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goldenlikedayl1ght · 4 months ago

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...ready for it? - j.l. howlett

a/n: hi! here's a full version of a blurb i wrote a few days ago that got so much love so quick that i wanted to give yall a full version! the beginning is literally just the blurb but after that it's all new! like many of you wolverine brainrot has hit me hard, so here's graphic smut about him. leave a comment or a reblog if you enjoyed :) warnings: SMUT!!!!! some dumbification, use of pet names, reader is fem, reader is a mutant and able to control plants, lots of cursing, lots of grotesque fliritng/fantasies, some soft moments, some sort of primal sex, oral (fem receiving), some of the setting is probs inaccurate but whatever. let me know if i missed any big ones!! word count: 4.9 k summary: well, you had to find some way of entertaining yourself at charles xavier's school for gifted youngsters. and you have always liked an emotionally unavailable, absolutely hung, challenge. pairing: logan howlett x mutant!reader now playing: ...ready for it? - taylor swift "in the middle of the night, in my dreams/you should see the things we do, baby/in the middle of the night in my dreams/i know i'm gonna be with you, so i take my time"

You are absolutely enthralled with him. It’s actually sort of pathetic how your fingers twitch at the sight of him, at how the mention of his name or god forbid the sound of his voice makes your head snap up, attention deficit disorders be damned!

Funnily enough, you had no damn interest in Xavier’s stupid mutant school, because to you, you’re not an outsider because of your mutant abilities (that don’t have much of a physical apparition, at least one that you can’t hide) but because there’s never been much of a place for you to fit in.

But, you were behind on rent and of course, you fucking hate your job, so why not? You’d be able to be slightly less of a freak, and you’d get free room and board in the process! (Where Charles gets all of his money, you do not know.)

And because you’re a little older, Charles doesn’t force you to sit in a class room to learn about basic arithmetic and grammar lessons, so you really only do some training around three times a day, you have your own room (with a dusty box under the other bed, you also suspect your room used to be the ‘sex’ room) and you have the weekends off.

So for a twenty something year old with few ambitions, the social skills of a Martian with autism, and a huge crush on every older emotionally unavailable man you meet, it’s a pretty good set-up.

You’re waiting for time to pass in the garden, just reading a rather interesting book that Charles had recommended after he noticed you needed something to pass time before you started making bad decisions.

You hear his heavy footsteps on the gravel before you see him. Your heart beats faster, but you will yourself, do everything in your power not to glance up at him. And you let out a breath as you succeed, keeping your head down.

“In your natural habitat, are you, spitfire?” Your head darts up to him—There’s no way he isn’t talking to you, you know you’re the only one in this garden. And you can see his lips twitch up and you want to crawl out of your skin!

“My-My natural habitat?” You laugh, closing the book you’re reading because your attention is locked to him now.

“Yeah, seems like it.” He saunters on up to you and sits on the bench next to you.

And let’s make something very clear—

Logan Howlett does not sit.

This man poses, as if there’s always some invisible camera capturing every frame of movement, from the way his legs spread out, to the way his chest lifts when he inhales.

Fuck, you think you might die if you can’t suck him off right now.

“And what exactly is my uh.. habitat?” You question.

He takes out his lighter and a cigar, placing the cigar in his mouth as he gestures to the space around the two of you, lighter in hand.

“A garden.” He says, matter of facility, as his voice is muffled only the slightest bit by the cigar.

And you just sort of look at him before asking,

“Oh, you enjoy being boiled down to your mutations, Claws?” You question, and as he goes to light the cigar, he smirks.

“Alright, you gotta admit though, it is cliché!”

You are absolutely in agreement, there is zero doubt you are as much of a walking, breathing, real life living, stereotype.

“It is not!” And the pair of you give each other this look, like you’re both shocked at how whiney that statement is!

“Uh-huh, sure, Spitfire.” It sounds almost like he’s purring at you.

When he lights his cigar, he’s sort of eying you for your reaction, whatever you might say.

“You know, smoking is not only bad for you, it’s awful for the environment.”

“You’re probably the most cliché little freak around here.” Which.. honestly..? Shouldn’t possibly turn you on as much as it does.

You just stare at him for a minute, and he smirks.

“Cat got your tongue?’

And maybe it’s stupid and maybe it’s immature but your hand just comes over to fiddle with the pointed part of his hair.

“We’ll you certainly look the part.” He just looks at you, and honestly? The way he’s looking at you, it’s like he’s proud of you for teasing him.

“Aw, there’s my little spitfire,” He teases, just to see how red you get. And red you are— it’s embarrassing. And here’s the kicker—You are young. Exceptionally young, and what’s insane about that? How horny it makes both you and Logan.

The idea of fucking your innocent cunt, tight and all his, drives him genuinely mad. And you are, quite literally, a whore for the idea of riding this older man’s dick. You know he’s big—sometimes you see the outerline of it when he walks away from you all huffy and puffy.

“You’re a tease, Claws.” You respond, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Says you,” he raises and eyebrow, leaning closer to you now, “You’re the one laying around in the sun, looking like that.”

“Looking like this?” You scoff. You’re wearing a muscle tee and a pair of ripped jeans, but the gaps are huge and he can see your thighs. He wants to devour you, and you would let him if he only asked.

And let’s be clear—he is fucking you with his eyes. There’s no way to go around it.

“I think you’re just.. horny.” You tease, and he just growls. Seriously, this man who is undressing you with his eyes, growls, because he does want you and he is horny!

“I think you’re onto something.” He purrs, and you want to just.. god. You don’t know how to express the pit of desire that grows in you. “I would fuck you until you couldn’t think, right here among your pretty flowers. Would you like that, baby?” he asks, his hand finding your thigh.

But you just cough on the smoke from his cigar, before frowning.

“You really shouldn’t smoke.”

“Aw, I’ll make it up to you.” He smirked. “Promise, spitfire.”

He’s very close to you now, so you take a second to just breath and you know that he knows that he’s got you—hook, line, and sweet, sweet sinker.

And then you realize what exactly it is that you’ve gotten yourself into. And what a nightmare it is—Or maybe a dream if you listen to the pathetic part of your brain, but you are into this an in a way that is concerning for your own mental wellbeing and desperately want to avoid him having all the power in this situation.

“Oh, I am sure you will.” You assure. You lean forward, plucking the cigar from his lips, and placing it on the ground, squashing it beneath your heel. With a flick of your wrist, vines and grass grow over the cigar, composting it. And from the vines, grows a small little buttercup flower.

You lean down and pluck the flower from the grass, before tucking it behind Logan’s ear.

“You should take care of that hard-on you have, Claws.” You hum, before standing up, and walking away. And for a minute, he just watches you go—partly to because you have an amazing ass, but partly because you have absolutely flabbergasted him.

And have made him want you even more.

• • •

The next time you see him is the next night, in the woods near the mansion. Because the literal sixteen year olds you go to ‘school’ with do not know how to do anything on the weekend except drink, fuck, and smoke.

Honestly, you kind of fit in great.

So here you are, nursing a mason jar of.. some fucked up concoction, and you’re not too sure what’s in it, but you have drunk two of them and are on your third. You think you might live forever, until you glance up and see Logan, in these fuck me jeans and this burnt orange flannel and a wife beater.

Instantly, you know that you’ll die tonight if you don’t have him.

He approaches you with this cocky smirk as if he hasn’t realized your intoxicated state yet.

“Now what’s a little spitfire like you doing all alone on a Friday night?” he questions, tilting his head. His smirk is deadly. And you roll your eyes.

“Here comes the big bad Wolverine, all bark and no bite.” You scoff, and his eyes flash with surprise. Only for a second, but even drunk, you notice the way his eyes shoot up in surprise.

“All bark and no bite? That’s quite the accusation.” He hums.

“Well, we’ve been.. eye fucking each other for a few weeks now, and you haven’t even kissed me yet. I get being into foreplay and edging, but holy shit, Claws, throw a girl a bone once in a while.” You scoff, and for a moment, he just looks at you.

“Are you.. drunk?”

“Do you think I’m drunk?”

“Yeah, you’re drunk.” He sighs. You respond by taking another sip of your drink, but before the bitter liquor hits your tongue, he snatches the bottle from you.

“Let me take you home.” You’re sure your eyes look like hearts, so, dreamily and a little love struck, you respond,

“’Kay.”

And he chuckles a little bit at that.

“We’re not gonna do anything, I’m just gonna walk you home, spitfire.” He starts, and your face falls a little bit, but in an effort to hide it, you respond,

“..’kay.” And he sees right through you. You’re pretty much an open book. And the alcohol doesn’t help. His pointer finger and thumb comes to your chin, and he gently rubs his thumb against your lip.

“Don’t be like that, pup. It’ll happen soon. Just not tonight, okay?” He assures.

“’Kay.” You answer softly, and you think he smiles at you but your vision is sort of blurry. Then, you blink, as a gust of wind moves through the trees, sending a shiver down your spine. He sighs, and wordlessly takes off his flannel, before wrapping it around you. Your arms slip into the sleeves, and you almost cry because it’s like, the best hug in the entire world. “Won’t.. you be cold, then?” you question, and he just shakes his head.

“Let’s get you home, spitfire.” He holds a handout to you, and without a second thought, you take his hand. He wraps his arm around you, and you lean against him like it’s something the two of you do often. If you were sober, you might short circuit. But, you’re not, so it feels right.

The walk home is quiet, but Logan’s thumb gently rubs against your shoulder. He wants to do more, but he knows he shouldn’t, since you are in fact plastered.

You ignore the giggles and whispers from teenagers making their way past you to the party or to their rooms, and you even ignore the way their giggles stop when they meet Logan’s gaze.

When you get back to your room, you take a second to lean against the door, and he takes a second to admire the way you look in his clothes.

“Ready for bed?” he asks gently, and you just smile at him.

“You’re really pretty.” He just does the half scoff-half chuckle that you’re obsessed with. Then, he wraps his arm around you again, opening the door to your room, and guiding you inside. He gets you to your bed and sits you down, before kneeling in front of you to untie your boots. “Has anyone ever told you how good you look on your knees?” you ask.

He just gives you this smirk.

“One or two pretty girls back in the day.” He says, “None as pretty as you though, spitfire.” He says, and you groan, leaning back and laying on the bed, as he pulls off your boots.

“You’re awful.” And you need him.

“Yes, I know, baby.” His voice is almost condescending, and it turns you on. But then he stands up, grabbing the folded blanket from the edge of your bed, and laying it over you. He finds his place kneeling next to you again as you stare at him, cozy in bed. His hands gently brush hair from your face. “Do you need anything else?”

“You.”

“Soon. But not yet, pup. You’re too drunk.” He says softly.

“Thanks for walking me home, Claws.”

“You’re very welcome, Spitfire.” He purrs, leaning forward and kissing your forehead gently. “I’ll see you in the morning. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Logan.” You mumble as you drift off to sleep. He sits there for a few minutes, just looking at you for a long time before he gets up and creeps out of your room.

• • •

The next morning, you sit in the cafeteria, drinking a large coffee, and nursing the worst hangover, possibly of your life. Made even worse by the fractions of memories about what happened last night.

You rub your eyes, flinching when you hear the clatter of a plate on the table, and someone sitting across from you. You peek through the gaps of your fingers to see Logan sitting across from you, a smirk on his face.

He opens his mouth to say something but you beat him to it.

“I hate you. Shut up.”

“I didn’t even say anything!” he laughs. But he sees how much pain you’re in, and slides two pieces of sourdough toast to you. “Truce?”

“Truce.” You agree, taking a slice and biting into it. You feel better.

And after a moment of silence, he asks,

“I’m never getting my flannel back, am I?”

Truthfully, the flannel has been folded neatly and tucked into your drawer, for the next time you need some comfort.

You tilt your head, looking right into his eyes.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

• • •

Weeks go by like this.

You spend your days either going to class or hanging out—okay, it’s more like flirting with a side of hanging out, with Logan. The pair of you become quite close, and maybe that’s why you haven’t fucked yet.

Oh, the two of you want to, and it’s obvious to everyone (Charles has called you out for being distracted more times than you can count, and you remind him not to probe your mind, and he tells you he does not need his mutant abilities to see that your thoughts linger elsewhere.) but you’re.. afraid, at this point.

Which is odd, because you’re no virgin, you know he wants you, but.. what if everything changes after that? Maybe he’ll start to avoid you. Maybe you’ll start to avoid him. And you’ve really become good friends, and don’t want to lose it.

And then, there’s the fact that half the time, he’s away on dangerous missions, and even if he can regenerate, you worry about him. But he hasn’t been on any lately, so it’s like waiting for the other shoe to drop.

You’re sitting in the garden when it happens.

He finds you, and this time, you do not even try to hide the way your head picks up and gazes at him.

“Hi, Spitfire.” He grins, and you smile a bit at him.

“Claws, what can I do for you?” And he sits next to you, and for some reason, maybe because he doesn’t say anything at first, you know that there is something wrong. And you know what it is.

After a few minutes, you glance to him.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” Your voice is quiet, as if you’re scared that if it gets any louder, everything will fall apart.

“Yeah. Charles has me going on another mission.” He doesn’t say it, but you both know this isn’t an involuntary thing.

“Cool.” You cringe at your reaction.

“I guess.” He laughs weakly, as if he knows he’s twisting a knife buried within you.

Silence fills the air. It’s not necessarily uncomfortable, but it isn’t the relaxed silence you’re used to with him. Confessions dance on the tips of your tongues, and you’re so close to saying it, that when you turn to each other suddenly, you just need to look at each other for a second.

“Be safe.” You say quietly. “And hurry back.” You request, and you try not to sound like you’re begging.

“Of course.” He says, like it perplexes him that you even have to request. “I can’t leave you here yearning for me forever, can I?” He teases, and for a moment, you have this flash of an alternate universe where he does die on this mission and you are trapped in this garden forever, waiting for him. Like a lost puppy, or worse, a lost lover. The mere thought of it fucks with your head.

“No. You can’t. I won’t allow it.” You explain, “If anything, I’m the one that should be haunting you.” He just smiles. A real, not at all awkward smile.

“I’m sure you will, spitfire.” He says, and his head comes forward so that his forehead is resting against yours.

“When do you leave?” You ask gently, and he sighs. His breath smells of mint and cigar smoke, maybe even a hint of lemon.

“An hour. I have to pack quick and then debrief.” He answers you.

And just as love struck as you were the night of the party, you answer,

“’Kay.” You smile weakly at him. And he just.. looks at you for a few minutes before sighing again. He pulls away and leans up to kiss your forehead again, before standing up. He turns a few steps away from you just to tease you.

“Don’t miss me too much, okay?” he requests softly. Before you can stop yourself, you stand up, and wrap your arms around him. He only pauses for a half a second before he returns your embrace, and it becomes apparent that you both needed this moment. You stay like this for a few minutes before you pull away.

“Bring me back a souvenir.” You try, a soft smile on your face.

“Yeah, don’t worry. I’ll bring you something great from the great city of Tulsa, Ohklahoma.” He grins.

“Deal.”

• • •

For the next week, you feel like this must be what it was like for housewives when their husbands went to war. You knew all too well that that statement was extremely dramatic, but you simply cannot help yourself.

You think you might die by day three.

It’s like you’re going through withdrawals and it’s making you go genuinely insane.

You have worn this man’s flannel for almost the entire week, because at first you’re a little self-conscious of other people noticing your repeating outfits, but only at first. By day four, you have decided you don’t give a single fuck.

Day eight you’re just laying in bed, quietly making a list of all the positions you want him to take you in. It’s a long list. You’re brought back to reality by a knock on your door. You’re about to snap, knowing that you’ll tell whatever child has been sent to bother you to scram, but when you open the door, you grin widely.

Logan stands there, looking tired, but he’s smiling and holding up a shot glass that reads ‘Tusla’, and has skyline on it.

“Didn’t I tell you I’d get you a souvenir?” He asks, and you can’t help but wrap your arms around him, pulling him in. He hugs you back, making sure to squeeze you just a bit—your feet barely come off the ground.

He pulls away, and you grin up to him.

“You came back.” You say it as if you can barely believe it, and just for a moment, he feels an emotion he can’t quite place, but he ignores it.

“Of course I came back, spitfire. All in one piece too, as requested.” He grins, and you’re just.. amazed at the look of him. “What’s that look for?” He asks gently, tilting his head.

“I just..” you start.

And then you break.

You lean up and kiss him gently, those stupidly delicious sideburns making your stomach flip. He doesn’t waste time, kissing you back, his arms around your waist. After a minute, you pull away.

“Sorry. I’m kind of done playing that game of waiting for you to kiss me. I just got the first hit of you I’ve had all week, and I feel fucking amazing.” You confess, and sure, it’s not a big grand love confession with tears and poetry, but your words make him kiss you so intensely that you start backing into your room, his hands exploring your body as you tug off his leather jacket, a new flannel for you to steal coming off soon after.

He keeps kissing you as his hands come down to your jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping them, before gently pushing you to sit on the bed. He kneels in front of you, and begins to tug off your boots again, then, on your jeans.

You grin.

“You know, I’m getting the oddest sense of déjà vu. Something about you looking great on your knees.” You tease, and he just tugs off your jeans in one strong swoop, before leaning in to bite your thigh. You gasp, your hands coming up to tug his hair.

Then, he begins to tug at your panties, and you tilt his head up, glancing at him.

“What are you doing?”

“Well, before I was interrupted, I was about to eat you out.”

“Wait, really?”

He blinks, confused.

“Yeah. Is that a, uh.. problem..?” He hasn’t gotten any complaints yet.

“I just.. I didn’t think guys actually did that, I thought it was just.. a porno thing.” And at this, the man who is about to burry his face between your thighs, laughs. And not just a chuckle, this man hollars. “What’s so funny, claws?” You ask, a little suspicious.

“Nothing,” he promises, “I am just going to take such good care of you, pup.”

“I’m holding you to that, claws.” And then, he leans in and begins to kiss your thighs, gently biting down here and there. Then, he licks a stripe along your cunt, and you let out this loud moan, and your hand comes up to clamp over your mouth, but he reaches up to grab your hand, lacing his fingers with yours.

He pulls away to lecture you. Lecture you. On his knees. Head between your thighs.

“Nuh-uh, I wanna hear all the pretty noises you can make for me.” Then, softer, he adds, “Never been eaten out before, fuckin’ travesty.” He mumbles, before leaning in to lick your cunt again, beginning to lap his tongue over your throbbing heat.

His nose rubs against your clit, and it’s enough to drive you genuinely crazy. You’re unsure how you’ve gotten to this point in your life without having your pussy worshipped like this, but with him around, you’re pretty sure you’ll never go another day without it.

His tongue continues to work magic on your cunt, as his nose presses against your clit, stimulating you to the point of making you see stars.

Your hands tug at his hair, and the moan that it elicits from him is enough to send vibrations through your cunt through your stomach. Your head leans back as you moan, and for a moment, you hope there is no mutant in this mansion with super hearing.

His free hand grips your thigh as he bends your leg back to get better access, as he continues to eat you out. The mere taste of you is enough to drive him crazy—He almost wants to start thrusting into the side of your bed, he’s so hard, but he ignores that urge to continue to eat you out.

“Mm—Lo, I—I’m gonna—”

He just hums into your cunt, giving your thigh a gentle squeeze of approval, before his tongue moves even faster (if that’s even possible, though, he is an amazingly surprising man), and suddenly—

You feel a release you have been waiting for weeks, and it is fucking phenomenal. And the Wolverine just licks up all your cum, even if it makes your thighs shake, but honestly, he doesn’t care and neither do you. For a moment, you just listen to the sound of your own pants.

After a minute, you are able to look at him, and he just looks up to you with the same smirk that has been torturing you for all of those weeks. And you just have to pull him up to kiss you, like it’s the only way you’ll be able to live.

As you kiss him, you pull off his wifebeater and then your hands rest on the sides of his face as he pulls off your shirt as well, before his hands begin to make quick work of his belt, wanting to skip all of the pleasantries and just fuck you.

But when he finally gets his jeans off, you pull away, and he stares at you like you’re crazy.

“What the fuck could possibly be more important than me fucking you stupid?”

“Will you just.. let me look at you?” You scoff, your eyes flickering over him to just memorize every square inch of his body. He humors you for a few minutes, standing there with his hands on hips before he leans in and cages you in with his arms.

“Show’s over, spitfire.” He purrs, leaning in to kiss you, slowly making his way closer to you so that you’re laying back on your bed. At some point during the kiss, his boxers come off, and when you feel his cock against your cunt, you moan into the kiss, and you can feel his smirk against your lips.

Oh, you could kill him. But, you suspect maybe he’ll get to you first.

After he kisses you for a few minutes, he pulls away to tell—not ask, tell you, “I’m going to fuck you now.” And you know your line.

“’Kay.” He grins at this and kisses you again, before lining himself up and starting slowly. He just has the tip inside of you, and you begin to moan, your grip on his shoulders tightening. You already feel entirely too full, and he slowly agonizingly slowly pushes into you, and he sees how his size makes your face twitch,

“Shh, shh, I know, pup. Deep breathes for me, bub,” he says softly, such a stark contract to his rough movements, as he bottoms out and has his entire cock inside of you. And he gives you a second, watching as your face relaces, adjusting to the size of him. “Okay?” He asks, and you nod.

“’Kay,” You assure, and he kisses your forehead.

“’Kay.” He responds, and before you can tease him for it, he begins to thrust into you, slowly as first, but he continues to quicken his pace. Your nails begin to scratch on his back, and he lets out this angelic moan—You must’ve died and went to heaven.

As his thrusts quicken, the lines quickly blur between quick ruts and an animalistic need, manifesting itself in the way he fucks you. You know you won’t last long, especially when his fingers find your clit and begin to rub it again.

“Fuck! Oh my god—”

“I know, baby, I know,” he coos, his free hand coming to your thigh to lift your leg up, only for better access to your throbbing cunt, “God, I love the feeling of you around me.. Worth the wait, I promise.” He grumbles, as he thrusts into you, his only goal to make you cum.

You want to respond to that—To tease him, to make him feel as shy as you do, but he has completed his goal of fucking you stupid.

All you can do is respond, “Fuck—I’m gonna—”

“I know, baby, go ahead, cum for me,” he requests softly, leaning in to press a rather jarringly sweet kiss to your lips.

As you cum around his cock, he shudders, the look of you, laying there fucked dumb, is almost too much for him to bear.

“I’m gonna fill you up, pup,” he tells you, and all you can do is moan in response, which makes him come that much closer to the edge. After a few more thrusts, with a euphoric moan that will haunt you forever, his hot cum fills you up, leaving the pair of you clawing at each other, wanting more.

When you’re both finally finished riding out your high, Logan lays next to you, keeping you close. His grip on you is tight—possessive. When you finally find your voice, you ask,

“You’re not gonna turn me into a booty call, are you, claws?”

And he laughs.

“No,” he says, pressing a kiss to your head. “You’re gonna be my best girl, Spitfire.”

“Does this mean I get to steal another of your flannels?”

“I’ll give you my whole fucking wardrobe to see how many times I can make you cum.”

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see-arcane · 4 months ago

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I have been possessed by a stronger than average craving for tinkering with Jonathan Harker's genders (Jonders). Jonathan Harker is undeniably and forever my favorite gothic heroine. But, being that there is so much to chew on regarding his potential fluidity when it comes to gender roles within the story--the classic damsel, the willingly submissive half of the couple, the vengeful berserker, etc--it's got me thinking.

Let's take the metaphor out. What would happen to the Dracula narrative if Jonathan Harker was...

First thing's first--she almost definitely gets shouldered out of the Important Solicitor's position due to reasons of Being Girl. But she still has to get to Transylvania to be menaced by Count Bat Bastard. How?

Hawkins! Johanna is working at the firm as a secretary and personal assistant to a still very paternally mushy old Peter Hawkins. When Dracula's request comes around, he can't give up such a lucrative client over his gout and there's no one he trusts to pass it to. He has to go. And it'd only be right to treat his surrogate daughter to a paid scenic vacation have his aide along on the business trip. Especially when she hunted down Carfax Abbey herself! What a lovely outing they'll have.

...or not.

True to form, Count Dracula is very much not to be trusted around pretty young things of any kind. Considering his canon habits, things aren't about to go any easier for Miss Harker. But at least she has Hawkins watching out for her in-person! It all makes for some very tense talk when discussing anything other than the estate purchase; which Hawkins seems as keen to rush as Dracula is to dawdle over. But at least they'll be out of here soon. What's a couple of awkward nights, right?

One in particular has Johanna nervous as she goes to bed. Hawkins had taken Dracula aside with a hard smile, insisting there was a 'delicate matter' he wished to speak with the Count about. The last time a 'delicate matter' was brought up was when he nearly lobbed a typewriter at one of his ex-solicitor's heads for some distinctly unseemly behavior in her direction. She hopes there isn't a storm brewing under their host's roof. She hopes harder that tomorrow they'll be heading back to the Borgo Pass.

Instead:

Oh.

Oh no.

Between this and one requisite nightmare-week in which the joys of womanhood come and go--let's leave it unspoken whether her set of bloodstained cloths stay in her possession or not--Johanna gets put through the wringer. Per usual. But eventually..!

Yeah. No shock there. Deep calming breaths, Jack. Don't let the wonderful diary concuss you.

Part of being one of two (gasp) G I R L S in the Scooby Gang, Van Helsing and company vote Johanna and Mina out of the dirt hunt. Except. Well. Johanna is still necessary to have on the ground here. She's the only one with the location intel--and a surprise willed gift of inheritance and the firm from poor Hawkins, who the Transylvanian locals all vouch for as being 'slain by wolves,' leaving Johanna free of blame--so she's still running around for the crew.

Even so, odds are high that she initially gets sidelined with Mina. Which isn't overly awful. It is good to be side-by-side in this timeline! No needless sequestering from each other! Johanna is already planning to see Mina back to their new house before they have to sleep another night in an asylum.

And then comes the 3rd of October.

Van Helsing: "Madam Harker, is it not somewhat attention-catching to wear trousers in public? We are meant to be unremarkable while we wait on th--"

Johanna, has already smoked through two cigars, kukri in her lap, playing a game of chicken with God: "Do you think I scaled a mountain in three layers of skirts, Professor? No? Then I will not do the same if the rancid bastard tries to escape out the window."

Van Helsing, aside: "Friend John, can you speak sense to her?"

Jack, melting off the side of the bench: "I think I hauve consumption"

Anyway. She very much does get to the Dracula head chopping. And there will be much rejoicing. BUT all that grimdarkness aside, there are other, more hijinks-flavored opportunities to think of with this particular set up. If only because I genuinely believe that Lucy and Art, having two spare best friends on hand and a general vibe that radiates 'ooooh what if triple wedding???', would come up with the following master plan. Some truly Shakespearean folly kind of shit:

Thankfully, Johanna and Mina nix the idea pretty quick. Case in point:

And, last but not least, my final word on the range of Jonders that exist within my very best gothic heroine friend:

ha ha I do that

#here take this giant monstrosity I cannot look at it anymore #my hands are rebelling and my eyes are fleeing to avoid looking at the screen #augh #jonathan harker #johanna harker #mina harker #mina murray #lucy westenra #peter hawkins #jack seward #abraham van helsing #arthur holmwood #quincey morris #dracula #my art #my writing #dracula spoilers #kind of

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hadersversion · 3 months ago

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how to disappear! - lumberjack! logan x farmer’s daughter!reader: how they first meet

warnings: mentions of christianity, waiting till marriage, innocent reader, implied age gap (reader in 20s and logan being logan so 200?), good ole country attitudes

moodboard <3

🍓you’ve been living in a small town in nebraska your whole life

🍓the youngest daughter to the towns farmer, you were full of personality and many people in the town just liked to be around you

🍓you cared for the kids, helped the elderly, cooked & baker for everyone while wearing a big, beautiful smile on your face

🍓logan came to town in early spring, buying the fixer upper house down the dirt road from your home

🍓you two first met when your father asked you to run down some eggs that the chickens just hatched to the new neighbor as a welcome gift

🍓 you got on your bike, your white skirt flying in the wind as you drive down the hill

🍓 you parked your bike in front of his house and walked around the property, which seemed to be empty besides the pick up truck sitting in the drive way

🍓“hello? hello? i’m y/n, your new neighbor from up the street.”

🍓 you ventured around the property and admired the way it was already coming together. the once run down house now painted a fresh coat of red.

🍓 your walk around the house was cut short when you heard the sound of wood being split deeper into the woods surrounding the property

🍓 clutching the eggs, you followed the noise until you were looking at the ripped back of a man as he swung his axe high in the air

🍓 your body froze as you watched the man move swiftly with his axe, admiring his body and trying to tune out all the things you wanted him to do to you

🍓 he turned around and did a double take, his eyes raking up and down your body

🍓 the older man stood tall, his dark hair spiking up

🍓“um, hello?” he grunted

🍓 his white tank top clung to his sweaty body, showing off his hairy chest

🍓 dog tags hung around his neck as your brain thought about them hanging above your face when he’s on top of you

🍓 your mouth became dry as you stared at him

🍓 “h-hi.” you said shyly.

🍓“can i help ya with something, sweetheart.” he set the axe down and picked up a cigar from a log

🍓“y-yeah, i-um-i.” you were a stuttering mess looking at the gorgeous man in front of you. “sorry, i-uh…i live up the street and my daddy asked me to drop off these eggs to ya. our chickens hatched them this mornin’. think of it as a welcome to the town gift.”

🍓 he looks down at the eggs in your hand and smirks

🍓“appreciate it.” he walks up and grabs the eggs, cigar hanging from his mouth. “tell your pa i said thanks.”

🍓 your breathe hitches as you stare up at him, your thoughts becoming impure before you could even control them

🍓you never had thoughts like this before, you knew that you had to wait until marriage to even cross this bridge

🍓but this man made you want to throw those ideas out the window

🍓you watch as he stares down your chest, your shirt didn’t leave much to the imagination as it opened a bit at the top

🍓 instinctively, your fingers come up and play with cross necklace sitting comfortably against you

🍓you could swear this man let out a small groan at the tiny action

🍓“didn’t catch your name, sweetheart.”

🍓“y/n.”

🍓“y/n.” he repeats back and you swear, your heart melted in your chest. “pretty, just like you. i’m logan.”

🍓 i nod and smile. “thank you.”

🍓 the two of you stand in silence, appreciating the company of one another

🍓“i-uh…i should get going. but it was nice to meet you, logan.”

🍓“back at ya, kid.”

🍓 he watched as you walked towards your bike and hop on

🍓eyes raking over your body one last time as though he was never going to see you again, he wanted to savor you

🍓 you wave innocently and start your journey home

🍓 logan waves back and takes the cigar out of his mouth

🍓“maybe comin here wasn’t so bad.”

#kaila’s drabbles ₊˚ෆ #marvel ₊˚ෆ #lumberjack logan ₊˚ෆ #lumberjack #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett #x men #farmers daughter #innocent girl #wolverine x reader #wolverine #hugh jackman

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freedomfireflies · 1 year ago

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Better Not Pout*

Summary: The one where Harry isn't leaving until he gets what he really came for.

You.

Word Count: 10.6k

Content Warning: 18+, smut, violence, guns, gunplay, exhibitionism (This one-shot is a bit darker, so please only read if you feel comfortable! 💞)

December 24th, 1945.

The streets of Chicago are cold. Windy. Dark. Everyone is either at home, visiting loved ones, or spending their Christmas Eve at the one place they know they’ll be welcome.

The Bees Knees – the renowned, underground speakeasy – is rather sparkling tonight. The customers continue to bustle in, some here for the booze, some here for the atmosphere and warmth, and some for the entertainment.

You.

You’re one of the establishments best performers, three nights of the week. Employed by none other than Johnny Winters himself to sing for the lost souls of Chicago as they drown their worries in a bottle of whiskey.

You quite like your job, and the people you work with. Milton, who tends the bar, always has a compliment to lend, offering you engaging small talk between sets or any new mixes he might make.

And Johnny isn’t so bad. But perhaps you’re a bit biased, seeing as he is your fiancé. But more than that, he’s one of the most powerful men in all of town. And considerably wealthy, which you suppose doesn’t exactly hurt.

But he’s also kind. Giving. And so very attentive. He spends every second he’s not working with you. Doting on you, showing you off to all of his friends. And having such a handsome man on your arm is certainly not the worst thing.

Tonight, however, Johnny is nowhere to be found. Which you don’t consider to be too terribly odd, given how much work he mentioned he’d be catching up on.

Even still, he hates to miss your performances, and insisted that you keep a part of him with you as you take center stage tonight in the small bar.

That part happens to be in the form of a stunning red, silk dress that was gifted to you for this very occasion. It sits on your frame like it was always meant to be yours, hugging every desirable curve, and showcasing just enough skin to taunt the imagination of those in the audience.

You don’t think you’ve ever felt so beautiful, and you walk up the steps tonight with pride. Shoulders back and painted lips poised with your first song.

The few gentlemen scattered across the main floor holler when the spotlight finds you, and you offer your signature smile.

“Evening, gentleman,” you call as the pianist begins behind you. “How are you all doing tonight?”

A few whistles are offered that make you laugh, and just like that…the show begins.

Santa Claus Came in the Spring is always a favorite, and you croon the festive lyrics while the live band follows your lead.

And even though the crowd is rather dull and distracted, you have a blast. You feel comfortable in this role and in the way their eyes drink you in. Even if their attention drifts between you, their drinks, and the cigars.

In fact, you get so swept up in your act that you hardly notice the door open or the tall, lanky stranger that slinks in from the cold.

But when his head lifts, and his eyes find yours, you feel a hitch in your throat.

Unfortunately, he looks away all too quickly, pulling off his trench coat before moving along the shadows toward the far end of the bar.

He goes unnoticed by those around him, yet your attention follows him all the way to the booth that he settles in. And it stays even after he’s leaned back, gotten comfortable, and pulled a cigarette from his rather expensive looking suit pocket.

But even though your focus has drifted, you don’t miss a single beat of the song. After all, you could sing it in your sleep, and this habit serves you well as the intriguing stranger finally shifts into the light and allows you a better look at his face.

He’s…stunning. Absolutely beautiful, with his slicked back curls, sharp jaw, and pointed nose. And he’s lighting the end of a cigarette with what you can only call practiced precision before perching it between his two, crimson-colored lips.

Rings adorn his fingers as he holds the nicotine to his mouth, inhaling a long drag before exhaling the dark smoke from his lungs.

Yet unlike the other patrons in the bar, this man seems to be rather put together. He’s not missing any teeth, his skin isn’t stained with dirt or grease, and his clothes appear to be rather new. It’s quite the upgrade from the usual appearance you’ve grown used to, and you can’t help but feel rather relaxed.

And it’s now that you realize that this striking stranger seems to be watching you much like you’re watching him. Studying your dress, your silhouette, the way you grip the microphone stand. He takes in each detail presented before him with what looks to be wonder, and your cheeks instantly grow warm.

Still, you carry on with the ballad, making your way through the final chorus and the last few notes as the band plays you out with a flourish.

The few men in front of the stage clap, and you smile gratefully as you nod your thanks and call out your appreciation.

Jingle Bells is next, and a few more people join in on the fun this time around. They clink their glasses together or belt out the lyrics a few seconds too late and wildly off-key.

Even still, it’s rather fun as you continue on with your set before finally wrapping it up with a high note that’s accompanied by a rather lively trumpet solo.

And once it’s all over, the room bursts into applause. You wave to the growing audience, taking a quick bow before gesturing toward the band. Offering them their due praise which the crowed quickly obliges.

But you notice the man in the booth keeps his expression indifferent as he continues to watch you exit the stage and make your way to the bar. He doesn’t applaud your performance or even offer a smile of encouragement. He merely takes another hit of his cigarette and throws his arm over the back of his seat. A position you imagine is intended to display dominance more than it is to find comfort.

Truth be told, you find it rather unnerving. He doesn’t seem to be here for the alcohol or the company. Perhaps he’s only here to get out of the cold or perhaps he’s avoiding his home.

Either way, his focus stays only with you, and you feel a sharp chill run down your spine as you turn to the counter and flag down Milton’s attention.

You ask for a drink and request that he tell Johnny that you’ll be waiting in his office until he arrives.

He quickly agrees, preparing the beverage for you before jutting his chin toward the silent stranger.

“Want me to have him escorted out?” he asks, but you only smile as you shake your head.

“No need, I’m sure he’s harmless.” You take the crystal glass and tip it toward him in thanks. “Besides, the attention is rather nice.”

Milton nods his understanding and you leave it at that, taking your drink toward the hallway just off the corner of the room.

You sip leisurely as you stroll to Johnny’s office, picking up the edge of your long gown so it doesn’t drag on the floor. The sounds of the crowd grow quieter and quieter with each step you take, and soon, it’s nothing but silence.

After retrieving the key Johnny insisted you keep on you at all times, you slip open the door, and make your way inside.

It’s quite dark, given the time of night and lack of lighting. He’s only got three lamps in the room, one by the window, one on the shelf, and one on his desk.

Right beside a photo of you.

Getting your photograph taken is quite the privilege, but Johnny insisted he have a vision of you in his office at all times. And you couldn’t help but indulge him, allowing him to dress you up and place you in front of the large contraption one Sunday afternoon in spring.

It’s his favorite thing in the entire world, and he mentions it constantly. Commenting on your beauty or your ethereal outfit. You know he’s only trying to embarrass you, but it’s still rather flattering to hear.

You grin to yourself as you take a seat in the large chair behind the wooden table. Downing the rest of the contents in your glass before setting it down and taking a glance around the large space.

Vaguely, you hear footsteps approaching just outside the door. Echoing through the hall as your grin grows a bit wider.

And as the knob turns, you expect to see the handsome face of your Johnny.

What you don’t expect, however, is the green-eyed devil and his quiet charm.

He’s followed you. You assume this immediately, and your heart leaps into your throat as he steps inside…and shuts the door behind him.

A tense silence settles between you as you slowly sit up and force in a quiet breath. “Hello,” you call quietly.

The sound of your unsteady voice seems to amuse him, the corner of his mouth curling up as the burning cigarette sits tucked between his lips. “Hello, mama.”

You feel your lashes flutter. “Can…can I help you?”

“I’m looking for your fiancé,” he says, and his voice is low. Deep. And you believe you catch just a hint of an English accent. “This is in fact his office, is it not?”

You hesitate, unsure whether or not to disclose such information to a stranger. “It…yes. Yes, but he’s not here right now. Perhaps you could come back later?”

“Later,” he repeats, almost thoughtfully as his head tilts. Then, he tsks. “See, I’m afraid later just doesn’t work for me. I need to speak with him right now. It’s quite urgent, and I’d like to finish this up and be home to my lover by midnight.”

“Oh…” You shift a bit in your seat and hope he doesn’t notice how nervous you’ve become. “Well, I would love to help, but I don’t believe I know when he’ll be in.”

He considers this for a moment before striding further into the room. Eyes tracking every tremble of your fingers and heave of your chest. “Can I tell you a secret, mama?” he murmurs, placing both hands on the desk and leaning closer.

You nod.

“Your boy Johnny owes me money,” he whispers. “And I’m here to collect.”

And now you understand. Now you know why he’s here. Because even though his tone is friendly, it can’t disguise the threat you know lingers underneath.

“Oh,” you whisper back, and he hums.

“Exactly. And I’m a pretty reasonable guy. Decent. So, I’ll make you a deal.” He begins to smirk behind the cigarette. “If he’s not here within the next five minutes…you and I will find another way.”

The truth is, you don’t really know too much about the financial side of Johnny’s affairs and business. You know he has plenty of money, but you don’t know what he does with it. Or where he keeps it.

And if this alluring stranger seems to think you’ll be his key…you’re afraid he’ll be mistaken.

“Problem, Doll?” He seems smug, and it makes your skin crawl. “M’not scaring you, am I?”

The answer is obvious to you both, but you force yourself straighter and attempt to appear calm. “Not at all, sir. I only want to help.”

"Mm? Good girl,” he mumbles, eyes flicking down to your painted red lips. “Knew you’d behave for me.”

Your heart is hammering inside of your chest. You’re unsure what to do now. Do you ask him to leave? Do you scream for help? Do you call the police?

And where the hell is Johnny?

He should be here by now, especially after promising to wrap up his meeting early in order to catch your last performance before Christmas. He’s always here. One of your biggest fans and greatest protectors.

The only thing you can truly think to do now is attempt to call him. You figure the police won’t get here in time, but at least if this gentleman can be assured that Johnny is on his way, he won’t be as inclined to act rashly.

However, the moment your fingers lift from the desk in order to reach for the phone, the stranger reaches for something, too.

In a matter of seconds, he’s wrapping his hand around the barrel of a gun, pulling it from his back pocket, and aiming it straight at your head. Cocking it loudly as you gasp and withdraw your arm as quickly as possible.

“What are you doin’, hm, mama?” There’s a haughty condescension in his sneer, laced with just the faintest disappointment. “Thought you were gonna be good.”

“I…I was just going to call him,” you stammer. “I know you’re in a hurry.”

The stranger studies you now, that familiar smirk beginning to fade as his attention flicks across your face. Perhaps he suspects a lie or perhaps he merely doesn’t trust you, but truth be told, you know better than to try and pull a fast one on him.

Finally, he plucks his cigarette from between his lips before tossing it to the floor and nodding at you. “Yeah? Go on, then,” he instructs, reposition the barrel at your chest. “Call your little pretty boy. Tell him he’s got a visitor.”

With a racing pulse, you once again slowly reach for the telephone, eyeing the gun carefully as you scoot closer.

You’re careful not to make any sudden moments. Hesitant to even look at him for fear of upsetting him, but your timid demeanor only entertains him further.

He simply chuckles as he slowly makes his way over to your side of the desk. Snatching up the phone just before you can reach for it and handing it to you almost cockily.

Curious, you glance up. That soft green in his eye is almost alluring, even despite the circumstance. Still, he reeks of nicotine and expensive cologne, and you lean back in an attempt to put as much space between you as you can.

He smiles. “I’m gonna watch you dial,” he tells you calmly. “Make sure you keep your word. Okay, Doll?”

Posed like a question, although you both know you don’t exactly have a choice. And you'd likely point this out if you were just a touch braver, but nevertheless, you nod. Agreeing to his terms as you take the phone and begin to dial.

As the seconds go by, you feel him watching you closely while the line rings. Leaving you to desperately await the sound of your sweet Johnny’s voice. A sound you’ve never needed more than in this moment.

Yet his voice never comes, and your heart sinks to the cold floor blow as you return the phone to the desk.

“He…he must already be on his way,” you murmur, and the man hums.

“You think so?”

You nod weakly.

He takes a seat on the edge of the desk, just inches from your arm before leaning closer. “How much are you willing to bet, hm?” His brow raises. “How sure are you that your precious fiancé will actually save you tonight?”

You feel trapped by him now. The closer he moves, the faster your heart pounds. You have nowhere to run, no personal space to disappear into.

But you only have to hold on for just a little longer. Johnny will come for you. He always does.

“Incredibly sure,” you respond, ignoring the slight waver in your voice. “He said he would be, so he will.”

The man considers this before clicking his tongue. “All right. Then how about I make you another deal, yeah? For every minute he’s late, and for every minute he leaves you here unattended…I’ll put an extra bullet through his head.”

A sharp chill runs down your spine, skin growing hot and prickly, but you force your expression to remain unfazed. “And why would you do that if you need him so badly?”

The gentleman laughs now. A sound that would almost be charming if he weren’t so vile. “Because I don’t need your precious Johnny,” he answers calmly. “I just need what’s in his safe.”

And despite the danger you’re in and despite your better judgment, your features scrunch into a grimace as you scoff, “Oh, how pathetic.”

Your reaction loosens his smile.

“Truly, how incredibly pathetic to come all the way down here at this time of night – and on Christmas Eve – just to break into his safe,” you huff. “Honestly. He won’t give you a damn thing. And you have absolutely no business to come storming in here and—”

You don’t get the chance to finish the rest of your furious scolding before he’s suddenly standing to his feet and wrapping his fingers around your arm.

Instantly, you’re yanked from your chair and shoved against the bookcase just behind you. Hard enough to knock the wind from your lungs as he traps you there, leaning in so close, his nose nearly brushes your own.

“I’d be careful how you fucking speak to me, mama,” he seethes quietly, yet even still, there’s just an air of pleasure. “Because you might not get the chance to do it again.”

He’s desperate to scare you. Desperate to see you cry, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction.

Instead, you suck in a sharp breath, and do the one thing you can think to do:

You spit.

The collection of saliva just misses his eye, landing on his cheek with a rather wet splat until the amusement fades and fury takes its place.

His fingers leave your arm and find your throat, curling around the delicate skin and forcing your head up as he begins to chuckle darkly.

“So, that’s how you wanna play, hm, Doll?” Another tsk. “You wanna be bad? Wanna test my fucking patience?”

You squirm a bit in his hold, yet for some reason, you don’t feel as frightened as you did before. Because there’s this look in his eye – this hunger. And even though his grip is tight…you feel oddly safe.

“Better find a way to keep this pretty little mouth shut,” he says next, head cocking to the left almost curiously. “Or I’ll have to shut it for you.”

His attention returns to your mouth, fingers slowly slipping up toward your chin until he can brush is thumb over the painted fibers of your lips.

Just enough to taunt you yet startle you all in the same second.

“Maybe,” you finally breathe before jerking your head away from his cruel touch. “If you knew how.”

The cocky grin widens as his hand immediately returns to your neck. “Still disobeying me, hm?” he nearly purrs. “Guess I could always just squeeze this sweet, little throat to keep you quiet, yeah? Feel your pretty pulse beneath my fingertips. Feel the life drain from your body…watch the light go out in your eyes.”

You take in a strained inhale, and he makes a sound that almost sounds like a groan.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, moving in just a bit closer until his lips are ghosting across yours. “Or maybe…I could put my gun in your mouth. See how chatty you are then, yeah, mama?”

Your chest heaves anxiously, but you find just enough confidence to whisper, “But without your gun, how will everyone know what a tiny cock you have?”

And you’re so proud of yourself. So endlessly pleased with the way you’ve managed to make his smug expression waver, even if he keeps his smirk in place.

“Oh, you think that’s funny,” he snorts as you attempt to bite back a laugh. “Well, you wanna know what I think is funny? I think it’s funny that you said Johnny would be here…and he’s not.”

“He will be,” you retort, a bit firmer. “He will.”

“See…you keep saying that,” he muses, placing one hand on the bookshelf beside your head. Truly trapping you beneath him. “And yet…your noble fiancé still isn’t here to save you.”

You tilt your head back in an attempt to appear stronger, but it doesn’t seem to fool him.

“Are you afraid?” he whispers, chest brushing against yours. “Are you afraid your Johnny won’t be able to keep you safe from the bad man?”

It’s almost hostile, the way he goads you. And yet you can hear just the slightest concern beneath his question.

“Or maybe you’re afraid he can’t pay up,” he continues. “Maybe you’re afraid he’ll have to find another way.”

Suddenly, the grip on your throat constricts. Recapturing your attention.

“Are you gonna be my other way, mama?” he exhales. “You gonna be my consolation prize?”

You feel dizzy. The room is spinning. And you aren’t sure if that’s because of the hold on your neck or the way he’s speaking to you.

However, before you can decide if you’re actually intrigued by his intimidation tactics…the sound of footsteps echo outside through the hall.

Johnny.

It has to be him. You almost need it to be him, and your shoulders unwind as the man glances toward the closed door curiously before finally leaning back.

Then, he grabs onto your arm for a second time, and flings you back toward the chair. Shoving you down and keeping you still.

“You’re gonna sit here and you’re gonna keep your fucking mouth shut,” he hisses softly right as the door swings open. “And then maybe…I just might reward you.”

But you don’t even mind this malicious threat because then you see him. Your fiancé, smiling brightly as his eyes find you before they flick to the man to your right.

For a moment, he seems surprised, seemingly assessing your position and the situation before his grin widens.

“Ah, Mr. Styles,” he calls as he strides into the room, quickly removing his hat and coat. “What a pleasant surprise. Did we have a meeting tonight?”

He seems relaxed. Almost too relaxed, as though he doesn’t view this man as a threat, and you aren’t sure whether to feel relieved or wildly confused. You hadn’t exactly expected him to grab the mysterious guest by the collar and throw him out the window, but you also didn’t expect him to welcome him with open arms.

A strange man is alone with his future wife, in his office, in the middle of the night, and that doesn’t seem to concern him even a little?

Perhaps Johnny is far too friendly for his own good.

The gentleman, in turn, straightens up while subtly slipping the gun behind his back. Tucking it into his belt just out of view before Johnny can catch it. “Not quite,” he says coolly. “I’m here to discuss a bit of unfinished business.”

Your heart sinks, yet Johnny merely nods. “Ah, I see. Well, is there any way this can wait until after Christmas? It’s been a long night, and I’d like to be getting the lovely lady home.”

Now, both of their stares turn to you, and eagerly, you begin to rise from the chair. Grateful for the opportunity to leave this unsettling stranger behind.

Yet before you can even find your footing, the man’s hand is coming down in a firm smack on your shoulder to force you back down.

“I’m afraid the lovely lady isn’t going anywhere,” he replies, and you catch Johnny’s expression fall. “And neither are you. Have a seat.”

Johnny begins to frown. “Look, Harry, whatever business we might have, I’m sure it can—”

“I said, have…a seat,” the man – Harry – repeats a bit brasher. “Yeah? Or things will get a lot worse for your darling fiancé.”

Johnny hesitates, eyes flicking to yours. But he must notice the panicked look you wear because he finally sighs and does as instructed. Taking a seat in the chair just in front of the desk before glancing toward Harry.

Harry nods, almost proudly. “There you go. S’not so hard, is it?”

Johnny’s figure slumps but his lips purse together. “What do you want?”

“Oh, I just want to talk,” Harry says, his smirk returning. “And lucky for you, your schedule just cleared up.”

“Harry—” Johnny begins, leaning closer as though getting ready to stand.

But instantly, Harry is reaching back behind him for the gun, pulling it free, and aiming the barrel straight at his head.

Johnny quickly leans back, eyeing the weapon hesitantly while you gasp and glance up at the stranger pleadingly.

Harry only looks at Johnny. “See, I’m running out of fucking patience. Eight goddamn months I’ve had to listen to you go on and on about this special fucking shipment you got. And now…it’s time to collect.”

Your sweet fiancé understands now. Realizes why this man is here and how real the threat is, and glances back at you almost apologetically.

You merely mouth, “It’s okay.”

Johnny’s eyes flick back to the gun. “I’d be careful waving that thing around. Somebody might get hurt.”

The man merely hums. “Oh, I’m fucking counting on it.”

Now, the office grows quiet. A tense, charged sort of energy that filters between the three of you as Harry begins to walk around the desk.

“So,” he continues, grabbing onto the other free chair in order to spin it around and sit in a straddle, “where’s the safe, Johnny?”

Johnny’s brow raises, but his Adam’s apple bobs with a thick swallow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you do. Down at the club, you said you just got a brand new, fancy safe to hold everything from your latest shipment. Practically bragged about it to the whole goddamn bar, yeah? So…where is it?”

With piqued interest, you look between the two men curiously as you await Johnny’s answer. You’ve never really been sure where he gets all his money. You assumed most of it came from the bar and alcohol sales, so you’re rather stumped by what sort of shipment they might be referring to.

However, Johnny isn’t so quick to divulge all his secrets. “And what is it you’re expecting to get out of my safe, Mr. Styles?”

There’s another heavy pause as Harry rests his arms over the back of the seat and whispers, “Everything.”

Instantly, Johnny scoffs. “You think you can storm into my office on Christmas Eve and threaten my fiancé? Threaten me? That you’re entitled to anything you damn well please?” A bitter scoff as he leans back. “You’ll be arrested before morning, and you’ll never see a red fucking cent.”

His retort dangles between them for only a moment as a breath catches in your throat. Pulse racing as you watch the stranger’s reaction closely.

Yet the mystery man doesn’t so much as flinch as he suddenly repositions the gun into the air, aims it just to the left of Johnny’s head, and fires.

The sound is deafening, much like your sharp, shrill shriek as the bullet flies through the air – just missing Johnny’s ear – and lodges into the wall behind him.

Johnny immediately flinches, eyes screwing shut and muscles recoiling before he seems to realize that he remains unharmed.

And once he does, he takes a deep breath, and begins to smirk. “You missed.”

“Did I?” Harry runs his tongue over his bottom lip before re-cocking the gun. “No, see…I never fucking miss. That was your first warning.”

Johnny simply snorts. “Yeah? Well, eat my shit.”

Things move quickly from there.

Harry is instantly on his feet, tossing the chair aside rather angrily before he’s turning to you once more. And you don’t even have a moment to think before you’re being yanked from the seat for a second time and immediately tugged to his chest as he presses the barrel of the gun into the side of your temple.

“Where’s the fucking safe, Johnny?” he says again, and you notice Johnny’s face pale.

“Styles,” Johnny murmurs, “you don’t have to do this—”

“The safe,” he seethes. “Where is it? Or do you need a little incentive, huh? Need to see her pretty little brains all over your goddamn floor? Is that what it’s gonna take?”

Poor Johnny doesn’t know what to do. He looks from the gun, to your face, to the arm keeping you hostage.

And you almost feel bad for him, yet you aren’t even afforded the chance for empathy before Harry furiously growls and shoves you in Johnny’s direction.

You stumble across the wooden floor until Johnny can quickly take you into his embrace, keeping you safe from the bad man as you begin to sniffle.

“My love,” he whispers, tightening his hold on your trembling frame while turning you away as if to protect you. “It’s gonna be all right, I promise.”

With a quick nod and a hiccup, you look up and slip your hands around his neck for comfort. “I know.”

He smiles.

It’s Harry’s disgusted sneer that brings you attention back. “Fucking pathetic. Really, mama? This is who you choose to save you?”

Your features fall ever-so-slightly while Johnny begins to pull you behind him, shielding you from the aggravated aggressor. “If you need money so badly, there are plenty of other ways.”

“It’s not just about money,” Harry retorts calmly. “It’s about your money. Yeah? So where’s the fucking safe.”

“None of your goddamn business—”

The reply no sooner leaves his mouth before there’s another gunshot fired into the air.

One of the paintings on the wall falls with a crack and you jump almost two feet into the air, nails scratching down Johnny’s nice shirt.

“Johnny,” you whisper faintly, refusing to let this go on any longer. “Johnny, tell him. Tell him, please. I don’t care about the money; I don’t care about any of it. I just want you. I love you, and I can’t lose you.”

The office falls silent as you request hangs in the air, and you feel Johnny take in a deep breath.

“Yeah, Johnny,” Harry adds in a condescending murmur. “She loves you. Don’t make her watch you die. It’d be such a shameful waste of her tears.”

Johnny looks to you, and your expression softens. “It’s okay,” you tell him. “It’s okay, I promise.”

Finally, he sighs. “Under the desk.”

Harry’s head whips toward the large table curiously before he frowns. “Where?” he murmurs before repositioning the gun at Johnny’s chest. “I promise you don’t wanna lie to me.”

However, Johnny’s indifferent expression remains. “Under the desk,” he repeats while thrusting his chin toward the massive piece of furniture.

And now Harry seems to understand, although it does little to relax him as he suddenly reaches for you again and yanks you from your lovers’ arms.

“Show me,” he hisses, keeping you hostage again while ushering Johnny forward with the barrel of the weapon. “And don’t be dense.”

And Johnny can do nothing but obey, seemingly defeated while sending you one last remorseful look. Finally moving to lift the desk and pull it back.

The sound of wood scraping against wood is heavy, and it takes him quite a while to relocate the table beneath the window by himself.

But once it’s out of the way, you notice a particular part of the flooring juts out. The rotten board almost askew.

You and Harry lean closer, both magnetized by intrigue as he bends down in order to wrench the board up, revealing the hollow hiding place underneath.

And there you find it. The large, black box with a gold dial in the middle.

He glances up toward Harry, perhaps looking for permission – which Harry quickly gives him – before reaching down to put in the correct combination.

And after a couple seconds of clicking and turning…the door swings open.

Truth be told, you were hoping to find a secret gun that might help you out of this situation, but it seems there are no weapons to be found as Harry shoves you back in order to get a better look.

He no longer seems concerned about Johnny or the possibility that he might attempt to attack because Johnny seems to have given up.

All your dejected fiancé does is straighten up and motion you back to him, watching Harry bend over and reach inside the safe almost uninterestedly.

Your heart aches for him, yet you can’t help feeling relieved. You’re a few steps closer to this wretched night being over, and perhaps once Harry has what he came for, you’ll be able to leave.

“Are you all right?” Johnny whispers to you now as Harry begins to unload the contents in the floor.

You nod quickly, clinging to his strong frame as though you’re scared you might be taken again. “Yes, I’m all right. Are you?”

“I will be once I know you’re safe,” he says, and your heart sinks.

Once everything inside the safe has been shoved into a bag, Harry turns to the two of you. “That was a good start, Winters. Now where’s the rest of it?”

Johnny frowns. “I don’t know what you mean. Everything I have is in there.”

But Harry only tsks as he sets the items down and begins to stride closer, making you curl even further into Johnny’s embrace. “Come on, now,” he mumbles almost tauntingly. “You know what I really want. And you know that you’re gonna fucking tell me. Isn’t that right, mama?”

He looks to you for only a moment as you swallow.

Johnny begins to seethe. “No. No, you can have everything else, but you won’t touch that.”

“Johnny,” you try, unnerved by the sudden look of warning in Harry’s eye. “Johnny, please…just give it to him. Whatever it is, I don’t care, just…just make him leave.”

“Smart girl,” Harry adds. “Come on, Johnny boy, your darling fiancé is scared. Don’t you wanna save her?”

Your lover simply grows stiff, eyes narrowing at the faux sincerity in the stranger’s voice.

“Johnny,” you mumble again. “Johnny, please, he’s right. I’m scared and I don’t care about what you have or what you don’t have. I just want you. And I want him to go away.”

Still, Johnny wrestles with his decision. With the choice he’s being forced to make, and as the seconds go by, Harry’s patience reaches its limit.

He grabs for you – again. Forcing the weapon under your jaw this time around as Johnny’s muscles tense and his fingers curl into his fist.

“God, look at him,” Harry whispers to you now, lips ghosting up the shell of your ear while forcing your eyes on your fiancé. “Fucking look at your pathetic excuse for a man.”

You attempt to remain indifferent – appear unafraid – but he sees right through you.

“D’you really think he cares about you, Doll?” he murmurs. “Do you really think he’ll choose your life over his own?”

“Let her go,” Johnny barks, yet it only forces the barrel even further into your skin.

Your chin is tilted up, a sharp inhale getting caught in your throat until Harry begins to chuckle.

“How about this,” he says. “I’ll let you choose, mama. I’ll let you decide if he gets to watch me kill you…or if he gets to watch me take you. All for myself.”

“Fucking piece of shit—” Johnny hisses, but Harry simply tsks.

“So, what do you say? What’ll it be? Either way, I’ll have him on his goddamn knees by the end of the night. And then we all win, yeah?”

“Enough,” Johnny yells, and a strangled silence splits the air. “Fine. Fine, I’ll tell you. Just let her go.”

Harry’s arm begins to lower but not very far. “Once it’s in my hand, she’s all yours.”

And you want to resent these men for treating you like you’re some sort of object to be traded, yet you’d happily be given back to your lover if it meant you could leave this nightmare behind.

No matter the cost.

Johnny rolls his shoulders back and flicks his unrelenting stare back to his desk. “There. The picture.”

You feel your eyebrows raise while Harry slowly begins to loosen his hold on you.

“Get it,” he instructs, and with an aggravated sigh, Johnny obliges.

He retrieves the golden frame from the table before pulling open the back and removing the picture inside.

The picture of you.

It almost breaks your heart, the look on his face. Like he’s absolutely gutted to be defiling this memory of you both, and you ache to comfort him.

Once the photo has been plucked from the glass, you catch the faintest sparkle in the soft light of the moon, and hear yourself gasp.

There, sitting snug inside the small frame, is the biggest fucking diamond you’ve ever seen.

It’s…stunning. The most gorgeous jewel you’ve ever been privileged to lay eyes on, surrounded by what you can only assume to be hundreds of tinier diamonds and rubies arranged in a delicate but intricate pattern.

Altogether creating the most breathtaking necklace you’ve ever seen.

It has to be worth hundreds of dollars – thousands, in fact – and Harry reaches over to take it from the frame with the biggest Cheshire-like grin you’ve ever seen.

This is what he came for.

“You have it, all right? You have it, now go,” Johnny calls, already attempting to reach for you. “You got what you want.”

With an agreeable hum, Harry studies the necklace a moment longer before finally looking to you. “You’re right. We did, didn’t we?”

You both smile.

Instantly, you raise the gun that Harry had discreetly and secretly slipped into your hand only moments ago and aim it at Johnny’s chest.

Three.

Johnny’s expression shifts, eyes widening as he begins to piece together what’s really going on. Why Harry looks so proud and why you look so relieved.

Two.

His lips part. Ready to speak to you, whisper your name, ask for an explanation. And a part of you can’t help but wonder if you’ll feel any remorse for the deception you’ve put him through these past few months.

But as you stare at him now…you feel nothing but liberation.

One.

The third and final gunshot echoes through the air. Louder and far more permanent. Resolute.

Johnny stumbles back, unable to catch himself before he goes tumbling to the ground. A dark red stain expanding like watercolor across his chest, ruining the clean white shirt underneath.

You’d bought him that shirt.

And as the look of life slowly leaves his eye, you feel your muscles unwind, and your shoulders droop.

It’s over.

Harry’s got his arms around you before you can even release the deep breath you’ve been holding onto for so long.

“Oh, good fucking girl,” he nearly groans, pressing his lips to yours for the first time in months as you sling your arms around his neck. “Fucking hell, I missed you, mama.”

If Harry had had it his way, Johnny would have been dead months ago. He never liked this plan – not because he thought you couldn’t handle it, but because the idea of going without you for so long nearly killed him.

But it was the only way to gain Johnny’s trust. And to find his true weakness. He never would have given you the location of the safe or the necklace if you’d simply held him at gunpoint from the get-go.

No, he needed a reason to cave, a reason to put his possessions on the line in order to save something else he truly cared about.

And that’s where you came in.

Sure, it was hard to be without Harry, but you knew it had to be done. Getting these items would set you up for years. You’d never have to work in sleazy bars again. You could simply be with him…forever.

And perhaps pretending to be a stranger to him and appear frightened of his intentions wasn’t quite necessary, but you happen to like the roleplaying aspect.

The way he threatened your life as though he wouldn’t do everything in his power to protect it. The way he taunted you, teased you, scared you…when he knew deep down how much you fucking loved it.

You can still feel his fingers around your neck. The pressure of his hand against your throat, holding you still, keeping you close. You hadn’t felt it in months and a part of you wanted to keep the game going for just a bit longer if it meant you could have him.

You weren’t able to run into his arms and kiss him the way you can now and it’s…perfect. Absolutely perfect.

“Did he hurt you?” he whispers, leaving a trail of kisses along your jaw. “Did he fucking touch you—”

“No,” you’re quick to assure him. “No, never. He wanted to, but I never let him.”

“Good.” He takes hold of your hip and gives it a firm squeeze. “Good girl, knew you’d be on your best behavior, yeah?”

You grin. “Of course. Only ever thought about you.”

“Is that right, doll?”

“Mhm.” You tuck your lip between your teeth and nuzzle your nose to his. “How could it ever be him?”

His lashes flutter, and you can see the edges of his frayed sanity coming loose. He’s had to pretend for far too long, and you don’t imagine he can do it much longer.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, nearly clawing at your dress. “Then, maybe I’ll—”

“What…did you do?”

The sound of Milton’s confusion pulls you apart instantly. He’s standing in the doorway, eyes wide, expression horrified. Looking from his boss, to you, to Harry, and back.

He sees the necklace on the desk, sees the gun in your hand, sees the bag of gold and cash lying at Harry’s feet.

He understands, and your heart almost sinks. Milton was one of the good ones.

Quickly, Harry takes the weapon from you and points it in Milton’s direction.

Milton only leans back with a soft inhale while you turn to your lover and whisper, “No. No, not him.”

Harry’s pursed lips and furrowed brows never waver. “What?”

“Not him,” you repeat, as firmly as you can.

And he hesitates for only a moment before dropping the weapon and nodding his chin at you. “Grab the bag and go out the window.”

You nod your understanding before stealing one last glance at the bartender by the door.

He’s heartbroken and terrified…but his features grow softer as he finally mumbles, “…five minutes. I’ll give you five minutes.”

And you can’t help but smile.

You rush to grab what you came for and hurry to the window, with Harry right behind you. You don’t have a lot of time. Once Milton makes the call to the police, you’ll need to be far enough away that they can’t find you.

You know they’ll be looking. Know they won’t stop until they find you both – after all, they’ve been searching for you for years.

But you don’t mind a life that’s on the run, as long as it’s with him.

And the pleased smile he offers you now only confirms this.

You quickly lift the hem of your dress and begin over the ledge, with Harry right beside you to help. He takes your hand for support, keeping you steady until you can safely drop to the ground outside before he’s following suit.

The moment his feet hit the ground, you both run. The Chicago air is cold – frigid. You don’t have enough clothes to truly cover you and your feet are sore from having to wear these outrageous shoes all night.

But you somehow feel…alive. Invigorated and so very free. You have everything you’ve ever wanted.

You have him.

You both slip along the shadows as you make your way through town, leaving the speakeasy and Johnny Winters behind. After a minute or two, you hear the sirens in the distance, and the stakes are raised. They grow louder and louder the closer they get, and it’s then that Harry recaptures your hand and tugs you into a dark alleyway for cover.

This is where you stay until the cars have zipped down the street and proceeded without you. They don’t even think to look for you here and you’re rather impressed with your lover’s quick thinking.

Harry, however, isn’t as quick to revel in the success. Continuingly peeking around the corner in order to watch for anything unusual. Ignoring your amused laughter and giddy grin of accomplishment.

He’s on edge. Alert. Ready to run again if need be, and while you rather admire his practiced precision, you hope to put it to better use.

You drop the bag near the wall and make your way for him, palms quickly finding his cheeks in order to pull his attention to you.

He grunts. “What?”

But you don’t answer with words. You answer with a kiss. A kiss that makes your stomach flip and your mind grow fuzzy.

And this seems to be explanation enough as he groans with approval and wraps his arms around your middle to keep you against his chest. Nipping and licking at you as though his life depends on it.

Perhaps it does.

He shoves you back against the brick after only a few seconds, finding the leverage he needs in order to deepen the kiss and truly claim you. In a way he’d been desperate to the moment he saw you sitting in that office in such a beautiful dress.

“Trying to distract me, hm?” he murmurs, and you can’t help but smile. “Yeah? Or did you just need me that badly?”

He spins you around, pressing your cheek to the cold blocks of clay before dancing his fingers down your spine. Indulging in you.

It makes your insides twist.

You feel the hem of your dress gather in his fist as he finally gets a proper look at what he’s been missing for months. And the sound he makes goes straight to your cunt.

“You filthy fucking thing,” he whispers, rather delightedly while moving in to trail his mouth along your neck. “Look at you. Look at how perfect you are.”

His fingers find your pussy, stroking over your covered slit once or twice before plucking the covering from your hips and dragging it down your thighs.

“Just dripping for me, yeah? All fucking night.” He drags his palm up the inside of your leg. “Power makes you weak, doesn’t it, mama?”

You nod desperately, unable to answer with words.

But he understands, smirking to himself rather deviously before his hands are tangling in your hair in order to yank your head back. Just to hear you choke on a whine. “I’ve waited months for this. Yeah? M’gonna take my time with you…gonna make it worth it.”

And you don’t doubt that you will.

You nod again as the sound of his leather belt coming undone echoes between your ears. You’re trembling with anticipation, body aching for the feel of his cock. It’s been far too long, and you’ve nearly withered away without him.

You imagine he feels about the same, already fisting himself in one hand and readjusting your dress in the other. You hear him mumble something under his breath – you’re not quite sure what. But you suppose it doesn’t matter. He can say whatever he likes as long as he gives you what you need.

Normally, he’d take his time. He loves to make a show out of ruining you, but there’s no chance for that tonight. No patience. So, he kicks your feet apart, grabs your hip, and eases himself in all before you can take a breath.

And it’s perfect. Exactly the way you remember. The stretch, the scratch, the desperation. Nobody feels the way he does, and you both know it.

He’s still for a moment, merely pushing himself in and watching your pussy swallow him whole. As if so overcome by the sensation that he can’t do much else. As if losing control over his own body.

So, you push against his chest to remind him you’re here while your fingers reach back for his hair in order to tug it softly.

You feel him smile against your cheek. “All fucking night,” he whispers the moment he’s buried to the hilt. “Knew exactly what you were doing, didn’t you?”

You grin as well. You’re rather happy he noticed.

“Spitting in my fucking face,” he continues. “Challenging me. Acting like a fucking brat. S’all cause you were so fucking needy for me, wasn’t it, mama?”

“Maybe,” you can’t help but retort. “Maybe I knew you’d like it.”

He laughs now. A low, deep, sadistic sound from the back of his throat. Using his hold on your scalp to force your head into his shoulder. “Is that right, hm?”

You only nod.”

“Yeah? Then say it,” he hisses. “Tell me you missed me. Tell me you missed my cock. That nobody fucks you like I do—”

He accompanies this request with his first, sharp thrust. Pulling back only to drive himself in so hard, the air is nearly knocked from your lungs.

“Because they can’t, can they?” he coos, yet it’s angry. Fingers moving from your hair to your neck. Squeezing until you gasp. “Nobody knows how to treat this little pussy like I do. Do they?”

You fall mute. Going limp in his hold as the pleasure begins to build.

“You love it when I fuck you like this.” His nose presses to your cheek as he breathes, your delicate throat a plaything in his touch. “Love it when I kill for you. Love it when I make you mine—”

You gasp at the ecstasy, hardly able to hear him, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“You love me,” he murmurs, and you just about disappear into his embrace.

“I do,” you gasp, almost too loudly. “I do, Harry, please—"

“Quiet,” he hisses, glancing now toward the street in order to make sure the police haven’t found their way to you. “You know better than that. You’ll take me and you’ll do it quietly. Understood?”

Your only response is to whimper pitifully while your nails scratch down the brick walls of the alley.

In turn, he grasps onto your jaw, forcing your head to the side until your eyes can meet. “I said, is that fucking understood?”

“I thought you said to be quiet,” you can’t help but retort, and he hums.

“Oh, is that how you wanna play it?” He releases your throat only to take hold of your hips once more and spin you around between thrusts. Quickly returning to his place between your thighs before lifting one of your legs and hiking it around his waist.

“What…” you begin, chest heaving as the tip of his cock drags down your clit. “What are you—”

“Had to see you,” is his gritted response. “Had to see this pretty, bratty face as I ruined you.”

You imagine you’d smile if you weren’t so close to coming apart, but he understands. Pressing his forehead to yours before reaching up toward the top of your dress and ripping the fabric down to reveal your chest.

You can tell he’s been wanting to do this all night. Know he’s been ogling your tits from behind the expensive fabric since the moment he walked in, and truth be told, that’s the real reason you wore it.

Not because Johnny loves you in red.

But because Harry deserved to look at something pretty.

The cold air meets your skin with an unforgiving fervor, and you squirm against the brick as Harry’s eyes fall to the tattered fabric lying so pathetically on your chest.

Instantly, his head dips, mouth leaving open and sloppy kisses to the beautiful pair before him. Tongue stroking the hardened nipples rather respectfully, all things considered.

In turn, you run a hand through his dark curls as he does this to you. As you watch him take whatever he wants. Feeling the way his hair moves like butter between your fingers. The way he hums against you. The way his lashes flutter.

You’ve missed this.

Then, your grip tightens, and you yank his head up until his lips can meet yours. And you take. Take the taste of him, the taste of you, and the taste of victory.

His palm comes up to rest against the wall beside your head. Steadying himself as he works to find that perfect rhythm again. Over and over and over.

And all you can do is move your anxious kisses to his throat as he fucks into you. Whispering, “Nobody, baby. Nobody feels like you do. Nobody.”

Your fingers trail down his strong back, feeling each muscle that dips and flexes as he moves. The way he grunts when you scratch your nails down his spine. The way he consumes you and succumbs to you all at once.

Johnny was beautiful, but Harry is a beast. You’ve never seen a man like this before – never felt a man like this before. Every curve of his body is ethereal. Every detail, every touch.

Your touch continues to move lower and lower down his strong frame until you find something at the base of his spine.

And it makes you grin.

You slip it from his belt with ease, feeling the way it sits firmly in your hand as though it were made for it.

Harry doesn’t seem to notice. Or perhaps he just doesn’t care with the way he’s so deep into you. Emotionally, physically.

But he’s quickly pulled from his pleasured trance the moment he feels the familiar, cool touch of his gun sweeping across his jaw.

He stills. Straightening up ever-so-slightly, eyes finding yours.

But you’re too busy gazing at the barrel that dances across that beautiful face.

After all, he got to have his fun this evening.

Now it’s your turn.

You bring it to a stop just under his chin, tilting his head up exactly the way he’d done to you earlier as he releases a deep breath.

“Mama…” he warns, but you only hum.

This isn’t the first time this deadly weapon has made this an unofficial threesome, but it is certainly the first time you’ve been the one to wield it.

You hate guns. You do. But you love Harry’s. The way he holds it. The way he handles it. The way he uses great care and great power.

Because there’s something about seeing him with it. Seeing the way he controls it, controls the room. The way he holds someone’s life in the palm of his hand…

Perhaps you should be concerned by how enamored you are by it. By him.

But not tonight. Tonight, you simply enjoy.

And from the look in his eye, he seems to be enjoying it, too.

After all, you know he loved watching you use it on Johnny. Know he almost had you right then and there, on Johnny’s desk, before the mission was even through.

He’s endlessly pleased with you, and you can’t help but use this to your advantage.

So, with the weapon still taut to his clenched jaw, you lean forward and ghost your lips over his. “What’s the matter, Daddy? Does power make you weak?”

The twitch of his cock is answer enough.

You go in for the kill. With your fingers dancing over the trigger button, you lean back and dip down before dragging your tongue up the length of the barrel.

His eyes nearly roll back, and the sound that leaves his chest is euphoric. You think you might just kill him.

Because you’re slow. Meticulous. Licking every inch of the weapon until you finally reach the tip still tucked just beneath his chin.

Then…you kiss him.

And he’s so overwhelmed that he growls into your mouth, no longer threatened by the gun at his throat. Instead grabbing onto the back of your neck in order to squeeze it tight and keep you close. Devour you the way he’s been so frantic to.

You don’t even realize that you’ve begun to lower the gun until you feel it snatched from your grasp.

And pressed tightly to your clit.

The cold surface of the weapon against the warmest part of your body has you arching your back with a whimper. He has the upper hand once more, and he’s certainly not about to waste it. Mouth curling up into a satisfied, smug grin at the way your expression has gone hazy.

You’ve never looked at another man the way you look at him and he knows it.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asks softly, adding just enough pressure to make you whine. “All fucking night? The moment you saw me? Saw my gun? Wanted me to fuck you with it?”

Your nails meet your chest, scratching down the frigid skin in a desperate attempt to find something to ground you.

His only response is to drag the tip of the weapon down just a bit further. Until he can watch it glisten in you.

“Fucking looking at you,” he muses beneath a strained exhale, enamored by the way you subconsciously begin to grind on it. “So desperate to feel it. To be fucked by it. And what if I do, hm? What if I fuck you with my gun right here in this alleyway?”

You only whisper his name and an airy, “Please…”

“I thought about it,” he continues quietly, nose brushing yours as he slips the soaked barrel back up your cunt. “Thought about ripping off this pathetic little dress and fucking you right in front of your precious fiancé.”

You wish he had.

“You’d have liked that, wouldn’t you, mama?” His fingers drum against the handle. “Yeah? I know you would. Would have loved to watch him watch me.”

And he’s not wrong. He hardly ever is when it comes to your darkest fantasies, and it’s just one of the many reasons why you love him.

“But I had to wait,” he tells you now, finally pulling the gun away from your dripping clit until you nearly crumple to the cold concrete below. “Because after all this time…I’m the only thing that gets to fill you tonight, yeah?”

You simply nod again as he brings the gun back to your mouth with a proud grin.

And you know exactly what he wants, swiping your tongue all along the barrel and tasting every drop, every indication of your need for him. Swallowing it all as he watches proudly.

The moment you’re finished, he takes the gun and returns it to his pocket, tucking it away safely. Because he’s right again, and you need to feel him far more than you’ve ever needed anything else.

So, you grasp onto his face and bring his lips to yours, allowing him to pick up right where he left off.

Because as much as you love the power…you love being weak for him more.

At least in moments like this.

He fills you and fucks you until you’re dizzy. Until you can taste the pleasure and the unraveling.

You make a show of it. A way to apologize for all the time lost. Trailing the tips of your fingers along your own chest and down your sternum until you notice you have his attention.

He watches you take your tit into your palm before you’re tweaking the hardened nipple with a soft whine. Allowing your head to drop back into the wall while you do it again and again.

And he’s an angry sort of infatuated. Groaning almost pitifully before kissing you again and easily swatting your hand away in order to do it himself.

But that’s still not enough. So, you play your ace, and move your touch down to your clit in order to pinch it exactly the way he likes.

And it’s beautiful. The most exhilarating feeling, and this is what sends him over. The feel of your pussy clamping down on his cock, the sight of your fingers against your clit, the sound of your pathetic whimpers and pants as you cry out his name.

He fills you before he can stop himself, kissing you quickly as he releases into your aching, abused cunt.

Claiming you in more ways than one until you have no choice but to follow.

It rips you apart in the same way he ripped the dress. Until you see stars, and your back arches, and your toes curl. And everything makes sense.

He works to make it last for as long as he can, and once it’s all over, there’s a soft, tender moment of silence as you work to catch your breath.

You forget about everything else. The sirens, the lies, the deceit. Even Johnny. You forget about it all.

Because you got more than a diamond necklace tonight.

You got Harry back.

After a second or two more, you lazily reach up to sweep some of his rogue curls from his forehead. Wanting to really see his eyes as he holds you tonight.

“Harry?” you whisper into the cold, dark alley.

He hums. “Yes, mama?”

“I love you.”

And you’ve never seen him so happy. “I love you more,” he breathes, kiss you again as if to cement this vow.

Eventually, the moment comes to pass, and you have to drop your leg back down to the floor and part from him. You find that your muscles are sore, and just a touch achey, but you don’t even mind. Because it’s somehow just as deliciously pleasurable.

Harry works to readjust your dress and keep you covered; despite the way he’s ruin the expensive fabric. He offers you his jacket – insists on it. Wrapping it around your shoulders before you can even argue.

You smile as you snuggle into the warm material, feeling calmed by the familiar smell of him.

“There,” he says as he looks at you before his head tilts. “Just missing one thing.”

Curious, you watch as he slips his hand back into his pant pocket in order to fish something out.

The necklace.

He hadn’t told you about it before the mission. Only about the safe, and now you think you’re beginning to realize why.

He places it around your neck and readjusts the clasp until it can sit comfortably over your heart.

And you both look down as it sparkles from your chest, smiling together as though you truly can’t believe it’s real.

“You like it?” he whispers.

You grin so wide, your cheeks hurt. “I love it.”

He kisses you again, and it’s perfect.

Everything. All of it.

Him.

Suddenly, a loud toll echoes through the small town. The sharp chime coming from the clocktower in the town square.

Once, twice, three times.

Midnight.

“It’s Christmas,” you realize aloud as you and Harry both glance toward the clock.

His expression softens, and it makes your heart soar. “I guess it is.”

And then…you feel it. The first drop of something cold on your cheek. And then another. And another. And another. Gathering in your hair, getting stuck on his lashes.

Snow.

With a gasp, you look up into the dark sky as it dances down onto the quiet Chicago streets.

A rather perfect ending to a perfectly imperfect day.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

With a soft giggle, you curl yourself under his arm and press your lips to his cheek. “Merry Christmas, Harry.”

He laughs, and you’ve never been so happy.

“Merry Christmas, Mama.”

I'M SORRY THIS ONE GOT A BIT DARKER, IT WAS FUN BUT MOSTLY JUST FOR THE ERA ASPECT!! Thank you for reading if you did and letting me write something a little weirder 😭💞

~ Main Masterlist

Amazing divider by @firefly-graphics! 💞

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @vane28282 @lukesaprince @closureesny @lc-fics @0nlythrowharrybeaux @hannahdressedasabanana @iguessyourejustwhatineeded @dylanobandposts21 @butdaddyilovehim-hs

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midnightarcheress · 8 months ago

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thinking of you becoming price's personal lucky charm :)

cw: f!reader. slightly nsfw. very rushed/unedited. idk shit about casinos or card games lol. 1 | more casino!141

when your friend begged you to dress up fancy and go out with them, a casino was not what you had in mind. especially not an underground one, entrance hardly visible in the dimly lit street, where you even needed a password to get in.

despite being far from your definition of a night out, you decide to give one of the games a chance. the roulette seemed the easiest, with seemingly less rules to learn, and to your surprise, you're crushing it. starting with safe outside bets, you make your way to straight bets and stay winning every single one of them.

at your winning streak, you sense two sets of eyes on you, almost burning your flesh with the heat that crawls to your cheeks. you peek over your shoulder and meet two burly men, one with an icy stare and half-covered face, the other with an adorable boyish smirk and a mohawk. still, both glare at you with an intense puzzled gaze, laced with curiosity and an underlying hunger that makes you shiver.

suddenly, you feel a rough hand settling on your lower back, nearly making you jump on your seat, “what does the pretty lady think about heading to the vip section?” the man says, pearly smile doing a perfectly good job in luring you in, “all that luck needs to be put to good use.”

you ponder for a second, fearing that once you’re in, all your fortune will slip out your fingers and the beginner’s luck will be gone forever. but his sweet brown eyes are too convincing, and you nod, taking his hand and walking through a mysterious door.

“i– i don’t know how to play poker,” you stutter, brows knitted together at the sight of a round table with piles of chips in the center.

"don't worry, love, you're not here to play," a bearded man says, gruff voice followed by a puff of his cigar. he seems a bit older than the one who brought you inside or the two observers, ocean-blue eyes looking at you tenderly, but the sly smirk on his face doesn't go unnoticed.

he pats his thigh, gesturing for you to sit, "my men say you've been quite lucky out there," a smoke cloud forms in front of him, mingling with the strong scent of his cologne, "let's check."

hesitantly, you comply, plush thighs meeting his firm one. he chuckles at your shyness and pulls you closer to his torso by your waist, positioning your ass right above his growing bulge and you bite back a squeal, "name's John."

the game restarts and you watch the dealer distributing the cards. you glance at his hand and he holds five cards, all hearts, which must be a good sign, given the way he squeezed your hip, certainly hard enough to leave a bruise. not that you minded, considering the damp spot forming between your legs.

"would you look at that, straight flush," he flashes you a grin, cigar dangling from his lips as his laugh echoes amongst the annoyed huffs of other players.

his fingers trace your spine, teasingly edging the waistband of your skirt as you try your best not to squirm, "mighty luck you have, love," he whispers in your ear, beard gently grazing your neck.

he hands you one of his golden chips, "for you, as a thank you," your eyes widen at the number 1000 etched in the back, promptly pushing back the gift. he shakes his head, palm sneaking its way to your inner thigh, "there's way more where that came from."

it's safe to say you might become an avid gambler after tonight.

#captain john price #john price #price cod #john price x reader #john price x you #price smut #casino!141 #ghost cod #gaz cod #soap cod #cod mw #cod mw2 #cod mw3 #fem!reader #price x reader #price x you #casino au #nyx writes ☾#midnightarcheress

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miguel-owhora · 7 months ago

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dragon!price who's an alpha—a lonely alpha. he's been alone for quite some time now, his nest barren and empty, no mate to sing dragonic songs back to him miles away, no mate to rekindle the embers in his heart.

his hoard—sorry, the 141—help him fill these empty spots. soap's rambunctious attitude and gaz's encouragement and ghost's dryly amused comments fill in the lonely parts, bringing him down from the soaring heavens and back to the ground, where price hears the thumping of the earth's core if he falls back into his dragonic instincts deep enough.

dragons are rare to come nowadays. most spend their lives in secrecy, in some rural land most would struggle to pronounce the names of, spent hiding in either solitude or with their mates—and in certain cases, families.

so imagine price's surprise when laswell drops in a new member into his little hoard. she says it's temporary, but there's a glimmer on her eyes when she says it, one that makes sense when price sees you—another dragon.

an omega, price's alpha brain tells him, awakening with glee at another dragon hybrid, at someone who could complete him. a potential mate.

price's alpha instincts are purring when he introduces himself, and he must look like a fool, when he hears his boys sniggering in the background. something lights up something in his chest, instincts roaring to life, when you smile at him and shake his hand. your hand makes his burn, hotter than anything else, hotter than the fire he hatched out of.

it comes to no surprise to him when you're even more reserved than ghost. dragon hybrids are already secretive as they are; omega dragon hybrids are worse. but eventually, price worms his way past the walls you've put up and the fun part comes: courtship.

for every type of naturalborn hybrid that roams earth, they each have their own courtship rituals. for many of them, alphas must prove their worth to their potential mate. werewolf hybrids will bring back game, will defend territory; harpies—depending on which region they live in—will also prove their worth by bringing back prey and helping to build nests.

price can recall the number of times soap had dragged in the corpse of a deer, still warm and fresh to ghost, or how gaz had proudly weaved a wall of brambles and sticks (nevermind the nails and sharp blades) outside ghost's private room. it amused him to no end, seeing them fall prey to their instincts.

but price isn't laughing when he succumbed to his own instincts.

your introduction to the team and you letting price get close to you already had his dragonic alpha mind reeling with excitement. even moreso when you approved of him courting you.

now, dragon hybrids were something else. oftentimes, they were more older than the other hybrids, more ancient and forged deep within the earth's core, connected to mother earth like no other. as such, their courting rituals were more.. barbaric, in other words.

price feels alive when he has to fight you, when your claws dig at his skin and his teeth at your shoulder, near your bite mark. when you roar with fury and punch him away, when your omegan sex has his alphan sex pumping with life. when you both tear up the training room, your set of wings flapping and glittering underneath the artificial lights, when price finally pins you down, when you give a purr of approval.

price finds the prettiest items and gifts them to you, when he dances between feeling overjoyed when you accept it, feeling like he's been stabbed when you reject it. gift by gift price feels pride bloom within him when he sees your little gift hoard grow. when he gifts you a pack of his cherished cigars and gives you his signature hat, he has to go outside and do circles in the heavens when you accept it with gentle hands and carefully guard it.

all of his hard work pays off when you tug him by his scruff and take him to your bedroom, where your bed is carefully nestled with different blankets, with clothes that reek of him. he feels like the luckiest man when you strip yourself of your clothes and lay on the bed, letting your wings—gorgeous things they are—spread out underneath you, take up the bed. your cock, hard and leaking and big, lays on your belly, cum pooling like ichor.

you spread your legs, the scent of an omega ready to mate and take what's theirs, registering in price's brain. it's all he needs before he's racing to tear his clothes off and climbs on you.

he's purring loudly when he touches you all over, dipping his head to kiss at your body, thankful that you gave him the chance to prove his worth. your scent is thick and heavy, musk strong. it makes the embers in his chest flicker and grow to a small fire.

the fire grows when he slips his cock inside, shuddering at how tight and hot you are, burning him. you don't help him, content to lay back and let him figure it out, but price is more than happy to do it by himself. anything for you.

he gets you to cum several times, spilling all over your belly, makes you whimper his name, dig your claws into his back and pull him close to kiss him hard.

price is only ever given permission to cum when you decide he's worthy. your claws dig into your chest and rip it open, an ancient heart beating, cracks of old magic glowing an unusual color. price knows what's to come, but he still grits his teeth when you also rip his chest open.

his knot is forming, catching on your hole, when the two hearts—ancient and waiting for each other after so many years—intertwine together. price pushes his knot in and finally cums, fuck, he shudders and moans, in pleasure and in pain when he feels your anal barbs dig around his cock and knot, making sure he's secured for a while.

the world seems brighter when he collapses on you, open chests bleeding together. he gives little nudges of his hips, cockhead kissing your womb, brushing against your prostate. he feels you sigh contently, and price's heart is a wildfire.

#mr. o'whora's works !#price x male reader #john price x male reader #captain price x male reader #captain john price x male reader #price x reader #john price x reader #captain price x reader #captain john price x reader #x male reader #mlm #gay #gay smut

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grimmweepers · 29 days ago

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𝐆𝐔𝐍 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘: OCT 31ST

— ♤ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: bonten!sanzu x fem!reader | 𝐜𝐰: gunplay, gun kink, under the influence (alcohol), dubcon, semi-public, night club setting, dark jokes, reader wears a dress, light spanking (slaps your ass once), established relationship, calls you 'baby' & 'little girl', groping if you squint (from sanzu), erm something inanimate goes in your hole, can you guess what? :o) 1.8k wc, 18+ only, MDNI.

𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

reblogs and interactions are always appreciated ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

AND ONE LAST TIME, READ THE WARNINGS!

The smell of cigar smoke and expensive cologne infested the room. How it traveled from the main part of the club to this secluded space was beyond you, but you couldn’t think too much about it. A heavy bass vibrated the mirrored walls, making it seem like everything around you pulsed with life, and the hum of music was still audible—but it was distant enough to reassure you there would be absolutely no lurkers nearby.

You sat on your boyfriend’s lap, legs spread wide over his suited thighs while the leather couch squeaked shyly underneath you. Smitten with stealing you away from the crowd, Sanzu’s hands rested firmly on your hips to keep you in place, but the real control was in his pistol. It glinted under the little light that the room provided and his eyes watched you intently as he traced the barrel along your throat, the cold metal biting into your skin.

You felt the coercion behind it, inviting you like an innocent dare when in actuality it was downright rotten, and he licked his lips as he gave you a moment to reconsider.

In Bonten, it was always Sanzu who pulled the trigger so this wasn’t his first time at the rodeo—but having you at the receiving end was.

When he initially removed it from his pocket, you decided on a whim that you would act on your little fantasy, snatching the gun from his grasp and gifting it a playful kiss. But what you should have known was that everything you did, he could take even further.

“You’re not scared, are ya?” His smirk deepened when he pressed the barrel harder into your skin. “It’s loaded.”

“I’m not,” but you should have been. You blamed all the shots you threw back, the bitter taste of alcohol still melted into the buds of your tongue and it left your body burning for him instead of being afraid of the weapon in front of you.

The corner of his scarred mouth quirked into a dark smile as he leaned closer, “Good.” He shifted the gun lower, dragging the barrel down your throat, between your breasts, until it rested against your lower abdomen. “Don’t want you dyin' in a shit mood if I accidentally fuck up…” he dramatically mimicked a small explosion with his hand, and poof was the sound he added right after so you knew he meant blowing out your guts.

A soft gasp escaped your lips as he slid his hand up your thigh, pushing the hem of your dress higher.

“Damn,” his fingers dipped between your legs, finding your panties already damp with arousal, “Why didn't you tell me you were into this sooner?”

You squirmed in his lap and felt his growing tent poking at you from underneath. “Just had to make sure you weren’t psychotic enough to shoot,” you shrugged.

“Yeah I got somethin’ to shoot in ya and it ain’t these bullets, babe,” he cackled but you dropped your weight on his lap even more to remind him he wasn’t going to “shoot” anything at all if he kept this up.

Sanzu resisted the urge to close his eyes at the feeling of your warmth pressed on his crotch. Flushed, soft and only a thin layer away from your pussy. It was too early for him to do some shit like rut into you because if it wasn't obvious to you already, it was he who had been thinking with his dick since the beginning of the night.

When his boys weren’t looking, he was all over you, pulling you to dark corners any chance he got just to grope you while he shoved his alcohol-laced tongue down your throat. As your own liquid courage came to fruition, you both ended up in this private room—and every pretty penny it cost him was entirely worth it.

Finally, Sanzu trailed the barrel lower and lower, brushing it over your panties and tickling your clit in a way that made your breath hitch. Your heart pounded in your chest and you couldn’t help but roll your hips towards it. With his eyes still locked on you, he watched closely for every reaction, finding satisfaction in every little twitch of pleasure as he dragged the gun back and forth across your clothed pussy.

“You like that, don’t ya?” he purred.

You couldn't stop a defeated moan from slipping past your lips, “Yeah… I do.” Your voice was trembling, hardly above a whisper and there was no denying that you were getting wetter by the minute.

“You’re fuckin’ filthy,” he hissed, each word dripping with amusement. Sanzu shifted again, this time sliding the barrel underneath your panties, pressing it directly against your aching core.

“Oh—” was all you could say as your body jerked towards the blissful pressure. The contrast of its icy touch rubbing against your heat had you shuddering.

Your reaction made him involuntarily buck into you, clearly even more turned on by how desperate you were. So he guided the gun down your slit, the barrel grazing your entrance with slow strokes that left your stomach fluttering with anticipation. Sanzu was now rock hard, precum threatening to seep through his slacks as he watched you try to get off on his weapon.

“Dirty, little girl,” you heard the mockery in his voice and felt his free hand fall on your waist, controlling your movements as you rubbed yourself against the cool metal.

“Please…” You whimpered as your body went taut.

Sanzu chuckled, pressing the barrel harder against your entrance, slipping just the tip of it inside you. You cried out his name at the foreign sensation, “More, more, more…!” while you locked his thighs between your legs.

It was nothing compared to the girth of his cock but better that than nothing, right?

“Fuck yeah,” he groaned, brain almost short-circuiting at how lewd you were, “You want this gun in your pussy?”

Nodding, you carefully rocked your hips towards him and that was all he needed to start thrusting it. Slowly, like he was testing the waters.

You bit your bottom lip as it stretched you out, “Mhm! Feels… so fucking good—” which earned you an encouraging, “Uh huh? Is that right?” from your boyfriend. With the music blaring in the background, you both weren’t afraid to be loud so you didn't suppress the moans and mewls that slipped in tandem each time he urged you on.

But the thing with alcohol was that everything felt ten times better, ten times delicious, ten times tantalising, so you didn’t have the patience to take it slow—you were desperate to feel it pumping inside you even though it made you tremble on top of him.

You picked up your pace like you needed that thing and when you placed your hand on his shoulders to balance yourself, the look he flashed you was nothing shy of crazy—teeth glistening under the low light and jaw slacking as if seeing you like this was better than any drug he’d ever taken.

He allowed himself to look down to see where the pistol and your pussy connected, again and again, faster and harder, and—

“Fuckkkkk,” was all he could quietly say as another bead of precum stained the inside of his briefs.

“Come on, baby,” his hand snaked to your ass, giving it a hard spank as you chased your release. He couldn’t get enough of seeing you so feral, “Cum for me. Cum on it.”

If you weren’t so dumbstruck from his gun, you would have felt his cock twitching with you, wishing it was him you were bouncing on instead. He growled, “Fuck it, baby. Fuck it like it’s me.”

The combination of his words, his voice, his hands, and getting taken by a literal gun, had you whining uncontrollably. Each time you slid against the cold steel, it rattled and touched your sweet spot. You were dangerously close—and the worst part of it was that it wasn’t the threat of getting shot that you were close to, but the fact that you were close to cumming all over that very weapon.

You writhed above him, and he could've busted in his pants just from the friction of you. You didn't want to stop. Actually, you couldn't stop. Each time you rocked your hips, it took a breath out of you—out of him. And inevitably your orgasm tore through you as if it were the first time you felt an orgasm at all.

“Ah fuck!!!!" The coil in you finally snapped. "I’m— cummi—” You gasped and clung to him while it consumed you.

Your body convulsed as the rest of your panties became fully soaked with your essence and Sanzu moved his gun faster just to draw out the last of your shockwaves. Your walls clenched and squeezed until you went limp against him—pleasure quickly replaced with sensitivity.

Soon, Sanzu pulled the gun from between your legs, and with a wicked smirk on his face, he held it between you, showing the barrel slick with your juices like it was some prize.

At first, you were too dazed and out of breath to notice what he was trying to do, but his mouth parted slightly when you did.

“Kiss it,” he muttered, giving the weapon a subtle shake in his hand. Never the type to let you off the hook so easily, he brought it close to your lips and waited.

Yet, with a gleam in your eye that matched his own, you slowly leaned in and brushed your lips against the metal. The taste of your own cunt sent another rush through you, and you heard his sharp intake of breath at the sight.

“Fuckin’ hell, you’re so damn sexy,” he said as you tipped the pistol into your mouth, softly moaning and sucking on the barrel as if it were an extension of him. Biting his lips, he groaned at your filthy little act and judging from that signature unhinged grin he was giving you, you knew he wouldn’t be able to hold himself back any longer.

When Sanzu pulled the gun from your mouth, he fought tooth and nail not to tear the dress off of you, after all, you had to wear something on the way home. So he tossed his weapon to the side, wrapped his hand around the back of your neck, and crashed his lips onto yours like a starved animal.

He started to fiddle with his belt buckle while he muffled grunts and curses into your mouth, the bulge under his trousers painfully prominent. Something stirred within him and you could feel his breathing intensifying as you kissed back with equal fervor.

Between gasps of air, it almost sounded like he was begging when he impatiently unzipped his pants and said, “Ride me.”

“After all that, you can’t even say it nicely?” You returned that smirk he’d been wearing all night.

“Please, baby.”

As you lifted the hem of your dress to your waist, a secret smile formed the corner of your mouth. You missed the feeling of something actually stretching you out, so after seeing your boyfriend free his throbbing cock from its restraints, the way it glistened with precum and twitched excitedly—you knew the fun was only just beginning.

a/n: made it through my first kinktober! if you’ve read any of my ktober posts, thank you! if this is your first, thank you and i hope you enjoyed! i’ve had this in my drafts since the 3rd of september, it killed me to wait this long!

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babygorewhore · 3 months ago

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10 things I hate about you series.

Part two

You and Logan locate the rumored dangerous mutant at a night club. And everything goes to hell when he finally sees your powers.

Read part one here.

Warnings! Violence! Blood! Mild angst! No smut yet! Age gap! Reader is late 20s and Logan is late 40s. Slow burn and enemies (?) to lovers. Barely proofread.

“Don’t fucking embarrass me. This is meant to be quick and efficient. In and out.” Logan grunted as you both stepped into the club. Your fingers clutched the inside of his elbow, his dark brown leather jacket crinkling from the pressure as you both walked.

The neon lights, smell of smoke and loud music thumped as you winced from the crowd. Logan bared his teeth at someone who stepped too close and you reached up and smacked him upside the head.

“Stop snarling at people. We’re trying to blend in.” You hissed at him before forcing a charming smile at the server who guided you both to a nearby booth.

“It’s not my fault people don’t know how fucking walk.” He rolled his eyes and plopped down. You sat close with him and he raised an eyebrow.

“Can I get you two started on water along with your drinks?” The waitress asked and you opened your mouth but Logan cut you off.

“Whiskey and apple juice for her.” You stomp his foot with your heeled shoe and clear your throat.

“I’ll have a Long Island iced tea. Thank you.” She walks away and Logan scoffs.

“Figures. You like those pussy little mixed drinks.” You pinch his forearm and he growls, jerking his arm away.

“Stop being a brat!”

“Then stop being an asshole! We’re supposed to be madly in love and married for thirty five years with four sweet beautiful hairy children.”

“In your wildest dreams, girl.” He dug into his pocket to look for a cigar and apparently gave up after a few seconds.

“So, is anyone setting off alarm bells?” You asked him and folded your arms. Your curve hugging red dress was above the knee and you had black heels on. Jewelry gifted by your grandmother years ago hung above your heart and dangled around your wrist.

“Everyone sets off my alarm bells. I don’t trust anyone.”

“Me either. And we don’t even know if this mutant can shape-shift.” You added with a huff. You tilt your head in curiosity when you notice a man lingering in the corner. He seemed…off.

“Yeah, I’ve been eyeing him the whole time.” Logan seemed to read your mind without looking in his direction and you glanced at him. You blink mascara lashes at him. “Then why are we sitting here?”

“Because I don’t want to give away anything yet. You’re free to go sit in the car.” Logan sighed and leaned back against the booth. The waitress came and set both drinks down.

“Thank you,” You both told her as she walked away. You took a sip of your drink as Logan chugged his whiskey in one gulp.

“You ever been on one of these before?” He grunted and you toy with the rings on your fingers.

“Once. With Bobby.” Your hackles raise when he grumbles.

“Mmm yeah. With your little boyfriend. Figures.” You grip your glass harder.

“He’s not my boyfriend.” Logan gives you a smirk. Facial hair smoothed over and he adjusts his button down shirt.

“Yeah? Fucker looks at you like a meal when you’re together.”

“And you’re paying attention to how someone looks at me, why?” You counteract and Logan stiffens.

“Forget it. Now, it makes sense why you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Why are you such a fucking dick, Logan? I’ve done nothing to you.” You gritted your teeth, the lingering crush in the background for him as he pushed your buttons.

“I don’t like inexperienced mutants going on missions. Peoples lives are at stake and I don’t want to be responsible for some kid.” He glared, green eyes burning and you leaned in close.

“First of all, I’m not a kid. Second of all, I had a whole life before I showed up at the school. And third, if Professor X didn’t believe I could do this, he wouldn’t have sent me with you.” Logan meets your venom and his nostrils flare.

“Maybe he made a mistake. You haven’t even noticed our guy over there, he’s walking this way. He’s been eye fucking you this whole time. And I don’t like the looks of him.” Instead of raking him across the coals, you plaster on a seductive look when the stranger approaches you.

His entire demeanor is dangerous. You see a long thick knife buried in his pocket. His sharp jaw was clenched and his thin mouth reminded you of a birds beak. It was a complete trap and you felt Logan brace for any sort of battle.

“How about you walk me to the stage?” Logan jerks his head at you with wide eyes as you decide to drink the rest of your alcohol and take the other man’s hand.

“The fuck are you doing?” He whispered and you gave him a look that expressed, ‘Trust me’

“Anything for you, Angel. Doesn’t look like he’s showing you a good time.” You accept his hand and follow him to the middle of the building where people surround the empty stage.

There was a pole but no one was using it. The DJ removed his headset as you climbed up the stairs.

“Hey, looks like we got ourselves a performer tonight! Pick a song, gorgeous! Get everyone started!”

Logan was staring at you with a horrified expression as you curtsied and waved to the people. The man stood by closely, no doubt looking for the exits but he was falling in line perfectly with your last minute plan.

You pick out the song and the intro begins to play. Porn Star Dancing begins to echo and you slowly begin to dance along after making up your own choreography. Your past of gymnastics played a role in your flexibility as you roll your hips before kicking your leg up around the pole and spin.

The party goers soon start chanting the chorus to cheer you on as you climb the pole to the top, your knees locking around the metal and you hold yourself up. You briefly catch Logan pinching his nose in the corner before you slide down and fall to the ground in the splits.

You even surprised yourself with that one considering you hadn’t done it in a decade. You grinned, smiled and waved. The stranger was clapping slowly before he cracked his neck.

“Oh shit.” You felt the impact before you heard it.

The stranger flicked his hand and flames came out in a fury. A fucking pyro. Screaming started as he blasted a tunnel of fire towards the bar and Logan charged towards him with a roar.

The fire mixing with the alcohol, people were screaming and chaos erupted as small explosions brightened the entire building. Your nose burned from the smell of smoke and blood but your focus became razor sharp. Your mind seized the bodies, your hand extending and fingers curling in a fist.

Everyone stopped and hovered. It was painful, the weight burning your muscles and your head throbbed from using so much force but you made yourself remain still.

But Logan was too strong or too adaptable due to his regeneration ability as he broke free of your hold and sunk his claws deep into the belly of the pyro.

The flames were too intense for most people to see the brutality as Logan retracted the claws. Blood soaked the shining material as the other mutants fell to the ground in a heap.

You released the grip you had on everyone, your ability to also read mind came into play as you guided a female to go dial the police.

Logan’s fierce expression locked on you as he panted and kicked the body to the side. “Get everyone the fuck out of here!” He bellowed at the bouncers who weren’t fast enough to react.

You both were silent as you walked to the car hours later. The club was burned but not beyond repair. Ambulances took the injured and removed the body of the mutant. You didn’t dare speak before Logan as you carried your heels and tried to keep up with him.

You opened the passenger door and climbed in. Logan came into the driver side, slamming it so hard you flinched and feared it would crumble.

“You are a fucking telekinetic telepath.” His voice was so low you almost didn’t hear him.

The unspoken part was that it was the same ability as Jean.

“And you didn’t tell me that plan. You just decided to act on your own. And got people hurt.”

Shame ate away at you as you kept quiet.

“You should have just gone back here and let me handle it.” Logan’s temper was flaring.

“So it’s fine for you to do things your way, alone, but I can’t? Got it.”

“You have no fucking idea what you’re doing!” He yelled but you spun around in the passenger seat.

“Yes I fucking do! He would have killed someone if he got them alone! I got him in front of everyone and then he just randomly got brave!”

“Why didn’t you just use your powers in the first place?” Logan’s volume lowered but you couldn’t answer him honestly.

You couldn’t tell him that you kept your ability from him because you knew it would only remind him of the woman he loved. You couldn’t tell him that deep down, you didn’t want to hurt him but he was right.

You fucked up.

“I’m sorry.” You answered quietly and he sniffed.

“We’re going the fuck back and you better have a hell of a better explanation than that.” He went to start the car.

And it didn’t.

Logan rested his forehead on the wheel, trembling with rage and you reached forward. You could try to fix it but he shook his head. “Don’t bother. You’re too drained. Looks like we’re walking or finding a bus or whatever the fuck is around in this god forsaken place. And hopefully your fucking ADHD doesn’t kick in tonight.” Your jaw dropped as he exited the car.

You flew out of the car and trailed after him with bare feet. “First of all, I didn’t have time to grab my medication before we left and how did you even know I had it?” Logan rolled his eyes as his quick pace led you both down the empty road.

“You don’t have to. Be quiet so I can think about finding a ride or staying somewhere. Jesus Christ, where the hell are your shoes?” He stopped short and you scoffed.

“I left my bag at the motel.”

He rubbed his face with both hands. Logan set his hands on his waist briefly before he suddenly hauled you over his shoulder. You squealed and kicked as he started walking again.

“What the hell? I don’t even need shoes!”

“Diseases are real and you have to be alive in order to explain yourself to Charles.” He drawled dryly. His hard muscle dug into your stomach.

“You cannot possibly carry me for long.”

“I have fucking super strength, girl. And besides, I’m tired of slowing down for you.”

You both soon found a bus stop as Logan effortlessly carried you. He put you down as you both settled into the seats of the empty ride. Sleepiness was overtaking you and your eyes shut slowly. What you didn’t realize was that you had started to fall asleep on Logan’s arm.

And he didn’t move you off.

Dividers by @cafekitsune

I couldn’t remember who all to tag but I’m tagging @xxbimbobunnyxx @marchsfreakshow @starkeysprincess @taintandviolent @nemesyaaa

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett xmen #logan howlett x fem!reader #Wolverine #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #wolverine x female reader #X-men #x men x reader

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briefalpacashark · 10 months ago

Text

~A little brawl~

You decide to show case a bit of your skill to stamp out the ego of a new solider. And you get in trouble.

================================================

You and your team were posted to some random desert somewhere to complete a mission. Having already done so you were gifted with a few days of rest before your transport back home arrived. Price was loving the time off reclined in a dingy old fold out chair that looked on the verge of breaking. A cigar pinched between his teeth and a cold beer in the other hand. His hat sat over his face.

“Working hard or hardly working?” You asked with a grin walking up to him a pile of reports tucked under your arm.

“Can't you tell?” he asked gesturing to himself.

“Medical reports you were after,” with a grunt he sat up taking the reports from you.

“So how are the boys?” he asked.

“Honestly don't know how long you guys survived without a medic,” you shock your head in bewilderment.

“Where are they anyway, haven't seen em all morning,” you said.

“Oh, the little shites are playing with their new friends,” he jabbed his chin across the ways where a small group of soldiers had formed. Once you had finished business with Price you walked over, interested in whatever was happening. Spotting Ghost a head taller than the rest you made your way to his side. The acknowledgment that you had arrived was simply a sideways glance.

“What's going on here?” You asked as your eyes settled on a makeshift ring, its outline defined by a stray circle of rope set on the ground. A ring where Gaz currently was getting his ass handed to him. Your grimaced as his opponent landed a powerful hit. On the other side of the ring stood the team you had been working alongside. A group of grad A assholes. An American team.

“Wanna place a bet?” Soap asked taking a sip of his beer stepping up to your other side.

“I hate to be honest, but Gaz doesn't look like he'll win this fight,” You chuckled under your breath.

“Oh we khen that. We bettin on how long he’ll last,” Soap stated with a grin. All your attention was brought back to the ring when the fight ended with basically a knockout. Money was passed around as you and the boys slipped into the ring helping Gaz to his feet and gently hauling him out. Sitting him down you tried to hide your smirk as you woke him up with a few gentle slaps on the cheek.

“What happened?” he asked.

“You just got ya ass handed to ya by an American,” Soap was far to entertained by the fact.

“Follow my finger,” You ordered Gaz checking for a concussion.

"Alright aright come on my turn," a young cocky bloke from the other term stepped into the make shift ring. He had been a constant annoying fly that seemed to hand around you. You had politely declined his advances. More than once. You though he got the point, after all he had left you alone for a bit.

"Come on Jimmy!" his squad encouraged him. Jimmy was his name.

"Whos it gonna be?” the soldiers all asked.

"How about the bitch of 141?" he asked nodding to you. Your teams smiling faces dropped as the atmosphere did a one sixty. You pressed your lips together.

“I'm good thanks,” you waved dismissively.

“Huh, that's fine. What can you expect from you lot anyway,” he chuckled. You lot? The insult was weak, but it was there.

"Watch your mouth private," Soap's tone showed how quickly his patience for the other squad was becoming.

“Fuck off Pom, or come settle it in the ring,” Jimmy was a cocky young bloke. And little was known about the 141. so, he didn't really understand what he was offering. Well, the severity of it.

“Pom!?” Soap exclaimed in shock. Calling a Scots man British was just about the worst thing you could do. At that very moment Soap looked like he was about to rip the head of the poor lad.

“You know what, why not?’ you asked cheerfully patting Soaps shoulder as you passed him, gently pushing his back to Ghost.

“Look out, her she comes. Anybody got a set of gloves on them. Wouldn't want to catch whatever she's spreading. After all her teammates seem very fond of her,” You wondered where he got to gal of it all. Possibly little dog syndrome.

“Hey man, for your own benefit I would shut the fuck up,” Gaz words of wisdom were swept to the side. Unacknowledged by the confident young solider.

"What you got what she got?" he smriked.

Soap took a step forward only to be stopped when you held out your arm to stop him.

“Come on Soap. Rember what Price said. We need to play nice with the little new soldiers,” the team was barely out of training. It was maybe there third real mission. And Price had told you all to behave.

“You sure you wanna do this?” Soap asked with a little hit of worry as he glared down Jimmy.

"I can look after myself Jonny. Plus, someone's gotta curve this kids' ego," you joked unbuttoning your outer shirt.

"You have faith in me right Ghost?" you asked half jokingly.

"Haven't see it personally but I believe you could take me down. So this fucker aint got a chance," he shrugged simply his tone serious. You propped an eyebrow at him. You didn't know he felt that way. You were sort of chuffed. After all Ghost was good in a hand to hand combat situation.

"Wow Ghost, didn't know you felt that way about me," You joked with a wink. You didn't stay to see his reaction as you stepped into the ring those watching letting out cheers.

"Looks like your used to that," Jimmy muttered as you undressed your outer layer, his eyes resting shamelessly on your chest.

"What are the rules?" you asked shaking your jacket off. Everyone was surprised at the amount of muscle you had. Your frame was small but toned. Plus your team had never really seen your body. Soap let out an impressed whistle at your bear arms.

"Everything goes. No one kills and you tap out when you're done," Jimmy said rising his fists as he smirked.

"What about breaking bones?" you asked throwing your jacket to the side and rolling your shoulders. Your opponent was slightly put off with how calm you were.

"I don't know about breaking, but I've sure got one bone for you,” he winked his statement earning chuckles from his team. You looked your opponent up and down, he was pretty, but not your type.

“I'm flattered but I don't have my magnifying glass on me right now,” This time your own team chuckled. You smirked slightly reaching behind you to take your phone out of your pocket. You had looked down to find a place to throw it. An explosion of pain snapped to your right cheek sending you stumbling.

“Slut,” You straightened up feeling the coppery taste fill your mouth. He had punched you; he hadn't waited till the little bell had rung. A deep chuckle left you lips as you gathered the blood in your mouth and spit it to the side. Slut, you hated that word.

“The fuck was that!” Soap yelled in anger only being held back by Ghost. Why, because he had full confidence in what you were about to do.

“We hadn't started yet,” you chuckled rage bubbling inside you.

“Everything goes,” he shugged.

“Yeah, everything goes,” you nodded. Now you were a calm person, you were reasonable and rational. But the guy in front of you was cocky. And you so wanted to repay his for every unwanted advance he put forth.

You stalked forward your eyes narrowing in at him, then as you stepped right up to him you let lose. It was so quick he was barely able to throw up a block. Your fist cracked into his nose with such precision and speed that he fell back onto his ass. In a daze he stumbled back to his feet as you shock out your hand. He had a hard head.

“Get em Love!” Soap cheered for you.

He threw a wild hay maker to which you simply ducked under. Delivering another punch you aimed for his kidney. The hit crippled him, he fell to one knee. Taking his head in hand you brought it down onto your knee. You weren't a violent person, but you knew how to end a fight quickly. After all it was those skill that kept you alive. And while you never took any pleasure in it you felt a slight tingle of satisfaction.

Pushing him back you gave him a minute to breathe through the daze.

“Tapping out?” You asked. He looked like he wanted to. His anger flared at the sympathetic look you gave him. At how quickly you had managed to beat him. And how pathetic he looked because of it.

“To a slut like you?” he asked stabling to his feet. He was in no position to fight. You almost felt bad for what you had done.

“Come on mate, you can barely stand. Let's call it a day yeah?” you were happy to keep going, but you were actually worried for the boy now.

“Fuck you,” he seethed. Your forced a smile.

“Well then I'm tapping out,” you said tapping your thigh. You didn't want to continue, and you thought that would be the end of it. So, you turned your back to them. So, you didn't see the coward punch Jimmy threw. You didn't see it heading for your head. What you did see was a mass of black crowd your vision. Ghost had appeared Infront of you. You frowned as his arm shoot past your head, seeming to catch something. At the quick movement you jerked around following his arm to see he had caught the punch inches from your head. In one swift movement Ghost had swept you behind him as he twisted the man hand in painful position.

“Now that was just plane stupid,” Ghost stated as Jimmy cried out dropping to his knees at the pressure. In an instant both squads were at each others throats, yelling and throwing insults.

“You alright love?” Ghost voice broke through the commotion as he back over his shoulder at you while he still held the man in the hand lock.

“Y-Yeah,” you nodded.

“Keep your bitch on a leash!” Someone from the other team yelled.

“I'll put ye in a leash!” Soap snapped. Thats all that was needed. After that all hell broke loose.

So, there you sat. back in your own base tent that you shared with the boys. You were all lined up in a row. You and Soap sat in the middle the widest grins on your busted up faces. The insults throw quickly resulted in a brawl. One you had originally tried to break up before getting caught up in it. Ghost sat on the other side of you, his mask covering some of the hits he took. Gaz sat on the other side of Soap shaking his head at the two of you.

Price stood in front of you all an angry expression on his face.

Do you remember in school when you would look at your best friend and just randomly start laughing. Well, that's what happened to you when you peeked at Soap out the corner of your eye. You both broke out into laugher that sounded strangled as you tried to keep it in.

“I can't even leave you unsupervised for one fucking second,” Price pinched the bridge of his nose.

“They started it,” Soap interjected.

“Shut up,” Price snapped. Soap ducked his head his smirk widening.

“He tried to get her when her back was turned,” Ghost stated nodding down to you.

“Well, still did you have to beat the shit out of them?” Price words brought proud smirks to all your faces. Compared to the four of you the other team looked to be just out of commission. In the end you all delt worse than you were given.

“They were talking shit. Had to set them straight,” Gaz explained with a shrug.

“I understand that, but all I'm asking for is a little self-control. I mean who put that lads head through that brick wall?” Price put and emphasis on the word brick. You all turned to Ghost who had personally express delivered Jimmy's head to the other side of the wall. Under the attention Ghost simply shrugged and looked away.

“You're all on tent arrest,” Price declared. You all groaned and began to protest slightly.

“Enough!” he snapped.

“This is what happens. When you misbehave you get privileges taken away,” You and Soap once again tried to hold back your laughter. It was like he was scolding a group of toddlers.

“And your two smart asses are on clean up duty,” he declared pointing to the two of you.

“Ha,” Gaz chuckled.

“Fucking kids,” Price grumbled as he walked away. There were a few moments of silence as you all came to terms with the consequences you faced.

“That was defiantly worth it,” you stated.

"Defiantly," - Gaz

"Fuck yeah," - Soap

"Should have done worse," - Ghost.

Another moment of silence passed around you before you all chuckled softly. You could even see Ghost shoulder shake slightly. You looked up to him with a thankful smile.

"Thank you," you whispered. To your utter shock and bewilderment he glanced down at you.

AND WINKED!

"Anytime love," he stated before getting up and walking away. Leaving you to wonder if what you had seen was an illusion or not.

================================================

--COD Master List Here--

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#141 x you #141 x reader #task force 141 #cod 141 #tf 141 #mw2 141 #cod ghost #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader

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imyourbratzdoll · 1 year ago

Text

𝒂 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒔𝒐 𝒋𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒄𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒎𝒂𝒔

so, I saw something similar on tiktok and wanted to write it, credits to the person who came up with it.

summary - being a new member of the largest superhero team, you'd think that things would go well, but everything is revealed when christmas rolls around.

warning - angst.

the gif and header I use isn't mine.

Warnings and Reminders - Please do not plagiarise, copy, repost/republish, adapt, or translate any of my work on any social media platforms, apps, or third-party sites. The only platforms I post my work on are: Tumblr and Wattpad. I do not own any character of any franchise (Marvel etc.) All my works are fiction and may be dark or triggering content: READ ALL WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING.

It was rare for the two teams to merge, but every December around Christmas time they would, and with you being the newest member of the Avenger gang. This would be your first-time celebrating Christmas altogether. You watched curiously as they all hung large socks along the fireplace, happy chatter filling the air. “What are those?” You tilt your head.

“Stockings.” You look at Natasha as she replies, “It’s a Christmas tradition where you put small presents inside the stockings of those you care for.” You nod, and your eyes light up.

“Oh cool!” For the rest of the day you intently listen and observe to pick out the perfect things for them, and over the course of the next few weeks. You slowly begin to fill their stockings, your eyes would fall to yours and notice how empty it looked. But you had hope, there were still a few more days till Christmas and maybe they just haven’t gotten around to it yet. Except Steve walks in and you notice his hands are full, and how he puts a gift for everyone but you. It was as if you were invisible because he didn’t even look at you. “Oh…”

You continue to splurge and buy everyone things they like, in hopes that you were wrong about them. You skip out of your room on the big day, excited for your first Christmas. When you enter the room, you notice everyone going to their stockings before their presents and expressing happiness with the items they received and with your own excitement, you head over to your stocking and it feels as though the world has stopped. Your stocking was still empty, you finally realised you really meant nothing to the team. You didn’t blame the X-men for not putting anything in because you had only just met them, but your own team? It hurt, you could feel the tears beginning to brim.

You quickly blink them away before sitting down next to Jean and give her a soft smile, making sure to keep your emotions away from your face and thoughts. “How are you liking it here?” You gnaw on your bottom lip, turning your gaze to your team handing out their presents.

“I don’t mind it, how about you? I heard this is your first Christmas?” You could see the questions lingering in her eyes, because anyone would question how you could never have a Christmas, but she never completely asks.

You nod, “Yes, yes. It’s my first and I don’t know… It’s not what I thought it would be.” You stare off, not receiving any presents alongside the stocking. “I’m uh… I’m just going to go for a walk, I don’t feel so good.” You force a smile and get up, heading outside before you could break down in front of everyone. Once you head outside, you break down. You felt like you’d rather be back where you came from. At least your enemies didn’t forget about you.

“They are all jerks.” You jump as you hear a gruff voice from behide you, you turn, locking eyes with the one and only Wolverine, a cigar between his lips and his eyes harshly set on you. “Not much of heroes when they brag about it every two seconds.” He pushes off the wall and moves closer to you, something catching your eye as the moonlight shines on his hand.

You look and tilt your head, wiping your cheeks roughly, “What’s that?” Your mouth falls open when he pulls up a cute stocking decorated with glitter, filled to the brim with a small wrapped present resting at the top. “It’s so cute! Whoever it’s for is very lucky.” You give a soft smile, knowing no one would ever get you anything.

Logan shakes his head. “It’s for you, sweets. Those guys are arseholes, they don’t deserve someone as sweet as you on their team.” You feel your breath hitch as he growls, “Open it, honey.” He hands you the stocking and present, leaning against the wall and puffing on the cigar as he watches you open everything.

You gasp, “Oh my god! This is so beautiful, thank you!” You look at him with tears in your eyes as you open the present on the top, a small adorable wolf necklace sits inside the box. You move closer, awkwardly wanting to hug him but not knowing if that will cross a line. Logan raises a brow, placing the cigar between his teeth as he opens his arms. You launch forward and wrap your arms around him, not knowing how to express the feelings that are bubbling up inside. “This is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me, thank you.”

“You’re welcome, darlin’, now why don’t you look inside the stocking. I had Jean and the other women help choose what we thought you’d like.” You look shocked, wondering why a team that wasn’t yours would care more for you than the one you are currently in. Logan reaches up and wipes a tear that falls down your cheek, “We take care of our own, Y/n.”

Your bottom lip juts out as it wobbles, and you slowly reach inside, sobs escape you as you find everything you like and some new things you’ve wanted to try. “Oh my god…” You feel like you are loved and wanted, but then an overbearing sadness erupts throughout you as you realise that you are stuck with people who don’t want you.

“That is not true, Miss L/n.” You turn and notice the whole X-men team are there, giving you soft smiles. “I have ordered for your things to be transferred. As Logan said, we take care of our own and you, Miss L/n are one of us.”

All you could utter are the words thank you. Maybe your first Christmas wasn’t so bad after all.

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

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fireya-x · 2 months ago

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floral misdelivery

AO3 Link (full tag list) || masterlist

John Price x Reader

Overwhelmed by the task of gifting his mother flowers, John makes a mistake that turns into a chance to show you, his assistant, what you really mean to him.

[2k words]

cw: none

John Price hated staying late at night at his office, but his work was always unpredictable. He was sitting hunched over his desk, hitting keys on your laptop. It was almost as if you were with him in spirit, the digital ghost of your organized world reminding him of your meticulous efficiency. He couldn’t help but smile, noticing the photo you chose as a wallpaper, a group photo of the 141, that you insisted on taking to commemorate the success of your last mission. In it, you were standing next to Price, who had one arm around your shoulder, as you both grinned at the camera. You looked happy, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that something about you was different when you were around him. You seemed more relaxed, more lively. It was something that kept him calm during even the most stressful times.

Notifications would constantly pop up on your device, supposed to remind you about everything the 141 had to do - reminding John about the tremendous help you provided for them and Kate Laswell. Sometimes he wondered if they put too much work on you, with everything going on, but you never complained when asked about it. Quite the opposite, you would tell John that you loved doing everything you could to just take some work off of their shoulders.

He admired that about you. Looking for an assistant was something he had reluctantly done, because of all the sensitive information being passed around — but he had grown to being able to trust you with his life, like he did with every member of his team. You proved to be loyal, sometimes too much so. Calls at three in the morning made John feel awful, especially. But you picked up the phone nonetheless, sounding ready for whatever was thrown at you. Even if it was just digging through some files for a report that had to be done in the morning.

John Price's gruff exterior, the one that made him the leader he was, often masked a heart full of gratitude. There were many nights when the weight of his decisions, the burden of leadership, and the relentless fight against shadows made him feel utterly alone. Yet, you were always there, not just as his assistant but as a constant, calming presence. There was a warmth, a comfort he found in your competence, a feeling that whatever storm they were facing, you had their back.

He was pulled from his thoughts as a particular notification caught his eye. And he froze. “Mrs Price's birthday!” was set as a reminder for the next day.

Of course. His mother's birthday also had a calendar entry on his assistant’s laptop. He huffed, then took a deep inhale of his cigar. Did you ever have time for yourself? He mentally made a note to give you time off when this next mission was done.

He sighed. His feelings were uneasy. He’d probably let his mum down again, like the countless birthdays he had missed because he had been busy somewhere fighting. He always made a promise to make it up to her, but still, guilt gnawed at him every time.

He contemplated his options. Visiting her as soon as he had the time was something he would do, no questions asked. Take her for a nice dinner, even.

But for the special day, he needed something to surprise her. Flowers, chocolates, maybe something expensive? Maybe he could get you to take care of it, you were better at these things anyway.

No. It was his mum. He couldn’t just brush it off.

Desperate to find anything, he looked online for his options. He wasn’t tech-savvy as you were, all he did was write reports, but he somehow managed to find a local florist that shipped pretty flower bouquets. He had no idea about these things. Flowers had to look pretty and make his mother happy, that was the bare minimum.

He ended up ordering what looked like a very opulent bouquet that he could imagine on his mother's dining table, colours fitting and all. It was all that was in his expertise about these things. He tried to think of what his mother liked, but the best he could come up with were lilies, the same flowers he gave his mum every year. It was enough. He hoped. He knew she liked them, and it was his luck, because it was the single sort of flowers he could remember what they looked like.

He sighed and shut the laptop, deciding it was probably time to end the day.

The next morning, John sat at his desk, tapping away at the keyboard, trying to concentrate on the mission briefing in front of him. It just had been a few hours and the day already felt like a mess, his focus a complete disaster.

After several frustrating phone calls with Kate, multiple talks with the boys, he finally finished the report he’d been working on. John could barely get through a sentence without sighing. It was the quiet way he handled stress, a groan here and there and a nice cigar, whenever he was overloaded and unsure how to solve the situation.

Just when he started contemplating sneaking out for some peace and quiet, a smile broke across his face. There you were, strolling through his office door, a coffee mug in each hand.

You always seemed to know when he was about to hit that point of utter exhaustion, the point when he needed that extra boost of energy. You were a master at knowing his needs before he even knew them.

“Didn’t know we were married, Cap.” You entered the office and your grin hit him like a bullet. He couldn't help but notice the way your hair, normally pulled back in a neat ponytail, was now falling loose around your shoulders, making your face look even softer. He noticed how your smile lingered a little longer when your eyes met his.

“Married?” He looked as if he’d been told the most shocking news of his life. He had expected a greeting, but not this sort. It made you giggle, as you walked to his desk to set the mug down. It struck him then - he hadn't ever really looked at you that way before. Was he starting to get feelings he wasn't sure how to handle? He shook it off.

“Thanks for the flowers, John. Though, I prefer hydrangeas to lilies.” The playful tone in your voice made him wonder if you knew how much he loved it when you called him by his name. It always felt a little more intimate than just “Cap.”

He shook his head, as if trying to wake up from a dream, taking the mug to take a sip from the freshly brewed liquid. “Flowers? What do you mean? And I'm certainly not married.”

“Then maybe I need to spend less time in our office because someone certainly thinks I’m your wife.” Your eyes sparkled with a teasing glint, and he felt a warmth bloom in his chest, as if the caffeine you poured had an extra kick. He hoped his blush wasn't showing, but with your piercing eyes, there was little hope of concealing anything from you.

“I'm sorry, love, but I have not the slightest idea what you are talking about.” He looked to his papers, then back to you, blinking slowly.

“Flowers delivered to my doorstep with just a tag on them that says ‘Mrs Price’?” You raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at your lips.

The image of you as his wife flashed through his mind, vivid and surprisingly alluring. He quickly shook it off as well, his cheeks turning pink, the colour matching those very lilies he’d chosen for his mother.

He could slap himself. Exhausted, he’d clicked through the ordering process without checking the address. All he’d managed to do was type in his credit card information, and he thought he was done. You were holding back laughter, and he knew he’d blown it completely. He hated feeling foolish, but seeing how it made your eyes crinkle in amusement despite his stupidity, made the embarrassment almost endearing.

You recognized the look on his face and sighed, putting your hands on your hips. “Don’t tell me those are for your mum, and you just let the autofill handle the address?”

You knew him too well sometimes, it was scary. No wonder you thought someone might have assumed you were actually married.

“I might have.” He murmured. He felt like such a rookie next to you when it came to the simplest things.

Your heart threatened to melt at the way he looked at you just then. He was usually so cool, so in control, but when he was around you, he felt vulnerable. And it was the most captivating thing about him.

You sighed. “Give me your mum’s address, I’ll drop them off for you and get a nice birthday card on the way as well.”

He looked at you, seemingly shocked. “You’d do that?”

“Of course. I’m your assistant, in case you forgot.” You smiled, the teasing glint in your eyes now replaced with genuine affection. Maybe it would be crazy to admit, but you secretly loved taking care of him. Being able to help when everything felt overwhelming. It made you feel valued.

“Yeah, with missions. Not with my private life.” He grunted, pointing to the countless files you neatly organized on his desk.

You had none of that. “You take your phone and call your mum to wish her a happy birthday, I’ll take care of the flowers. I know you’re busy, so let me help.” You'd rather have it right than have John worry about this any more than he already did. You knew how much he valued his relationship with his mother, and how much he regretted he couldn’t see her sometimes because of work. You had seen the quiet sadness in his eyes whenever they spoke on the phone, and felt a pang in your heart. The last thing he needed was the added stress of failing to properly congratulate her on her birthday.

He nodded, offering you a smile. “Thank you. I’d be lost without you in so many ways.”

The confession caught you off guard. It wasn't the first time he'd expressed his reliance on you, but this time, it felt different. He’d looked directly into your eyes when he said it, holding your gaze for a moment longer than usual. A warmth spread through you, a familiar flutter in your stomach. You hoped it wasn't too obvious, the way you were practically glowing under his intensity. You wanted to say something witty, playful, but instead, you nodded, appreciating his honesty. “That’s nice of you to say.”

As the day wore on, John continued to work diligently, his eyes flickering towards you on the background photo way too often. He didn't want you to know he was thinking about it, because it made him nervous. He didn’t exactly know what he felt for you. He hadn't experienced something like this in a very long time. It made him a bit afraid of what this new sensation meant for him, but certainly he knew he didn’t want to run from it. With a sigh, he opened the internet browser. He wanted to make it up to you for all you did that day.

After delivering the flowers and having a nice chat with John’s mother, who had been very understanding about her son’s work load, you returned to your flat. You turned on the lights and walked into the hallway. There, propped up against the door, was the most exquisite bouquet you had ever seen in your life.

You rolled your eyes, expecting another failed delivery, mentally cursing John for repeating the same mistake. But as you carefully removed the paper, your breath caught in your throat.

It was hydrangeas.

And when you turned the tag over, your heart melted. “To: Not Mrs Price, but the best assistant someone could ask for. Dinner tomorrow, 7 pm, my place. John.”

#captain john price #ao3 fanfic #cod fanfic #captain price #captain john price x reader #john price #captain price x reader #fanfiction #call of duty #john price x reader #john price x you #photos found on pinterest #call of duty fanfic #captain price x you #x reader #x female reader #cod fluff #john price fluff

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lunasblunt · 4 months ago

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barracuda

𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 ⋆ ۪ 𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 ⋆ ۪ 𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 ⋆ ۪ 𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 ⋆ ۪ 𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 ⋆ ۪ 𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 ⋆ ۪ 𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 ⋆ ۪ 𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 ⋆ ۪ 𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 ⋆ ۪ 𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 ⋆ ۪

SFW!!!!! pt.1

pairing: logan howlett x original female!mutant character

summary: terra, a mutant with the ability to manipulate earthly elements and grow plants/flowers from her palms, finds herself incredibly fed up with logan as they’re forced to to train together.

suggested song: barracuda by heart BASIC IK BUT IT JUST FITS SO WELL

CW: mention of blood, mention of hand to hand combat / fighting using their powers (i’m terrible at writing fight scenes so it won’t be graphic at all), logan is pretty aggressive towards her but dw it’s not gonna be like this for the entire fic it’s just his character arc….

A/N: pretty sure i saw a oneshot w the idea of these powers a while ago so just wanna let u guys know this idea did NOT come from me & i don’t claim to have come up w it :)) also this is part 1 so pls don't hate me for not making them make out straight away...... we need some tension first... HOPE U ENJOY <3

edited a/n: if anyone’s interested in being on a taglist for this fic pls reply/lmk i’d love to figure out how tumblr works and keep u all updated lolllll

𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 ⋆ ۪ 𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 ⋆ ۪ 𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 ⋆ ۪ 𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 ⋆ ۪ 𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 ⋆ ۪ 𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 ⋆ ۪ 𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 ⋆ ۪ 𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 ⋆ ۪ 𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 ⋆ ۪ 𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 ⋆ ۪

terra was never one to fuss over charles’s orders. the girl knew the man was incapable of making bad decisions, especially when it came to the team. but when charles had called both logan and terra into his office, asking the two of them to train as a combat duo, she felt her respect for his wisdom fly out the window.

logan… and her? a combat duo? she found the idea hilarious. her eyes scanned the office, waiting to see if this meeting was some sort of prank. as charles continued on, raving about how if the two could cooperate as a unit it could be greatly beneficial for the team, she had to face the reality of the situation. the professor was serious.

the idea of their gifts working well together caused her a great headache. if anything, their abilities, and personalities, were quite opposite. in what world would logan’s cocky, carefree skillset and her peaceful, nonviolent aura compliment each other?

as much as she wanted to put up a fight with the professor, she’d known there was nothing she could do. when charles had made his mind up, it was an unspoken rule to trust how it played out.

now here she was, a day later, taking a gulp of water unhappily as she waited for logan’s arrival.

the second logan stepped foot into training room, terra could feel the energy shift. his cold, stuck up demeanor practically deteriorated the calm, tranquil atmosphere she’d been building all morning.

"glad you decided to show up!" terra spits, setting the tone for their upcoming weeks of training. it'd been an hour past the time charles had set for them to meet.

this newfound attitude felt out of character to terra. usually, the girl found herself calm and collected, grounded and appreciative of the world around her. it was when she first met logan that she discovered the way it felt to actually hate someone.

terra thinks back to the two's first few encounters. the way he ignored her hand when she politely introduced herself, the way he made passive aggressive comments toward her in group settings, the way he completely ignored her presence in any scenario. a hot, tingly feeling started to fill the pit in her stomach.

logan scoffs to himself, finding her attitude amusing. he pinches the thick cigar resting between his lips, takes one last puff, then puts it out on the wall beside him.

"we'll start with hand to hand combat." is all that logan lets escapes his lips. he wasn't there to chat, he was there for a reason, and he wasn't going to let her waste anymore of his day. “no powers, no tricks, just raw sparring.”

terra shakes her head, returning the same petty scoff he’d given her in response. he was unbelievable.

as the two get into their fighting positions, terra refuses to acknowledge the way logan is quick to peel off his tank top, and she definitely refuses to acknowledge the strange way it left that fiery pit in her stomach lively and bothered.

for a while the two fight, logan’s experience giving him the upper hand. she’d never been the soldier, she was the distraction. making the ground shake or bending the trees around them into different shapes to buy the team some extra time; she was there to confuse the enemy, not hurt them.

eventually, their brawl tends to get more heated and logan can see how it’s affecting her. the girl was tired, her body practically crumbling beneath her, but she refused to give up.

logan sees this as the perfect opportunity to get under her skin.

“come on, that all you got?” he hisses through gritted teeth, poking the bear. terra can’t help but let the vines that had been begging to be freed shoot out of her palms. before he realizes what’s going on, logan can feel the plants slithering up his legs. they make their way to his forearms, then to his neck, curling around him tightly, pushing him away from the girl trapped beneath him.

logan lets out a low chuckle at the girl’s spectacle, the grip of the vines on his neck a feeling he didn't exactly mind. was that really the best she could do?

as terra gives a breathless smirk, thinking she’d done a number on him, logan lets the blades hidden in between his knuckles slide out. without a word, the man is instantly darting toward her... or more specifically the green nuisances growing from her hands.

logan slices the vines straight from where they came from, leaving terra no choice but to fall to the floor in agonizing pain.

he watches as her palms start to gush blood, her eyes widening in shock. bending down on his knee, getting to her level, logan lets his lips slide into a smirk. these next few weeks were going to be fun for him. "you're gonna keep getting yourself into trouble if you don't start paying attention." the man breathes, too careless to yell.

with that, logan turns on his heel, his back facing the injured girl. he thinks about lighting up the rest of his cigar, more hung up on the taste of it lingering in his mouth than the state he's left the oh so peaceful "mother nature" in.

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mistydeyes · 1 year ago

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opposite occupations

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

summary: all the 141 boys have different plans while on leave, each having their own idea of how to spend the time. but when they run into a lovely civilian, they realize that all the long hours, deployments, and trainings worth it.

pairing: 141 x civvie!fem!Reader

warnings: swearing, all fluff :)

a/n: I love me a good little meet cute

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

price - florist

Everyone knew that the minute Price went home, he would be making the trek to his favorite cigar shop. It had been one he frequented for years, the familiar sign welcoming him home. Most shops on the street stayed the same. He liked the constancy, the familiarity.

As he rounded the street corner, he noticed a new shop had filled the unoccupied next door. The pale pink awning and rose-tinted glass were a new sight to see. "Sentiments of Carnations" he read as he walked past. He could see through the window that the shop had not yet been opened, noting the smell of fresh paint and empty displays. He wondered what grandma had put their retirement money into this florist shop.

He continued, opening the cigar shops store and smelling the musk of smoke and tobacco. "Ah John, I have your regulars set aside," the old shop owner said with a smile. "Back again for long?" he asked upon his return with a dark oak box. "Just waiting for another phone call from his majesty," he joked and slid over the usual bank notes. "I'll be seeing you," Price said as he opened the door and exited with the familiar chime of the bell.

As he embraced the warmth of the summer England weather, he pulled out one of his fresh purchases, excellently wrapped and balanced. He flipped open his lighter from his pocket and sat down to have his first smoke at home. He closed his eyes and savored the notes of espresso and hickory. As he sat in his small nirvana, he heard the florist's doors open.

He turned as he saw you, a flower behind your ear and a pink apron that perfectly matched the outside of the shop. You were not the grandma he had expected and instead were beautiful, the sun catching your lovely features. You had placed an antique table outside, along with a bucket of a colorful array of flowers adorned with a handwritten tag. You hung a small sign on the table that read, "Take one for a friend, family member, or loved one." You smiled at yourself, proud of the little display. You turned your head and noticed the mature man enjoying his smoke only a meter away from you. You picked out a scarlet carnation and walked over to the man, handing it to him.

"Here, you go," you said as his calloused fingers held the flower delicately. "A flower to brighten someone's day," you said with a smile. "Thank you, although I am not a man for flowers," he replied and extinguished his cigar. "Well, flowers can be for a variety of reasons, a friendly gesture, a gift for someone you fancy, or even something to brighten up your flat."

You ended with a sweet smile and he could feel himself melt on the spot. Something about the floral aroma emanating from the flower behind your ear along with your soft voice and pleasantries added to his current state of nirvana. You were so radiant in this light and he appreciated the kind gesture, especially upon his return home.

"No one to give a romantic gesture to, but thank you," he replied. "Well if that ever changes, my shop opens later this week! The shop's number is on the tag" you said before giving him a small wave and wink. He could hear the shop's door close as you began to set up your display and paint a mural on one of the walls. As he twisted the carnation in his hand, he knew he would be adding your shop to his routine becoming your most frequent customer.

soap - tattoo artist

Soap looked at his phone, making sure he was in the right place. His favorite tattoo shop near his Scottish home had closed and he was taking a recommendation from Ghost.

"She's got an attitude but her work is amazing," Ghost had said before Soap's deployment. He couldn't deny the craftsmanship of her work on Ghost's arm. He marveled at the attention to detail as Ghost proudly shoved off his ornate sleeve.

Soap had an appointment for today, previously approving of the artist's rendition of his vision. A black-and-white thistle, a charm his mother had said. It was commonly known to keep its owner away from danger and bad acquaintances. Something Soap needed on the battlefield.

He pushed the maroon door open, admiring the many gold frames with what he assumed were some of the artists' work. He let out a light chuckle as he noticed a framed sketch of Ghost's sleeve. He was just about to snap a picture when a voice called out, "Hey Mohawk, this isn't a museum."

He turned around to see a woman, a gorgeous one at that. You were wearing a tank top that showed off a collage of various tattoos in different styles. You had been taking a break and relaxed, sitting behind a desk, feet propped up.

"Actually, lass, I'm here with an appointment," he said, walking over to you. "Name's John MacTavish." he finished with a cheeky smile.

"Ah MacTavish, one of Riley's military boys I'm guessing. How's that masterpiece of mine doing?" you joked, Soap didn't know what to say. Were you and Ghost a thing?

You laughed at his pause, "My tattoo, Mohawk. There's no way I'd be shagging his Halloween-looking-arse." Soap appreciated the heads up about your attitude and knew this was gonna be a fun session.

"Looks gorgeous, Sweetheart. Just like yourself," he poked back and you let out a loud laugh, almost doubling over. "Don't flatter yourself, you can go make yourself comfortable in my station over there. Looks like you're only getting a bicep tat, so I better not see your shirtless arse back there."

Soap made his way to where you motioned, sitting down in the black velvet chair. You came in a few minutes later with your sketch and supplies. You closed the scarlet curtains behind you before walking over to prep his arm.

As you sat in relative silence, Soap asked, "So what do the tattoos mean, Lass?" You finished your prep work and were working on the correct tattoo placement. "Travels from around the world. I took it upon myself to get a tattoo in every new country."

With that, you offered him a mirror so he could approve of the sketch and placement. The tattoo rested on his right bicep and he made sure to look at it at every angle and made sure to flex for your enjoyment.

"Alright, muscle man, this should only take a few hours as long as you don't pass out on me," you said and began to tattoo your next masterpiece. During the next two hours, you made conversation about the tattoos meaning, his life in Scotland, and you even shared more intimate details about your travels.

The hours flew by like minutes to Soap as you let him know you were finished. He admired the detailed flower and you handed him some care instructions with some cream. "And your buddy paid for you ahead of time, so you're all set, Mohawk" you replied and Soap got off of the chair.

"See you around, my world-class woman," he joked as he exited the door. You slightly cringed, wondering if writing your number on the tube of aftercare cream was a good idea or not.

gaz - primary school teacher

Gaz looked at himself in his flat's mirror. He brushed a hand over his freshly cut hair and evened out his dress shirt. "Just a favor for a friend," he said to himself as he walked to catch the next tram. Two days ago, an old colleague during his days working with the metro police force had reached out to him. They called in a favor, "Kyle c'mon it's just a couple of primary students, all you need to do is give a little talk about stranger danger." Knowing he had nothing else better to do, Gaz agreed.

As he signaled the tram to stop, Gaz looked at the brown brick building reminding him of his younger days. Gaz walked in, checking in with the receptionist who directed him to the classroom where he'd be giving his talk. He was early, the school had not yet opened but he was asked to have the presentation at the beginning of class before the children's lessons. He admired the walls filled with the artwork of the students, silly attempts at drawing their families. He finally reached your classroom, noting the smiling sunflower on your opened door. He knocked softly and he saw you lift your head to greet him. If he had known you would be so beautiful, he would have not needed his friend's encouragement.

"Ah you must be Sgt. Garrick," you said, beginning to get up from your desk to greet him. You smoothed out your skirt and placed your glasses down. "It's just Kyle," he said and returned your friendly smile and warm handshake.

"Well Kyle, the children should be arriving in a few minutes. I'll get them settled and introduce you for your small talk today," you said with a grateful nod. You motioned for him to sit at your desk as you stood at your door to greet your excited second-year students. Gaz played on his phone and smiled as he heard you return the children's happy good mornings with a similar high-energy one. The students began to file in, placing their bags in their cubbies, and sitting with their friends. You heard small whispers from the children, wondering what you were doing at their teacher's desk. He let out a chuckle when he heard one boy whisper, "Is that Miss Y/N's husband? He's sitting in her chair."

Finally, with all the children in their seats, you walked to the front of the classroom and greeted your students warmly. "Good morning everyone, today we have a very special guest with us. This is our friend, Kyle, and he's here today to tell you all a little something before we start our lessons."

Kyle knew this was his cue, he rose from your desk and swapped places with you at the front of the room. "Hi everyone, today I'm going to teach you smart kids about something called 'Stranger Danger'." The children oohed in response as Kyle waved his hands in a fake menacing manner. You smiled as he was a natural. The children were attentive, writing down the information as he spoke and working together with their classmates to fill out the worksheet answers. Kyle ended his talk and asked if anyone had any questions. One child raised her hand and Kyle called on her. "Is Miss Y/N a stranger? I'm confused."

"I'm your teacher, Amelia. Teachers that you know aren't strangers," you responded and Kyle nodded in agreement. Another kid raised their hand and asked, "But you aren't Kyle's teacher, so you're a stranger to him."

Before either one of you could respond, his friend boasted, "It's because they're married, your Mum and Dad aren't strangers to each other." Both you and Kyle shared a look and he saw the soft blush rise to your face. "Ah we're just friends," he said and saved you the embarrassment.

Little did Kyle know, his email would chime that night with a thankful message from you along with your number at the bottom asking him to breakfast that weekend.

ghost - veterinarian

Unlike most people, Ghost loved the quiet ambiance of London's rainfall. The streets were empty and peaceful as people were cozying up in their homes with a blanket. Enjoying the evening air and cold, he walked with an umbrella in one hand and a warm cup in the other. His boots resounded on the cobblestone street as he sipped his Earl Grey tea. His chest was warm from the bold citrus and bergamot liquid. This was, in his opinion, an ideal leave well spent.

The rhythmic rain fell and his walking was interrupted by a soft mewing. Simon hurried down the street to find the source of the noise. In front of a grocer's, he noticed a small cardboard box being drenched by the unrelenting rain. He placed his cup down and gently lifted the box. Underneath was a small grey cat, cuddled into a ball to experience some semblance of warmth. Simon placed his umbrella to shield the box and lifted the tiny meowing animal into his hands.

As he cradled the cat to his chest, he heard a click of heeled boots behind him. He turned his now-drenched head to notice you walking up with a bright orange umbrella adorned with cat paws. "Excuse me, Sir, but is he yours?" you asked gesturing to the ball of grey that laid meowing in his arms. "Uh he's not, I found this little fella underneath this box here."

"Ah a Good Samaritan, I see. Well, I own the veterinarian shop down the way, I can take him off your hands if you'd like and make sure this little lad gets the care he needs," you said and offered a hand to hold the kitten. You noticed his slight hesitation and said, "If you'd like, I'll give you my card so you can take the little one home when he's all better."

"That would be nice," he smiled underneath his black face mask. Simon loved animals, never being permitted to have one as a child. As you held the kitten in your arm, you handed him your umbrella. He initially tried to refuse but you insisted saying, "You're soaked, I'll be alright." You ended with a small giggle which made Ghost warmer than his now cold cup of tea.

"The least I can do is walk you back to your shop," he replied a little too quickly. He instantly realized the surprising force he had said that with and followed up with, "You know, just so you and Earl Grey can make it there in this weather.

"Earl Grey, I like that. That's my favorite order, especially on days like this." Simon moved slightly behind you, holding the umbrella to shield the three of you on your walk. The air was filled with the familiar scent of rain and the notes of your floral perfume. "I'm Dr. L/N by the way, but most people just call me, Y/N," you said as you continued on your way. "I'm Simon, a pleasure to meet you doc."

Three weeks later Simon's house was filled with all the necessities for a new cat father. As he grabbed his coat, he pulled out a water-stained business card with the vet's office address and your number written on the back. He smiled to himself as he traced his fingers over the small handwriting saying, "To Earl Grey's owner, fancy a cup of tea with me?"

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