Anyone want to read my Beardy Captain America fan fic?
Here’s the link for you.
Anyone want to read my Beardy Captain America fan fic?
Here’s the link for you.
My reward for writing my own fiction lately has been dabbling in the fan fiction realm. This time, it’s Captain Steve Rogers. Now, I wasn’t a huge fan of Captain America, not at all. He’s too perfect, too good, too righteous for my blood. But then I had a dream about him that changed my perspective entirely. So I decided to write down how I saw Cap in my dream.
Here’s the first part. I’ll be posting the rest on my AO3 account once it’s finished. (That’s An Archive of Our Own, by the way. Linked to my other fan fics.)
I hope you enjoy.
This job was supposed to be secure and uncomplicated. That was until I received my new assignment. To his unit. I’d heard rumors about Captain Rogers. The tales of glory, honor, blah blah blah, and so on and so forth.
Then I caught my first glimpse of the paragon of patriotism. The breadth of his shoulders, the narrow taper of his hips, and the commanding presence when he entered a room spoke of the power he wielded. Even the fucking part of his hair dared not defy him. He couldn’t be real. There was no way in hell one man could be that fucking perfect. It made me want to vomit.
Then he met my gaze and tipped his head in salutation. “Ma’am.”
Well, goddamn me to hell. “Captain Rogers,” I replied with a soft smile. To be honest, I wanted two things at that moment.
I wanted to slap that self-confident, purely professional expression right off his face, and I wanted to muss his hair, push him to his knees, and make him beg. I wanted to see icy captain crack. What the hell are you thinking? I shook my head to clear the wicked thoughts raging there. Evidently I hadn’t purged enough frustration in my morning workout.
Everyone knew the stories of his heroic deeds and selfless actions, but there were also tales of his personal life. His lack of interest in anyone or anything outside of the job. There had been rumors about his time in the service during the world war when he’d had his sights set on Peggy Carter. Time had other plans for Captain Rogers it seemed.
The pain of such a loss struck me. I couldn’t imagine losing something before it had a chance to begin.
I watched as Captain Rogers took some papers from his secretary and disappeared into his office. He sat behind the desk and flipped absently through the files. Snapping myself back to reality, I focused my attention on the forms in front of me.
They hadn’t cleared a desk for me, so I worked at a round table in the common area of the office. It gave me a chance to absently observe the interactions of my fellow co-workers. Many of them were courteous and accommodating. A few kept to themselves, including the captain. I noticed a lovely red headed woman enter the building earlier and shut herself and the captain in his office. Natasha Romanov. No one could mistake her for anyone else, if they knew who they were looking at in the first place.
I redirected my attention when the door opened and she exited his office. Her gaze lighted on me and a smile crossed her lips.
“You’re new here. I’m Nata…”
“Natasha Romanov.” I returned the smile. “I’d be a fool not to recognize you.”
Her eyes sparkled with something other than kindness and understanding. I began to worry. No one messed with the Black Widow.
“Julia, you’re going to fit in well here.” She leaned close, a red curl framing her face. “Keep an eye on Steve for me, will you?” Her cryptic request hung in the air between us as she turned to leave.
I hope to finish this fic soon. Hope you enjoyed the teaser. I’ll let you all know when it’s posted in its entirety.
Giveaway ends July 10, 2015.
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Crispin Saville…a wicked mix of medieval prince and mischievous villain. Inspired by Tom Hiddleston’s Loki and Henry V, he will not be satisfied until you’re on your knees, begging for mercy.
A whisper from the man himself…
If you are expecting a traditional medieval tale or charming prince, you will not find it here. I am not like other men for I have a voracious appetite and will appease it no matter the cost. Do you doubt my confession? Then I invite you to step into my kingdom.
Women were created for pleasure, tis my obligation to see them fulfilled. When I whisper, they come to me. All save one…Lady Ruby. I can see the desire in her eyes even though her pure and noble heart fights against it. She may be an outlaw, but a rare gem such as she has never been found in Meradin. She is my challenge, my penance, and my weakness. Nothing short of Almighty God Himself can keep her from me. I shall possess her. Ruby is mine.
Dear reader, will you begrudge me your company when you learn of my past and how wicked I can truly be? Or will you come to me willingly, surrender yourself to my charms, and beg for more? Surely my tale of intrigue, murder, and treason will be enough to tempt you to sin with me if only for a short while. Come with me, and I will lay myself bare.
Damn is he wicked. A tease, just like me. *wink* I’ll post a special teaser from his book next week for Tease Me Thursday.
Interested in picking up a copy, you can do so here:
Will you kneel before the Prince of Whispers?
I laced the knee high boots and reached for the red dress lying on my bed. Slipping it over my head was the easy part. The zipper jammed as I tried to draw it up.
“Damn it.” I tugged on it, fearful of pinching my skin or tearing the dress. Glancing around the room, I regretted the decision to send Teri to the restaurant early. Truth was, I didn’t want her to be at the apartment when Nick and Andy showed up.
Nick would laugh at me, like he always does when I get herself worked up over something as stupid as a stuck zipper. Brothers weren’t good for much else than harassment, unless you needed someone to bail you out of a really messy situation. Fortunately, I hadn’t had to pull that card with him. This wasn’t exactly an emergency, but it did irritate me to the point where tears began to pool in my eyes at the thought of having to ask for help.
The doorbell rang. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…” I chanted as I spun around the room. Snatching a sweatshirt from the laundry basket, I pulled it on and zipped it closed. The bell pealed through the apartment a few more times. “I’m coming, hold your horses!”
When I opened the door, I expected to be bowled over by my brother. His best friend, Andy, stood in the doorway with his hands behind his back. The tailored grey pants and black vest brought a sophistication to the messy mop of black hair I’d dreamed of running my fingers through for years.
“Where’s Nick?” I asked with my hand on my hip. I stepped back allowing him to come inside.
“Teri called him, told him to meet her at the restaurant. He sent me to pick you up.” His gaze raked over my torso and his brow furrowed. “You’re not wearing that are you?”
I glanced down at my sweatshirt admiring the image of Loki for a moment before shaking my head. “No, I uh, well…” I took the garment off and turned my back to him. “I got the zipper stuck and I can’t reach it.” Pulling my hair to the side, I pointed to my back. “Can you zip me up?”
His lack of response worried me. When I glanced over my shoulder at him, his green eyes were fixed on my bare back. “Andy? We’re gonna be late. Zip me up.”
The touch of his fingers against my spine sent a pang of longing straight to my core. How many times had I wished for an excuse to touch him? For him to touch me? The little pats on the shoulder and innocent touches friends share had been enough for a while, but lately, the need to be closer to him burned in the back of my mind.
He twisted the zipper until I felt it wiggle free from the fabric jammed between the teeth. Andy slid it up slowly, his fingertips gliding across my skin. I shivered and bit my tongue to suppress a moan. My body wanted to sway back into him, but I jerked the compulsion into compliance with reality. His hand lingered at the base of my neck before falling away.
I turned toward him. “Thanks.”
Andy’s expression looked pained as he nodded in response.
“Are you okay?” I asked, resting my hand on his arm.
“I’m fine.” He smiled and reached out to rest his hand on my lower back. “Let’s go. I’m starving.”
I leaned back against his touch. “So am I.” When our eyes met, I knew he caught my meaning.
We never made it to dinner.
Thanks for hanging out with me this month. I hope you enjoyed my teasers. I’m hoping to expand them into full length stories. Stay tuned for updates on new releases! My Prince of Whispers will be releasing in MAY!! You don’t want to miss him.
Continued from Wet….
Silvia bristled at his words, stumbling away from him. “I beg your pardon.” Circling around him, she moved toward the door. His gaze followed her, his brow arched and lips twisted in a smirk. She reached for the door handle. It refused to budge. As she turned, he approached with measured steps, effectively blocking her in.
He leaned close and whispered in her ear, “Your shoes.”
“What?” She stared at him unsure she heard him correctly.
“Your shoes are still wet.” With a teasing smile, he turned and took a seat on the loveseat. Silvia stood rooted to the floor, unsure of whether or not she’d heard him correctly. “Please join me.”
She glanced at the door with longing, but the scent of tea and the crackle of the fire lured her toward the small sitting area. Silvia sat down, keeping her attention focused on the strange, yet handsome man. He poured the tea and handed her the cup.
The liquid warmed her as soon as it touched her lips. She sighed and held the cup in both hands as she sipped. “Who are you?”
He tilted his head as if thinking for a moment, then replied, “Gavin.” Without warning, he leaned forward and grasped her ankle. A twist of his wrist and her feet were bare. He nudged her still-soaked shoes closer to the fire. The action happened too quickly for her to jerk away from him, and she shifted to tuck her feet beneath her with a huff of annoyance.
The burn of his touch against her skin had sent a shiver of longing through her body. The innuendo and mystery mingled with the surprise of desire only fueled her confusion. The sweet spice of the tea lingered on her tongue. Her gaze wandered the length of his body and returned to settle on his mouth where a hint of a smile betrayed his amusement. Something about him bothered her, nagging at the back of her mind like an important but vague memory.
“I…” Silvia pursed her lips together as she struggled to find the right words. “Why do I get the impression this meeting isn’t as fortuitous as you’d have me believe?”
Gavin chuckled. “I knew you were bright, Silvia.”
Her hand trembled at the mention of her name. She set the cup down and moved to stand. “How do you know my name?”
His hand closed around her wrist and held her fast. “The better question would be—” he stood and pulled her close “—why?”
Silvia struggled to free herself from his grasp. What the hell did he mean why? None of this made any sense. “You’re a madman.”
Without a word, he pressed a soft kiss to the inside of her wrist and released her. She stumbled back and rubbed where his lips had been. Snatching her shoes off the floor, she ran toward the door.
The ivy planter near the door began to grow, snaking across the wood and wrapping around the door handle, burying it. Silvia gasped and dropped her shoes. When she glanced at Gavin, he stood with his hand out, his eyes closed. When he opened them, they narrowed on her.
“Release me,” she pleaded, a sob lodged in her throat.
He shook his head. “You,” Gavin drawled, “have been chosen. Serve me…or suffer a fate worse than death.”
Interesting. I wonder what his powers could be. These characters definitely warrant some investigation. Don’t you think?
James trailed the tip of his hook across the wooden railing. The princess had been nothing but a thorn in his boot since she set foot on his ship. He ran his hand over his face, the scruff of his beard rough against his palm. How could one woman prove to be so bloody vexing while being so damned intoxicating?
He hadn’t returned to his cabin after the wench had tried to knock him senseless with a tray and escape. How she figured on escaping his ship he couldn’t even imagine. The wench packed a wallop, and even when he’d pinned her against the door, her spirit never faded. His cock ached at the memory of her against him, molded to him like a sail to the wind.
“Ye better have sense if ye wish to keep yer head above water,” he mumbled to himself as he glanced out over the dark water. The moon hung low on the horizon; it’s light reflecting in the waves. “What am I to do?” he whispered to the sea.
The gentle rocking of the ship gave little comfort. James needed to sleep, but he feared another strong confrontation with the woman locked in his cabin. He could sleep beneath the stars. Shaking his head, he made for his bunk. The men would have far too much to say if the captain allowed a woman to commandeer his cabin and his pride.
As he slid the key into the lock, he paused for fear of waking anyone. Once he closed and locked the door behind him, he searched the room for her. A lantern swayed beside his bunk illuminating the woman asleep on his bed. James heaved a breath of relief and sat on the chair before his desk.
He removed his hat, coat, and boots. Setting them aside, he took off his shirt and then focused on his hook. With a twist, he removed it and set it atop the clothes. The stub ached. James rubbed it absently as he stood.
The bed seemed remarkably small because of the woman splayed across it. Her arms thrown over her head, her hair splayed on the pillow, and the blanket drawn high enough to leave a question lingering in the back of his mind. What is she wearing?
He tugged the blanket down, revealing the pale skin of her chest. A bit farther revealed the top of her chemise. James inhaled sharply as his body inflamed with lust.
“Oh, princess, yer testing me.” He noticed a small mark on the inside of her arm resting beside her head. Leaning down, he noticed a dark scar…no, a tattoo? He grinned. It was obvious she hid secrets, what better for a pirate to bargain with. Her scent, the sweet allure of honey and wildflowers, seized his wits. With a glance at her sleeping visage, he rested his fingertip against the mark.
Her eyes flew open. Instead of screaming and flailing her arms, she remained deceptively calm, those bewitching eyes searching his as if digging into his very soul. “Have you decided to take advantage of me after all? Rape never seemed in your nature.”
“Never underestimate a pirate. I could take what I want from ye at any moment.” He traced the tattoo with his finger and letting it trail down to her chest. “X marks the spot, princess. I knew ye’d be worth the trouble.”
Captain Hook returns for yet another teaser. Wow, he’s quite vocal. I may have to write his story. What do you think of today’s teaser? What’s with the mark and the secrets? This is getting interesting now.
Silvia tiled her head back to glare at the sky. A fat raindrop pelted her eye. She cursed and wiped her face with her sleeve. Within moments, the torrential downpour had soaked through her dress and favorite cloth flats. Her curls had been perfect when she’d left her apartment that morning, thanks to Mother Nature, her hair hung in bedraggled, soaked dreadlocks.
No umbrella and no cash left her trudging through the rain toward her apartment. She grumbled as she walked, half temped to flip her middle finger to the dark clouds above her.
“Here, take this.” The man’s voice made her jump. He stood holding out his umbrella. She hadn’t seen him before, almost as if he appeared out of thin air. His perfectly tailored suit was protected by a trench coat. The fedora perched atop his head made him look like a detective from an old noir flick.
“Thank you, but I’m already drenched.” Silvia declined his offer with a smile.
“I own a shop just up the street if you’d like to come in and warm up a bit.” He offered his arm. As if sensing her hesitation, he added, “I promise not to bite…hard.” His laugh mingled with the sound of the rain soothed her frazzled nerves.
Taking his arm, she smiled. “What kind of shop do you own?”
The duo walked down the street beneath the umbrella. Being close to him lended a bit of warmth to her chilled skin. She leaned into him in a vain attempt to remain out of the rain.
“A bookshop,” he replied as they turned the corner. “Just there.” He pointed to a sign hanging in front of a brick storefront. Firefly.
As they stepped beneath the awning, he released her, closed the umbrella, and pulled a key from his pocket to unlock the door. Silvia stepped into the shop and he followed behind her, closing the door behind them. A glance around the small space nearly convinced her she’d stepped through a time portal and been transported to another age. A large fireplace stood along the wall with a well-tended fire blazing in the grate. The walls were lined with bookshelves, floor to ceiling. Every surface lined with either wood, brick, or leather exuding both comfort and elegance. A small loveseat and a pair of armchairs sat before the fire, complimented by a small table where a freshly made pot of tea sat with delicate sandwiches. When she turned toward her host, he’d removed his coat and hat, his hair hanging in delicate wisps across his forehead and his focus completely on her.
With a flick of his wrist, a warmth emanated from the fireplace, swirling around her. She closed her eyes, and the cold melted from her bones like snow beneath the spring sun. Opening her eyes, she gasped. He stood closer, his head cocked as he studied her.
“Better?” he asked as he brushed his hand across the fabric of her lapel. His fingertips brushed the bare skin of her neck.
The soft flutter of her skirt against her leg and the tickle of an errant curl across her neck belied the truth. Moments ago she’d been soaked to the bone.
“I’m dry?” She buried her fingers in her hair. Dry. Running her hands down over her dress, she could not deny the insanity of her situation. “I was completely soaked.”
He ran his fingers along the bare skin of her arm, and she sighed as a warmth wove through her like whiskey as it slides into the pit of one’s stomach. Why was she letting a stranger take such liberties with her? Silvia couldn’t deny her attraction to him, and the effect his touch had on her wits. “How can I no longer be wet?” she asked, her voice trembling with need.
A grin crossed his lips as he leaned close, his dark eyes sparkling with unknown intent. “I’m sure you still are.”
Ehehehehe…I was not expecting this story to take a supernatural turn. Interesting? I wonder if he’s a super hero? What do you think? What possibilities lie in this story?
I chuckled as I turned away from him. A brief flicker of emotion resembling relief and pain flitted across his face as I put space between us.
“So what did the prick pay you to spy on me?” I asked, sitting down with an empty seat between us. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a pack of smokes. Tapping the back of the carton, I peeled off the cellophane and pulled a cigarette out.
He cleared his throat. “I don’t know the reason behind it. I was instructed to get certain information.”
My brow arched in curiosity. “What kind of information?”
“I’m not at liberty to divulge that.”
I shook my head. “Seriously?” He shrugged. “Why the fuck does he care what happens to me now? I paid him off in the divorce settlement. He got what he wanted, and I moved on.” Flicking the lighter, I inhaled and savored the sweet burn of the tobacco.
“Maybe he’s still in love with you?”
I laughed at the serious glint in his eyes. Taking another drag, I thought about the jack ass who stole ten years of my life. “I was nothing more than a means to an end for him. That fucker never loved me.”
“Why’s that?” The handsome stranger leaned against the bar, searching my face.
“Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know when someone is using you.” I stood and reached over the bar, snatching a bottle of bourbon and a glass. I poured both of us a double and set the bottle down. “Now, what am I going to do about you?”
“Didn’t realize I was a problem to be dealt with.” He nodded and picked up his glass.
“I don’t like hired thugs sitting at my bar, taking notes of my every movement. Especially if they’re narcing on me to my ex.” I eyed him over the glass. The cigarette smoke hung thick between us. “Tell that bastard, if he has something to say, he can talk to my lawyer.”
With a smile, he downed the contents of the glass and then set it down. “I’ll relay the message.” He slid from the seat and pulled a few bills from his wallet to lay on the bar. “For the record, I had all the information I needed a few hours ago.”
“Really?” I asked, my voice husky from the alcohol. “Then why the fuck did you stick around. Are you a masochist? I mean surely he told you how much of a bitch I was.” I leaned back against the bar as he leaned close, his arms caging me in.
“Oh, you’re a vixen all right.” His lips hovered over mine. “There’s no doubt about that.”
My heart raced, threatening to punch a hole through my chest. Maybe adding more alcohol had only enflamed our bravado, but I couldn’t back down now. I’d wanted to taste him since I saw him walk through my door. Reaching up, I thrust my hands into his shaggy hair. He closed the gap and claimed my lips.
I returned the kiss. Whiskey, tobacco, and pure unadulterated need…that’s what he tasted like. It’d be far too long since I had a man in my bed I realized as his arms closed around me, pulling me against him. Foreplay be damned, I needed him inside me now.
The characters from Undercover decided to continue talking. So I obliged them. They haven’t told me their names yet, damn them. I hope you enjoyed their adventure. We’ll see where it goes from there? Perhaps soon. *wink*
I slid the cloth over the counter, my eyes not bent on my task, but on the man sitting at the end of the bar. His fingers tapped idly against the glass as he took a drag from his cigarette. Six hours. That’s how long he’d been sitting at my bar, sipping bourbon and scanning the patrons.
To the unfamiliar and ignorant, he would have seemed like a sorry waste of space milking the bottle as though it held the answers to all of life’s questions. The problem, I was neither ignorant nor unfamiliar with his type. He reeked of law enforcement, and the question lingering in the back of mind had me distracted. That and the color of his eyes. I hadn’t gotten a decent look at them, since he refused to make eye contact with me.
I watched the remaining patrons pay their tab with the waitress and tossed the rag into the sink. With a nod to her, I turned toward the last man standing…well, sitting.
“Alright, spill it.” I leaned against the bar, staring at him. His shaggy brown hair hung across his face and over his collar. He pushed his hand through it and glanced up. Amber. That’s what color his eyes were. The same color as the whiskey in his glass. Goddamn…they even seemed to shift like liquid. I shook my head. “Well?”
“Sorry, what was that?” he drawled.
Well, southern boys were a dime a dozen in my bar, but this one, his accent pitched him somewhere between the cultured southern gentleman dashed with a hint of Creole and a smidgen of Mississippi River. He certainly wasn’t from around these parts, and now he had my undivided attention.
“What are you doing in my bar?” I asked, but when he stared at me with the most irritatingly innocent expression, I knew the truth. Sliding around the end of the bar, I made my way to his side. He turned to face me, his expression blank, but his eyes darkened noticeably.
“You just looking for an excuse to be alone with me?” I brushed my breast against his arm as I leaned past him and picked up his glass. He licked his lips, and I smiled before sipping the whiskey, savoring the smoky flavor as the alcohol burned my throat. “I’m flattered.” I downed the remaining contents and placed the glass back on the counter. His gaze followed every movement as I rested my hand on his knee.
“Now, answer me honestly—” I slid my hand up the length of his thigh, brushing my fingertips against the bulge in the front of his jeans “—why is a cop sitting in my establishment, monitoring my guests without asking for my permission.” I leaned close, watching his lips twitch. “Or are you heartbroken and hard up?” Bless his heart, he didn’t look away as I stroked him through the denim. Most men would have broken, but he held firm…literally.
“If you don’t stop, I can’t promise I won’t bend you over that table and show you just how hard I am.” He grinned, the movement creasing the lines at the corners of his eyes.
“Tell me why you’re here.” I gripped him harder.
He groaned. “I’m undercover.”
“For who.” I twisted my wrist.
He winced. “Your ex-husband.”
“Figures.” I released him, and he relaxed, taking a deep breath, but not breaking eye contact. “Now, I believe you promised me something…”
I figured I’d have a little fun with today’s post. I always seem to tie in bars and bad boys. I wonder how bad our undercover detective can truly be. Do you think there’s a story here? Thoughts?