face.” He informed, a fond smile on his face.
Sansa felt her whole face getting red. “Oh my god! Where?” That was what she got for trying to bite the whole thing.
“Here. Let me help you.” Jon stretched his arm and brushed his thumb against the tip of her nose.
Sansa was still feeling pretty embarrassed –what was she? A child? –but those feelings took a turn when Jon brought his thumb to his mouth.
Sansa was almost certain she had an orgasm.
Jon was looking at her in a way she couldn’t explain. It was… Different. It was like he was seeing her for the very first time. He stretched his arm again, but this time he was closer than before and Sansa didn’t remember moving at all.
His thumb brushed her chin and he once again brought it to his mouth.
“Done?” She asked breathless.
“Just a bit more.” Was she crazy or had his voice gone all husky?
Okay, there were getting closer somehow and Sansa had no idea of how, because, this time, when Jon reached for her he barely had to stretch his arm. His thumb grazed the curve of her lower lip ridiculously slow.
After everything that had happened to her, Sansa had started to believe that whole sparks and fireworks thing was a lie. But the way this simple touch radiated through her body…
Time must be working slower than normal, because Jon’s thumb hadn’t even reached the middle of her lip when Sansa decided to say something. “Stop stealing my frosting.”
Stop stealing her frost? STOP STEALING HER FROST? Oh Lord, she was pathetic. Who said things like that?
She did apparently.
“No.” Jon said simply. “It’s sweeter than I thought. Now I want a bite.” He spoke the whole time looking at her lips.
Sansa wasn’t sure when he moved. She just knew that one moment they weren’t kissing and the next they were.
Not exactly kissing. Actually it was way hotter than that. Jon had bitten –bitten –her lower lip and sucked it gently and Sansa felt it all the way down to her toes.
She forgot how to breathe and she was pretty sure her heart forgot how to beat for a second.
Jon let go of her lip and Sansa… Well, she jumped on him. Like… Literally.
She gave him no warning, or time to brace himself. She just put her arms around his neck and kissed the hell out of him.
In her defense, he did start it with the whole lip-biting thing, and her reaction was completely justified.
At least she tried to see that way later, when she felt so absolutely humiliated by the way she threw herself at him.
In fact, it was so strong –was she that desperate? – that he fell on his back, against the couch’s arm, and she was sprawled on top of him. She kissed him, her mouth opened over his, her teeth tugging at his lips.
Their position was very uncomfortable, but she didn’t even think of stopping; not when he was kissing her back, his hands traveling up and down her back, never going too low.
Then she did the most stupid thing ever: she stopped. She paused the kiss, just for a second, just to catch her breath, but Jon had opened her eyes, and so had she.
It was like being dosed with a full bucket of icy water.
She could see the moment he realized exactly what they were doing, his expression going quickly from shock to panic.
Sansa scrambled off him to her feet so fast she almost fell. Jon also got up quickly, looking like he had no idea of what he should do that moment.
So, he made it worse by speaking.
“Sansa, I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
Well, that was just great. He regretted kissing her, seconds after doing it. All she could think about was how his lips looked swollen and pink from the kissing, how she could feel her face sensitive from where his beard had scratched hers and he’d said sorry.
This was terrible.
“It’s okay.” She said, her voice tremulous. “I just remembered I have some things to do…”
She just wanted him to go, that was all, because this was awkward and embarrassing.
“Yes, of course.” Jon jumped at her words and she thought she couldn’t hurt worse than she did, but she was wrong. “I’ll just…” He pointed at the door.
He was so obviously shaken and uncomfortable with the whole thing that Sansa couldn’t even begrudge the fact that he wanted to leave this fast. She kind of wanted him gone as well.
“Yeah, sure. Call me later.” She gave him a weak smile.
“Yeah, I will.”
She didn’t think he would, but she smiled at him anyway and watched him go so fast, he actually left his scarf behind.
Once the door closed behind him, Sansa fell on the couch. She noted absentmindedly that she had sat on the forgotten cupcake.
This day really sucked.
XxX
Jon Snow was the worst friend ever.
He truly was.
Not only to Sansa, but also to Robb and the whole family. You don’t lust after your best friend’s little sister, even though it wasn’t just lust, and you sure as fuck didn’t kiss her like that.
He had bitten her lip!
Sansa must have thought he was some kind of pervert or something. This was such a mess.
He should have kept his distance. The moment he realized he was feeling differently towards Sansa he should have stayed away.
Theon used to say that every boy (or man) at some point had had a crush on Sansa Stark. Theon himself had no shame in admitting to anyone –Robb included –that he had a serious crush on the oldest Stark girl when she was around 15.
Robb would bark at his friend to shut up and proclaim Sansa too smart to ever fall for Theon’s tricks.
However, Jon knew that Theon was right. Jon had had a crush on Sansa too, when she was 17.
He never opened his mouth about it to anyone –much less Robb. He felt silly for thinking about her at all, because Sansa was going out with Joffrey Baratheon then and he was a rich boy from an influential family. Jon was aware that Sansa barely knew he existed outside of being Robb’s best friend.
Crushes are crushes and eventually they go away, just like that.
Now… He wasn’t so sure if his crush on her had truly faded at the time or just remained asleep until this moment.
He never expected them to become friends, much less after so many years of knowing each other, but he loved it. Sansa was crazy smart, funny and charming.
She was the whole package.
“Oy, why are you brooding so much, Snow?” Tormund demanded.
Jon sighed. “Nothing.”
Edd and Davos traded looks, but it was the older man that spoke. “Come on, Jon. You’re even quieter than usual.”
Jon had studied to be a civil engineer and he was currently working on a construction site with those men. They were all good men and they’d become quick friends.
Which made them very nosy.
“I did something stupid.” He admitted.
“You?” Edd asked incredulous. “I find that hard to believe.”
“I kissed my best friend’s sister.” He informed them.
Edd made a face. “Big brother is overprotective?”
“A lot.” Jon sighed. “And I understand it, Sansa is…” He sighed again.
“Wow.” Tormund looked amused. “You got it bad, Snow.”
“Shut up.” Jon grumbled.
“Right… But what happened exactly?” Davos wanted to know.
Jon gave a simple explanation of the day before, editing the most explicit details –like the part where he bit her.
“I don’t see the problem here.” Tormund declared. “She kissed you back.”
Jon opened his mouth to deny it, but then, for the first time, he allowed himself to think about it. He had spent the whole day martyring himself and never considered that.
She had kissed him back.
Sansa had kissed him.
“Oh.”
The three other man traded looks again. “You just realized that, didn’t you?” Edd asked.
“I… I guess so.”
Tormund rolled his eyes so hard that Jon worried they were going to fall off. “What’s wrong with you, boy? Girl kisses you, you kiss her back, and –like a gentleman –carry her to her room to fuck her.”
“Hey.” Jon’s look was full of warning.
Tormund just snorted. “Stop being a pussy, Snow.”
“Robb’s going to kill me.” Jon predicted.
“His sister is a big girl, Jon.” Davos said patiently. “I’m sure she can make her own choices.”
“But what if…”
“Snow!” Edd barked. “Stop stalling. Call the girl!”
XxX
“I’m so stupid, Marge. Why did I do something so stupid?”
Margaery rolled her eyes. She let Sansa vent for another minute as she watched the girl in front of her paint her nails. She really liked this shade of red.
“Are you done?” She asked Sansa.
“What do I do?” Sansa wanted to know.
Margaery rolled her eyes again, happy that her friend couldn’t see her, since she was on the other side of the line.
Mary, the girl doing her nails, gave Marge a sympathetic smile.
“Fuck him, I hope.”
“MARGAERY!”
“Sansa, he bit you.” Margaery reminded her. “Do you have any idea how hot that sounds?”
“But…”
“Sansa Stark, you either call that boy, tell him you want to fuck him, marry him –whatever –or I swear I gonna lock you two in a room and only let you out after you fucked.”
There was a prolonged silence from the other side, while Mary looked pretty impressed by Margaery’s threat.
“Sansa darling, are you still there?” Margaery asked.
“Yeah.” It was weak, but it’d do.
“Great. Hang up, call Jon. Get laid.”
“Ok…”
Margaery was feeling pretty satisfied with herself right now.
XxX
“Jon.”
“Sansa.”
Silence from both sides.
“Is this a good moment to talk?”
“Yes, I just got home.”
“Good.” Silence. “So…”
“I think we need to talk, Jon.”
“You’re right. Can we… Let’s have dinner.”
“Tonight?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Ok… Are we… Are we ok, Jon?”
“Of course! We just… I really think we should talk.”
“You’re right.”
Silence again.
“So… Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow.”
“Where?”
“Wanna come over?”
“Better if you come here. If I go to your house we’ll eat pizza again.”
“What’s wrong with pizza?”
“No pizza in the middle of the week, Jon. That’s the rule, remember?”
“How can I forget? Your place then.”
“See you tomorrow.”
“See you, Sans.”
XxX
Sansa was in total control of herself. This wasn’t different from all the other times Jon had come over to have dinner with her.
They’d done it a thousand times.
They had never kissed before, but dinner, sure.
Sansa had taken a serious decision: –a very serious one –they needed to talk about it. It’d be terribly awkward, probably a bit humiliating, but it’d be fine in the end. Jon was a nice guy, so he’d never make her feel bad about something like that.
She just wanted to talk about it because she was scared that –if they didn’t –they’d grow apart. She preferred a thousand awkward conversations than losing Jon’s friendship.
Yes, she had heard what Margaery had said, but… She was still worried.
Sure, Jon had bitten her first –she was never getting over that –but he was the one that said sorry and that he shouldn’t have done it; so she was confused.
She wanted to believe that Jon didn’t see her as Robb’s little sister, but it was a bit difficult when he said shit like that.
Why dating had to be so difficult?
Not that she was dating Jon. Or that she thought they were going to date. It was just the general idea of dating.
She was pretty sure Jon would never want to date her. She was way different from his other girlfriends. She was almost sure she wasn’t his type.
Lip-biting excluded.
She could be mature. This was going to work out very well. She knew.
The doorbell rang.
Oh heavens…
XxX
Jon took a deep breath before pressing the doorbell. It was just dinner with Sansa, they’ve done it a thousand times before.
But they’d never kissed before.
He needed to make things right between them, which meant doing whatever she wanted. He was willing to pretend nothing ever happened if it was what she wanted, he just didn’t want them to become strangers.
Jon could handle anything but that.
The door opened, revealing Sansa. “Hey.” She smiled at him, but her smile was tremulous, like she wasn’t sure of anything. “Come in.”
Jon entered and showed her the ice cream he had in his hand. “I brought dessert.”
“Great.” Her smile was a bit more sincere now. “Come to kitchen. I have to put the casserole in the oven.”
Jon followed her silently to the kitchen, then put the ice cream in the freezer. “Sansa…”
She turned to him, the casserole on her hands. “Hum?”
Jon took the thing from her and put it on the counter. “I…” He took a deep breath. “Are we okay?”
Sansa opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened again. “You mean after you bit me?” She offered a bit dryly.
Jon cleared his throat again. “Something like that.”
Sansa crossed her arms. “Why did you do it?”
Jon could give her a thousand different answers; he could lie, he could give the answer he thought she wanted to hear, he could protect himself.
However, now, standing in front of her, he only wanted to say the truth. So he did.
“Because I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.” He replied honestly.
Sansa’s arms went slack and she looked perplexed. Jon wasn’t sure if it was a good sign.
“Sansa, I…” Lord, this was hard. “I’d never do anything to jeopardize our friendship, you know that, so if what I did was…”
He never got to finish that thought, because Sansa just grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled his mouth to hers.
She was kissing him.
Sansa Stark -The Sansa Stark -was kissing him! Again! She pulled him to her, she covered his mouth with hers.
Jon was in Heaven.
He kissed her back, pouring all his feelings into it. He sucked at speaking about what he felt, the words never came to him; he hoped that Sansa could understand him like this, that she could feel his love.
The kiss slowed, until they finally stopped. Jon cradled Sansa’s face between his hands, not letting her go too far. He dropped his forehead against her and gave her a gentle peck on the lips.
“If it’s a dream…” He murmured. “I don’t want to wake up.”
Sansa giggled breathlessly. “I’m glad you bit me.”
Jon groaned. “I wasn’t planning on that…”
She cut him with a short kiss. “It was hot.” She admitted. “Seriously hot. And there was I thinking you didn’t see me as a girl at all.”
Jon stepped back -just enough to be able to look into her eyes -and frowned. “Didn’t see you as a girl?” He snorted. “I’m quite aware of the fact that you’re female.’
She slapped his shoulder.” I thought you pictured me as Robb’s annoying sister.” She clarified.
“I tried to convince myself that was the case.” He admitted with a grimace. “I tried to think of you as Robb’s little sister, so I wouldn’t have to think about all the things I imagined…” He cut himself and cleared his throat.
Sansa arched a brow. “You imagined…” She prodded.
“Doing to you.” He finished.
“Oh…” Sansa bit her lower lip. “How detailed was your imagination?”
Jon looked at her with interest. “Very detailed. Explicit, actually.”
“Is that so?” She hummed.
Jon just nodded, fighting off a smirk.
“I think we should discuss that in detail.” Sansa concluded.
“I agree. But first…” He took a deep breath. “This… Us… I want it to be for real.”
“Me too.” She agreed, giving him a peck on the lips.
“So, before any of those detailed fantasies… How about dinner?”
Sansa groaned. “You seriously wanna take me out for dinner first?”
“I insist on a proper date.” He spoke solemnly. “I’m not an easy guy, you know?”
Sansa slapped his shoulder. “Not funny.”
“Date?” He offered, his hand touching her face.
“Date.”
They shared another kiss, then Sansa pulled back. “How are we going to tell Robb?”
“Oh fuck.”
#madame baggio#crackship#modern au#one shot#fanfiction#posted on ao3#game of thrones#Sansa Stark#jon snow#sansa stark x jon snow#jonsa
64 notes
·
View notes
Text
Away: Part 5
One, Two, Three, Four, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, End
Summary: There’s no point staying in a place that does not welcome and loves you, there’s no point in causing yourself daily pain for people who would love for you to never exist again. That’s why he has to do this, to be selfish for himself, in a way that his host and the others could never grasp.
Deceit stared solemnly back at his vibrant green and yellow scales that reflected the faint lighting as he looked in the mirror of in his small cramped bedroom, the weeks felt like it had just come and gone, and before he even knew it Halloween was here. He should have been looking forward to this, like Emile so clearly was, but the dreaded pit in his stomach had only grown and grown as each day slunk on by. He’d listened to Emile rattle on so many times about Halloween night, just what they would do when it arrived, and just how excited the other man’s partner was to see him for the first time. Deceit didn’t have the heart to tell him that each and every time that this partner was brought up, he felt like full-on vomiting from nerves alone.
Plucking the eye shadow brush up from its little pouch, he made quick work of his eyelids, covering the reddish hue around his eye with a vibrant shade of green and yellow with little touches of black. It smoothly blended into the scales that he was allowed to be shown onto his face for just tonight and tonight only, “I guess doing Remus’ eyeshadow really was good practice after all,” He mused, as a half-hearted smile formed on his lips, before it vanished altogether.
Remus would have loved this.
The gore, the horror movies, having dark humor, and dressing up as whatever they wanted… He would have gone hog wild over this kind of thing, and honestly… it would have been fairly fun to watch him do it. To watch him scream, scare kids, to ring the doorbells of several places before bolting away, to just.. to just see him having some fun.
It would have been nice.
He roughly shook his head, “Don’t,” Deceit warned himself, forcing himself to not delve into those feelings he had burned and buried deep inside of him. Emile wanted to have fun and dress up tonight, so that was exactly what they were going to do. So there was no point in dwelling on things that would just constantly make him sad and angry, he was here, he wasn’t there anymore and he wasn’t going to be there anymore. He had decided that a long time ago. “You can do this,” He told himself sternly, locking eyes with his reflection. Those mismatched eyes stared back, “It’s just one night, you can handle one night. You handled thirty years living with people who hated you, Emile likes you, he’s said so. His partner-”
His partner was going to hate him, god why was he agreeing to do this. Emile was a lucky chance, one of the only people who didn’t look at him and hate him right off the bat. But this partner of his… oh god, he was going to fucking hate him everything about him. He was going to tell Emile that he hated him, and make Emile stop hanging out with him. He’d lose the one person who actually somewhat liked him in his life. And-
Roughly shaking his head, making the extensions in his hair sway, Deceit’s fist slammed against the counter making pain shoot all the way up his arm as if he had been struck by lightning.
“We are not doing this right now!” He snarled, seizing his overnight bag, his thermos, and the coffee cake he had made for the celebration. He was going to have as good as a time as he could, and by god, he was going to fucking enjoy himself tonight.
Even if it killed him.
All it took was one short bus ride to get to where Emile and his so-called partner lived. They lived in an apartment, like so many others in the big city that they lived in. Staring down at the hastily scribbled address on the torn piece of paper that Emile had given him, Deceit’s eyes darted up to the apartment number that was right in front of him. Nervousness welled up in Deceit’s throat, and for a second, just a single moment he contemplated leaving the coffee cake on the floor and just booking it back to his place. His grip unconsciously tightened on the dessert he had brought with him, squeezing the pan as his noisy breathing echoed in his ears and his heart drummed in his chest like a bird attempting to free itself from a cage. He was nervous, there was no doubt about that, and now… standing in front of the very place he’d been dreading for the entire month, he couldn’t even bring himself to knock let alone ring the doorbell.
Deceit wasn’t sure how long he stood there for before he roused up the courage to finally raise his hand, his hand that was shaking so bad that it looked like he had just dipped it into a pot of icy cold water it was jittering so badly.
But eventually, he did knock and the door swung open revealing the inside and just who had opened the door.
A tall thinly muscled man with his skin painted grey and messily drawn stitches answered the door, which in itself wasn’t too odd given the fact that it was Halloween, it was the glasses that he wore.. or rather the sunglasses that he wore despite the fact that he was inside of all places. A smirk scrawled itself across the man’s face, and Deceit felt his stomach go through a series of squirming summersaults.
“Daaamn girl, Medusa herself? I like. I like.” He smoothly drawled, before raising a cup to his lips taking a loud series of long drawn out sips from whatever was inside as he looked him up and down in a ridiculously slow manner. Had Deceit not known any better, he would have thought that the man before him had about zero tact about the fact that he was so openly flirting with someone else. Except… as Emile had said before, this was just par for the course according to him. The fact that he was wearing a long white gown probably didn’t help matters either. “Your makeup be fine as hell girl, you gotta tell me what you used, and the scales? Perfect, they look as real as the real thing. Damn.”
Okay, so maybe Emile’s partner wouldn’t hate him right off the bat.
Lucky for him.
“I uh,” Deceit lifted the pan, diverting the man’s attention away from his scales, “I brought coffee cake, where should I-”
His words drifted off as the smirk that had been on the other man’s face transformed into a full-on beaming smile as he stepped back, finally letting him have entrance to their home. “Emie! Emiiiieeee! You didn’t tell me he could bake!” Remy practically crowed, in the direction of what he assumed was just another bedroom, “He made coffee cake Emie! Coffee cake!”
Honestly, he wasn’t that good at baking. The coffee cake, in general, had been one of the only things that would settle Remus’ after swallowing so many things that weren’t really meant to be swallowed. Cookies, cakes, and ice cream was always Patton’s thing, but this.. this was one of the very few things that he could do ten times better than Morality ever could. It was one of the things that he felt legitimate pride in, all things considered, and one of the only things that could be counted as morally.. okay and not totally evil. Virgil had always kind of enjoyed it whenever he’d made it too…
Swallowing the swelling of emotions that had accumulated in his throat at such a thought, Deceit fixed a painfully fake smile onto his face as Remy stared at him the entire time he was setting the dessert down on the snack table. Turning around just in time to Emile come out of his room, showing off just what he had decided to dress up as.
Deceit’s mouth dropped just a little, as Emile did a twirl making the fabric of his dress spin elegantly around him. “What do you think Dee?” Emile chattered eagerly, “I’ve been a few of the other gems before, but I wanted to give Rose a try? Do you like it?” He asked, just to pause as Deceit’s mind stuttered and failed to come up with anything interesting, fun, or wity to say in the face of someone so spectacular looking. He paled in comparison. “You don’t think it’s too girly or childish do you?” The other man added, when Deceit again failed to say a single word.
“Gender binary is a lie made up by the government, to give those in power a way to document and have obvious biases against people who were different than them.” The words tumbled out of Deceit’s mouth before he could even think about what the hell he was saying, his cheeks heated with a flush of shame that crawled all the way over his ears and down the back of his neck. “You look fine…” He ended in a hoarse whisper, as soon as silence greeted him, praying to everything above that this would save him from what he had said before.
A loud cackling laugh answered his words, as Remy threw his head back, letting out a laugh that the neighbors would undoubtedly be able to hear and wake up to from miles away. Then again, they were probably no strangers to multiple noise complaints, that was if they hadn’t already soundproofed the walls after finding out just who they were living next to.
“Oh damn girl, Emie where the hell did you find him?” Remy wiped away a tear from behind his sunglasses. “I love ‘em.”
Deceit didn’t exactly understand the beaming smile that lit up Emile’s face as soon as Remy said this, nor did he understand the warmth in how Remy had said it in the first place. It was as if they were both having a psychic conversation, with him being none the wiser about all of it happening in the first place. Was this how couples were supposed to be, he didn’t understand one little thing about it. In fact, it was hard to understand either of them at all, they were both so...so weird, but he surprisingly didn’t hate that. Remy reminded him of Remus in an odd way, just as Emile reminded him of Patton.
This too he didn’t hate, in fact… he kind of liked it.
As soon as Remy’s arm draped over his half-bare shoulders, an entire pressure heaved itself onto him as he tensed. “I’m kinda low on Starbucks darlin, and we also need some more candy for trick or treaters. Me and Dee here are gonna go and pick some up, aight? Maybe chat along the way, you know...” Deceit swallowed thickly as Remy led him to the door that he had just come in from, looking desperately over to Emile his heart fluttered in a blind panic upon seeing that the other man wasn’t so much as looking at him as messed with the ruffles of his dress.
He was doomed, this was it, Remy was going to lead him someplace dark and dismal to dump his body. Or or or…
Remy’s arm stayed draped over his shoulders as they made it to the sidewalk outside, he felt partially stupid for the way that he was eying all of the many ways that he could escape. Most people in stable relationships wouldn’t just murder someone, even if they didn’t know them. Remy wouldn’t..he couldn't… not with so many people around and-
“So,” Deceit’s eyes snapped up to look at the shades hiding the other’s eyes, “What did you do before you came to work for my Emie?” Small talk, okay he could definitely do small talk. Should he lie though? There wasn’t really an easy way to tell someone that he had been a part of another human’s mind, let alone that he had been the dishonest part of someone.
How on earth was he supposed to say something like that, without being called crazy and put into the hospital, or just have weird doctors in lab coats poking him with needles?!
The eyes hidden behind those sunglasses must have seen more than he had let on, because Remy’s usual smirk softened into a calm neutral look.
“You don’t gotta tell me if you don’t want to, especially…” His face turned dark, like a serious subject matter had just been breached and Remy for once was dropping his usual swagger to be entirely real with the shorter male next to him. “You don’t have to say a word if it’s something you aren’t comfortable with.. If it was bad… I get it, I really do. Just know this...” He seriously said, stopping for just a moment to stand in front of Deceit grasping him by the shoulders as he gave him a comforting squeeze. “You have the room to breathe with us, you don’t ever have to be scared about coming clean.. or saying anything at all. It’s okay. It’s okay...”
In that very moment, Deceit felt something brittle inside of him shatter.
Remy had only a split second to steady himself before he found his arms full of the guy who had looked nothing but nervous upon coming in his home, who had such a pained look in his eyes, and who wore a mask, unlike anything that Remy had ever seen. He didn’t know what Dee was running from, or if he was even running at all anymore. He’d listened to Emile of course, when he talked about his colleague that was too scared to intrude anything onto him. Honestly, there was only one explanation that crossed Remy’s mind, and… he didn’t like it one little bit.
So without the slightest bit of hesitation, he wrapped his arms around Deceit, pulling him closer as the other shook with the repressed sobs that he had been forcing down for what must have been months. He held him, and he did nothing but hold him. Even so, though, that was more than enough for him, it would always be enough for him.
At least until…
“Deceit?”
Everything came crashing down around him.
#deceit sanders#sympathetic deceit#sanders sides deceit#ts deceit#Emile Picani#dr emile picani#ts shorts remy#remy sanders#runaway au#runaway deceit au#runaway deceit
180 notes
·
View notes
Text
reckoning;
𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝟐𝟏𝐒𝐓 𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐃𝐀𝐘.
you were wearing a blush ballgown so big you could hardly fit through the door. pink taffeta and lace everywhere, you felt more like a teacup or a cupcake than a respectable legal adult. you begged папа to let you change into something, anything less ridiculous than this my sweet sixteen monstrosity, but he was as stubborn and argumentative as you, plus he three times as long to polish it. like monopoly, you never won.
when the picture-taking part rolled around, you sulked and scowled, making funny face after funny face, tongue out, eyes bulging when your father finally said STOP. he grabbed your hand, his eyes pleading. mischaya, please just one picture. i just want one picture where you look pretty. so you sighed, smoothed out your toddlers and tiaras nightmare and smiled. you looked beautiful.
𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐅𝐔𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋.
папа invited the italians, he said that parties and celebrations were a good place to make negotiations because everyone was drunk and happy. leave it to vlad to turn your birthday party into a business meeting. папа had also mentioned in passing that one of the higher ups had brought his son with him, 𝐃𝐀𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑. there was another one he said, younger, more charismatic, but he couldn’t make it for whatever reason and was the prodigal son anyways. too messy, too u n p r e d i c t a b l e. dagger was calculated and serious, focused and reliable, he would be ‘ a good match ‘.
but you didn’t care about any of that. all you did from the moment you woke up was text 𝑬𝑵𝒁𝑶, your precious little regular guy new york boyfriend. you adored everything about him, the way the world stopped when he smiled, the crinkle in his nose when he was thinking about something important, his irrational fear of the saddle club. you held his hand the whole time.
all you wanted to do was stop the sneaking around, the hiding, the pretending. you just wanted to have him meet the family like all the other girls did with their boyfriends, but it was too dangerous. and besides, the girl that lorenzo liked was 𝐒𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐀 :
a cool, bouncy international business major with a perfect american accent, ceo of messy buns, whiskey spiked pumpkin spice, winning the Finish The Hotter Than Hell Godzilla Ramen In Under 30 Minutes Challenge at Miso Hungry because you could tell enz really wanted that giant gudetama plushie but was full after three bites ( we love u baby a for effort! ) and being a single mom to one fluffy demon cat.
but you were not sasha pierce, named for the iconic beyonce album, you were 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐀 dostoyevsky, named for the unborn son of vladimir dostoyevsky, kingpin of the bratva, the brotherhood of the russian mafia and your adopted father.
and guys don’t typically like girls with a lot of baggage.
--- now, you always hated the men your father set you up with, but this time it was different, this time it was PERSONAL.
𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡 𝟐𝟕𝐭𝐡.
it had to be special. it had to be perfect. you picked a time you knew enzo would be out, broke in through his apartment window ( ok, it was ONE TIME ), arranged all the bath and bodyworks candles in what you hoped was a Sultry Manner, waited in your very flashy victoria’s secret lingerie for enzo to open the door in t-minus
3.
2.
1.
touchdown! as you practically tackled the poor guy. he made a surprised noise against your mouth as the oranges, the cereal, and everything he had just procured from the store went flying. now, it was time for the big guns. the mortal kombat FINISH HIM. you grabbed the collar of his shirt and ripped it wide open.
game over.
𝐋
your darling boy, the person you cared about most in the world, had a huge vicious L carved into his chest, the rough, jagged lines digging into the precious, vulnerable space over his heart. the heart that belonged to you. you remained silent. you wouldn’t ask. you never would. but still, you traced it with gentle fingers and gentle kisses, dressed him in your over-sized hot pink sailor moon tee-shirt and carefully tucked him in with the heater blasting and perogi sleeping soundly on his chest, hoping that the shirt and her cat were good enough things to cover up the evil underneath them.
you bit your lip until it b l e d. scars like that, they weren’t killing scars, they were torture scars, they were scars that were left only by people who truly wanted you to suffer, who wanted you to to wake up in cold sweats and fear and remember over and over and over. the were left by monsters, they were left people who hated you.
and looking over at lorenzo, finally peaceful after a long, horrible day, a tiny tuft of hair strewn across his tanned forehead, you wondered how anyone could ever hate him. your wonderful, beautiful, boy. you kissed him softly on the temple and left the way you came.
you wrote i love you on the window,
but the rain washed it away.
***
you didn’t sleep that night. you googled it. L SCAR ON CHEST. WHY DO PEOPLE GET AN L CARVED INTO THEIR CHEST? WHAT DOES AN L SCAR MEAN? a couple of people on reddit knew the answer. the L was for lucheesi and they used it to brand their victims like cattle. you felt SICK.
criminals you understood but . . .lorenzo?! your secret regular college student boyfriend who’s biggest crime was probably forgetting to put the toilet seat down sometimes? an enemy of the lucheesi? why? HOW? no. no, you didn’t care. it didn’t matter. all that mattered was that all those lucheesi bastards were going to die.
ONE
BY
ONE.
you didn’t like that dagger kim.
not one bit. he was just the type of man that you loathed. sucking on daddy’s thumb and trying to play god on a power trip. eugh. his voice made your skin CRAWL. he oozed slime and skeeze and reeked of a dark, twisted sort of evil that stank through the expensive cologne he doused his tailored suit in.
“we can make the bratva great, if you comply. we could make an empire. i might even let you be my queen, mischa kim, what say you?” he boasted, full of hot air and toxic masculinity.
you rolled your eyes and laughed boldly in his face. his expression was grim.
“i would never bend to a man. and even though you are more worm than man, i will NEVER bend to you, you filthy mudak bastard. our army is ten times yours, in men and in heart. the bratva is great, the bratva is GREATER and my name . . .”
you dragged your nail along the man’s jawline until you reached his chin, harshly propping his head up with your acrylic nail, an angry pink crescent forming where it dug into his skin.
“ --- is 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐘𝐀 𝐕𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐑𝐎𝐕𝐍𝐀 𝐃𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐘𝐄𝐕𝐒𝐊𝐘, first of my name, sole heir of rossiyskaya mafiya bratva and i will NOT sign it away. not for you and not for anyone. YOU ARE NOTHING.” leaning into his ear, you bit his earlobe and whispered “re me, cagna.” before dropping your dainty hand and drink all over the first kim son with a soft, girly, woops!
KING.
ME.
BITCH.
dagger kim was not the kind of man you rejected, let alone mocked.
you would pay for your words, mischaya vladimirovna dostoyevsky,
𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐏𝐀𝐘 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄.
#ok this is a lot of backstory#explains her relationship w striker#also just a lot abt mischa#ITS VERY VERY LONG#and i apologize#u dont have to read it i just made it so stuff would make sense also to make hannah cry#mischa like ....makes me so sad#i swear#QUEEN OF THE BROTHERHOOD MISCHAYAAAAAA#FOR ROSSIYA!!!!#sorry abt typos
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
A smile to remember
Author: @sabine-leo
Chapters: 5?
Genre: Fluff & Humor
Note: I´m a bit uncertain with this chapter, but i thought i needed it that way to build up the story a bit more. Hope you hang in there and enjoy it anyways!
-Chapter 5-
The one with a new dress and cupid in disguise
The week had just started and even though you really liked your work and a certain man appeared now and then you couldn´t wait for the weekend. Wednesday after work you went shopping with Clara. Something new for your outing on Saturday. You found yourself a stunning dress. Darkest Ocean Blue with beads and sequined. Your curves were hugged in all the right places. It ended mid-thigh but fringes swayed down to your knees. It was the perfect “Gatsby” dress to wear to a Jazz Club and dance in it till morning came. You turned in front of the mirror and smiled.
“Oh wow (Y/N) this is gorgeous. You look stunning!” Clara comes out of her dressing room. She was wearing a 20´s style pantsuit looking fabulous herself. “Look at you Clara, you look stunning yourself!” Some 15 minutes later you payed for your new clothes and had a quiet dinner with Clara. It was a nice evening, but you are happy to be home now. Smiling at the 2 gorilla drawings side by side in your Livingroom. “Good Night you two!” you say laughing at yourself and switching the light off.
Thursday you only work half a day and run some errands around town. Clara and you talk on the phone that night. Planning what to do with your hair and makeup. You clean up pretty nicely but you don´t like tons of makeup on your face so you decide to keep it simple enough.
Friday comes and goes without anything worth mentioning.
On Saturday you sleep in and have a real relaxing day with a book and some Jazz music to get you in the mood for tonight. The whole week since Monday you found yourself daydreaming now and then. Remembering the last encounter with Tom. But even though he is Dylan´s Uncle you know that he will not be around often. How could he possibly? He surely has a tiring schedule and as soon as he is back filming and in “His” world again he will forget about you. You don´t think that he is smug or snobbish, quite the opposite, you haven´t seen a more down to earth and gentlemanly famous person then him…then again you never met another well-known person before. But how could you leave a lasting impression on such a man as he. That thought, you decide to cherish the brief moments you had with him and keep the memories save.
Tom on the other hand was in a mood currently. It rarely happened but sometimes even a well-behaved person like him disliked everything he was doing. The script he read was rubbish and his agent told him on the phone earlier that the next project he needed to do would probably start 2 weeks early. Tom didn´t like to cut his family time short but then again...he loved his job.
He is preparing himself a cup of tea. It´s late afternoon and he needed a break. A knock on his door sidetracks him just a little bit, but it´s enough that he accidentally touches the kettle in the wrong place. “Bollocks!” he yells and holds his index finger under the tap. “Tom?” he hears Sarah coming in. “Everything alright? I didn´t mean to intrude but I heard you yell.” Tom sighs “Yes, sorry for that. I had a mishap with the kettle.” “Oh…let me have a look.” Sarah walks over and takes his hand to examine his fingers. “Nothing major, you were lucky.” She smiles at him but soon realises that he is not quite himself today. “What´s wrong brother mine?” She ushers him to the table and prepares 2 new cups of tea.
“Bad day sister! I know, doesn´t happen often but I am not as good a company as normally.” Sarah smiles. “That´s unfortunate. I thought you were a God and never had such mere problems as any human I know.” This comment made him smile. At least a little bit. “Mock me all you want, you may soon have to wait before you can do it in person again.” He sighs. “Good gracious Tom. You love your work. That can´t be the reason why you are wallowing in self-pity.” Sarah sits opposite of him and hands him his cup. For a minute or two they sit in silence and stir their tea.
“I have to say Hi from Dylan. He´s out playing with his Dad. He said it was, and I quote, Soooooooooooo tremendoudely awesome that you visited him to read for him and his pals.” That made Tom grin at last. “Learning the big words.” “Yes, I really can´t think of anyone other than you who would bring him to use those.” Tom looks his sister in the eyes and smiles. “I love you, you know?” “Love you too brother mine.”
After finishing their tea Sarah leans at the kitchen counter and sees a drawing. A gorilla with flowers in his big hands. “What´s that?” Tom looks like he got caught being naughty. “Nothing much…by the way have you seen Moms new gardening tools? She says she´d be 2 times faster planting the flowerbeds now.” “Nah-ahh…don´t even try to distract me.” Sarah walks over to the drawing. “This can´t be for Dylan. He doesn´t even like girly stuff.” Tom laughs “Yes, he told me the other day.”
Tom leaves the kitchen and sits down in the living room. A last attempt to distract his sister. But she wasn´t that easy to deflect. Following him she turns on the reading lamp and points it direct at his face. “Spill it brother!” It´s like being a teenager all over again and living under one roof. His nosy sister always looking out for her little brother. “I´m not 12 anymore Sarah. You won´t hear a single word out of my mouth regarding that drawing.” “Fine…” She sighs and turns off the light.
“Other topic…How about you take me out to that Jazz Club in Camden Town tonight. I haven´t been out since my dear husband went on his work trip. I could use some letting lose tonight. And frankly, you too!” Tom is looking a bit confused but nods. “Are you sure you want to spend time with me instead of your husband tonight?” “yes brother, you said you need to leave soon. So, take me out tonight and have some fun with grown-ups. I promise you, they are probably equally fun as those children you read to.” Sarah stands up and walks to the door before he can find another reason why he shouldn´t leave tonight. “Meet me there at nine! And dress up!” The door closed with a thud.
Sighing he looked at his watch 6.30. He probably should get something to eat and then look through his closet.
“Clara be a friend and help me with the zipper. I can´t close it myself without dislocating my shoulder.” After another half an hour you are ready to go. The walk to the tube and the ride to Camden Town takes another 30 minutes. Laughing you and Clara get out of the carriage with somebody whistling your way. “Well, that’s off to a good start.” Clara laughs. You link arms with her and say “Let´s go pretty Lady. There is a Dancefloor waiting for us!”
Inside the venue its dimly lit and there is an old vibe to it. As if stepping into a Time Machine and landing in the best of times for Jazz, Swing and Bars like this. You feel good and ready to dance. The people you see are all dressed up. Looking dapper and hip. Clara finds a place to sit in the far corner of the Dance floor. A little lamp sits on the small round table which is almost completely engulfed with a leather bench.
You get rid of your jackets and purses and eye the bartender. “Doesn´t he look neat…and hot.” Clara says and grins “First drink is on me. Let´s see if I´m still able to flirt!” You shake your head laughing but are in no mood to tell her otherwise. The Music already makes your feet tap to the beat. Over at the Bar you see Clara laugh and talk to the bartender. “Seems like she still got it.” You say to yourself. 3 minutes later Clara appears with 2 tasty looking cocktails in her hand biting her lip. “He´s hot and funny… I know it is his job, but I could swear he was flirting back.” You risk a look. “Sure thing…he is watching you.” “Great. This will be a good night!” You both take a sip out of your drink and lean back. It doesn´t take long until you decide to hit the dancefloor.
It´s 15 minutes till 9. Outside the Bar Tom is waiting for his sister. He made it here in good time. Then again, he almost never arrives at the last minute. Sarah is dropped off by her husband. “Hey Tom! Take care of my girl tonight!” Tom grins. “Absolutely, I´ll make sure she gets home safe.” Sarah looks at her brother and her husband and says. “Actually…I´ve decided otherwise.” Tom looks confused. “You need to go in there, and I need to go have a Date night with my husband.”
“Sarah, that´s not funny. Ok, if you could just drop me off at home and then be on your way.” Tom said frustrated and motioned to get in the car as his brother-in-law nodded but Sarah got in his way. “No Thomas, you WILL go in there and have some fun. I happen to know that a certain Miss is inside.”
“What?” Tom asks a little voiceless and high pitched.
Sarah is already inside the car again and smiles at him. “Go, dance. Have fun and talk to her without a bunch of kids attacking you!” She motioned her husband to drive. He laughingly does as ordered and takes off.
Tom stares after the car and lets his head roll back with a deep-drawn sigh.
This couldn´t be happening. He turns, eyes the front door. Turns again, looking at the Underground station. He ruffles his hair. He must look ridiculous turning left right left right left.
Would he go in?
Should he go in?
Another quick note: If you can´t think of the dress that I tried to desribe. This would be it:
Tags as asked for : @theoneanna @shegatsby @wabisabigrl @everything-is-awesomesauce
#tom hiddelston imagine#tom hiddleston#tom hiddleston x reader#tom hiddleston fanfiction#hiddelstoners#tom hiddleston fanfic#tom hiddleston fan#reader x tom hiddleston#tom hiddelston you#tom hiddleston x you#you x tom hiddleston#tom hiddleston fandom#hiddles#thomas william hiddleston
98 notes
·
View notes
Text
Sharleen blows her cool
By Nick Duerden
Taken from Heat Magazine - 11-17 November 1999
She's our most succesfull pop star and she gets to cavort on beds with male models. So why is Sharleen Spiteri in a bad mood? "Fucking flu" she tells Nick Duerden.
It is a cold, crisp day in the north, and Sharleen Spiteri is suffering from a lack of sufficient sleep. Last night's hotel had an air conditioning system that didn't know its hot from its cold. So the Texas singer tossed and turned throughout the night, one moment sweating, the next freezing. "I thought I had the fucking flu or something," she says.
Nevertheless, she looks delightfully rumpled today in the kind of manner only ever truly achieved by the rich and famous. She strides into a Manchester eatery under an artfully created birds' nest of black hair, and is wearing worn Jeans that are decadently fashionable and, doubtless, very expensive. She is the liveliest of company, picking delicately at a plate of hummus, but insisting on a plate of sausage and mash for heat as a hangover cure. Mash, it seems, is good for soaking up alcohol in the stomach. "You're bringing out my maternal side," she says. Later, she will reveal a fondness for Robbie, and refer to his one time bandmate Gary Barlow as "fuckface". Apparently, on an Italian pop show recently, he accidentally cracked her head open with his guitar, then blamed his attendant security. "If it wasn't for them," says the woman who stands at 5ft 5", "1 would have had him."
Texas are here in Manchester halfway through a sold-out UK tour to further promote a very succesfull album. Following the four-million-selling, career-saving White On Blonde, The Hush has already shifted over three million copies in just six months. They are one of Britain's biggest bands, about to set their sights on America which they confidently believe they will crack. This is all a very different story from just three years ago.
Back then, Texas were on the brink of ruin. Their record company were threatening to drop them, and they themselves were considering splitting. Since the top ten success of their 1989 debut single, I Don't Want A Lover, and the album Southside, Texas had been on a gradual downward slide. Their second album, Mothers Heaven, performed disappointingly, and very few people even noticed when they released a third, Ricks Road. With the exception of France, who still considered them splendid, Texas were uniformly regarded as a band dull enough to render even Del Amitri as rock gods.
But then a very peculiar thing happened. Texas became hip, seemingly overnight. Purportedly steered by her journalist boyfriend, Ashley Heath (then editor of fashion magazine Arena Homme Plus), Sharleen became a sex siren, the band's sole focal point, and someone most adept at pouting provocatively before the camera lens. While the often exotic photo shoots looked like she was selling perfume, she was in fact selling the band. It worked wonders, too: suddenly, Texas were everywhere. And now look at them. Huge. Sharleen Spiteri, svengali boyfriend loitering somewhere in the shadows, has mounted the most successful make over in recent pop history.
How does it feel to have sold upwards of seven million albums in less than three years?
How does it feel? It feels very secure. [Laughs] But I also feel incredibly grateful for it, because we were lucky enough to get a second chance. That doesn't happen much these days. I still find it hard to believe that we broke big on our fourth album. Nobody from the record company will admit to it now, but even when we delivered Say What You Want (White On Blonde's first single), no one was particularly impressed. We loved it, but I think they were simply no longer interested in us. It was like they were waiting for the record to fail so they could get rid of us. Instead, however, we sold an obscene amount of albums and suddenly they love us. I tell you, becoming very successful gives you an awful lot of power.
Why was the album such a success, given Texas' then somewhat dull image?
Simple: because it was a great record. We'd made the best music of our lives, and people were responding to it.
The image reinvention certainly helped though, didn't it?
I find it funny the way people are so obsessed about my supposed "reinvention". We've been around for ten years, so of course we're going to reinvent ourselves. It's called progression.
True, but the suddenly glamorous image seemed very calculated towards making you quickly famous.
Everyone is convinced that the record sold because I draped myself all over the press to plug it. In actual fact, I didn't start appearing on magazine covers until the second single, Halo, was already in the charts. We were becoming successful, so there was a demand for interviews, and I gave them.
Were the rest of the band happy to take a step back?
Absolutely. It took all the pressure off them. Let's face it, an attractive woman in a band is a pretty effective focal point. We were convinced we'd made a great record - the best of our career - and we wanted people to hear it. And the way to do that is to promote it. So I did.
Is it true that your boyfriend had a guiding hand in the makeover?
Not really. Obviously, having a boyfriend that works in journalism helps to give you an insight into how the whole business works, but I used to be a hairdresser, so I know a fair bit about image myself. We did talk about how to present ourselves because we knew that initially people wouldn't be interested in Texas and we wanted to change their minds. The whole music business Is a game in that respect, and we played it. Wouldn't you have done the same? Wouldn't anyone?
Had you always wanted to be famous?
No, never had. Still don't, in fact. I've never been bothered with it, to be honest. It doesn't interest me at all. Anyone can be famous. You can be famous for wearing high-heeled shoes, or blowing off presidents. I want people to say I'm a great singer, a great songwriter, that's all. If I simply wanted to become famous, then I would have got my tits out long ago. And I never have. Never will, either.
Did it ever feel slightly foolish to be rolling around on exotic beaches like a supermodel merely to sell a band that used to wear woolly jerseys and hobnail boots?
No, I had a great time, and they're great photographs. I'll keep them forever and show them to my children so that they can be proud of their mother. Everyone likes to look good in pictures, and those pictures make me look fantastic. Ten years ago I was very selfconscious about the way I looked, but I'm almost 32 now, and I've accepted that I've got a giant nose and other blemishes. But am I going to get major surgery? Nah, fuck it. I'll just ask photographers not to accentuate it and to light me in a flattering manner, that's all.
Subsequent collaborations with Rae & Christian and Wu-Tang Clan also seemed like a very determined effort to suddenly become chic. Were they?
I met Rae & Christian ages ago through my boyfriend, and I spent years namechecking the Wu-Tang Clan because I was a fan. Both came to work with us because they knew we were good at what we did musically. I've never been interested in being chic or trendy or cool. I just want two things: to make good music and work with people I admire.
Did any members of the WuTang Clan come on to you?
[Aghast] Absolutely not! But I know what you mean. If you put any man or woman in a room together there's bound to be something, some kind of spark. When they were first told that we'd love to work with them, they were like [adopts cheeky American drawl], "Hey, is that the chick with the funky red dress from that video [BlackEyed Boy]? I like her! ", but they were very respectful towards me. I was in awe of them. They're all huge guys, and they kept calling me "girlie". But then they heard me sing, and they were convinced I was black! [Fondly] Method Man is a lovely guy, you know.
Do you feel sexy?
Not first thing in the morning, I don't. I can look very rough indeed. But I don't want to be obviously sexy. I try to think what I find sexy in women - and it's not Pamela Anderson - and then work on that. I think the sexiest word in the English language is "no". It makes perfect sense, because everyone wants what they can't have. If you actually look at all the supposedly steamy photographs I've done, I'm actually revealing very little flesh indeed.
In the video for Summer Son, you effectively dry-hump a handsome man in bed. Did he leave you, um, tongue-tied?
Very funny. I'll tell you why I did that video. It was to suggest that it is possible to be unbelievably sexy and keep all your clothes on. That video was all about the power of suggestion, but ironically it wasn't allowed to be shown on television before seven o'clock because it was too raunchy. What hypocritical bullshit. All I ever see on MTV are women in ridiculous push-up bras, cleavage everywhere, and touching themselves. I wanted to make an alternative, but keep it just as sexy.
It is also, presumably, fairly good fun cavorting with a male model of your choice?
Well, I have to admit, it's a pretty good way to spend a day. [Abruptly changing subject] Incidentally, did you know that Summer Son has just broken us in Germany? Which is good news because Germany is the third biggest market in the world. We're massive there now.
Not bigger than David Hasselhoff, surely? Germany, after all, is his stronghold.
Do you know what? I think we're even bigger than him. How about that?
Congratulations.
Thank you, very kind.
You exude confidence the way a teenager does testosterone. Does it ever spill over into arrogance?
When I was a hairdresser, people thought I was really arrogant. Now, because of the band, I'm almost allowed to have an ego, but most people tend to think of me as level headed. Well, that's what they tell me to my face, anyway. Put it this way, I've not changed at all. I'm very ambitious, always have been. There are still a lot of people out there who don't like us and probably hate me, but I don't care about them. We're a band who sell a lot of records. That brings peace of mind and, yes, a certain arrogance. But, y'know, we've worked hard to get into this position. I'm not about to apologise for it.
One more thing. What, if anything, turns you off in a man?
Beards. When they get as big as that bloke's in The Royle Family, bits of food get stuck in thein. Disgusting! My father [a seaman] used to go off to sea for months at a time and come back home with a bloody great bush of a beard. Me and my sister would go after him with the scissors, screaming like banshees.
#article#TheHush#SharleenSpiteri#Sharleen Spiteri#Sharleen#Spiteri#Texas#TexasBand#Texas Band#TexasTheBand#Texas The Band
1 note
·
View note
Text
S/O to @iaintgotcontrol for finding a new survey! lol.
Looks and Personality
What do you look like?
I have a face with freckles, brown eyes, a nose, and a mouth. I wear black rimmed glasses. I have long hair that goes past my butt. I naturally have dark brown hair, but I dye it red. I’m thin. Gangly.
How often do you bathe?
I don’t take baths, but I shower every 1-2 days.
How do you wear your hair?
In a pony tail.
What colours do you tend to wear?
I have a lot of black and gray with pops of other colors.
Do you have any tattoos? What, where and why?
No.
What kind of clothes do you wear?
Comfy, casual clothes. I’m always in leggings and a comfy shirt. I own a LOT of leggings and graphic T’s.
What kind of jewellery do you wear?
I haven’t worn any in years. I used to wear these 3 rings I have 24/7 until one day I took them off for some reason and just never put them back on since. That was probably like 5 years ago. I went through a phase where I was all about accessorizing and wore a ton of bracelets. I wore necklaces and earrings, too.
Is there anything else you often wear?
I’m always wearing socks.
Would you say you had a “look”?
I’ve gone through different phases like the preppy/girly and emo phase, but now I’m just very casual and comfy.
When going out, do you dress up or down?
My going out consists of going to the doctor, the movies, or Walmart. I don’t dress up for any of those things.
What do you wear to bed at home?
Those comfy, causal clothes I’ve been talking about.
What do you wear to bed when your somewhere else?
Same thing.
Is there a place you keep any prized/secret things whilst you’re away?
No.
What’s your favourite food?
Chicken tenders, boneless chicken wings (garlic parm), burritos, potatoes in various forms, eggs, spaghetti, meatballs, and pesto pasta.
What’s your favourite drink?
Coffee.
What’s your favourite desert?
Donuts, cupcakes, muffins.
What’s your favourite type of food (e.g Mexican)?
American, Italian, and Mexican.
Do you have any mental problems?
Yes.
Do you have any phobias? What? Why do you think you have this/them?
Yes.
Why might somebody dislike you?
Because I keep to myself these days and have been very distant and withdrawn from everyone outside of my immediate family. I’m very moody. I don’t put any effort into maintaining friendships anymore. Or any effort into much of anything. I haven’t been a good friend at all to the friends I used to have.
What skill do you possess that you are most proud of?
I don’t feel like I have any.
What is your greatest strength (e.g. honest, loyal, brave)?
I... don’t know.
What’s your greatest shortcoming or flaw (e.g. cowardly, alcoholic)?
I have a lot of those.
Who do you most admire?
My mom and younger brother.
Who do you most love?
My family.
What three things do you look for most in a partner?
Good sense of humor, understanding, patient.
Do you like crowds?
Nooo. I don’t well with crowds.
What are your hobbies?
Tumblr/surveys, watching YouTube, coloring, reading, watching TV.
If you can’t get to sleep in the middle of the night, what do you do?
So every night? At night I do my Bible study, watch YouTube, watch TV, and read.
What is your favourite animal?
Dogs and giraffes.
What is your favourite colour?
Pastels.
If you could ask God (to athiests - IF there was one) one question, what?
I mean, there’s a lot I’d like to know but some things we aren’t meant to know or are beyond our comprehension. Things will be revealed when they’re meant to, if they’re meant to be.
Rate yourself on these traits from 0 to 10.
0 - do not possess this trait. 10 - you have great amounts of this trait.
Calm temper
Charm
Cheerfulness
Confidence
Courtesy
Curiousity
Forgiveness
Generosity
Greed
Helpfulness
Honesty
Loyalty
Optimism
Patience
Self-sacrafice
Wit
Background
Where were you born and raised?
California.
Briefly describe your family.
Loving, supportive, encouraging, funny.
You must choose one - your childhood was calm/peaceful or tragic/turbulent?
Calm and peaceful out of these choices. I had obstacles and struggles with health related things, but honestly those aren’t what stick out the most to me. I was a very resilient, strong kid. I’m a very weak, scared adult.
Did you have any rolemodels?
My mom and grandma.
What is the worst thing that has ever happened to you?
I’d say the incident that made me a paraplegic at 7 months old takes home the trophy for that category.
How did it affect you?
In every single way from that day forward.
Have you ever had any recurring nightmares or themes in nightmares?
Yes. As a kid I remember one of the reoccurring nightmares I had was Ghostface chasing me with a knife. I was so scared of Scream for the longest, but I love the movies now. ha.
What were they?
Death and being chased.
Do you currently have a boyfriend/girlfriend?
No.
Do you have any close friends?
I have my family.
Briefly describe your best friend:
My mom is so strong-willed and hardworking. Very giving. Very outgoing and social. She’s also very funny and sarcastic. She loves her some ID (Investigative Discovery) and Game of Thrones.
Any enemies?
No.
Who? What are they like?
Would you risk your life for your best friend?(not lover or family member!)
My best friend is a family member, though. And yes.
With who was your most important romantic relationship?
I haven’t had a serious relationship.
Of what are you most proud?
:/
Of what are you most ashamed?
The person I’ve become over the last 4 years. I really hate this person I’ve become.
Alignment, Ethics and Religion
What is your religion?
Christian.
Where do you stand on abortion?
Where do you stand on the death penalty?
I’m on the fence.
Where do you stand on wearing fur?
I don’t wear fur or use real leather.
Do you have a moral code that you follow? What?
I mean, yes?
Could you kill somebody?
I can’t ever imagine myself being able to do that, but it’s something you don’t really know unless you find yourself in a situation that could lead to that.
For what reason would you kill somebody?
The only reason I could think of is self-defense, but even then I still can’t imagine killing someone.
Would you SERIOUSLY CONSIDER killing anybody right now?
No, sheesh.
Do you trust easily, or not?
Trust isn’t a big issue with me, I just have a hard time opening up and expressing myself to people and sharing my feelings.
What are your political beliefs (anarchy, communism, democracy etc.)?
What, if anything, WOULD you sacrifice your life for?
If it meant saving a loved one.
Would you ever, for any reason, abandon your friends in an hour of need?
That’s what I’ve done over these last few years. :(
Motivation
What are your dreams/ambitions/goals?
That’s the problem... I don’t have any.
How do you plan to reach them?
How would your ideal partner look?
Not say looks don’t matter at all, but I’m more concerned with personality.
Do you ever want to have a family someday? With children?
I can’t see that happening.
Who would you want to start this family with, or do you not yet know?
What would stop you from reaching your goals (e.g. death, retirement fund)?
My health.
What do you see yourself doing next year?
I have to take it day by day, hour by hour, man.
What do you see yourself doing in twenty years?
Yikes.
Would you ever have an affair?
No, I truly don’t think so.
Would you ever have a one night stand?
No.
What are your greatest fears?
Losing my loved ones.
More information
If you had a month of nothing (no work, no obligations) what would you do?
That’s been my life for the past few years and it hasn’t been a good thing. It dug me in a deep hole for depression.
How do you relax?
Listen to ASMR.
What one thing would you change in this world (free Tibet, abolish Sweden)?
No more violence.
Would you ever choose a career or job where your life was at risk?
No.
Why?
How would you like to be remembered after your death?
“When my time comes, forget the wrong that I’ve done, help me leave behind some reasons to be missed.”
Random questions
Where you present at any major historical events (e.g. 9/11)?
No.
How did they affect you?
Do you have any famous relatives?
No.
Do you have to try and live up to your family’s expectations?
My family doesn’t put any ridiculous or impossible expectations on me. All they want is for me to be healthy and happy, but for some reason I can’t seem to get my shit together and take care of myself like I should.
Are you a loyal member of any organizations?
No.
General Information
Name:
Stephanie.
Age:
29.
Date Of Birth:
July 28th.
Race:
Caucasian, Mexican, and some Filipino that I know of. I really want to do one of those DNA tests to see exactly what I am.
Height:
I’d be about 5′4.
Weight:
Mid 70s (lbs).
Are you happy with this?
No. I need to put on some weight.
Desired weight:
I used to be mid 80s-low 90s.
Sexual orientation:
Straight.
First language:
English.
Second/Third/Fourth etc. languages (if any):
I’m only fluent in English.
Why did you take this survey?
I hadn’t taken it before and I wanted to do a survey.
3 notes
·
View notes
Note
In Starbucks, what ever happened to Gold's father Malcolm? Did he crash the wedding? Does he know about his grandson? Is he even still alive?
I’ve wanted to introduce this crackship to the world for YEARS. This is the ONE thing I knew for sure happened at the Starbucks Wedding and it feels SO GOOD to finally share it with you.
Most people thought Malcolm Gold wasn’t a wedding type of guy. Thought that he wasn’t the kind to dress up in a stuffy suit, sit down in a table full of strangers and make small talk as the spotlight was placed on some twits who decided to make the world’s biggest mistake and spend a fortune to have others witness their stupidity. But Malcolm loved weddings, for a number of solid reasons. Top among them was the free booze, usually of a decent quality. There was also the free food, and the endless amount of inebriated and distracted people with nice baubles he could easily lift and pawn at a later date.
And then there was the single birds. Being reminded that their biological clocks were ticking, that they were single and little by little their friends and acquaintances were falling in love and getting married. Desperate things, trying hard to pretend they were fine being by themselves, that they didn’t need a man to be happy. Poor wee things, so easy to charm. A few drinks, a halfway-decent attempt at looking like they were interested in what they had to say, and it was a guaranteed lay.
Nicky hadn’t been dumb enough not to invite him to the wedding, knowing he could easily sneak in, but was also not stupid enough to sit him anywhere near people of importance. It suited him fine. He wasn’t there to be part of the wedding, he was there to drink, eat and find some pretty young thing to fuck in the coat room.
To his displeasure very few of the women at the party seemed susceptible to his charms. Most seemed the sort of driven, corporate-types who derived ridiculous amounts of self-esteem from their careers, which put a damper on his usual approach. But just as he was about to give up and resign himself to a celibate night he spotted a gorgeous redhead by the bar. She was wearing a clinging emerald dress with a plunging neckline that bared more of her chest than it covered. Her hair was teased into a wild mane and she was wearing a heavy smoky eye and fire-engine-red lips. The woman reeked of desperation and Malcolm Gold was not about to pass up a sure thing. He went to the other side of the bar, ordered a Midori Sour- girly and green, which this woman seemed to be fond of, and sauntered over to where she was, making sure he had one of his lazy smiles on as he deposited the drink in front of her.
“A pretty green thing for a pretty thing in green.”
Whereas most of the women in the room would’ve slapped him for such a line- a tall blonde glamazon had stabbed him in the foot with her stiletto heel when he’d tried something similar on her, and God, had it hurt- the redhead startled but laughed, her lips forming a wide, flattered smile that was a hairsbreadth shy of manic. She introduced herself as Zelena Greene and invited him eagerly to sit beside her, griping about having been ditched by her date and knowing no one in the room. He fell into conversation with her effortlessly, mostly because the chit seemed eager to talk, mostly about what a horrible wedding it was. He listened and nodded as she tool pot shots at everything possible, from the decorations and the catering to the guests and, particularly, the bride’s dress. Somehow she managed to rant about it for a solid half hour, at which point Malcolm began to suspect something. Zelena’s unsubtle glances towards the bride and groom table, where Nicky was eating with Blue Eyes, both of them sharing a plate as they tried out different samples from the dessert table, all but confirmed it: the bird was crazy about lame old Nicky.
And by crazy, he meant crazy.
How positively marvellous.
He wasted no time in introducing himself fully- usually he gave his first name, to keep things nice and casual- and was rewarded by Zelena leaning closer, her eyes lighting up and her interest in him clearly rising. He told her all about how he’d made Nicky the man he was, though the boy had sadly turned out to be but a pale imitation of the original thing. He had no trouble pushing his appreciation for Blue Eye’s gorgeous attributes aside and mock-despairing of the fact his son was marrying a mousy, insipid girl, clearly because he was unable to handle a real woman. From the on it was all about gently reeling in his catch, keeping the bird drinking and getting used to bolder and bolder touches, making it as if she was in control. When he finally was able to lean close to her ear and whisper a suggestion about “getting some air” she jumped at the chance, letting herself be lead to one of the secluded coat rooms he’d spied upon entering.
It was a matter of minutes till he was pounding into her- a bit sloppily, given his inebriated state- uncaring as her head hit the wall with each thrust. She wasn’t all that pleasant to the touch, too many hard edges and sharp jewellery, and the perfumed she’d likely bathed in was giving him a migraine, but her cunt was warm and wet and did the trick. Even so he was relieved as he came fast, his hard work finally paying out. The bird seemed either too drunk or too desperate to complain about her own lack of orgasm, clinging to him in a rather obsessive way, her nails digging painfully into his shoulders.
“I’m so glad I finally came across with the right Gold. What I thought I felt for Nick seems silly now that I have the real thing.”
There was something about the way she was crowding him and the look in her eyes that was giving him a very bad feeling.
“Yes, well, I’m flattered, lass. This was wonderful, perhaps we can do it again some other time.”
Malcolm tried to act calm and collected as he sorted himself out, eager to be out of the room all of a sudden. Zelena laughed, a deranged sort of cackle that threatened to drench him in cold sweat.
“Oh, darling, now that I have had a taste of you I’m never letting you go.”
In his haste to leave the room- very glad Zelena’s knickers were still around her ankles, making it hard for her to follow even if she wished to- he tripped and fell in the hall, fear and alcohol making him clumsy.
“I see the years haven’t changed you a bit, Malcolm.” The woman who spoke was statuesque, clad in a deep violet gown that managed to be both sexy and appropriate for a woman of a certain age, as she seemed to be. There was something vaguely familiar in her voice, in the way she held herself. It took him an embarrassing amount of time to connect the dots. “Such a pity.”
Fiona Black gingerly side-stepped him, strolling down the corridor like a queen on her way to court.
Fuck.
#rumbelle#rumbelle fic#Starbucks series#THIS IS THE PERFECT CRACKSHIP#IT MAKES SO MUCH SENSE#IT'S THE SHIP FROM HELL AND I'M HERE FOR THIS RIDE#Also yes Fiona is in the Starbucks series#Prompt me about her!#Anonymous
44 notes
·
View notes
Text
Roman Reigns - What Did I Just Witness...
Roman Reigns - Prompt #24 and #86: “Are you drunk?” and “Why are you walking around naked?”
- Warnings - Swearing, Sexual References.
Word Count - 1,666 words.
Requested by: Anon.
A/N - If you’d like to be tagged in any future fics feel free to message us :)
______________________________________________________________
“Woo!” You and several of your other girlfriends screamed as the last of the twelve men shut the door to your hired Las Vegas Mansion, leaving you all to get along with your huge girly night in. Most of the girls in the group had continuously bugged you about why you weren’t going on some wild night out to enjoy the nightlife of Vegas- your answer of ‘I don’t want to some big ass hangover on my wedding day’ was a simple yet effective way in shutting them up. One weekend in Vegas was all you had with the hectic schedule Roman and you were confined to therefore you had to make the most of what you had. Of course, Bachelor and Bachelorette parties on the Saturday and your Wedding Day on the Sunday. Yeah, not the smartest idea in the whole world... The day was all set to be perfect; what your dreams were made of, the picture you imagined at the age of five. The single greatest day of your life. A loud shrill of one of your bestfriends however broke you out of your small daydream.
“It’s time to partayyy” Nikki screamed whilst popping the first of what seemed to be endless bottles of champagne. You solely giggled at her as she began to haphazardly pour glasses for everyone, all except the very pregnant Brie who remained rolling her eyes at her clearly overly-eager twin.
“It’s hardly even a party,” you chimed in. “More like a bunch of girls wearing face masks, getting absolutely pissed out of their minds whilst watching some random ass shows on the television.” Your small remark caused a flurry of cackles to erupt from the women scattered around the lavish living area.
“Hey, it’s a celebration and a celebration means a party you bitch.” Renee practically screeched in your ear as she began hugging you, ultimately causing both of your bodies to topple over and land lying tightly against each other. Yeah... basically spooning... You shook your head and plainly laughed at the already slightly tipsy blonde as all the other girls nodded and hummed in agreement of Renee’s previous statement.
~ Later On ~
Somehow still after two whole hours, you were sprawled on the sofa in the ever-so-slightly peculiar position with your friend. Face masks were done, alcohol had been consumed by almost everyone- maybe a little too much and at this point it was clear to see everyone was just waiting for their ‘men’ to return from whatever adventures they decided to embark on. God only knows what time they’d be back though. “Alright let’s talk about some girly things,” Naomi muttered, breaking the silence that had formed in the room. An instant sense of fear rushed over you- I mean who wouldn’t be a little scared, they were bound to come up with the most awkward or ridiculous questions going.
“I’ll start!” Nattie pretty much begged, leaving you with basically no choice but to nod in agreement. “So Y/N... How are you feeling, like you’re getting married tomorrow!?” It all seemed so crazy. Yours and Roman’s relationship never truly was a secret, news spread 3 years ago exactly a week after you’d been on your first official date. Everything just seemed so right with him so why would you have kept it as any form of secret? He just knew you and you knew him... it was almost as if he was a part of you; to the point where if he left you wouldn’t know how to cope. It was as if commitment was an easy thing to agree to; but only with him.
Questions continued to flow around a circle from the 3 seated on the other sofa to the others who were left on the floor. “Alright, so Y/N, have you talked about kids with Roman?” Lana questioned, shifting her body on the immaculate flooring to be rested on her elbows.
“Erm, I mean yeah we’ve discussed it and we both do want kids but like I just don’t want to really stop work you know.” That was a tricky situation in itself to even remotely talk about. Yeah, you wanted kids and yeah it’d be incredible with Roman but just the simple thought of potentially stopping your dream career was heartbreaking. Of course, it’d happen eventually, just not anytime soon.
The spiral of questions soon reached the final person, Renee. “Well the real question is... how’s he in bed?” You instantly felt your cheeks flush a bright crimson and a smirk etched its way onto your face. “Awh well that just means he’s great then.” Renee responded to your visible answer through the form of complete embarrassment.
A mass of ‘awhs’ arose during the crowd before a sharp click virtually silenced them. Your body immediately shot up as seeing your soon-to-be husband enter through the door, a small velvet box cupped in his hands. “Hey babygirl.” He mumbled bringing you into a tight embrace as you rushed towards him. “I have something for you. I’ve been told every bride should have something old, new, borrowed and blue and since you already have the new dress, the old hair-piece and Nikki’s white Louboutins, I decided to get you this. He gently opened the tiny box, revealing a perfect pair of blue diamond earrings which instantly left you gushing in pure astonishment.
“Oh my god Roman. I seriously can’t believe you, these must have cost a fortune!” You babbled on, tugging your long hair into a loosely knotted bun.
“Don’t worry about that babygirl. Tomorrow’s our day.” Romans voice always soothed you, whether it’d be before you fell asleep or after a stressful day at work. He always seemed to have that trick up his sleeve; that way of making everything feel as though it was going to be okay- well, more than that... perfect. His fingers intertwined with the fallen strands of hair framing your face before he delicately placed his soft lips against yours. It wasn’t long before the rest of the guys entered the house, greeting their other halves. “Okay Y/N I’m going to head to bed before I literally pass out.”
“Alright we are going in like 5 minutes but I’m gonna stay the night in Renee’s room since I figured we shouldn’t see each other tomorrow, you know superstition and all that...so I guess I’ll see you tomorrow handsome. Night babe.” You explained releasing your arms from his extremely attractive, toned biceps to watch him walk away. All the guys seemed to have the same idea, heading towards the barrage of different bedrooms in the distant corridor. “Erm Dean your bedroom should be the second on the left. Everyone else knows where they are.”
You slumped back onto the sofa to continue your conversations with the girls for a little longer. The conversations were solely supposed to last five minutes; those 5 minutes soon turned into 10. “He’s just really sweet and gentle you know.” You answered to Maryse’s prior question, not realizing the immediate switch in Tamina’s facial expressions.
“My god, my eyes hurt. I’m not supposed to be seeing this.” She blurted out, shielding her eyes with the palms of her hands. What the hell was going on!?
“Gurl... you’re so getting it good.” Naomi’s words directed towards you. Utter confusion was the only thing on your mind right now. Your back was faced away from whatever had caused this mixture of reactions wherein all the rest of the group were gasping in shock as well.
You sat up in a fast pace, head already pounding to turn to witness that... it. “Roman what the actual fuck!? Why are you walking around naked?” There he was stood... your future husband. No towel, no boxers, nothing... just bare. “Are you drunk? There has to be some reason at least for this.”
“No! I swear I am not drunk, it’s just he was there and we were spooning and-” His words were cut off not only due to the eruptions of laughter filling the atmosphere but the urgent ‘what!?’ that rolled off your tongue.
Soon after the faint sound of footsteps could be distinguished, getting louder every second until another lean build came into view. “Ah shit.” Dean’s raspy voice muttered as he then realized everyone staring his direction. “Well, this is awkward.”
“Renee... can you please explain to me why both of our men are standing in front of everyone butt naked? Cos’ I can’t.” You questioned turning to your friend, your tone becoming more and more sarcastic by the minute as you desperately tried to seek an answer to this.
“Look Y/N, I was just lying there minding my own business, doing my sleeping and then I feel someone get into bed so obviously I’m like oh that’s you. So then I start spooning this person, naked might I add and then realised. Why the hell are you so bloody hairy... So I ran out thinking you guys would stick to your word and be gone but here I am. Naked.” It was hard to even take this partially seriously, like come on; Roman and Dean. You tried to keep it cool but it was just way too difficult at this point and you couldn’t contain the fit of laughter forming inside of you. It was even hard to find breath in between the on-going giggles leaving your mouth- it was borderline impossible!
It seemed like that with the other girls as well, it was just surprising how none of the other guys woke up. I guess they were pretty drunk then... That’s surely the only reason they weren’t able to hear the roars of eleven high-pitched giggles. Well, what would have been twelve, however it didn’t seem as though Tamina was enjoying this whole situation... at all. “Okay you know what, all of you guys can’t stop fucking laughing so Roman can you go and put some clothes on before my eyes literally burn.”
A/N - Okay it’s finally done after having to restart the whole thing -.- Anyways who doesn’t love a little bit of Roman so I hope you enjoyed this one as much as I do! xo ~ Nikkii.
Tag List - @m-a-t-91
#wwe#wwe imagine#wwe fanfiction#wwe fanfic#wwe x reader#wwe imagines#wwe × reader#roman x reader#roman reigns#roman reigns request#roman reigns imagine
331 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
artist-william-johnson
William Johnson
songhj0821
SongHJ0821
pusatbajutanahabang-blog
Untitled
puusuke-blog
you're so sweet to try
rkmaru
Alive In The Belly Of A Shark