#game and glitzy ask

[gamethesoldier]

What About CORE!Frisk, Error!Sans and Ink? Have you met them ass well?

@glitzybunny Thank you again for Helping me drawing and coloring! hahaha!! (P.s Sorry if some of ask i may asnwer very slow. we are very busy;;; )

[capslocked]

KINKVEMBER DAY: 4

[prompt: roleplay] male reader x kang hyewon 8k words

“I need you,” Hyewon says in the uneasy dark of a hotel room, with two urgent fistfuls of your shirt, “need you to do to me all the things my husband never will.” “Yeah, I know,” you tell her, “you said that,” and her eyebrows move in all the wrong directions, “I’m just wondering if, you know, maybe we should give him a little more credit.”

-

Here’s the truth:

Hyewon doesn’t believe in leaving evidence behind and you don't find it particularly productive to doubt her; you’ve been talking in code for years. Parts and pieces of yourselves reduced down and bottled into set phrases that, to anyone else, would be totally incomprehensible.

"i've been thinking," she texts you, which you've come to understand means she's already made up her mind, "maybe we should do that thing we were talking about. tonight."

(You're not always so fast on the uptake.)

You send two back two texts, both of which ask "which thing?" because the hallway from the breakroom to your desk has poor reception and it never lets you send just one.

Then, right after you cross the threshold between signal-drowning-concrete and the glitzy glass-walled arboretum they've built to make you feel like you're not a total cog in their corporate machine, your phone pings the receipt of Hyewon's reply: a picture - her laptop, propped up on your coffee table with its screen angled for perusal, of a booking site that's filtered to show results for their 'king bed & view' room at a midrange hotel a forty-five-minute ride from your apartment.

"not really doing much narrowing down here hyewon."

She replies to you - her text bubble appearing over another couple still images, of herself in the vanity mirror as she curls her hair around her finger and holds this little black slip of a dress over her shoulder, black lacy lingerie in tow, the whole nine - with:

"i'm feeling kinda adventurous."

-

Five o’clock rolls around but you never really do figure it out. You spend the last three hours at work deciding which kink of hers (oh, does she have a few) this is all in service to.

There's nothing overtly sexual about her pics in the first place - not more than usual anyway, more showing off her curves and cut jaw than showcasing anything for her 'adventurous' intent. So that can't be the tell - you'd seen her in a corset once (you can't unsee it) and the angle of her hips to the mirror makes you think that if she was planning on pulling on a  pair of crotchless panties then she probably would've found her thigh high stockings, too.

You try and think of what the two of you had even talked about when discussing these little scenes - how many times you'd ended up 'in the mood' during or after such a meeting of the minds, how it'd snowballed from there, a whole list of filthy what-ifs that she'd probably put more thought into than you ever have - but you draw a total blank. It could be any of a number of things.

Until,

"i left you instructions on the kitchen island," reads a text on your phone which you definitely don’t check while you’re driving -

And then it hits you.

"ah."

"yeah, 'ah'," she replies.

-

A quarter past seven at the hotel bar is way too early for any real promiscuous activity, but then again, you're here playing at pretend and half the fun of games like this is in the setup.

Meet me at the bar, your instructions read, introduce yourself, and play it by ear.

There's some couples at the other end, some friends downing shots by the round, people musing over their aperitifs, and a woman sipping alone at the bar - Hyewon, appearing to you from the back first:

The pointed edges of her shoulders narrow out over this tiny cocktail dress that somehow covers less of her than if it weren't there at all, skin tight, accentuating even her softest curves. She has her hair fixed a particular way - teased enough to flip at the ends but still a single sweep down her shoulders, pulled together softly by a ribbon in the back, tied like a fantasy, allowing a wispy strand to fall to her face - glossy and dark and glowing to this rich, deep mahogany where it's cast in the lamplight.

The line of her throat, of her chest. Where her hips meet her waist in a rounding flare. The effort and beauty she's gone to, for you - that she puts in every day just because she knows it gets your attention, can do more than turn a head or two; Hyewon's appearance is almost indifferent of you, only coincidental, but she puts on a damn good act.

(You look a lot more worn in comparison: jacket thrown over dress shirt and khakis, tie loose at the neck. Standard office attire with just a step-outside-regulation. Disheveled.)

A drink, you suppose - approaching the bar to try and catch the bartender's attention to order a single malt.

But if Hyewon's been waiting long, she doesn't complain when you pull into the stool beside her and sit for a long moment.

"Do you mind if I join you?" you say over a pair of politely folded hands - and that's generally where her 'instructions' end.

The look she fixes you with is just this unashamed smoldering, her body language this contradictory kind of lazy - cool, like her night was going exactly the way she planned but she still had places to be.

"It depends," she replies, one slender finger curled around the stem of her martini glass - which historically, is a drink she hates. "Who's asking?"

"Just me," you offer, letting the gesture and your tone leave it up to her. And then slowly, perhaps awkwardly: "ostensibly a complete and utter stranger who knows a gorgeous woman when he sees one - and who could never pass up a chance to see how the rest of her is."

"Smooth."

"I guess it is, considering you didn't immediately run for the exit."

Hyewon nearly snorts.

"Hard not to." She tilts her head back at you, assessing. Her cheeks are rosy pink. "A handsome thing like you doesn't usually buy themself a girl's time with flattery -"

"Buy your time or your drinks?" you tease, and you can tell she wants to roll her eyes - but she keeps them carefully lowered. Eyelashes dipping down like blackened fans.

Hyewon shifts slightly, resting her chin onto the heel of her wrist like she's leaning against an imaginary windowpane and tipping her face a little sideways. It makes you smile. "One gets the other, if you catch my meaning."

Maybe it takes you a little too long to lift your gaze off her lips to find her eyes, or off the sweeping curve of the hemline sitting high across her long legs, but she watches you for just a breath. It's a more telling moment that she pretends she doesn't know you.

"You can look at me if you like," and then without further preamble, she introduces herself with a slight tilt of the head and an expectant expression: "call me Hyewon."

You figure that if you've gotta say one word to get the ball rolling you want to say her name, and as a little revenge for forcing you to think on this scene and think on what to say, what your character would say, how exactly she wanted you to go about 'meeting' her in a hotel bar, how her fucking scenario's been building up in her head for god-knows-how-long (even though, in the scheme of the two of you and your relationship, it’s nowhere close to being the most demanding sex you've had), you reply simply with:

"Pretty."

It's satisfying, how she hesitates - pausing a little longer on your face to gauge exactly what you meant. Studying. But the next beat of your heart - or hers - is effortless, easy.

"I know. That's what my husband calls me."

"Husband?" You keep yourself from raising an eyebrow. "And I don't suppose I'm also... married?"

"Different day, different you."

"Meaning I have a wife or a mistress of my own," and you flick your wrist at the barkeep for a top-up of what's in front of Hyewon. "You're telling me I'm the kind of man who'd only settle for two."

It doesn't sound quite right, though Hyewon picks up on it. Doesn't let on. "Aren't men like you always? Charming to a fault, but always voracious - insatiable, especially with women like me."

"Women like you."

"Married women. Unavailable," she simpers, and in a practiced little motion, draws her hand out to where you can see it properly, this sparkle on her fourth finger that catches the lowlight of the bar. The diamond looks real - not that you'd actually know - and your stomach flexes up mid-somersault thinking about the financial impropriety for what amounts to a gag. A practical joke. Hyewon the comedian.

Still, you go with it and take her hand in yours, admiring. "What a pity." The glint off its faceted surface - Hyewon's watchful as she allows it.

"Isn't it," she agrees.

The more unnerving thing - besides how composed Hyewon can make herself be - is how the narrative quickly becomes a whole hell of a lot clearer with the context of marriage in play. She's mentioned it before: the infidelity thing, the way it leads to the raunchiest, filthiest bits she'll dare to explore. In some ways, her desire for the untouchable makes a lot more sense -

And maybe that's what had been nagging at your mind since she brought up the idea of playing the part: you always end up kissing in that stupid 'caught up' sort of way. With an intensity that's hard to beat. Even though you wouldn't ever cheat on her. Not in a million years. You'd watch her leave before doing anything like that.

But it's thrilling, almost, and even more thrilling that this isn't entirely improvisation: how well the two of you might actually play this off, as two total strangers to this illusory little roleplay that you'd normally say was your very last interest.

"But you know there's something I've come to appreciate about married men," Hyewon continues, her voice in this conspiratorial sort of hushed.

You blink, drawing her out.

"They know how to tie a knot."

There's the flirty wink, an upward flick of the chin that draws your eye to the span of her chest. To her body in that skin-hugging dress and your fingers entangled in hers - the gentle bump and shift of the bodies behind her, moving between the tables - Hyewon a queen of circumstance, playing to the moment as it bends; as her lips part in a pleased smile, red and smooth, almost innocent, and you can't help but imagine tasting her on your tongue, the force that'd take for her to yield when you finally got your hands in her hair.

(What a character, honestly.)

"Tell me something," you say, "why would a married woman, this pretty little thing like you, be all alone in a place like this - without her charming husband."

Hyewon's smile curls at the edges like smoke. "I never said he was charming."

You raise an eyebrow. "Good-looking, then."

"Never said as much either."

“Why are you with someone you find neither attractive nor charming?”

Hyewon makes a face, slightly pitied. “If that Isn’t what I’m asking myself everyday.”

"Hm." You narrow your eyes into something more quizzical than suggestive. It works on her anyway. "That doesn't feel too much like it's in character, Hyewon."

She shrugs, but it's that coy kind of shrug. She thinks you'll let her off easy - you usually do. All considered, she's the type who thrives off the chase and, as of today, so do you.

"But he is cute." Her expression is just this side of sweet, as she takes a dainty sip of her drink. Like the taste doesn’t bother her, like she isn't pretending she doesn't hate it with every fiber of her being. Like this is easy. "And maybe -" she quirks an eyebrow at you, withholding a smirk. "-you're right. Maybe, I was looking for someone cuter to fill the bill. And luck would have it, here he is."

So - apparently - her character doesn’t mind a little light infidelity.

Hyewon takes in the vague sense that the message wasn’t as clear as she might have liked, her forehead scrunching as she tries to convey - in a way that would communicate even to an airhead - some realization to play your part.

"Maybe it's the wrong question,” you start over, taking it from somewhere near the top, “what are you doing here, with me?"

That's when Hyewon graces you with one of the soft, slow kind of smiles: the kind that manages both an air of 'you dimwit' and 'good question'. Her fingertips barely graze yours but it's noticeably electric. Just enough to feel your pulse fluttering.

(You don't care that none of it’s real - Hyewon looks to you through thick eyelashes like a goddess of temptation and sin - and it makes something wicked coil up warm at the pit of your gut. A curious thrill and a recklessness that you have to admit feels a little nice - being the man trying to talk this woman into bed. The challenge and the buildup, the want to work for it. It's new. It's fresh. Lo-and-behold, it's kinda hot.)

When you catch her stare, she fidgets. So slightly, so briefly, your chest is on fire and you're barely into the pages of her plans, of this night ahead.

"Wish fulfillment, let's say," and that is no less true. "See it’s my husband."

"Mhmm."

"He respects me too much to do the things I'm going to ask you to do."

"Like?" you continue to prod.

Hyewon lets out the tiniest shiver of a sigh, like a trickle of cold water down the length of her spine. "Take a good guess."

You finish the rest of Hyewon's martini, slow. Savoring the warmth and bitterness sliding down the back of your throat. The night's young, sure - and if you're supposed to be spending it all wrapped around Hyewon's finger. This means you can take your time.

"Show me your room?" you propose, gesturing to the empty glass.

"I thought you'd never ask."

At your offering, she stands up and throws on her coat - long, double-breasted, chic - but only really just off her shoulders to have the hem hit her legs mid-thigh. One of her many personal quirks. Hyewon knows how to move like there aren't two eyes staring at her wherever she goes: not the awkward side-to-side of a girl who wasn't made to wear heels - a loping gait - nor the assured click, click of the taller kind that totter like it's all they've got going for them.

Something totally different: a little careless and a little haughty and an assurance of the highest confidence.

She winds an arm round yours like they do in movies, this parody of a leading lady - Hyewon not a seductress as much as she is someone who'll look the part just to convince you otherwise. There is a pretty big discrepancy, you find, between her bravado and her smile, her figure and her artistry - you couldn't act if you wanted to; meanwhile, she does whatever she damn well pleases. And somehow that doesn't even begin to cover the things that turn her on.

The two of you make for the stairs, winding up floor after floor until it's perfectly quiet, perfectly out of sight - hidden away from prying eyes and ears.

The silence of an empty hotel stairwell is thick - Hyewon's hand comes off the railing, as she takes to the wall and turns to face you. It's a gentle tug at the tie loose around your neck, barely any give before you're already there, holding her by the hips.

"Might've gotten us lost there," you whisper, as her finger plays at your chest and finds its way round the collar of your shirt. Your top button is already undone by the time you notice she's not fond of it. "The elevators would've gotten us where we're headed faster."

"Don't worry." She hums, leaning in close - like a magnet, like gravity. "You're getting the scenic route."

"Anything to stall the inevitable," you tease, but it isn't a thread she seems interested in developing.

"Something like that."

Hyewon shifts her weight back onto her right foot, her skirt riding up just barely. The dip between her inner thighs and the smooth curve of her leg is open and bare to your sight, her dark stockings like an unspoken challenge: the panties, lacy, loose, no crotch.

And it gets... indecent, the way your lips connect, how you realize half-way into that kiss, she's still smiling. It isn't any one way that does it; maybe it's the clever use of her tongue, or that particular position you've coaxed her up against the stairwell wall that makes it seem like Hyewon can't be any more in danger - it's too much to handle and your mouth goes slack on the reflex of an apology; her hand has a hold on you by the jaw and it won't budge.

"My husband," she murmurs into you, the trace of the words ghosting into the breath between the both of you. "Never lets me."

"What," you rasp, barely recognizing your own voice, your hand heavy on her side - the very real fear that you might tip over a banister because Hyewon's got her heel half-way into the back of your calf and any less bracing would bring you down. Your thoughts are a fog, with her cheek in one hand and your knee already up between her thighs.

"His wife," she almost swallows down, kisses turning chaste because maybe it's just easier to gently peck out her intentions, how she looks to you with dark eyes, heavy-lidded and wanting, a thumb trailing down the plane of your cheek. It'd feel like pity if you weren't thinking exactly the same.

You try to finish it for her:

"She likes it rough."

"No." Her nose traces yours before she connects you again - gentle and slow, and a shudder rolls all down the expanse of her shoulders; you think you have it about right. Until she makes the slightest adjustment and her grip in your hair turns agonizing, perfect and burning on the edge of too tight - too much. You are straining against the wall of a hotel hallway and she's saying, "not rough."

She kisses you. Hard. Until you gasp for the stolen air in her lungs.

"Filthy," she manages against the heat and sting at the side of her cheek.

(Damn.)

Your voice has gone and lodged itself firmly somewhere between her lungs - but there's something that says she knows. That you've got it in you, the brimming potential that might just say everything you ever wanted but couldn't figure the right way to put it.

It's the tone of her voice or the spark in her eyes, but one moment into the next - you're caught in this pull - like gravity's increasing tenfold at her will; her heartbeat's so strong you swear you feel it against your ribs as she's demanding:

"Messy. Dirty. A little uninhibited," and the obvious thrill of that must flare up like lightning under her skin - the way it makes her moan, soft and breathless: "fuck me like my husband doesn't."

She’s not even waiting for the comfort of the room yet, which in hindsight is probably checking more of Hyewon's many boxes - it's the sex in public thing, the fear of discovery thing, the desire to have you ravish her out where anyone can come upon you sort of thing - the thought of which has your jaw go a little slack too. Her leg up is coiled up around your hip, your fingers tangled in her hair and sliding up the length of her thigh, until you're fucking kneading up her ass and drawing out that desperate whine in her.

"Fuck," she exhales into your shoulder - a hand on the metal bannister to brace against those little circles you start to rub inside her, pushing - slowly - one, two, three knuckles deep, testing - before drawing back, and plunging forward again. This ache, slow and purposeful, pressing just enough into her until there's a wet sort of friction that has your hand slick all down your wrist.

It never takes long, with your fingers on her clit, fingers inside her, a palm covering the moans out of her mouth -

She cums just like that.

Whining and broken and bent under you, and with an elbow hard against her ribcage to make the breaths come shallow.

"Stay quiet for me, sweetheart," you find yourself murmuring, as your teeth graze the shell of her ear - the short burst of hair and silky strands across the back of her neck; you're undoing the neat ribbon tied round the length of her hair and letting her waves settle on her shoulder in time for you to swallow down the sound of her sighs, the tension in her lips, and the frantic jolt when your fingers push through the wet, heat of her pussy again, merciless and quick. You have to be careful; she nearly bites your fucking tongue out.

"Can't." Her jaw's tight on it, the slight staccato to her breathing, murmuring and slightly dazed: "if we get caught, someone will see. Someone will notice."

Her next exhale is more shaky. "Anyone could see us like this," with just her toes curling and her stomach tensing on every second beat. Your grip leaves a bruise. "Please-"

"We're not supposed to be doing this at all, are we? If you've got a husband waiting somewhere?"

You hear yourself, and it sounds sorta degenerate, though in all the right ways, you figure, like something straight out of one of Hyewon's romance novels, the dirty, smutty ones that she swears up and down she simply reads for the plot, but the dazed, hazy kind of mood they get her worked up into suggest otherwise.

You trace the rough pad of your thumb over her pussy, this delicate, ghost of a touch. One you'd have to strain to even tell if it was there or not until she whines - eyes screwed shut like she doesn't mean to, just does. The sound of it bouncing around the stairwell.

And then, all this wet: her skirt's ridden all the way up to her stomach, damp and near-transparent with slick, and you can just imagine the puffy pink between her legs - between her stockings in the afterglow of an orgasm, spent and sensitive and sore and wanting for more. Your eyes linger a little too long -

"I shouldn't let you," she manages, half a moan on it - one of her heels comes up the stair you're standing on and the way Hyewon clings onto you for balance says enough, but still, she demands, with all the strength her throat allows: "make it fast. You're lucky I let you see me like this at all -"

And she cuts off abruptly, looking at you.

(She'll play coy for a while longer. Which, Hyewon being Hyewon, will look like as much an effort as her sprawl out on the bed for you is.)

"The room," you say to her, harshly, "where is it."

"Four more floors."

-

Room 1014 as it turns out is like every other room you've ever been in, each one perhaps a little more identical than the last - except this one has Hyewon sitting in your lap while you get comfortable on the bed, and there's also the way she looks in the mirror above the headboard, the desperation in her stare, right back into the reflection.

"What all," she says, "do you want to do to me?"

This time - no explicit instructions - just an implication. You have to figure it out.

See, the image of her is like every fantasy rolled into one, wearing this thin black bra that has her breasts just about spilling over. They're amazing - the color and shape of her skin. Soft. Cradled between the cups like a godsend, and maybe that's why it drives her a little crazy how good you look biting down the ridge of her breast and flicking your eyes back up to catch her expression.

It has you feeling, if nothing else, a little ‘adventurous,’ too.

Her belly tenses on a heavy sigh and it's one hell of a thing to have Hyewon staring you down, like you're an animal or an idiot, with her eyes flashing and a thinly veiled anger in the purse of her lips. There's a thousand things she'd like to do to you - for you to do to her - but it's about the predicament: the silk necktie she'd pulled off you as you both stumbled through the door has ended up around her wrists, pinning her arms behind her back in a way that suggests a loss of control. Just the mere suggestion of a little playacting, but she's almost keening.

You feel the touch of her right calf keep rising - curving down your waist, hooked behind the small of your back - her thighs smooth, and a hot line along your sides.

"I should fuck that pretty mouth of yours," you say against the shell of her ear, because you know better than anyone, the very concept gets her wet. Uncomfortably so.

And she leans her head against your temple like she'd love it. You could be imagining the little whimper as she clenches up round nothing - until a growl escapes the back of her throat and she's saying -

"Is that how you're going to cum? With me on my knees and nothing else? Cover my pretty face? How you’ll completely ruin me?. You’re more creative than that."

“I don’t know that I am.”

Her hips move to find some friction where there isn't any until you give her some, pulling your cock out through your pants and feeling it brush, once, twice against the seam of her. Hot, and hard. Ready. And if she only tried a little, the angle was made perfectly to slot your head in, but neither of you move. She doesn't yield.

"Let me fuck myself on you," she suggests, strained, almost pleading. "Then perhaps I will."

You could take her like she is. Any which way. But this is about getting a particular reaction - one that'll leave her spent and trembling - and nothing like that will happen without a little bit of preparation and prelude. You want to watch her writhe for hours. Until she forgets she's playing a character at all, until she's panting your name and whimpering for release, her cheeks burning.

But at least it gets her writhing on you, the heat and press of her body as she leans in close, your eyes locking:

"Get your cock inside me-" the urgency in her voice. "-fuck me right now, this second-"

"Say it again."

"Fill me with your perfect cock." The words land right on your lips, frayed at the edges as the tether to her control slips another notch. "Push my thighs apart until you break me," Hyewon tells you - and then with her legs twisted up in the comforter, the creaking mattress and the sweat on the sheets: she rolls her hips like they're pleading for it.

"Pushy."

"Gentle's got no appeal for us."

"Apparently not," you reply - but then it's suddenly a lot easier, to slide one hand in Hyewon's hair, and grip at the knotted silk wrapped tight 'round her wrists to hold her. There's no hiding the subtle arching of her spine, how the pressure off her arms pulls her chest in or makes it all the more comfortable, she doesn't let on, she'll probably keep pretending she doesn't like this, that she hasn't always wanted -

You run your tongue over her collarbone and thrust up inside her, once - a warning that you're not giving in to her quite yet.

The smile that runs her lips is brittle. Like her patience isn't what it used to be - she makes a quiet little noise, pained. A flash of discomfort. But there's a moan and a curse out of her:

"Like that. Harder."

"What does harder mean?" you ask, with a deliberate repetition in motion, thrusting upward, forcing her hips to shift a few degrees further back - her knees clenching around the sheets as you're met with no give - Hyewon's resistance through a dark smile, and her grip slackened in her hands, despite you keeping a fist wound tight in the hair on the back of her head, tightening the other around her restraint.

Her throat flinches: this shudder.

She takes a couple heaving, open-mouthed breaths, before she has it in her to glare at you again.

"Harder-" The way her mouth shapes around the word gets the better of you - cute little cupid's bow in pink, full and swollen and pursed up as if in pain. Or desire. Or both, the way her head is tipped back, hair half undone - an idea is already coiling at the back of your mind. "-until I can't stand."

"Or talk?"

And when your hand loosens on her wrists, her posture slumps like it's relief, that you're finally going to move along in a direction she's getting some satisfaction from -

Hyewon shakes her head in a moment that's almost blissed.

"You," her voice breaks on the tail end, "fucking wish you could shut me up that easily -"

In a motion almost gentle, you twist the length of hair down around her, from her scalp to her jaw, and wrap it around a hand. "Let's see if you'll change your mind, shall we."

There's a sharp draw of air in past her lips, just one sound, not a word. No proper rebuttal. She bites down, teeth clicking.

So you pull.

And this isn't some revelation, that Hyewon's cunt is heaven. Slick and tight, the fit around your cock and the gasp escaping the base of her throat - that isn't new. You've been here countless times, fucked her past her breaking point, beyond what should reasonably satisfy her or satisfy you, but that still doesn't take away from this incredible, heady rush that pulses through your entire body. It never stops getting better, not inch-after-fucking-inch the way you're bottoming out inside Hyewon's body and feel how hard the rest of her muscles tense up in the contact, how her pussy tightens and quivers, and grips around the entirety of your cock, the briefest taste of pleasure and release before it's pulled back just out of her reach - overstimulated, until Hyewon cries out.

You expect, predict the fight, the whimpers that spill out of her mouth with every slap of your skin and the breathless way she begs, pleads, like she'd rather her pride take it from her than have your fingers tug her hair up, right out of her scalp, with your arm locked around her lower waist. With your cock pumping faster, faster and a pressure, hot and inescapable, right there - the friction building - the slippery-wet heat sliding along your shaft with every stroke until you bottom out and her next exhale is a sob.

A goddamn fucking sob and the warm gush of liquid down her thighs - all on you. You fingers are pressed into her ass, pulling onto you, steading her bounce - and Hyewon finds her breathing uneven, as you smear wet across the curve of her backside, rubbing circles into her lower back as you catch up on the rhythm she'd lost.

"This tight little cunt, huh," you tease, and she nods so desperately it seems like she might snap. Like she might cry again and this time for real, a drop of her eye color past the blush, streaking down her cheek. You have the wherewithal to remember your character, your blocking, your lines: "this is what your husband won't do? Won't fuck you on every piece of furniture until you're a ruined fucked-out mess? Doesn't have the decency to work over his little slutty-wife until she's passed out, dripping with cum?"

Hyewon's fingers curl up into two balls of white knuckles and she chokes on her reply. "He won't."

"Tell him. He has a hot and dirty little piece of ass right under his own roof-"

"You think," and the string of words trails off when you manage to grind in, at this angle that has her reeling, trembling at every shift and jerk in momentum. Your knuckles drag against her soft and giving curves, almost gripping at her in the attempt to hold her down on you. "-my husband isn't enough."

"Well you wanted me to fuck the domestic housewife out of you," you murmur, taking two greedy handfuls of the ass bouncing in your lap, rubbing your palms along her hips, up and around the shape of her abdomen and her ribcage like you'd map it, memorize it. She wants this, you know this: your palms come around and over and brush your thumbs against her rising gooseflesh - she's putty in your hands. "No strings attached, remember, a one night kind of thing-"

"My husband loves me."

"Then it seems-"

"He makes me cum with his hands alone."

Your jaw works tight - Hyewon's cunt feels as good wrapped around you as she says your cock feels making a mess of it.

"Tells me he'd die happy hearing me moan his name."

"Oh, because no matter where he goes," you say, fingers wrapping under and around the back of her neck, forcing her to look you in the eye, "no matter what, your sweet cunt's the only one his mouth is ever watering for, isn't that right-"

A blink, lashes thick and feathering down and over the pools of her pupils as you have a hold of her tight. 

You're having a hard time with this, and you want to give it to her, the toe-curling-crescendo that would see her cumming at your will, or worse, losing the plot completely and your entire setup falling away from the charade of characters you'd both conjured. But she looks at you like she's never loved anyone like she loves you, the naked, barefaced devotion, the tenderness - a quick breath, a second - and the game is suddenly something far more personal, a truth. It isn't exactly fair: how your heart stutters. How much her heartbeat makes your pulse flutter, the electrifying rush you get when you fuck roughly up into her tight, wet cunt and make her bite down on nothing in the throes another orgasm.

You barely have a second to think of something coherent, let alone an out before she kisses you. If that isn’t totally disarming. So you move her into the next, flipping her onto her stomach, and she does nothing to fight back: Hyewon just lies there - the side of her face plastered to the comforter - exhausted, and gives a willing, malleable moan at the contact where your hand digs into the shape of her upper thighs, spreading them out as her elbows struggle behind her back.

"Here, baby," you say, finally unwinding the silk knot between her wrists, "I'll have you like the little desperate fucktoy you really are."

There's the bite to her bottom lip, the whole five seconds it takes for her hands to spread out and twist her fingers tight in the bedspread, before she whines - full-throated - and rocks back onto her toes to arch her back.

(See, the thing: Hyewon likes being fucked within an inch of her life. On all fours and pleading for more.)

With your free hand, you reach around her to run over her inner thighs.

Hyewon brings her grip to the bottom of the bed frame, for purchase, or leverage, you don't know, and in one simple motion, you slip your cock back deep inside her pussy.

You curse under your breath.

Hyewon fucking collapses.

It's a dangerous combination, having her begging and you nearly fully clothed while she's wearing barely more than this thin strip of black silk around her waist and a stocking on one leg, but you can't help it - she looks good this way.

"Fuck," she spits out, voice lost when your hips find hers in this wet, sloppy crash of skin that gets louder, faster and more punishing on each beat. "Like that, oh my God-"

Her whimpering only gets worse - when you start only pulling out halfway, until she's gasping like she can't breathe. You think there isn't a more wonderful, more obscene, more gorgeous thing than Hyewon spread out in front of you - the curve of her spine defining each and every one of the lines, dips, and rises of her body - and you would thank God or some higher deity right about now.

It’s fuck and please and every other little pliant utterance of “fuck my brains out, use me, make me beg, I'm so turned on right now I'll let you fuck me anyway you want - harder, faster, I can do whatever, just show me how, make me, push and fuck me hard until I'm raw and aching - god - like this, let me cum, please, let me - keep fucking going, oh my god, please, like this, fuck, just like this-"

You do thank God, actually - there's mirrors everywhere in this room, and you can catch the circular swing of her tits every time you force a curse and a sigh out of her: the bared teeth and the effort to push herself back on her arms, bracing for every thrust, fighting and fumbling to keep her balance and to make sure you have to pound her into the mattress until her cries reach a pitch.

Then, the thing you'd learned she'd never ask for but oh-so-dearly-wanted - you open your palm and bring it down hard on her backside. The impact of your flesh to hers, a crack, a moan and her whole body flexes - and it's then you do it again: matching the hit to the visible red outline of your handprint. The third time, she hisses, biting into the bed sheets so as not to cry out.

"Right? This is what you want? To be fucked and used?"

She doesn't reply with words, because she may in fact be biting her teeth into the cotton threadcount at the end of the bed, but she lifts her ass higher, angles her hips like she's waiting for more. Her brow is creased in a smile, even though a frustrated groan escapes her lips - so you give her that again, and again, until the back of her thighs are turning red and she's clawing one hand back along the length of your legs - pushing and pulling.

"You want me to fuck you senseless, sweetheart?"

And then, so needy and desperate she's just saying the first word that come to mind:

"More-"

"-when I've been railing into you so hard and your husband probably knows already, has to have seen, maybe he's listening at the door- oh," and your whole train of thought comes to a sudden halt upon seeing Hyewon's hand land on the perfect round of her ass, fingers pulling her soft, reddening skin taut, up and away from where your cock is disappearing between her cheeks - to allow more of your shaft into her hot, wet cunt - allow you to fuck her and fuck her up - allow the length of your shaft to slide deeper and hit all the spots that will send her reeling into this orgasm and the next.

Your gaze is stuck however, not to her curves rippling in excess, the damage of your thrusts pounding her body to ruin, or the look of flawless pleasure twisting up the pretty features of Hyewon's reflection, but instead it's the fucking flash and catch of the diamond that adorns her fourth finger. Even when you have her completely helpless, bent on your mercy, she's still wearing that promise, that intention to have and to hold, and you think, for at least a second, this whole roleplay thing isn't the worst idea: being a surrogate to fulfill someone's wildest fantasies. It might even be enough to make you hard all over again - the thrill and the debasement of your girl, lines quickly blurring between the Hyewon you'll take home and put back together and the Hyewon you're fucking pouding into a mattress - the here and now.

"Fuck, Hyewon," you find yourself swearing - steadying the hips rolling back in your palms, bending down until the flat of your chest meets her back, until your nose is in her hair, the long strands sticking to her lips and the back of her ears. Until you feel her shaking as you suckle against her skin, at her neck, hot kisses between the shoulder blades, finding a grip in her hands. Her grip in yours - as she's muffling these exquisite, needy sounds; she is perfect. Hyewon is perfect.

The first time you cum, it's this hot splatter of white: smeared across her ass and the crease of her lower back. It feels almost dirty to think that's just how you feel about it; your heart is stuttering in its erratic pace, but your eyes are drawn and enraptured, the sight of it all.

Then second, maybe your favorite: when she slips her hand to your aching shaft and simply takes you back inside her. This soft, wet, inviting heat that pulls you back to her.

"God- please," her head tips back, you feel the arch of her back through her ribs and stomach, the way her breath catches as you slide your cock through her creamed-out-cunt so much harder and smoother. "It feels so fucking good, baby," and there are tears now, welling in the corner of her eyes, "don't stop, God don't ever stop-"

She can barely finish her sentence before she's cut off, a moan ripped from the bottom of her lungs and a gasp straight from the pain-pleasure that has your balls slapping against her pussy every other stroke. And suddenly she's sitting, or rather, squirming into your arms, her face buried in your shoulders as she starts riding you, and not-quite crying and saying again - again, the whole filthy lot of things: about her wanting you to fill her, to plug her up with your cock. Every thrust she whines in your ears, clutching onto the fabric of your shirt and making a mess of herself in you.

It's this wild and reckless thing that makes its way around the room, on every surface and bit of furniture. You fuck her over the counter, let her ride you on the sofa, the chair, the two of you managing to find some sort of assistance in the wall even, the door frame, her legs up your sides and the slippery-sticky-heat of your mouths connecting and everything that isn't exactly meant to support that kind of strain buckling and nearly giving way - once when the wooden joints in the door-frame shift, once when she begs for release in that frantic voice that doesn't sound a thing like her. And the way she comes apart under you after, on top of you - is even sweeter; you imagine there's this endless possibility for love, for pleasure, a whole world in bundled in the notion that you could do it for her again, that it was always a question of Hyewon letting you have her that way, and the rest was mere foreplay - a stretch.

Only, on the bed again, Hyewon shivers beneath you, this full-body response, and you've got her stretched as she opens up - that the slightest of movements has her already whimpering out "fuck," and "please," and "right there," and "fuck you're going to make me come like this. You're so good, just fucking," and "more, harder, please, you feel so fucking good-"

The desperation for release is so palpable in her that it's curling into your stomach as your press Hyewon's knees into the points and edges of her shoulders and fold in her half - this perfect angle of leverage. Fucking her like she's yours and no one else's - the absolute delight of her cunt, wet, hot, and desperate to milk you empty - her body quaking at the force of each thrust, and the hungry grind of your hips into hers. Her fingers digging and knotting in the sheets around you until her knuckles pale, and your own grasp on her skin threatens to bruise.

"Inside me," she gasps out, because she can feel that edge just as well as you, "I want you to fill me, just cum inside, God, you always feel so amazing, fuck, like that, cum inside me, cum in me-"

"How could I say no, especially when you ask so sweetly," you tell her, kissing into her smile, "can you take another? Baby, look at me, look into my eyes, yeah? Look right back at me."

Her eyes blink and roll back a bit, almost losing focus and her eyelashes flutter - the creases in her brow, the elegant lines of her face locking up in the overwhelming tension, then, a peak.

And a demand, meekly asking you to fill her up. Until there's nothing left. "Cum," Hyewon moans, "for the love of fuck-"

You push her past her climax until she's practically weeping, sobbing through a litany of nonsense and slurred, unfinished sentences and almost howls, struggling beneath your weight and coaxing her fingers over the surge at the base of your spine. Before a hot liquid mess bursts out of you, into the deepest reach of Hyewon's throbbing cunt - cumming inside her, while you hold her down, not allowing her to move as your hips lock and you're both left groaning in utter agony.

(This was the thing you'd told her once - cumming inside her was almost always worth the effort it took to clean it all back out. You like the possessive aspect of it, maybe the slight humiliation, and more than anything, she'll just melt: once she's gone past the immediate discomfort. If anyone could really learn to get off on feeling a little filthy, it's the two of you. And she knows that too, Hyewon's eager little pout intimates, as she blinks down to watch where the two of you connect.)

You don't say much for the next while. If there's a line where this particular escapade blends back into your normal life, where the Hyewon curled up in the sheets is your own girl and not some half-conceived entity that didn't fit the reality of the rest of the evening, or how you see Hyewon everyday, even then, it’s not clear.

She's utterly boneless - this fragile, dazed thing that runs her palms all the way around her breasts and pulls up her stockings a little further up the line of her hips, as if you weren't going to peel them back and slip them all the way off when you had the wherewithal to handle it. But the strength in her isn't entirely lost either, she looks ready to burst: this air of pride and smugness - victory, right in her grin, which isn't totally surprising. Hyewon usually gets an odd satisfaction out of your participation in whatever hedonistic or obscene thing it is she wants to try.

This was her fantasy - maybe not a deeply rooted or unattainable one, but she'd worked out some kinks of hers and has walked away a far better woman for it, knowing what a sight she is to you. Like this.

"That was... fun," Hyewon eventually says, collecting articles of clothing strewn about the room.

Her shoes are one of two sets in the shoe-rack, but she'll have to look around and under the bed to find her dress. It would probably be some strange level of easy to play dumb and wait until she comes to the conclusion on her own that she should bend down and check down there, but she looks a little too worn out to really be interested in her clothes, more like, ready for the next part.

"We should do it again," her gaze lands, intent, and serious, back to you.

"Which part?" you have to ask, because you're probably still, a little slow on the uptake.

A small laugh, the sly smirk to herself; she knows she has you wrapped so perfectly around her finger, ready to bend to whatever game she can come up with: "whichever part you like."

[vigilskeep]

why the kirkwall chantry is dedicated to hessarian, and why that gives us more than just a cooler name for it with a sexy accusatory nickname for anders in there somewhere: an illustrated guide!

(wait, wait, please remind me who hessarian even is, i hear you ask. hessarian was the tevinter archon who ordered andraste’s execution on the pyre. but struck with guilt at the last minute, he mercifully (i GUESS) killed andraste with a sword rather than let her suffer in the fire. he converted to andrastianism a decade later and took the rest of the imperium with him. he’s really popular in tevinter because, you know, he kind of improves their whole role in the story, and the chantry there likes to think he’s the most important disciple. you may recognise him from being one of the spirits in the urn of sacred ashes gauntlet, from the lore behind the blade of mercy gift for fenris, and the ‘blades of hessarian’ group on the storm coast in inquisition.)

okay, let’s first get the basics down: why do i think the kirkwall chantry is dedicated to hessarian? merrill, our glamorous tour guide to andrastian nonsense, is going to show us why

here’s merrill examing the architecture of the kirkwall chantry. and it’s covered in this guy!

how do we know this guy is hessarian? let’s compare it to some other, canonical andrastion depictions of the latecomer disciple. hessarian is typically depicted with some type of crown or headwear to demonstrate his status in tevinter, robes to denote him as a mage, a long beard probably also symbolic of tevinter culture at the time, and, of course, his blade of mercy. we can see all of these on the figure repeatedly shown in and outside the kirkwall chantry, as well as a certain similarity in the face to the other depictions.

here’s another variant of how the kirkwall chantry depicts the blade of mercy! these are Everywhere, including right over the doors.

and here’s more variants of the same figure inside. he’s carrying some kind of incense burner instead of a sword here, but it’s clearly the same face with the same crown and that classic hessarian beard. note his position of power flanking the enormous andraste figure.

so... why does that matter? isn’t it just a repeated asset?

no, it’s CRAZY actually. and here’s a couple reasons why!

(fascinated by genitivi’s word choice of glitzy mansions, btw.)

firstly, the kirkwall chantry’s dedication to hessarian’s figure is one of the biggest markers that it, along with the gallows and the darkspawn, is a legacy of tevinter. as i said, he’s the favourite there. kirkwall was once emerius under tevinter’s rule, and from the moment we see the weeping twins that welcome you into the city, we’re supposed to remember that the city of chains has not changed all that much. just as emerius’ prisons now incarcerate mages, its industry is now powered by refugees, and the worst parts of its lowtown hold elves probably just as they once did, its magisters’ estates continue to hold the most powerful voices in the city: in this case, that of the chantry and grand cleric elthina. the hessarian statues that demonstrate the chantry’s wealth and power are inarguably either tevinter made or at least made in their style, with such similarity to the statues of slaves that terrorise the gallows courtyard. hightown is no more free of that inheritance than the circle.

secondly, the focus on hessarian can’t be an accident in dragon age 2, a game obsessed with the mercy kill. “without an end, there can be no peace,” says flemeth. somebody has to kill wesley rather than watch him turn into a ghoul. anders has to kill karl. hawke possibly has to kill their other sibling if they catch the taint in the deep roads. varric can kill bartrand when he goes insane. killing the serial killer of elven children rather than letting his madness continue is one of the most universally approved decisions in the game. in her last words, leandra thanks you for ending the mage keeping her alive with twisted necromancy, even if, and especially because, it means the end of her suffering in death. merrill has to kill a possessed keeper marethari. many more can be killed for being “too dangerous” to live, like the blood mage idunna. orsino is slain by hawke after transforming into a monster he would never have wanted to be. there’s probably a dozen more examples i can think of. and of course, in one of the most game-defining decisions hawke has to make, there’s the option to kill anders after the destruction of the kirkwall chantry. merciful is not the word i would use for that, but it has certainly been framed that way. i suppose that’s the same as what i think of hessarian’s actions, isn’t it? (we’re focusing on the andrastian relevance here and not the godawful treatment of mentally ill people in this game, btw, although. yikes.)

“don’t compare yourself to andraste,” says sebastian to anders. he could try telling the game that. hawke gets cast into a lot of roles, but when anders believes they will kill him, he’s casting himself as the martyred andraste, dying to burn rebellion into the face of thedas, and hawke as his hessarian, quick with the merciful blade. i suppose it’s fitting that the kirkwall chantry should be consecrated in the image of its champion. and that the chantry covered in that image gets destroyed moments before hawke makes their choice, if they decide to make a different one. it’s also worth mentioning that meredith is a mimic of andraste, too, with her stolen crown, making anders and meredith obvious combatants for andraste’s legacy in the game. hawke doesn’t get much command of the narrative, but maybe they can at least dodge being anders’ hessarian, if they choose.

idk i think it’s really fucking cool and we should talk about it more, basically! there’s a lot of other angles to take. hessarian is such a fun lore figure to explore. for example, i didn’t even get into the prominence of an andrastian mage figure here, or that the blade of mercy is the symbol of the templar order and was invoked even earlier, in dao, as the “blade of mercy” by traumatised mages who desperately sought to be purified by the templars’ judgement.

also, i think ‘the chantry of hessarian’s mercy’ sounds good. maybe ‘the chantry of our lady’s spilled blood’? that could be sexy. whatever. i’m workshopping it

[redditreceipts]

so I've gotten the following ask from @glitzy-dynamite:

so obviously I'm not going to share the link (which leads to a video of Hamas fighters abusing and terrorising Israeli women), because this is not a gore blog

First of all, I did not choose any sides. This is not a football game. I have said time and time again that I consider Hamas to be a violent islamist organisation which is also homophobic and misogynistic. I am not a fan of any Abrahamic faith as I consider them to be inherently patriarchal.

The rest of the ask is just delusion imo. "Where is the video of the female hostages??" - Why am I required to post a video of a person suffering to acknowledge their suffering? What kind of standard is that?? i have shared one somewhat violent video once, and I have come to regret it and haven't done so since.

"maybe it's fake and Israeli women are lying about rape and torture and everything?" Literally when have I ever said that. After your hallucination of me having supported Hamas, now you imagine that I have accused Israeli women of fabricating their stories. No. I don't think that they have. That's why I never said that lol. On October ninth, I read the UN report on the women's situation in Palestine and made a post about how patriarchal islamist structures are the greatest oppressors of Palestinian women, besides the Israeli government. I have not changed my opinion on that and if you informed yourself, you'd know that

And lastly, you ask me how I can call myself a "radical feminist" if I support the people of Palestine. And I'll tell you; it's easy.

I am a feminist because I believe that gender is a social construct designed to divide and subjugate a certain group of people (women).

I believe that religion is a social construct designed to divide and subjugate a certain group of people (the "non-believers" to whatever religion you believe in).

I believe that nationality is a social construct designed to divide and subjugate a certain group of people (the "stateless", i.e. the Palestinians in this situation).

I believe that race is a social construct designed to divide and subjugate a certain group of people (the "non-whites")

So yeah, how about you, @glitzy-dynamite, consider leaving your ideological bubble and seek help for your persecutory delusion, so we'd be able to have an actual conversation about things that people have actually said, and not just something that you've dreamt or made up in your head

[elryuse]

Would you mind writing a Yandere CL oneshot?

DANGEROUS GAME

YANDERE CL X MALE READER

In the glitzy world of K-pop, CL was a rising star, adored by fans for her angelic voice and captivating performances. Yet, behind her radiant smile lay a dark obsession that consumed her every waking moment.

Her fixation? A young trainee named Y/n, whose raw talent and innocent charm had caught her eye from the moment he stepped into the company.

"Annyeonghaseyo... I'm Park Y/n...please train me well CL sunbae".

"Oh wow... You look young.. How old are you"?

"Uhmm this year I'll be 19 years old".

"Wow that is really impressive Y/n".

"Thanks a lot Sunbae.. I promise I will train hard and debut with success".

"Well you should start training now".

"Of course sunbaee".

At first, CL was merely assigned to mentor him, guiding him through his rigorous training regimen with patience and encouragement.

But as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, CL found herself drawn to Y/n in ways she couldn't comprehend. His shy smile, his earnest dedication to his craft, ignited a fire within her that she couldn't extinguish.

"Y/n, I think you're training too hard.. You look really tired.. Why don't you rest for a while hmm? Let's eat something nice".

"I don't really think, I should do that Sunbae.. I mean.. Jisoo Sunbae and Jennie sunbae gonna kill me if I do that".

"Bsh... They won't know. Cmon.. I'll treat you to some nice Korean Barbeque".

"W-well.. If it's a Korean Barbeque.... Fine.. I'll go".

"See that wasn't that hard right"?

Obsession slowly morphed into infatuation, and infatuation into love. CL's every thought revolved around Jae, her desire to possess him consuming her every waking moment. She couldn't bear the thought of him belonging to anyone else but her.

"Y/n, Do you want to eat with me.. I'm free at 9 tonight".

"I can't Sunbae.. Jennie Noona and Lisa Noona is asking me out to have some tteokbokki".

"Wait what!? Jennie? Lisa? Why are you going out with them"?

"Well they said, They were sorry for treating me pretty harshly.. So yeah.. Free Tteokbokki I guess.. Hehe".

"But what about me? I want to eat with you too".

"Aww sunbae we can do it tomorrow right".

"Still.. I hate it".

"Calm down Sunbae.. You're not my GF... I'll text you later okay.. ".

"Wait.. Y/n".

Determined to make Y/n hers, CL resorted to drastic measures. She sabotaged his interactions with other trainees, spreading rumors and planting seeds of doubt to isolate him from the outside world. She showered him with gifts and attention, manipulating his emotions until he became utterly dependent on her.

"What Are you doing here Sunbae... You're bothering my Training session".

"We need to go.. We've been missing out on all the fun lately.. ".

"Sunbae.. I need to focus.. I'm about to debut.. Stop acting like my GF... Cause we're not dating".

"..... ".

"Look... We can do it later Sunbae.. Just not right now".

"Why? Why can't we do it.. Yet you always did it with the others.. Jennie... Lisa.. Rosé... Why... Tell me why.. Why do you pick them more than me... I cared for you the most.. ".

"Sunbae.. They're just my sunbae too. Just like you too".

".... So that's it? After I gave you so much"??

"Look I'm sorry.. But I'm busy Sunbae.. ".

"You're playing a dangerous game Park Y/n....you better watch out.. ".

But as her obsession deepened, so did her desperation. CL's once bright facade began to crack, revealing the darkness that lurked beneath. She would stop at nothing to make Y/n hers, even if it meant destroying everything and everyone in her path.

As CL's grip on reality slipped further, Y/n began to sense the danger that surrounded him. But by then, it was too late. Trapped in CL's web of obsession, he could only watch helplessly as she descended into madness, her love transforming into something far more sinister.

In the end, CL's love for Y/n would consume them both, leaving behind nothing but a trail of broken hearts and shattered dreams. For in the twisted world of idols and trainees, sometimes love was the deadliest melody of all.

"I'm Gonna Kill you... If I can't have you. You're mine Y/n...I've known you longer than all of this whore...".

THE END

[dcbtv]

Title: The Best People in Life are Free

Author: You-cant-spell-subtext-without, DoctorProfessorSong

Artist: Nat

Songs (by era)

Midnights: Antihero

Speak Now: Haunted

Singles: Eyes Open (Hunger Games Soundtrack)

Reputation: Getaway Car

Fearless: White Horse

Debut: Picture to Burn

Evermore: Champagne Problems

Folklore: This is me Trying

Red: All Too Well (10 Min Version)

Lover: Daylight

1989: New Romantics

Posting date: October 2, 2023

Rating: Explicit

Any archive warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Top 10 main tags: Brothel AU, monsters are real, monsterfucking, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, special kids reimagined, blood freak Sammy, Demon Dean Winchester, wing kink, y’all should probably just assume there are references to a lot of kinks actually, it is a brothel

Summary

Strip clubs aren't the only business that runs on daddy issues. Welcome to the Den of Iniquity, the premiere brothel in Port Charles, where you can get service with a smile and a hell of a show - but the main attraction is Dean Winchester, a saucy and sassy courtesan hiding his family tragedies and shattered literary dreams with smooth moves and a give-em-hell attitude.

When President Shurley asks his formerly estranged son Cas to go undercover at the Den, he's less than equipped for success - down to his desperate cover story that he's a playwright despite knowing nothing about writing.

However, he finds himself significantly more enthusiastic after he meets Dean - who harbors a deep poet's soul beneath the surface of his glitzy work persona. They awaken the Muse - and each other, both on and beyond the brothel stage.

But Dean and Cas are both harboring secrets that threaten the precarious joy they've managed to find, and external forces in Port Charles may threaten any chance they have at both future and freedom. Will all be lost? Or will the show, as always, go on? Grab your lube, mind the tags, and join us for a spectacular musical journey we're all making up as we go.

Author tumblr: @doctorprofessorsong @you-cant-spell-subtext-without

Link to Fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50418625/chapters/127388140

Artist tumblr: @milfycas

Link to Art: https://www.tumblr.com/milfycas/730109814503604224/here-is-my-art-submission-for-the-dcbtv-2023?source=share

[dameronscopilot]

Pretending (or not)

Cassian Andor x reader

Summary: Given Cassian's perpetual distaste for all things merry and festive, his offer to be your fake date for your company's holiday party is surprising, to say the least.

Word Count: 1.3k

Content: modern au, fluff, fake dating, first kiss

Prompt: Fake dating for a work holiday party + confessing feelings

DECK THE HALLS MASTERLIST

Cassian Andor is not a fan of Christmas.

He hates the commercialized commodification of it all.

He hates the bustling madness of the city in the weeks leading up to the holiday.

He hates the soul-crushing anxiety of gift shopping and the unrealistic expectations that accompany it.

He hates the explosion of glitzy decor that decks every hall and the endlessly cheery music that he can’t seem to escape. 

And it’s this knowledge that makes his presence at your side now at your work’s holiday party completely and utterly baffling.

–

Last week, Cassian, Bix, and Brasso were gathered in your living room with several boxes of pizza spread out across your coffee table and a movie playing in the background. After peeling away a stray mushroom that had found its way onto the slice in your hands, you’d groaned as your phone screen lit up with an email reminder about the party in question. 

“I thought you said Luthen throws great parties, aren’t you usually excited?” Bix had asked.

At that, you’d told them all about your coworker that, as of late, is utterly incapable of taking the hint that you simply aren’t interested in conversing with him, much less spending time with him outside of work. You’ve yet to find a moment to inform your boss of what a bother the man has become, and thus you weren’t keen on subjecting yourself to an entire extracurricular evening in his vicinity. You’d resigned yourself to the only surefire avoidance tactic: skipping the event entirely. 

And then Cassian had suddenly spoken four words that left the room's occupants silent for a beat—

“I’ll come with you.”

Brasso had choked on his drink mid-sip, and Bix turned down the volume on the television as she gaped at him. 

Despite the fact that everyone in the room was entirely certain that Cassian would never be caught dead at a Christmas party, much less any other festive gathering, he had the gall to shrug as he took in the surprise on the faces surrounding him.

Snatching the abandoned piece of crust on your plate as he often did, he'd taken a bite and shrugged, swallowing before adding, “Well, you need a fake date, right?”

–

The sounds of partygoers animatedly talking and laughing bounce off of the museum’s high ceilings, which are strung to and fro with an exorbitant amount of garland, bows, and soft white lights. You steal a glance over at Cassian, who’s ignoring the assortment of alcohol-fueled, holiday-themed games in the boardroom that the rest of the guests are flocking to in favor of observing a new exhibit that was installed earlier in the month.

Given that he’s far too absorbed reading the placard for the antique biplane roped off in front of him, you let your gaze linger longer than usual on his form for once. You’ve always appreciated Cassian’s rugged winter look—his hair long with rogue, wayward strands and a full, glorious beard adorning his face. After you assured him that he by no means needed to dress up this evening, he’d opted for a dark green flannel shirt that you’d given him for his birthday last year. Paired with black pants that hug his thighs far too well and his brown leather boots that you hardly ever see him without, Cassian just looks really fucking good. 

And well, he always looks good.

It’s something that you can’t help but notice, regardless of how desperately hard you try to tamper down the way you feel about him. They’re feelings that fizz out of control like a shaken bottle of soda at times like these, threatening to come pouring out—gravity be damned—should you lose your precarious grip on the lid.

Distracted by your own thoughts, you nearly jump at the feeling of a hand wrapping snugly around your waist. And though you begin to relax when you realize it’s just Cassian, you immediately tense up again at the warmth that crawls up your spine in reaction to the way his fingertips press into your hip bone through the fabric of your dress. 

“That’s him, right?”

Your breath hitches in your throat when Cassian brings his lips to the shell of your ear to ask you the question, his breath hot against your skin. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot Syril Karn, who’s predictably overdressed as he begins to make his way over to you.

“Yep,” you groan quietly, tone laced with dread.

“Look at me,” Cassian murmurs, letting his fingers skate across the curve of your jaw.

Silent warning bells echo in your head as you turn to him, heart leaping at his close proximity when his nose brushes against yours. It would be far too easy to ki—

Cassian beats you to the punch, his mouth seeking yours out in a slow, tender kiss that sets your insides alight, your nerve endings tingling as his hand slides down the side of your neck, his thumb brushing over your skin in a gentle caress. 

Your hand finds its way to one of the pockets on the front of his shirt, your fingertips pressing into the cool metal button holding down the flap. Momentarily forgetting that this is all a festive ruse, your mind reels at the feeling of Cassian’s tongue darting out to meet the seam of your lips, and you fist your hand in the material, pulling him closer. He cups the back of your head in return, his soft lips sliding against yours for another moment before you’re interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat, followed by your name.

The two of you break apart, and you will the erratic beating of your heart to slow as you turn to glance at Syril, though your face heats up as you feel Cassian take one of your hands, threading his fingers into yours.

"Syril," you acknowledge him evenly.

“I’m pleased you could make it, I know last week you said you weren’t certain about your plans for the evening,” Syril observes, straightening his collar, though it’s already ironed stiffly enough to poke someone’s eye out. 

“Oh. Yeah, it ended up working out. This is Cassian, by the way.” You awkwardly gesture to Cassian, placing a hand on his shoulder. 

Syril nods in his direction. “Ah, are you a friend?”

Cassian stiffens beside you. “Boyfriend, actually.”

He tries to hide it, but Syril blanches for a split second, though he quickly composes himself, clasping his hands together. “How lovely. Is this...new?”

On the drive over, you’d come up with a vague story about getting together recently, if anyone were to ask. But just as you go to open your mouth to tell Syril exactly that, Cassian interrupts, “Not at all. It’s been a few years, actually.”

Syril’s clearly deflated at this point, shoulders drooping, and after another few minutes of failed small talk, he mumbles an excuse to make himself scarce, ambling away in the opposite direction. 

You turn to Cassian, almost annoyed by how easily it had been to ward off Syril in comparison to every other overbearing interaction you’ve ever had with him—as if your lack of interest alone wasn’t enough of a valid reason without the addition of a fake relationship. Crossing your arms, you’re on the verge of griping about it, but the words die on your lips when you catch the odd look on his face.

“I can’t pretend anymore,” he breathes out.

Your heart sinks. “I’m sorry if that made you uncomfortable, we can go—”

“That’s not what I mean.”

Cassian takes your hand, running his thumb over your knuckles, and he continues, “I can’t keep lying to myself about the way I feel about you.”

You sway slightly on your feet. Carefully, you ask, “And…how do you feel about me?”

He leans in, his chest brushing against yours as he brings a tentative hand up to the side of your face. “I want to kiss you when nobody’s watching, too. I want this to be real.”

His mouth hovers near yours, a breath away. Waiting.

“It is,” you whisper, a tidal wave of emotions thrumming in your chest as you close the distance between your lips and his.

—

Comments, reblogs, and/or asks are always appreciated!

» CASSIAN ANDOR MASTERLIST

[whatstruthgottodowithit]

Here You Come Again [Part Ten]

Fandom: Elvis Presley, RPF, American Actor

Pairing: Elvis Presley x Original Female Character

Characters: Elvis Presley, Addison Goodwin, Original Female Characters, Priscilla Presley, Colonel Tom Parker, Vernon Presley, Gladys Presley, Minnie Mae Presley, Marci Cunningham, Jerry Schilling, Red West, Sonny West, Marty Lacker, Joe Esposito, Charlie Hodge, Lamar Fike, Alan Fortas, George Klein, Memphis Mafia

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 9792

Summary: When Addison Goodwin was seventeen years old her life was turned inside out after a chance encounter with her past. Now, fifteen years later her life is the best it’s ever been. She has a home, a good job and a daughter she loves more than anything in the world but will all that remain when an old familiar face rolls into town.

Tags: Angst, Fluff, Graceland, Las Vegas, The International Hotel, Elvis In Vegas, 1970s, 1970s Elvis, Friends To Lovers, Rekindled Romance, Parenting, Time Line is Sketchy, Guilt, Betrayal, Teenage Pregnancy, Hawaii, Hidden Pregnancy, Jealousy, Sex, Absence of Parent, Single Motherhood, Trauma, Oral Sex, Tension, Swearing

Notes: DING DONG THE WITCH IS DEAD

LINK TO ALL PARTS // LINK TO AO3 // LINK TO PINTEREST

When Addison awoke on Monday morning she was tired, though she didn’t see how that was possible since the night before she had crashed into bed and slept for a solid eight hours, yet that was only because her body could take no more. She’d spent all of Saturday night awake, lying in bed, staring at the ceiling as she went over everything in her mind.

She wondered what the Colonel had said. He would’ve no doubt put two and two together by now and she wouldn’t have been surprised if he had stormed into Elvis’ dressing room and demand he stopped seeing them. She wondered if he would listen. Her mind had screamed at her that of course he wouldn’t. She had seen the how he felt about Jess, and he had assured her that this time there was no keeping them apart, but still she worried. The Colonel was too good at this game even now, she was sure of it. It had been why she hadn’t bothered to fight it in the first place and why she had been desperate for him not to know about Jess. She worried about the havoc it would play on her daughter, especially since she and Elvis seemed to be thriving.

If Jess had noticed something was off about her mother she hadn’t said anything though that could’ve been because the pair of them had spent most of Sunday apart. Given the amount of time Jess was spending out of the house she had plenty of schoolwork to catch up on and seeing that she was preoccupied Addison had busied herself tidying and doing laundry in a hope to keep her mind off the situation, not that it worked much.

So, on Monday when she rolled out of bed and trotted downstairs she made a beeline for the coffee machine, switching it on with a yawn. As she looked out of the window, frowning at how long the lawn was looking despite the winter weather, she heard a knock at the door. It struck her as odd but she headed to it all the same and when she opened it she found Elvis standing on her doorstep.

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, perplexed at the sight of him.

‘Good morning to you too,’ he smirked.

‘Morning,’ she said, leaning on the door as she looked at him. He was dressed in a simple green shirt and pants though it was offset by a large belt and thick jacket. It was different from the glitzy outfit he had been sporting when she had last seen him but still very him, ‘now can I ask what you’re doing here?’

‘I thought we could have breakfast,’ he said, holding a bag up beside his head.

‘You’re gonna make breakfast?’ she asked narrowing her eyes.

‘I said have breakfast not make,’ he said with a smirk and as he lowered the bag she smelled the scent of pancakes and syrup wafting into the hallway. He lingered on the step waiting for her to give the go-ahead and though she was unsure and still a little drained from the other night she found she couldn’t say no. More than that she didn’t want to.

‘Well in that case,’ she said with a smile moving backwards so that he could go inside where he automatically headed for the kitchen. She followed him, watching as he placed his coat on a chair at the kitchen table and started to unload things from the bag. She couldn’t believe just how comfortable he had become in her space in such a small amount of time. Even more so she couldn’t believe how the thing she had never wanted to picture for fear it would hurt too much actually looked okay now that it was in front of her.

‘Where’s Jess?’ he asked as he placed another container down on the table.

‘In bed,’ Addison said.

‘Doesn’t she have school?’ he asked though he knew given it was a weekday she would. Addison smirked, making his brows knit together, ‘what?’

‘Oh nothing,’ she said, coming to stand by the table so she could peruse all he had brought to offer, ‘it’s just you’ve only seen sweet saint-like Jess up to now. You’ve never seen six am get up for school Jess.’

‘That bad?’ Elvis chuckled as she picked up a piece of bacon and took a bite.

‘Let’s just say she might be a tad mellower if she knows she’s coming down to food,’ Addison said.

‘A girl after my own heart,’ Elvis smiled.

‘Oh, she’s one hundred per cent her father’s daughter,’ Addison chuckled, heading out of the kitchen. At that Elvis’ heart fluttered. It was an odd thing to see pieces of yourself in your children and though she was a lot like Addison he was glad to know there were bits of him in there too.

Elvis moved around the kitchen heading to the cabinets to get a couple of plates out before he opened various containers and then slipped into a chair. He hadn’t really thought about getting a meal per se. Instead, he just got a bit of everything and now he was looking at it all he was sure they could’ve fed a small country if they really wanted to. He heard Addison shout up the stairs towards Jess’ room and then she reappeared taking a seat opposite him.

‘No luck?’ he chuckled.

‘Oh, I'd say we’ve got about fifteen minutes before she comes down. Half an hour until she’s completely awake,’ Addison said leaning forward to put some pancakes on her plate.

‘Looks like we’ll have to amuse ourselves huh?’ Elvis chuckled, taking a couple of pieces of bacon onto his own.

‘Looks like,’ she said, ‘you want coffee?’

‘Sure,’ he said watching her as she got up and went to the coffee machine. When she came back she placed it down in front of him and slipped back into her seat. Whilst she immediately went back to what she was eating he took a sip, smiling to himself as he realised he hadn’t even had to ask her to make it the way he liked it, she had remembered.

‘What has got you all smiley?’ she said watching him curiously.

‘Nuthin’,’ he said. Her eyes narrowed but she didn’t comment on it, instead she took a bite of a pancake and then said, ‘so how did yesterday go?’

‘Huh?’ he asked with a sudden worry in his gut as his mind flashed to the Colonel.

‘Lisa went home, right?’ she said.

‘Oh that,’ he said, ‘it went fine. Cilla met us at the airport and picked her up.’

‘You okay?’ she asked watching him. He paused for a minute as he thought about it. On the whole he was. It wasn’t as if he had always gotten to spend every day with his daughter, his life never permitted it, but since he and Priscilla had split it had felt a whole lot different.

‘It is what it is,’ he shrugged.

‘Still, it must suck,’ she said. He could tell she wasn’t goading him because he could hear genuine sympathy in her voice. It made him feel comforted.

‘Yeah, it does,’ he said honestly, ‘I mean it’s not so bad when I’m not workin’ y’know? I can see her more often then… still, I feel like I miss a lot.’

‘If it makes you tell any better I’m sure she knows you’d be there if you could,’ she said with a smile, ‘it’s like when I used to have to stay with you and your mama. Just because my dad wasn’t there doesn’t mean I didn’t know he loved me.’

‘Yeah, you’re right,’ he said with a smile.

They fell quiet for a moment, Addison nibbled on a piece of pancake whilst Elvis sipped his coffee. A question was burning on the tip of her tongue, longing to be asked. After a minute she decided to go for it.

‘So, when are you going home?’ she asked keeping her eyes down as she mustered the most casual tone she could. The question took him off guard but he cleared his throat and answered all the same.

‘Haven’t decided yet,’ he said which made her look up at him, ‘this run finishes at the end of the week but I was planning on staying around for a while…if you guys don’t mind.’

‘Of course not,’ Addison said a little too eagerly. She couldn’t believe how in a few short weeks she had become accustomed to him being there or how much she thought she might miss him once he was gone.

‘Good, I don’t have anything set in stone yet I figured we could play it by ear,’ he said.

‘Yeah,’ she agreed. He had been nervous to broach the subject of him leaving but the conversation was going well so he couldn’t help himself.

‘And if you don’t mind I’d really like it if Jess could come to Memphis at some point,’ he said watching her face closely. It flickered with uncertainty but after a deep breath she said, ‘she’d like that.’

‘We’d work around school and everything. She’s got spring break or whatever right? Maybe then?’ 

‘Yeah, sounds good,’ she smiled unable to stop herself as she could see just how hard he was trying to accommodate her ‘rules’.

‘And…you could come too. If you wanted,’ he said.

‘I don't know,’ she said nervously. The thought of going home had been playing on her mind for a while. It had been easy to get accustomed to him in her world but going home would mean stepping right back into his and she wasn’t sure how ready she was for that.

‘You don’t have to decide right now,’ Elvis said, ‘but I’d like you to. Both of you. And I know Dodger would love to see you, Mary too.’

It was a tactical move on his part and though both of them knew it neither of them said anything. He could see it weighing on her, the apprehension on her face but after a moment she said, ‘I’d like to see them too.’

‘Who are we seeing?’ Jess asked as she strolled into the kitchen in her pyjamas. She looked as though she was still half asleep but she went through the motions of sitting down without any issue.

‘Grandma Dodger,’ Elvis said making her look at him a little more awake than before, ‘your mom and I were just discussing you coming to Memphis at some point.’

‘Really?’ she asked excitedly.

‘Not just yet,’ Addison said making her smile dim.

‘Yeah,’ Elvis said jumping in, ‘I’ve still got work and things and you have school but soon. I mean if you want to.’

‘Of course I do,’ Jess said. In fact, she had been thinking about it a lot. She wondered what it would feel like to see the place her mother had once called home. To enter truly into her father’s world instead of the one that was half theirs and half his.

'Well, we can iron all the details out later,' Elvis said. Jess nodded and picked up her fork, cutting a piece of bacon up with the side of it before she popped it into her mouth. If she had been sleepy before she was wide awake now as the prospect of going to Memphis rattled around her brain. They talked for a while, eating breakfast at a leisurely pace until Addison glanced at her watch and saw it was later than anticipated.

‘Shit look at the time,’ she said getting the attention of Elvis and Jess in an instant.

‘What is it?' Elvis asked.

‘8:20,’ she said looking at Jess, ‘honey go and get dressed.’

‘Okay,’ Jess said though she looked a touch disheartened at having to leave their little soiree. As she left the kitchen Addison stood up, gathering plates and containers so she could start clearing them away. Elvis immediately started to help.

'You okay?' he asked, noting her frantic look as she tried to get everything put where it should be.

'Yeah fine,' she said, 'I just lost track of time. Jess is gonna be late for school and I'm gonna be late for work. I need to get this tidy-'

'Why don’t I take Jess to school?' he asked making her stop and look at him.

'What?' she asked.

'It makes sense,' he reasoned, 'the hospital is the other direction of Jess' school.'

'I don’t know,' Addison replied biting her lip, 'I mean what if someone sees you.'

'I'm not gonna get out the car. And they won’t be able to see much anyway. Besides she's gonna be late as it is so I doubt there'll be many people around and I could even drop her off down the street if you wanted,' Elvis said. She seemed to be debating it but as she checked her watch again, she nodded.

'Just don’t go signing any autographs at the school gates, okay?' she asked with a glint of a smirk playing on her face.

'I think I learned my lesson the last time I did that if you remember,' he said with a smirk that made her stomach flutter as a memory popped in her head of Elvis the first time Elvis attempted to pick her up from school much to her annoyance. Addison rolled her eyes and moved to continue to tidy up with Elvis' help though a minute later Jess appeared now properly dressed and her bag over shoulder.

After a hurried explanation of the new carpool arrangement Jess said goodbye to her mother and the two of them headed out of the door and down to the car at the bottom of the drive. It was large and flashy, something Jess worried would draw attention once they rocked up at school, but as Elvis held the door open for her to climb in the back seat she felt more at ease. The windows were tinted and sitting up front were Sonny and Lamar, blocking them both from the view of the windshield. In fact, as they pulled away from the curb she settled back in her seat. No one would know who was in there but it felt good to finally be having those little pockets of normality, even if it was being chauffeured to school in a car most of her friend's parents would only be able to dream of.

Unfortunately her school day wasn’t as thrilling as her morning had been. Actually, over the past few weeks school had become less and less exciting. She enjoyed spending time with her friends of course but even that was hard. The life she was living on the outside now was so different from before and yet she couldn't tell anyone. And it wasn’t that she was lying to them, it was just that she was omitting the truth, and that was a struggle. Especially when her friends asked what she had done over the weekend or why she hadn't answered the phone when they had called after school. Fortunately, the difficulties of school could be pushed from her mind as soon as that bell rang for the final time that day.

As it rang out and their teacher tried to corral them back from fleeing too quickly, reminding them about their upcoming algebra test, Jess threw everything into her bag as fast as she could so she could be the first one out of the door. After all, the sooner she got out of school the more time she could spend with her dad before he had to go onto stage. That had been something that had been arranged in the car with Elvis informing her he would send Jerry to pick her up and square the details with her mom later.

When she got outside she could see Jerry's car parked across the street with him sitting inside, the window rolled down as he smoked a cigarette. She headed down the steps and the large path navigating through the dozens of students heading for the parking lot, their rides or the buses lined up down the street. Yet as she was waiting at the crosswalk on the fringes of a group of students she felt someone tap her arm. It was a man she didn’t recognise though he didn’t look to be much older than her, so she figured it was one of the seniors.

‘Can I help you?’ she asked wondering what he wanted. He was standing at the crosswalk too, but his tap had been deliberate, not as though he had bumped into her.

‘You’re Jess, right?’ he asked.

‘Uh yeah,’ she said.

‘Jess Goodwin?’ she asked.

‘Do I know you?' she asked glancing as her peers started to cross the road leaving her and the guy remaining on the sidewalk.

‘No, but I know your dad,’ he said, ‘Elvis, right?’

Ice formed in Jess’ stomach. He watched her closely, watching as whatever she was going to say caught in her throat.

‘Thought so,’ he said, ‘I was wondering if you wanted to chat about it.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she managed to say before her feet kicked in and she started to walk across the road. She hadn’t been looking though and a car appeared beside her, slamming on the brakes so as not to hit her whilst blasting the horn.

‘Oh come on just a little picture,’ he said, following her as she fled not even bothering to look at the disgruntled driver in the car, ‘you’ll be front page news.’

She was going as fast as her legs could carry her, the sting of frightened tears burning her eyes as she walked barely able to see where she was going. Though as she got across the road her vision was blurred further as a camera flash went off in her face. As it happened again other school kids stopped causing a bottleneck on the sidewalk which was now getting fuller by the second as various men from cars parked all along the roadside started to climb out cameras in hand.

'What's your name honey?' called one as he snapped another picture.

'Are you really Elvis' kid?' another said as she tried to push through the crowd. But it was no use. All the people taking photographs had created attention and soon enough she was in the middle of a crowd with nowhere to go as the men gathered around her shouting taunts and questions at her. She could feel her tears spilling down her face as she mumbled for them to let her past unable to find a gap in the human wall they had formed.

‘Oh come on Jess,’ the man said. She could tell it was him from his voice but she didn’t turn around and instead, she kept trying to move against the sea of people, ‘one good quote and we’ll go away how about that? Come on.’

She felt his hand on her shoulder spinning her around to look at him but her eyes had no sooner landed on him before he was gone. Where he had been standing in front of her he was now on his ass, the group of people moving out of his way to let him fall to the ground, and when she looked to the side of her Jerry was watching him shaking his hand to ease the pain that had come from connecting it with the man’s face.

‘You feel good harassing a kid huh? How about you come and harass me? See how much of a big man you are then,’ Jerry spat. The man stayed silent, clutching his now bloodied nose with a grimace on his face. When he turned to her his face was still thunderous but she knew it wasn’t directed at her.

‘Come on Vegas,’ he said practically wrapping his arm around her as he shoved past the gathered crowd. As they got to the fringes though someone shoved another camera in their face, the flash so close it almost blinded her, though it didn’t last long as Jerry’s free hand yanked it out of the man’s hand and launched it into the road where it landed with a shattering crack. Jerry didn’t even break stride pushing her forward until she was tucked into the passenger seat, the door locking behind her as she listened to the reporter scream about his broken camera.

‘Count yourself lucky it’s your camera and not your fuckin’ legs,’ Jerry shouted as he climbed into the driver’s seat, slamming the door behind him, before he put the car in drive and tore off down the street. He was muttering to himself, angry little comments she couldn’t really make out, but as they got a couple of streets away he glanced towards her as if he had only just remembered she was there. She looked deathly pale, staring out of the windshield with a vacant stare that unnerved him.

‘You alright Vegas?’ he asked though she didn’t seem to hear him, ‘Vegas?’

‘Huh, oh yeah,’ she said looking back at him. He knew it was a lie that there was no way she could be feeling okay after all of that debacle so he pressed on.

‘Jess, you don’t have to pretend,’ he said.

‘I’m not... it’s just…my mom’s gonna freak,’ she said. Jerry watched her for a second before he had to put his eyes back on the road.

‘Look we can fix this, okay?’ he said though he wasn’t sure how. After all, this wasn’t something simple. He hadn’t even seen what had gone on properly but the camera flashes had been enough to get his attention and the taunts and jeers only confirmed his suspicions. She was no longer a secret. She looked at him and he offered her a reassuring smile which didn’t seem to convince her in the slightest yet she nodded in agreement and then turned her attention out of the window.

She didn’t say much after that barely muttering a thank you as he opened the car door for her given the fact she had been locked in on leaving. When they got up to the suite Elvis was waiting for them and before he could say anything she flung herself against him, her arms wrapping around his torso as she buried her head in his chest finally feeling the floodgates opening. He was taken aback for a moment looking at Jerry whose face seemed grave but eventually his brain kicked into gear and he wrapped his arms around her holding her close to him.

‘What is it? What happened?’ he asked.

‘They know,’ she said though it was muffled against his shirt.

‘Who knows? What’s going on?’ he said pushing her back so that she was looking at him, tears now streaming down her face. She had managed to hold it in for the entire car ride, the feelings of fear and anxiety that had plagued her, but once he had held her she couldn’t hold back, ‘Jessie, you’re scaring me.’

‘They know I’m your daughter,’ she said with each word punctuated by a shaky breath. Elvis’ jaw dropped but he recovered quickly looking to Jerry for assistance.

‘Ambushed her outside her school,’ he said, ‘fuckers got pictures an’ everything. Boss I’m sorry I didn’t clock ‘em.’

‘You didn’t know,’ Elvis said looking down at Jess who was still sobbing. He pulled her into him once more stroking her hair in an attempt to soothe her though he himself was all over the place. Since meeting her this was the first time he had seen her this vulnerable and it was breaking his heart. As she sobbed he and Jerry shared a look, neither of them knowing what to do.

‘Jess,’ he said, ‘Jessie honey.’

‘What?’ she said pulling back. Her eyes were red rimmed and her cheeks glinted with wetness making his heart hurt. Still he remained as level-headed as he could, he didn’t want to freak her out any more than she already was.

‘I think we should call your mom,’ he said.

‘She’s gonna flip,’ she said, ‘this is what she was worried about.’

‘I know, I know but right now I think you need her,’ Elvis said wiping the tears from under her eyes.

‘I need you too,’ she said.

‘Good job I’m not going anywhere then, isn’t it?’ he said.

Whilst Jerry headed off to phone the hospital Elvis led Jess to the couch so she could explain what had happened. It made his blood boil and if she hadn’t been sitting in front of him he was sure he would’ve been driving around Vegas looking for any hint of the sons of bitches responsible. He remained calm though, listening to everything she had to say until she was done, and eventually she tucked herself into his side as they watched TV whilst he rubbed soothing circles on her back. It didn’t soothe him though. His anger hadn’t waned even an ounce as he sat there though he knew there was no point directing it her way.

Actually, he didn’t even think he could direct his anger at the reporters too much as he couldn’t blame them for going after something that was sure to sell newspapers. That being said it didn’t hurt that Jerry had seen to a couple of them even if he couldn’t deal with it properly because Jess was there. No, his anger was being saved for the one person he was sure was behind this. He didn’t have any proof of course but it was too much of a coincidence not to think that the Colonel wasn’t at least somehow involved. But he couldn’t think about that just yet. Not when he still had a heartbroken teenager cuddled into his side.

Though Jess’ presence at his side was soon disrupted as they heard a door slam and Addison’s voice call out through the suite, ‘where is she? Where’s Jess?’

‘Mom,’ Jess said leaping up off the sofa followed by Elvis as Addison appeared in the hall coming towards them both.

‘What happened?’ she said looking at Jess with worry all over her face.

‘It’s not a big deal,’ Elvis said bringing the attention to him in an instant. Her worried face disappeared though as it fell on him.

‘Not a big deal? Jerry calls me in the middle of a shift saying Jess is in tears because of some stupid reporters and I need to come quick and it’s not a big fuckin’ deal?’

‘Mom he’s right,’ Jess said but Addison didn’t let up.

‘What happened?’ she demanded.

‘A couple of reporters came to her school. They know about her-’

‘Her school?’ Addison her mind reeled at the idea as she started to pace.

‘Jerry took care of it,’ Elvis said, ‘but they know so it’s gonna be out there soon.’

‘You just had to drop her off, didn’t you? I knew I shouldn’t have agreed to it. God, what a fuckin idiot,’ she said.

‘Addie-’ Elvis said.

‘Don’t you dare Elvis! This isn’t something minor! Our daughter’s safety was at risk! Don’t you see that!?’ she shouted.

‘Of course I do!’ Elvis said his voice matching her volume in an instant, ‘but I didn’t know it was going to happen-’

‘No of course not because it’s never your fault huh?’ she scoffed. She had stopped pacing now and come to stand in front of him and though she at least half a foot shorter it was as if they were equals squaring up in the ring.

‘Maybe if she wasn’t a secret for fourteen years we wouldn’t be in this situation!’ Elvis said just as angrily.

‘This is what I didn’t want to happen. This is why I didn’t want you two meeting I mean-’

‘Would you two stop!?’ Jess said causing the pair of them to break eye contact suddenly remembering she was standing right beside them watching their verbal tennis match with another wave of tears set to take over, ‘it’s no one’s fault and if it is it’s mine.’

‘Jess honey don’t be ridiculous,’ Addison said immediately feeling guilt crash through her as she took in her daughter’s face.

‘It’s not ridiculous,’ Jess reasoned, ‘I mean I’m the one who wanted to do this. I’m the one that made you guys agree to it. It’s all my fault. Blame me.’

‘Oh honey that’s not true,’ Elvis said coming to pull her into his side again, ‘and this isn’t your fault none of it is.’

‘Your dads right...and it’s not his fault either,’ Addison said offering Elvis a teeny apologetic look as she moved in to wipe the tears from her daughter’s eyes, ‘I’m sorry I overreacted I just worry about you.’

‘I know,’ Jess sniffled though it was punctuated by a small smile, ‘not that you needed to. Jerry nearly tore that guy’s head off.’

‘As he should,’ Elvis said grimly as she looked up at him with worry in her eyes.

‘You won’t get in trouble right Dad? I mean he broke that guy’s camera… I don’t want you getting in trouble because of me,’ she said.

‘I’d have him break a million cameras if it meant keepin’ you safe,’ Elvis said she seemed to think about it for a moment and then nodded. There was a lull for a second as they all seemed to be coming to terms with everything but Elvis could sense there was still more to be talked about from the way Addison looked lost in her thoughts, her gaze on neither of them.

‘Uh, Jess?’ he asked pulling away from her as she looked up at him, ‘why don’t you go and find Jer? Let him know your mom’s here.’

‘I don’t know where he is,’ she said though as Elvis through her a pointed look she glanced at Addison and then said, ‘oh uh sure. Um end of the hall, right?’

‘That’s the one,’ he said touching her shoulder before she headed up towards the hallway. Once he heard the door close he looked at Addison who had meandered away looking out the window.

‘So, uh it’s not my fault huh?’ he asked jokingly after a moment causing her to turn around. But when she faced him her face wasn’t light or joking. It was scared.

‘No,’ she said, ‘but what are we going to do?’

‘Addie,’ he said coming forward as she started to cry. For the second time that day he allowed someone to cling to him, sobbing into his chest. They stood there for a while with him stroking her hair as she cried before she pulled back puffy-eyed and sniffling.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

‘It’s okay,’ he said moving her hair off her face with a sympathetic smile. She allowed him to but after a second it seemed to be a gesture far too intimate and so she moved away from him, sitting on the piano bench.

‘It’s just…they came to her school Elvis,’ she sighed watching him as he came to sit beside her.

‘I know. Believe me, I’m just as concerned as you are,’ he said.

‘What do we do? I mean they’re not going to let it go not yet anyway,’ she said with worry lacing her voice, ‘I just I feel like I don’t know what to do for the best and that terrifies me.’

‘I know. I get that,’ he said placing a hand on her knee, ‘it scares me too but we can fix this okay? I mean we knew it was going to come out eventually, right?’

‘Yeah, but I didn’t think they’d show up outside her school,’ she said, ‘I mean how am I supposed to keep her safe? What if they show up outside our house? My work? I mean I can’t protect her-’

‘You don’t have to,’ he said, ‘Ads you’re not alone in this. Don’t you think I’m worried about all of this too? Do you think I’d just tell you to have at it? Deal with it yourselves?’

‘No, of course not,’ she said though as she thought about it she realised she had been thinking that way. That her mind had automatically gone to what she could do to protect Jess as though she was that seventeen-year-old again.

‘Okay,’ she conceded, ‘maybe I was thinking about it that way…just a little.’

‘Well you don’t have to,’ he said she looked at him, nibbling on her lip again like she was nervous. He hesitated, he knew what he wanted to say might not go down too well but he knew he needed to, ‘maybe…maybe you should let me run things for a while.’

‘What?’ she said.

‘Just for now. You don’t have to do it all on your own and believe it or not I might be able to help with this whole PR thing.’

‘Oh God, I hadn’t even thought about what they’re gonna say,’ she sighed, ‘she can’t see it. Oh E what if it’s horrible? What if the kids at school say something?’

‘Hey, it’s okay,’ Elvis said putting his arm around her as he felt her start to get worked up again.

‘Is it?’ she asked disbelievingly.

‘It could be if-’ Elvis said though he hesitated.

‘If what?’ she asked.

‘Maybe you should rethink coming to Memphis,’ he said, ‘maybe now might be the best time. Just till everything dies down here. They’re bound to get bored eventually.’

‘I don’t know,’ she said hesitantly. She could see his point but surely that would only generate more buzz. He could see her pulling back so he decided to go in with logic hoping she’d see the sense of it all.

‘I’m not saying move there. I’m just saying a couple of weeks. Jess isn’t going to be able to go to school anyway not until we’ve spoken to them and made sure she’ll be safe going in. Your house probably isn’t going to be much better. Once they lose interest you can come straight back,’ he reasoned.

‘I have a life here Elvis,’ she sighed, ‘I can’t just up and leave. What about my job?’

‘I’m sure they’ll understand,’ Elvis said.

‘And when I can’t make my house payment because I took off for three weeks?’ she asked, ‘I have bills to pay-’

‘I’ll take care of it,’ he said unable to comprehend how she could see that as a problem.

‘What you’re just going to swoop in and fix everything for me?’ she said bitterly. Elvis sighed.

‘I’m not swooping in and fixing anything,’ he said irritably, ‘I’m doing it to protect our daughter. To protect you. Believe or not I care about you both and I get you’re concerned because so am I. I need to know you’re gonna be safe. That Jess will be safe. It only takes one nutjob for things to go south and I’m not willing to let that happen.’

‘I guess you’re right,’ she said, his words making her feel a twinge of guilt. She had accused him of showing off when deep at the heart of it he was concerned for Jess and that had been all she had wanted since the moment they met.

‘If you don’t want to come that’s fine but I really need Jess to…and I’d prefer it if you did,’ he said honestly. She looked at him and nodded.

‘I’ll have to speak to work,’ she said, ‘might take a couple of days. School too.’

‘Whatever you need to do,’ he said, ‘and don’t worry about going home. You guys can stay here if you want, or I’ll have the boys stay at your house if you’d rather.’

‘Thank you,’ she said placing her head on his shoulder.

‘No problem. We can leave on Sunday. If you need help with anything just let me know, okay?’ he said feeling her nod against him. The room went quiet, the only thing that could be heard was their joint breathing, of which Addison’s still sounded shakier, and the buzz of Vegas below as it started coming to life, preparing for the night. It wasn’t uncomfortable though. If anything at the new plan seemed better the more they thought about it. As apprehensive as she had been about going home she would do it if it meant protecting Jess from whatever madness would ensue now that the news was out there.

‘Elvis?’ she said after a minute.

‘Mmm?’ he asked. He had closed his eyes, enjoying the moment, but he they fluttered open as she spoke, glancing towards her though she was staring out into the living room.

‘She called you dad,’ Addison said quietly. Elvis smiled. It had been quick and given the circumstances it would’ve been easy to miss but he had noticed it all the same as had Addison apparently.

‘I know,’ he said quietly.

✵✵✵

The rest of the week was hard for the girls. The news of Elvis having a ‘secret love child’ had spiralled beyond all belief no matter how much they tried to curb it. The pictures from the school were splashed across the front pages of several trashy papers and though they had tried to negotiate with the school they had informed them that as long as they were off school property there wasn’t much they or the police could do.

Though it wasn’t just the school grounds they were targeting. The day after Jess was ambushed at school Addison had returned home and found her street swamped with reporters. Fortunately she had had Sonny and Red in the car with her and they had been able to get out and open her garage door for her meaning that she could get in and out of the house unscathed but still she couldn’t anticipate staying there. Or more to the point Jess staying there. So, she had packed up the essentials and drove back to the hotel where she and Jess would be staying until further notice.

Elvis however was doing better, though admittedly only marginally. He didn’t care about the press but still seeing salacious rumours and blatant lies splashed across the newspapers was enough to make his heart hurt. The only bonus was that the people close to him, the people that mattered, seemed to be happy for him. Of course those that had known him and Addison had been shocked but happy all the same. Dodger had even rung him the day of it all coming out to one, scold him for not telling her sooner and two, inform him that he had no choice but to bring Jess back to Memphis so that she could see her grandbaby.

Yet for all the good things there were bad too. Like how it was getting to the girls. Jess seemed dejected as she moped around the hotel, unable to go to school or talk to her friends as every time she did they probed for gossip she didn’t want to give. And Addison seemed frustrated though he was sure that was just because of how Jess was doing.

He had tried his best to distract them and for the most part it had worked. If anything it had been great for them as a family as they got to spend more time together than ever, just the three of them. But in all of their minds the reasons behind their forced close quarters lingered.

The other thing that was bothering him was the Colonel. He hadn’t seen the man since he had cornered him in his dressing room but that had been by design. He didn’t want him around Addison or Jess and though he had a plan to put into motion he was waiting for the right time, namely a time when he and the girls could get outta dodge without the repercussions. That time was today. He had no doubt the Colonel would want to see him, especially since last night at his show he had finally addressed the rumours. The girls hadn't been there, still too nervous to have the spotlight on them, but he had explained all the same and requested that his fans give him the respect they deserved. Fortunately the reception had been nothing but positive. All except for the man sitting in his normal booth, a scowl on his face as he watched Elvis go against his wishes once more.

After that, Elvis played one more song and then fled the stage, back to the safety of his suite where he had informed everyone he was not to be disturbed. Unfortunately given it was late Jess had been in bed but Addison had been awake and the pair had stayed up for a while watching a movie in amicable silence until eventually she had fallen asleep on the couch beside him, her feet in his lap. When Elvis had awoken on the same couch, a discernible crick in his neck, she was gone.

But he could hear her now. He had come down to her room to tell her they needed to get going. It was currently all systems go, everything had already been packed up and was headed downtown to the plane that was waiting for them, and everyone was ready to go. It wasn’t that urgent; the plane wasn’t due to take off for another hour or so it was just that he wanted everyone out of the building so he could deal with what he had to. He loitered outside listening to her voice as she spoke to whoever it was on the phone. He hadn't realised just how much he had missed it, how the sound of her laugh still made his heart flutter and a smile dance on his lips.

‘Okay…yeah I’ll call you then…yeah…love you bye,’ she said. He heard the receiver click into place but that wasn’t what he was focused on. The way she had signed off was. His mind started to spin but before he could get too far into it she came out of the room stepping back a little startled when she noticed him standing outside the door.

‘You scared me,’ she chuckled smacking his arm playfully. He smiled but it was weak, his mind still on whoever she had been calling. Addison didn’t seem to notice as she said, ‘do you always lurk outside people’s rooms or just mine?’

‘I heard you on the phone,’ he said sounding more accusatory than he wanted, ‘I didn’t want to disturb you.’

‘Oh yeah sorry I was just calling Mar,’ she said as they started to walk back to the main section of the suite. At her name Elvis’ anxieties settled.

‘Oh?’ he said.

‘Yeah, she was just checking in after this week…’ Addison said glancing at him, ‘I said I’d call her once we got to Memphis.’

Elvis nodded holding in what he had the urge to say. At first he was going to tell her to invite her along. This week had been hectic and he was sure having her friend along for the ride could potentially help but he couldn’t get the words out. He couldn’t tell her to do that because he was scared that if she was leaning on Marci she’d stop leaning on him and that wasn’t what he wanted. He knew it was selfish but Marci had gotten the past fourteen years was he really so wrong for not wanting to let go now he had a little bit of her back?

As they got towards the reception area however he could see everyone was gathered ready to go as they waited for them. He paused forcing her to stop too which she did looking up at him confused.

‘Everything alright?’ she asked sensing his hesitation as he glanced towards the living room.

‘Yeah fine,’ he said, ‘you’re ready to go right?’

‘Yeah, why?’ she asked concerned.

‘Nothing. Would you mind going with Daddy and them?’ he asked an idea flicking into his head, ‘there’s probably going to be photographers and fans there. It might be better if I show up alone y’know?

‘Good shout,’ she said. The thought hadn't even occurred to her. She hoped that in amongst the crowd of people getting on the plane the pair of them wouldn’t be too noticeable.

‘You guys will need to leave now then,’ he said feeling a twinge of guilt at the tiny white lie. Addison nodded.

‘Okay,’ she said, ‘see you later?’

‘Yeah, see you later,’ he confirmed and with that she walked off towards the living room. He lingered behind watching as everyone who was due to leave stood up to go. On their way out the door Jess offered him a smile which he returned before she headed out of the door with the crowd.

Jerry was the only one who remained. He came towards him, apprehensive until Elvis offered him a smile.

‘You sure about this?’ he asked watching his friend closely.

‘More than anything,’ Elvis said with a sigh, ‘come on. Let’s get this shit over with.’

✵✵✵

PRESLEY CONFIRMS LOVE CHILD RUMOURS

Elvis Presley has been under heat this past week after rumours of an illegitimate child sprung to life. The girl who is believed to be fourteen years old stated to reporters that the rock and roller was her father and until yesterday it was all speculation. However, at the King’s closing show in Las Vegas he took to the stage to confirm the sordid allegations were in fact true. He stated that whilst the revelation was a ‘shock’ he was nevertheless ‘happy to get to know his daughter’. He also asked for ‘respect and privacy at this time’ and thanked his fans for their ongoing support. Representatives for the singer have refused to make comment as has his recently divorced ex-wife and mother of his other daughter Priscilla Presley.

The Colonel tutted and placed the newspaper down on his desk with a sigh. This was getting out of hand. Over the course of the past week he had been lenient. From Elvis’ reaction to him showing up after the show on Saturday he knew that if he pushed the man any further he risked exposing himself. He knew what he had asked of Addison, he didn’t need to know he knew anything more than that. Besides, he hoped his absence would help Elvis see sense. He had tried to keep it from him and that had failed and now the whole world knew and since then all hell had broken loose as he had told him it would. He hoped that seeing all the backlash to this unfold would make him realise he couldn’t handle this on his own. That didn’t mean he didn’t know what was going on though. Even if he had not been sitting ring side this week it didn’t mean he hadn't been able to do some prying to find out that Addison and the kid were now living in the hotel with him. It wasn’t ideal but maybe it was what he needed. He had seen that Elvis wouldn’t waiver about cutting them out of his life but if he cared about them enough maybe the Colonel could talk him around to distancing himself from them – for both of their sakes. After all he’d done it before.

These were the thoughts that had been plaguing him for the entire week and they were still running rampant the closer the departure time grew. He had tried to collar Elvis last night after his show but he hadn't been able to. So when Jerry had phoned down a few minutes ago to let him know they would be stopping by before Elvis headed home he was glad to hear it.

‘Come in,’ the Colonel said as he heard a knock on his office door. He flipped the paper he had been reading over so that it appeared he had been reading the sports section just as Elvis entered.

‘Ah my boy,’ he said standing from his desk.

‘Colonel,’ Elvis said as he took off his sunglasses and attached them to his shirt.

‘Come to say goodbye?’ the Colonel asked.

‘Something like that,’ Elvis said. At his words the Colonel hesitated. There was an edge to his voice, something that unnerved him.

‘Come sit for a minute,’ the Colonel said gesturing for Elvis to come and sit in the seat opposite his desk but Elvis remained standing with a neutral mask on his face.

‘Colonel this isn’t a social visit,’ Elvis said firmly.

‘Oh?’ the Colonel said challengingly, ‘and what is it?’

‘A common courtesy,’ Elvis said, ‘Colonel we’re done.’

‘Excuse me?’ the Colonel said though he had heard his client's words perfectly well. He just didn’t want to believe them.

‘Us. You and me. Our partnership. This is where it ends,’ Elvis said.

‘Is that so?’ the Colonel said coolly as he took a seat in his chair, watching Elvis with such scrutiny the younger man felt as though his skin was on fire. As he sat down and lit himself a cigar though Elvis didn’t waiver.

‘I think it’s time,’ he said.

‘Oh so I’m fired?’ the Colonel asked.

‘Not necessarily. I’m not an unreasonable man you know that and though I think it’s time for us to part ways I respect all that you have done for me over the years,’ Elvis said. That part was true. The Colonel had helped him there was no denying that but all those good things were tainted now. Smeared with the lies and secrets he had created. Those good memories permeated by what ifs and maybes, not to mention the endless swill of pain. It would never be the same Elvis knew that but even now he couldn’t just put the man out on his ear.

‘Which is why I’m offering you an out. A deal,’ Elvis said. The Colonel said nothing instead he stared at Elvis, his beady eyes watching his face for any sign of weakness though it didn’t come instead and Elvis continued, ‘whatever projects you’ve got in the pipeline as of today I’ll do. Tours, shows, albums whatever it is I’ll fulfil my end of the deal. You’ll get your fifty per cent and you’ll get to prepare for whatever’s next. I reckon that will take us up to the new year?’

‘And then?’ the Colonel said stone-faced.

‘And then we’re done,’ Elvis said firmly. The Colonel watched him closely for a minute before he started to shake his head. He couldn’t do this.

‘We had a deal you signed a contract,’ the Colonel said stoically.

‘I’m aware,’ Elvis said.

‘If you want out fine but you will owe me,’ the Colonel replied.

‘To the tune of about eight mil am I right?’ Elvis said as he leaned against the back of one of the chairs, smirking as the Colonel’s face paled unable to hide the shock behind his perfect façade, ‘see I thought you might say that. The problem is you can’t snow me, Colonel.’

‘Is that what you think? That I’d try and trick you?’ the Colonel sneered.

‘I think there’s a lot of things you’d do to save your own neck,’ Elvis said bitterly, ‘like let’s say shipping off a seventeen-year-old for example.’

‘That’s what this is about? Addison?’ the Colonel baulked.

‘It’s about my family. The family I missed out on for fifteen years because of your actions and for what?’ Elvis said.

‘I got you a career. I got you money. I made you,’ the Colonel said.

‘And there it is,’ Elvis said shaking his head, ‘you didn’t get me anything, Colonel.’

‘There is no Elvis Presley without me,’ the Colonel said firmly. He could feel rage bubbling inside him now. He could hear Elvis speaking but all he could picture was her. The girl he knew would ruin everything the moment she had ever stepped foot into Graceland. All this time all he had tried to do was make Elvis the star he should be and now he was trying to throw it all back in his face? Well, he wasn’t going to take it lying down.

They were watching each other now, eyes locked as they calculated their next move. How they pictured each blow would land. Elvis pulled back from the chair but he never broke eye contact.

‘Maybe you’re right but the thing is I don’t really care about ‘The Elvis Presley’ and even if you’re convinced I wouldn’t have made it without you I’m sure as hell about one thing. If I need you, you sure as hell need me,’ Elvis said watching as the Colonel digested his words, ‘lucky for you I’m open to making you another offer.’

‘And what’s that?’ the Colonel asked. Though he didn’t show it he was getting nervous now. Elvis had a point though he had gotten him to where he was today there was no denying that another manager would snap him up in a heartbeat given half the chance. And though the Colonel wouldn’t be done out of anything he was owed, he would make sure of that, his reputation probably wouldn’t come out as unscathed as Elvis’ should things get nasty.

‘I pay you your eight mil now and we’re done. All contracts null and void,’ Elvis shrugged.

‘You think you could pay me that? What are you going to do sell everything you own?’ he scoffed, ‘are you trying to give your daddy a heart attack?’

‘Oh my daddy will be fine,’ Elvis said, ‘you see Colonel I’ve been thinkin’ about this for a while. And you’re right I did wonder what Elvis Presley is without the Colonel turns out I’m a guy people like to take a chance on. Take your Mr Kohn for example.’

‘Oh? What about him?’ the Colonel said, those nerves chugging away like a steam engine inside him.

‘See I’ve never had much dealing with him but turns out he’s a pretty nice guy. We even realised we’ve both been losing out. Turns out to pay me directly for an entire year’s worth of shows would come in cheaper than paying you at all and of course whatever credit you burn in his casino,’ Elvis said. He could see the cogs turning in the Colonel’s mind each word hitting like an arrow to the chest as he realised this wasn’t some rash decision. Because it wasn’t. Elvis had been orchestrating this from the minute Addison had let him back into their lives. He wasn't going to fuck it up. He had all bases covered and the Colonel knew it hence why all he could utter was, ‘we have a contract.’

‘Which he and his lawyer had a good ol’ look at. Apparently, it’s null and void what with me cancelling a performance last minute,’ Elvis said. It was a risk. A flimsy argument for sure but if there was a loophole he could use to get out of these water-tight technicalities he was going to use them. After all, wasn’t that what the Colonel had taught him to do?

‘So what you think you’ve got me over a barrel?’ the Colonel laughed, ‘that I’ll just give in?’

‘I think you’re a smart man, Colonel,’ Elvis said earnestly though his truthful words couldn’t go without a sly sting as he added, ‘a betting man. And given the odds I'd say you ain't got much of a choice.’

‘You don’t think your odds are just as poor? Do you know how much work I put into keeping your reputation afloat?’

‘What by tipping reporters off about where Jess goes to school,’ Elvis asked menacingly making the Colonel's jaw set.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he said.

‘Sure you don’t. Besides you don’t think yours would be ruined losing me? You don’t think people will wonder why you couldn’t keep hold of me? Maybe they’d even wonder if it had something to do with Jess,’ Elvis said. It felt dirty using his daughter as a bargaining chip but he knew his words would have clout. And from the look on the Colonel’s face, he could tell they did.

‘Okay,’ he said trying to claw himself back to a level playing field, ‘and where are you going to be after? You’re going to sort your own meetings? Broker your own deals? Without me you’ll lose everything.’

‘The difference is Colonel losing everything means something different to me than it does to you. Hell, I could be back in that two-bed house in Tupelo and it wouldn’t mean shit not if I had my family. I already lost them once and if giving all this up means keeping them fine,’ Elvis said earnestly. It was true. They could strip everything from him. Take every piece of jewellery, every car, every plane. What did it matter? He’d already lost the most important things in this world to him. His mama there was no bringing back but he had a chance to fix what he had lost with Jess and Addison and so help him he was going to do it.

‘You would ruin everything over a woman who kept your daughter from you for fifteen years? A woman who cut you out of her life like you were scum on the bottom of her shoe-’

‘I would. And I would’ve done it back then too. I’m just not stupid enough to think you’re trying to help this time,’ Elvis said quietly before adding with a sigh, ‘Colonel this is your chance to go quietly. What do you say?’

At that the Colonel stopped. It was a final blow, one that flattened any hope the Colonel had of getting out of this dilemma. He wasn’t going to budge and though the Colonel was furious he wasn’t stupid enough to think he would be able to change his mind. Not this time. But to lose Elvis was to lose his meal ticket. A payoff right now would be the better option but Elvis was right there would be suspicion lingering over him wherever he went and that wasn’t what a snowman needed. At least if he took the first option he’d still have a chance to get something out of it. It would be less money for sure but an amicable parting of ways might have been the better narrative to spin for the pair of them. He looked at those familiar blue eyes watching him waiting for his answer.

‘The end of the year?’ he asked. Elvis nodded, ‘fine. You have a deal.’

SERIES TAGS

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[queen-of-writing-bad-things]

Danger Force Reader Insert | Captain Man x Reader: SEASON 1

Episode 5: Mime Games (SMUT)

Season 1 Masterlist

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bonjour ma peeps. je suis ruth und je ne parle le french. spanish is more my bag. mi bag. enjoy ray as he slowly descends into madness because he wants a baby and his wife sys no. sucks to be him :)

~ Swellview Academy for the Gifted~

"Come on! Let's go, s'go, s'go, s'go, s'go, s'go, s'go, s'go, s'go, s'go!" Ray bellowed as he impatiently hovered by SWAG's front door. 

Glancing at his gadget-filled watch, he breathed a frustrated sigh, wondering what was taking his protégés so long to pack. They were going on a trip, not for fun, but for a mission - three days max, so he didn't know what the hold-up was. After all, it was only Paris - he didn't see the big deal. 

For some, it was a big deal, the getaway of a lifetime to the city of love, famed for its cafés, architecture, and tourist attractions. (y/n) was one of them, having been unable to sit still all week ever since they received confirmation that Captain Man and Co were needed overseas. Her childhood dream was to take her lover and experience all those cheesy, cliche things she saw in her rom-coms. 

It was enough to make her bounce excitedly on the spot, hugging Ray's beefy arm close to her chest, where her heart thundered from the adrenaline. Their bags were packed: a manly, dark camo sports bag for him and an overly girly, glitzy purple suitcase for her, and of course, her husband insisted on carrying both. His sweet girl packed enough for three weeks, let alone three days, but he indulged her. 

After all, only a genuinely remarkable lover would whisk their wife away to the most romantic city on Earth, even if it involved a little crimefighting. 

Well, that is if the children didn't fuck things over for him. 

"We're s'go, s'go, s'go, s'go, s'go, s'go, s'go, s'going!" Mika replied sharply, snapping her hard plastic case shut and haphazardly zipping it up. Unlike some, she and her friends had only learned about the little detour half an hour ago; trust Ray to tell them they were going halfway around the world when no one had anything decent to wear, toiletries, or parental consent. 

"Our Goober Lux is three minutes away, and I'm not going to lose my five-star rating for any of you!" The man growled, anxiously glancing at his phone to see the taxi approaching. He wanted to be the perfect customer, ready and waiting by the door with his sweet girl's hand in his, looking ever so handsome. 

His hair was so floppy, that jacket was deliciously tight, and the gleaming, golden band on his left hand made the heroine swoon as she squished his bicep more. Maybe it was the thrill, the whiff of adventure, or maybe Paris was just that enticing, but she was ridiculously giddy, too happy to scold the children about dragging their feet. 

"You could help us...(y/n/n)?" 

"Well, I--"

"She's with me, and I'm helping by yelling..." Ray told Mika sharply when she looked at the starry-eyed woman for help, refusing to let his wife go merely because they weren't prepared. He'd already told her twice, but she looked gorgeous in that pretty little dress--so cute he could burst, but he concentrated on yelling instead. The sooner they moved, the sooner he could show her the fancy-schmancy suite he'd booked at the hotel. 

"Let's go! Let's go!"

"Relax, boss. I'm good to go," Miles called out smoothly, looking like the picture of relaxation as he reclined in his chair, feet propped up on his desk with a magazine in hand. Everything around him was chaotic, yet the boy didn't look phased, flicking through the pages while his sister ran around like a mad bull. 

"Uh, Miles. We're going to Paris. Aren't you gonna pack anything?" (y/n) asked, wandering over to the kid's side with her doofus in tow. Maybe it was just her - she was a stickler when it came to luggage - but it was a wonder how calm and collected he was, barely sparing them a glance as he turned another page. 

"Whatever I need, the universe will provide," he replied with his usual zen. He was so confident in the mystic power that he almost looked smug. For some reason, coincidences fell around him like dominoes, always ensuring his life ran smoothly with no bumps or issues in the road. 

But, of course, there were no such things as coincidences - cue Mika walking into the room from the closet, dragging double her weight in suitcases while Miles sat idly by. She always did this, looking out for her brother, even when her care bordered on neglect; after all, he was old enough to look after himself. 

"Okay, Miles. I packed all your stuff. Again." 

"Told 'ya!" The boy smirked at his teachers before licking his forefinger and thumb to grasp another page, looking arrogant since all the hard work was done for him. 

"Mika, honey..." (y/n) sighed, swallowing the urge to give the conceited kid an earful about respect and good manners. Instead, she turned to the sweating, out-of-breath girl, who smiled sweetly after placing the heavy bags down for a breather. It was like she didn't see anything wrong with her kindness; she was too innocent and thoughtful to see how Miles took advantage of her generosity. But she did - (y/n) knew the doormat life all too well. 

"Why do you do this for him?"

"The only way he'll learn is if I do it over and over again for him until he learns," Mika explained, and for one so bright, she just sounded dumb. Uttterly stupid. Painfully moronic. And it practically had the woman slapping her forehead in exasperation. 

"Mika. I have raised four other children and a doofus. Trust me. Sometimes, you have to be cruel to be kind. You are not his maid, nor his mother, so Miles," (y/n) turned and glared at the boy as she growled out his name, "should get off his butt and pack his own suitcase."

"You're scary when you're mothering..." the girl trailed off, staring at her friend in awe and mild reluctance once her furious tirade finished. It even left her brother looking a little sheepish, shrinking into his chair as Ray approached her, looping his arms around her waist to pull her back to his chest. 

He, too, was in awe of his wife, finding it ridiculously hot when she took charge and laid down the law with her confidence and authority. He nuzzled her hair and neck as the girl nodded shyly, promising to be more assertive next time. 

"I've had a lot of practice. This doofus used to be and still is a handful," (y/n) joked, reaching a hand up to stroke Ray's hair as he smooched her jawline loudly, making her shriek. It was nauseatingly cute, causing Miles to loudly clear his throat as the hero stroked the glittering rings on her finger, wildly in love with his darling girl, to notice the children swanning around the room. 

"You still married me, though, Mrs Manchester..."

"Of course, Mr Manchester."

"Get a room, you guys..." the boy said in a sing-song voice, making the woman giggle when her husband sighed and grumbled. He longed for their honeymoon days when he could openly kiss and love her without a pesky child whining about decency and celibacy. 

But Miles was right; they had places to go and people to meet, and any kiss would be ten times sweeter in France. So, the man pecked her cheek and released his wife, clearing his throat before heading back to the door, wondering where that Goober was. At least one kid seemed abnormally focused on his task...

"Bose! Bring the stuff outside."

"You got it, boss. Remember, I am Boooooose..." the long-haired boy replied nasally - almost like he had a cold - as he bent over and fiddled with the zipper on his luggage. 

It was strange; he'd been hunched over the damn thing for at least fifteen minutes, ignoring anyone and everything around him, even as his friends ran around doing a million tasks at once. He'd never concentrated so hard in the few months he'd been at the fake school, and it was rare for him not to wander around with that dimpled smile like nothing was wrong in the world. 

Instead, he did not show his face, looking through thick hair strands with his hood tightly pulled over his head. Very odd, and that voice... It was so familiar, but not like Bose's, prompting Ray and (y/n) to whip around with deep frowns. He knew that adenoidal tone...

'Wait a minute..." Ray growled, sniffing the air like a bloodhound as he stomped to the quiet boy, sensing something was wrong. It was those superhero instincts... "I knew I smelled science in here!"

Everyone gasped as the man yanked the hood from Bose's head, only to find an imposter was among them. 

Turning around with a terrified face after being discovered, the team were shocked to see Schwoz staring back at them in a very clever disguise. If he had played his cards a little better, no one would've noticed the deception since his costume was so good, complete with a very Bosey wig, his signature blue hoodie, skinny jeans, and trainers.

The resemblance was uncanny but not good enough. 

"Can you smell science?" (y/n) pondered, knowing her doofus hated anyone behaving smarter than him but smelling it? That was a little crazy, even for him. 

"Schwoz, why are you dressed like that?" She moved on, standing beside Ray as she looked the small man up and down, wondering what he was thinking. 

"'Cause I want to go to Paris! It's the city of love--and I want to fall in love!" Ah, a stowaway. Schwoz gazed at his friends with misty, wonder-filled eyes, looking every bit the hopeless romantic that (y/n) often saw in her sappy movies. Hearing him talk about feelings and emotions was a little out of character. Still, it warmed her heart as she smiled warmly - she was a sucker for romance, no matter who it involved. 

"Awwww..."

"That's strangely adorable."

"The heart seeks what it needs!" She cooed with the kids, clutching her chest as her heartstrings sang. They all thought it was adorable, mirroring the genius's dopey, hopeful smile as he imagined meeting a tall, beautiful bombshell along the Seine. Ray, however, wasn't so smitten, scoffing loudly as he sneered at his handyman. 

"First of all, we're not going to Paris to fall in love," he said firmly, pointing a stern finger in Schwoz's face. He fell in love in Swellview, not halfway around the world, so anyone else's feelings didn't matter. 

"We're going to Paris because the French Captain Man is on strike. Second of all, everybody knows you're going to die alone!"

"Raymond! How could you be so mean?!" (y/n) scolded her doofus as the poor guy gasped loudly, undoubtedly wounded by his boss' harsh words. Ray flinched under her sharp gaze, but she didn't waver, wondering if he'd be so cruel if someone said the same to him; after all, their relationship seemed hopeless initially.

"...Monsieur Man is on strike?" Schwoz asked incredulously, clueless about how the woman's face fell when he brushed over the apparent insult. Maybe it secretly hurt him, but he didn't show it, staring up at Ray, who smooched her cheek as an apology - although she didn't hear him apologise to the little guy. 

"Yes!" Instead, he turned on the smartboard, where he had the front page of France's online leading newspaper. All anyone could gossip about was how the city's leading superhero refused to work and Monsieur Man was very popular. 

In some ways, he looked very similar to Ray, or at least (y/n) could see the similarities. He was stereotypically handsome with solid and masculine features, thick biceps, and shoulder-length, slicked-back blond hair. His uniform was a little strange, designed like Ray's, with a long-sleeved white undershirt covered by a zip-up tunic in the French flag's colours. 

"I am Monsieur Man!"

He spoke with a thick, French accent, flashing his crazy eyes at the camera as he sipped from an espresso cup. Maybe in an alternate universe, she would've dated him. Still, her better instincts said he wasn't the same as her doofus - a little too eccentric and cheesy for her liking. 

"They need us to protect France's greatest national treasures until he agrees to go back to work."

"Yeah, how long is that going to take?" Miles asked, praying that the Parisian hero was reasonable and easy to handle. He could lie to his parents a bit - a weekend field trip - but anything longer and they'd get suspicious. Also, who wanted to spend more than a few days in the city of love with Mr and Mrs Manchester?

"Not sure. We'll have to ask when we get there," (y/n) replied, leaning up on her tippy-toes to peck Ray's lips. She could barely wait, sharing a bright smile with him as they imagined everything they'd see and do together, squeezing hands without realising everyone was watching. Mika thought it was adorable, and Schwoz could only hope for a love like theirs. 

"I don't speak French..." the boy added, wondering what they'd do once they landed. Ray couldn't work with others, so a translator had to be out of the question. Maybe just some very well-timed hand gestures?

"That's okay. Je parle un peu français. Je l'ai étudié au lycée, donc on devrait survivre," the heroine replied smoothly, her cheeks slightly warm as the children quirked their eyebrows at her - even Miles was mildly impressed, which was no mean feat. 

Ray curled his arms around her waist, pulling his beloved wife to his rumbling chest, practically purring as the beautifully romantic words wrapped around her tongue before soothing his ears. She had to be trying to seduce him, right? Looking up at him through those lashes, smiling cutely, kissing his jaw...he had to be the luckiest man in the world.

"That's so hot, darlin'..." he murmured in her ear, hugging her closely as Schwoz sighed dejectedly, longing for love like theirs. They giggled and whispered to each other, cheeks superheating when Ray asked if she could kiss like the French, too, but he pulled away when the kids coughed awkwardly. Right...he forgot they were there. 

"Anyway, you don't have to learn French--French is just English but with very ridiculous accents!" 

"That's very ridiculously wrong," Mika mumbled, stunned when her so-called teacher put on the worst impression of a Frenchman she'd ever seen. His voice was thick and heavily accented, finished with a little Frenchy laugh, but he couldn't be further from the truth. 

"Such a doofus, mon amour..." (y/n) sighed, shaking her head, but she leaned up to kiss him anyway. Love was in the air, making them extra affectionate and cuddly as they buzzed with anticipation for their romantic break, even if it was technically for work. 

The hero grinned against her lips until an alarm sounded, painting the walls red momentarily before Chapa and Bose dropped from the ceiling in their chairs. They'd been grabbing some last-minute essentials from upstairs - weapons, gadgets, underwear - bringing everything down in large, heavy-duty, carry-on bags. They were late, making Ray frown as he glanced at his phone again - where was that Goober?

"Sorry, I'm late! I couldn't find my hoodie," Bose said as he placed the bag on his desk, only to look across at Schwoz and see him wearing his looted sweater. No wonder he couldn't find it; it was part of the genius' cunning disguise. 

"Hey, I have that same hoodie! And that same hair!"

"You pack all out travelin' weapons?" Ray asked Chapa after wandering over to her side, looking too damn handsome in that jacket. And seeing him in his tight jeans and the black muscle shirt underneath? Nothing made (y/n) drop to her knees quicker...

"Yeah," Chapa confirmed, having run around the Man's Nest like a madwoman when the hero snapped his fingers and demanded she find everything they'd need to protect themselves in a foreign country. And obviously, he couldn't do it, monitoring the taxi and smooching his beloved wife. Critical stuff. 

"You got Lil' Sizzler?" He asked, his lips twitching upward when the girl nodded diligently for every weapon he listed. "The Smoke Wagon? The Mean Wheel?"

"Trick question. There is no weapon called The Mean Wheel..."

"Okay, Chapa..." Ray grinned, thoroughly impressed by her attention to detail and in-depth knowledge. She didn't miss a beat, knowing everything she'd left in the pack, which, strangely enough, was identical to the one Bose had packed - the one he rummaged through as they chatted. Unzipping the gym bag, he pulled out a weird-looking device, like a child's windmill, with half a dozen stickers of his grumpy face stuck to each point as it spun around. 

"I got a Mean Wheel right here. You show it to the bad guy, and when he all the mean faces on it, he's like, put that away! It's so mean!" Oh, sweet boy. He meant well, but God, he was simple. 

"Oh, Bosey..." (y/n) shook her head with a sigh as Ray flashed the kid a wobbly smile, swapping a look with his sweet girl. 

"Lemme holla at you for a second," Miles murmured to his fellow sidekick, placing a warm, kind hand on Bose's shoulder as he pulled him aside for a quick chat, leaving the happy couple with Chapa. Someone needed to tell him why that windmill thing wasn't appropriate, and the boys were particularly close, even if Miles' patience only stretched so far. 

"So, I was thinking...when we're in Paris, we have to kiss on top of the Eiffel Tower!" (y/n) mentioned to her doofus as the boys talked a few paces away. She turned in his arms, grinning at him as Ray hummed and kissed her forehead, knowing he'd do anything she asked. He didn't mind what they did, willing to show her the entire city if she wanted, but he couldn't help but tease her a little. 

"Can't we kiss anywhere else?" He smirked, stroking her curves as Chapa gagged at his side. God, every minute of every damn day...they couldn't keep their hands to themselves. 

"Well, duh, you big doof! But it's a tradition! All couples kiss on top of the Eiffel Tower."

"Well, I can arrange that..." the man growled, leaning down to kiss his wife as she giggled, wrapping her arms around his neck and humming appreciatively. 

As they smooched, utterly entranced by the nerves, excitement, and love in the air, the girl by their side groaned and shook her head. She always wore a frown, but this was something else - deep, stern, and severe, etched into her baby-like features the longer they locked lips. 

"No fair! So, you guys get to go off doing all your kissy-kissy stuff while we do all the work!" She complained, forcing the couple to break apart as Ray scowled, ignoring how Bose skipped upstairs to look for something. Honestly, he could never love her properly with these little shits around...

"Hey! Can't a man take his incredibly hot wife on a romantic trip?" He asked, squeezing (y/n) 's hips as she rolled her eyes and lovingly kissed his cheek, running her wedding rings down his freshly shaven face. Before she could coo about how unbelievably handsome he was or Chapa could argue otherwise, Mika piped up, looking perturbed. 

"Hey, Ray?" She called out, standing and looking through the window while everyone nattered. She'd watched a large, mini-van-type vehicle pulled up outside the school, loitering by the curb as the driver glowered at the front door. He didn't look happy - impatient like every taxi driver - making her gulp as she turned toward the hero. 

"There's a Goober LUX SUV outside."

"Oh, my stars! MY stars!" The man gasped, yanking his PearPhone from his pocket and baulking when he noticed the app said his car was here - and his rating was going down. He must've missed the notification, too distracted by his wife's sweet lips or the dumb kid's stupidity. 

"What, doofus?" (y/n) quirked an eyebrow, quickly following her lover as he dashed around the room in panic. 

"I missed the alert, darlin'! Now, my five-star rating is going down! C'mon, C'mon, C'mon, C'mon! S'go, S'go, S'go!" He urged them all, clapping his hands as everyone jumped into action. 

The kids grabbed a bag, swiftly wheeling the suitcases toward the door, including Bose, who lowered his face to the floor. He hurried toward the door without saying a word, frantic into the Goober without glancing at his friends, especially the happy couple. (y/n) grabbed her case, too, nudging Ray's until he raced over to take both, not wanting to see her lift a finger. 

"Chapa!" 

"What?--" Ray tossed a heavy bag toward the girl before shoving a suitcase toward her knees like a bowling ball. The force nearly toppled her over, but he didn't care, flashing his beloved wife a brilliant smile before holding his hand out for her to take. He practically dragged her to the car, but (y/n) didn't mind, tottering along with a giddy giggle. 

This was the beginning of her romantic break, and no one would ruin it. 

Everyone was so eager and rushed that no one noticed how Bose expertly programmed the Man's Nest security programme, which involved inputting a code far beyond his technical capabilities. The kid could barely count to ten, yet he punched in the string of numbers without issue, activating dozens of skin-searing lasers that crisscrossed every room should any burglar dare to break in. 

With that, he scuttled out of the door with his case, closing and bolting the door behind him, dashing toward the car with a mischievous grin. No one would ever know...the genuine Bose would be safe and snug in the Nest, and Schwoz would find the woman of his dreams. 

*bonjour mis amis. je have le smutti smut - oui-oui. if les enfants amongst us could shut their eyes for the next 5k, that would be lovely, and everyone avert your screens from your mothers.

(Raymond secretly wants a baby zut alors!)

SKIP IF YOU DON'T FANCY IT! ONWARDS!*

~

"Holy shit, doofus. This place is insane..."

"Anything for my best girl..." The hero grinned at his wife as she marvelled at their hotel room. She chucked her jacket over a regal chair draped in gold silk with a polished mahogany frame, offering both opulence and comfort. Its gracefully curved legs and delicate embellishments made it a statement piece of luxury. Yet, it was the bed she focused on. 

In the grandeur of the bedroom, the luxurious mattress commanded attention with soft sheets and plush, tufted velvet cushions. Crafted from polished mahogany, too, the bedframe boasted ornate carvings, while a canopy of sheer curtains added a romantic touch to the opulent retreat, inviting anyone who entered to indulge in a haven of rest and relaxation. She fell backwards onto it, testing the plushness and sighing, knowing this was the epitome of comfort as her husband laughed. 

Paris was a bit of her. The culture was clever, all elegance and the finer things in life as the city lights twinkled in the darkness. They'd landed quite late - past nine - and headed straight for the hotel, which was far too expensive and fancy for four tweens, but Ray paid for double twin rooms. He had to if he wanted to wine and dine his sweet girl, booking them into an executive suite facing the Champs de Mars. 

It was one of the best rooms available--anything to see her smile. Everything had a lovely, warm glow from the furniture's pastel hues. The wallpaper was French - thick, glittery, and doubtlessly expensive with its gold, elaborate design. The carpet was plush, creamy, and woollen, caressing her feet as she stood up and padded across the room, dodging the seventeenth-century sideboards and coffee table. 

"Oh, Raymond..." (y/n) breathed as she pulled one of the chintz drapes back from the window and peered at the outside world. 

An iconic structure illuminated the city skyline with a golden glow, its intricate lattice of lights shimmering against the dark canvas of the night sky. The city below was a tapestry of twinkling lights. The Eiffel Tower stood as a timeless sentinel as the couple gazed out, casting a romantic spell over the heroine. 

She didn't want to imagine how much he'd paid for the view, glancing back over her shoulder as Ray pressed his front to her back, enjoying it with her. His hands held her hips as he rested his chin on her shoulder, silently smirking to himself for a job well done at her awed expression. He took it as a sign he'd chosen well, feeling his heart sing when she took in every aspect, not wanting to lose a moment. 

"Do you like it?" He whispered, kissing her neck as she nodded slowly, barely aware of reality as the lights twinkled on The Eiffel Tower. It was breathtakingly beautiful, although he was looking at someone else. 

"Of course, doof! I've always dreamed of seeing The Eiffel Tower..." (y/n) sighed dreamily, leaning her forehead on the cool glass as her hand laid over the one on her hip. "Thank you..."

"I promised I'd make all your dreams come true when I married you, pretty girl."

"You didn't have to book us into the fanciest hotel in town, though..." She giggled, squirming at the ticklish sensation of his lips on her skin, but she couldn't be happier. His wedding band felt hot, hard, and heavy on her waist, slightly digging into her as he kept rubbing around his favourite spots...hips, tummy, and ass, up her ribcage until he nearly brushed under her breasts. 

"Bose was so shocked he couldn't say a word, poor kid..."

"Go big or go home, darlin'. And besides, I have a dream too..." Ray mumbled, losing himself in his wife's soft body and floral-scented hair.

The mention of that kid barely passed his mind, forgetting how uncharacteristically quiet and shy the boy was when they checked in. He barely said goodnight, not that the hero cared. He couldn't drag his wife into their bedroom quick enough, eager to have her all to himself in the lap of luxury because they didn't get to do this very often. Not with those little demons knocking on the door every day. 

"Really?" (y/n) asked quietly, feeling a new heat pulsing through her veins from his wandering fingertips. It didn't help how he'd stripped off his red jacket, revealing the deliciously tight black muscle shirt underneath. He looked so fucking hot, standing there in all black with his biceps bulging every time he moved his arms. 

Every inch of him was pressed against her, hands glued to her waist, and there was nowhere to go but the cityscape before her. 

"Oh, yeah..." he replied, lightly nibbling a spot just below her ear before bringing his lips back up, whispering in a sultry, throaty voice. 

"I've always wanted to say I fucked my wife in Paris."

"Raymond!" She gasped, half-scandalised, half-pulsating with heat. She sounded shocked, but it was a little late for that at this point. She was used to his antics, familiar with how he said it how it was, revelling in his blatant and unapologetic love and lust for her. So used to it, in fact, that the brief feeling - which could've been shock - passed all too quickly, painting a coquettish grin on her face in its wake. 

She turned her head to glance at him over her shoulder, giggling when his nose nuzzled into her cheek, mirroring her heated expression. His lips brushed her skin, holding her waist a little tighter as he pulled her ass back into his body. He was obvious and unashamed in every way, rolling his pelvis into her, nipping her jaw a little. 

"What? Don't you want me to ravish you, sweet girl? This is the City of Love, after all," Ray teased, a rumble in his voice when she rocked her hips with his, wiggling her butt as she pushed against the glass. A little minx in his mitts, just as unabashed as he was as she tilted her chin up, encouraging the marks he sucked into her skin. 

There wasn't a hint of rejection. Not even a suggestion that she didn't want him as much as he wanted her. If anything, she slumped against the pane more, arching her spine while his fingers danced with the button on her jeans. But indeed, giving in from the off wasn't as fun. 

"The kids are next door..." A pathetic excuse - murmured through lips curled upwards, making the man snarl. 

Frankly, he didn't give a shit. He had the girl of his dreams in his embrace, lovingly trapped with nowhere to go--his wife, hot, ready, aching to take his cock. He wouldn't stop for anyone, and certainly, not four little Satan-spawns, who made it their mission in life to steal him away in the morning, interrupting every clinch with their problems, groaning at every stolen kiss. 

It was time to test if his money was well-spent, to see if this hotel really was le triomphe de Paris--if anyone could push the soundproofing to its limits, it was them. 

"They won't hear a thing," he replied curtly, running his middle finger around the jean button before expertly popping it open with his forefinger and thumb. His sweet, precious girl didn't struggle, whining as another hand snuck around her body to grasp and fondle her tit, stealing that argument from her mind as she bucked into his touch. 

"W-we only just got here..." (y/n) gasped as he squeezed whatever he could grab, dipping into her pants only to stop when she went and ruined it. She loved playing games, and Ray loved a challenge. 

"No time like the present," he shot back instantly, wasting no time in moving past her panties and into her slick, circling her clit as he gathered her wetness on his fingers. 

Humming in the back of his throat, he approved of how her body did all the talking, juddering when the heel of his palm ground against her sensitive flesh. Soft moans fell from her mouth as he hunched over her body, playing it to a tune only he knew when he found her nipple through her shirt and bralette. That pulled a sharper whine from her, and when he bit the side of her neck...the fight left her. 

No more teasing. Just a sweet girl and her doofus in the most romantic city on Earth, in a suite designed to give the ultimate satisfaction. 

"Take me to the bed, then, doofus..." the heroine begged, nails scraping down the window as he unhurriedly toyed with her. 

"No..." Ray replied lowly, smirking evilly since he was enjoying the game she started. She - the girl of his dreams - was putty in his embrace, keening at the slightest touch until she dripped for him, soiling the loose jeans barely clinging to her hips. They shimmied down her body, making them both desperate to rip them off and get on with it, but he had a different idea. When in Paris...

"First, you'll take me right here, right now. Let the whole city see how well you take me." 

His mouth was hot against her ear, whispering harshly as she nodded without thought, becoming drunk and pliant on his throaty tone and thick fingers - the way they cupped between her legs to tease at her entrance.

Usually, she'd never be so daring, rationality telling her that anyone - one of the hundreds of tourists exploring the city's nightlife - could look up and see them in a lust-fuelled tangle. Then, the nerves kicked in, whispering about how they'd be the next internet sensation, how the hotel would kick them out, how the world would know what they did. Usually.

To her surprise, (y/n) found herself equally hungry, clammy palms leaving the window and their prints behind to roughly shove her jeans down her hip until they gathered at her knees. Then, it was just a matter of shimmying them down her calves and stepping out of them, kicking them to the side without a spare thought once her lower half was bare and accessible for her doofus. 

"Such a needy girl..." he chuckled, although he didn't waste the opportunity. With more space to manoeuvre, his fingers slipped through her slit with ease, smearing her wetness around her clit until she sobbed, nodding weakly.

"Such a good girl for me, though..." 

A hand curled around her throat, pulling her forehead away from the cool glass until she tilted the base of her skull on his shoulder. Her torso was a canvas for him to roam, tweaking her breasts while he twisted his neck to kiss her, tongue messily running across her lips to tangle with hers. 

"Want my cock, pretty girl?" He asked breathlessly after they pulled apart, and (y/n) didn't miss the angelic note in his tone. She could never understand how he could say such vulgar things so nonchalantly. Still, either way, she loved it, gasping, begging, vigorously jerking her head in a reverent yes. 

God, yes, she wanted it. Wanted his cock. The only thing that could soothe the ache in her pussy, five stories up, watching over the city of Paris with him all over her like a rash. It was daring, it was dangerous, it was downright obscene, but yes, she wanted it. 

"Your words, darlin'. Say it," Ray cooed, hissing through his teeth when his beloved wife turned to jelly in his arms, merely presenting her ass against the hardened length trapped in those black skinny jeans. 

But that was boring--too easy to just fuck her now without making her ravenous. Hearing her desire was hot - hotter than self-gratification could ever be. 

"I want it..." (y/n) mumbled quietly, her lips feeling fuzzy and clumsy like she'd spent the afternoon knocking back shot after shot of hard liquor. She'd say anything he wanted to hear if it meant he'd be deep inside her, screwing the lust and longing out, trusting her beloved idiot to take care of everything she couldn't think about. 

"Louder. Do you want to be fucked or not?" The hero growled, hands still against her clit and tit when her pitiful attempt barely made it to his ears. Where was the woman who commanded his home like a queen? The one who often straddled his hips and rode him with authority and conviction?

"Yes!" She cried a sudden desperation fuelling her sharp shout when the dear pleasure he gave her was ripped away. Her hips rolled into his fingertips, chasing the hazy delight. Yet he retreated before she could, bringing them to his lips instead so he could suck the honey off them - down to the goddamn knuckle. 

"Fuck, please, doofus...fuck me. Give me your cock."

"Right now? Right here? Wanna give all those people a show?" Ray grinned, licking at the delicious sweetness on his lips, eager to have another taste if she'd let him. But first, he needed to be inside her, straining against his jeans when she tucked her nose under his jaw and whimpered. 

"Fuck me hard, Captain. Give it to me."

"That's my girl." He moved in an instant, shoving her back against the window with an unusual but not unwelcome roughness so she was braced against the glass again. His foot kicked her ankles apart, spreading her legs a little further, opening his favourite view in the world while he hurried to free himself. God, he never tired of eyeing her so ready, wet, and frantic for him. 

Arching her back, (y/n) waited for what she craved, smiling tipsily when she heard the gentle, unmistakable jingle of his belt buckle as Ray shoved his pants and underwear down his thighs - just enough to free himself. He took his rigid length into his hand, pumping the achingly hard flesh with a groan as he guided the tip to her blazing cunt, sliding it through her folds.

A moan left her lips at the sensation, mewling when he rubbed himself against her clit to cover himself in slick. 

He couldn't help but grunt at the relief of fisting his cock, staring at her pretty cunt as it fluttered and clenched around nothing in anticipation. It was tempting to keep going, fuck himself to the biggest walking turn-on he'd ever seen. Still, Ray stopped himself, curling his forefinger and thumb around the base of his cock to will himself to calm down. 

"Fuckin' take it..." he growled lowly as he guided himself down to her entrance and pushed in, hissing when he felt that all-too-familiar tightness engulf his cock. 

Like always, there was some slight resistance, willing to force him back out until he surged forward, parting her walls as (y/n) wailed. The thickness was heavenly, making her jaw go slack and eyes flutter shut when his groin pressed against her ass, fully sheathed inside his sweet girl. She clenched around him, now sucking him in, squeezing him tightly like nothing he'd ever felt before, and it felt like coming home.

"Oh, pretty girl, you feel so good."

"Don't make me wait, Ray..." (y/n) whimpered, planting her feet a little further apart to give him more room, enticing him to start moving. Slick was dripping down her thighs at this point, allowing her lover to inch a little deeper, but he wasn't particularly fussed. 

He held her hips flush against his whilst he ran kisses from the edge of her shoulder to her neck, panting harshly and trying to reign in his desire - she'd never believe his lack of control when he had his wife in his arms.

"Keep those pretty eyes on the city. Leave me to my husbandly duties," Ray muttered against her throat with a smirk, gently sucking and nipping on her skin as he began to pull and push into her. 

They groaned together at the friction, clawing hands leaving greasy streaks down the window pane as his cock dragged against her walls, providing sweet relief. Starting off slow, the man hummed lowly in his throat as he steadily coated himself in her, rubbing her hips as he tried not to get too excited. He felt so deep inside her from this angle, marvelling at the sight of her bare flesh and the moans she made.

"Fuck--harder--" She pleaded whinily, wiggling her hips to try and force herself back onto him, taking matters into her own hands. The slow, gentle, shallow thrusts were pathetic and maddening, barely enough to satisfy the ache deep within her.

She needed the rough, brutal pace only he could give her, but Ray stopped her movements, holding her waist, when his mouth suddenly appeared next to her ear, hot and harsh.

"I said, look outside. Don't waste this view," he spat, a large hand shooting up to cup his chin and force her to turn to Paris again - like she could concentrate on anything but him. "And I'll look at this one."

With his sweet girl staring blankly at the warm, twinkling lights and traffic-heavy roads, the hero pawed at her body and took a step back to admire her. He'd swear on the book that he'd never seen anything so beautiful in all his born days, trailing his gaze from her naked back and shoulders to the reflection of her breasts in the glass to her hips and the delicious crease between her thighs.

God, he could stare at it all day, licking his lips as he studied every minute detail of how stuffed her cunt looked with his cock crammed inside. She took him so well, stretched and drenched around him, piecing a sinful picture together in his head, which he tucked away for a rainy day. 

His hands kneaded her ass, parting her cheeks to see the puckered hole that only he knew - a vulgar secret and privilege he'd never take for granted. Although, perhaps he'd take it later on when he'd fucked her pussy numb. 

"Feels so good, Captain," (y/n) gasped, glueing her eyes to the skyline as her husband moved again, finding a rough, sweet pace that had them slumping against the window like rutting animals. 

"I know, darlin'. Shit, your pussy feels so good," he groaned from above, belt buckle jingling with every movement of his hips. His skin was blazing, still dressed from head to toe, but it only inspired liquid fire in the heroine's veins; glancing down to her right to see his biceps in that black muscle shirt. 

Her pussy fluttered at the image conjured in her head: sweat clinging to his skin, strands of hair falling from his gelled quiff, the trail of hair down his navel peeking out from the hem of that stupidly hot shirt from where he'd shoved his jeans down those toned thighs. 

She just knew he looked like sin and heaven and everything she needed for another gush of slick to run down her thighs, making her lover snarl and smirk. 

"You fuckin' love this, don't you?" He chuckled, resting his forearm on the window as he snapped his cock into her harder, nosing her cheek as (y/n) struggled to breathe--see--think, let alone speak. 

"Wha--?"

"Anyone could look up now and see you, and you don't give a shit. These pretty fuckin' tits are on show for the world, but you're mine, aren't you?" Ray growled, releasing her iron grip on her pelvis to gather a fistful of hair, bringing her head back towards his. 

He'd never hurt her; a gentleness in everything he did, even when he slapped and pinched at her stiff nipples - moans falling from her lips with every tweak and tug. Something green, dark, and ugly rose within him when he thought about someone else seeing her like this, bare and beautiful, which should've been for his eyes only, but it merely made him fuck harder. 

Anyone would look up and see him fucking her, his touch making her cry in ecstasy, his ring on her finger. 

"Yes--sh-shit, yes!" She nodded weakly, a thrum of pleasure passing through her as her doofus wrapped himself around her, her bare back to his fully clothed front.

"You love this--can feel your cunt squeezing me, dirty little girl."

"'M all yours, Ray. Love how you f-fuck me," the woman stuttered, practically drooling down the glass as he continued ploughing her pussy, bringing forth the release she needed so badly. "God, I wanna cum..."

"Yeah? Wanna cream all over my cock?" Ray cooed with an evil, shit-eating grin as he snaked his hand down to her woefully neglected clit. He'd left it alone for far too long, leaving it exposed and throbbing in the cool air until his fingers began their assault.

"Let me cum! P-Please, I need--I need--I--" (y/n) shrieked at the sensation, lurching forward as he rubbed rapid circles against her most sensitive spot, electrifying her every nerve end. 

Her tongue felt clumsy and too big for her mouth. It barely wrapped around each word as she gabbled and babbled like an idiot, feeble and pliant like putty for her doofus.

"Fuck, you can't get enough. This little pussy needs filling every fucking day..." Ray muttered to himself, memories of their previous encounters coming to mind as he fluidly pumped into her, never failing in his rhythm. 

Before their flight, she'd begged him to fuck her into their mattress, accidentally nudging their suitcase onto the bedroom floor after he accosted her while packing. Maybe that was hours ago, and perhaps they'd had a quick fumble in the plane toilet, but God, if she was insatiable, he was ravenous. And he'd never, ever say no.

"I'll give you what you need, precious girl--I'll always take care of you..." He mumbled, lapping at her neckline as he played her every weak spot, 

"So, cum for me...Let go, sweet girl. Let me feel you...""

It ripped through her on his word, pulsating around his cock as Ray groaned, willing himself to thrust through it, crowding her against the window until he had her tits pressed against them. He kept circling her clit, whispering sweet, filthy nothings in her ears as her fingers clenched and cunt twitched. Soak me...get this pussy ready for me...fuck, I know what you need.

"Shit--Ray!" (y/n) screeched, writhing in his arms when he didn't stop. His thrusts were frantic and fast, balls slapping against his ass as Ray groaned. 

He couldn't help it; maybe it was the romantic setting, the thrill of exhibitionism, or the temptation of another round on the bed, but something told him to claim her now. He felt wound up like a coil, endlessly needy and in love with his perfect wife as she became even slicker around him.

He'd undoubtedly make it up to her - in no way planning for the night to end so early. This was only the first round, and he planned to stay inside her all night, to make her see stars with orgasm after orgasm until she didn't know what planet she was on, but first, Ray needed his release. 

The sensation of his pretty girl coming around him was convincing enough; it had been hours since he came inside her, and something inside him itched. 

It was a peculiar feeling, one he'd never felt in his life until he met and wedded her. The thought of painting her insides with his cum made his thoughts go black, replacing them with deep, carnal desires to see her swell and grow, all because of him. He'd make her grow and change, and fuck, the outcome... He knew she said to wait, but fuck if it didn't excite him, just the thought of giving her a ba--

"Gonna fill you up, sweet girl..." the man choked out, stepping closer until (y/n)'s entire body was pressed against the window, rutting against her ass and a sensitive spot inside her in tiny, grinding thrusts. He felt it getting closer, scolding himself for not lasting. 

But her pussy was incredible, stealing his resolve as he curled his arms and brought her into a tight embrace.

"Yeah? Gonna cum inside me, doofus?" She whispered, grinning dopily, still riding her high when she turned to look at him over her shoulder. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he seemed effortlessly handsome as he leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers, panting hard. 

"Fuck, yeah..." Ray nodded feverishly, eyebrows knitted together in concentration as he kneaded her tits and tummy, not knowing where to touch, "Gonna stuff this pussy and then--shit--I'll--"

"What, doofus? What do you want? I'll do whatever you want..." His wife asked softly, rocking backwards on the balls of her feet to meet his thrusts, adding a little extra bite to the pleasure that coursed through them. The glass had fogged up, and if any sightseer looked up now, they'd doubtlessly know what was going on, but neither cared. 

Everything built up slowly and quickly at once, pushing them further together until the lines of reality blurred with delight, making Ray throw his head back and howl. He returned to her clit, keeping his arms tightly around her frame--like he couldn't bear to let her go, not when the end was so near.

"That's my good girl," he growled, smooching her cheek loudly as he raced through a million daydreams - all of them filthy. On the bed, on the dresser, the vanity table, seeing her on her knees, parting her thighs and diving in, bending her over and pounding her needy little hole until the sun came up. 

"I'll eat you out after this."

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah. Let me have a taste. Let you cum on my face, and then, I'll fuck you again and again," the hero rambled on, sinking further and further into his desire, getting off on everything he wanted to do to her. 

"Ray..." And it seemed she wanted it, too. She bent her back, arching into his touch as they fucked harder and harder, chasing their highs. The extra stimulation of her clit brought (y/n) to another peak, tilting her head back against his shoulder, and Ray knew she was his to drain for pleasure.

"Not letting you go tonight, darlin'," he promised against her temple, hot breath rolling across her face as his pace became uneven yet snappier. "I want to have you all night."

"Cum for me, then, doof. Fill me up," (y/n) coaxed, finding his hand on her breath and threading her fingers through it, holding it over her heart as she whispered the sweetest words of the night. "I'll let you fuck my ass."

It ended him. A harsh gasp ripped from the man as his hips pressed into hers as far as possible. Warmth spread inside the heroine as he stilled, saying nothing but rushed mumblings of her name and small groans, holding his sweet girl as tight as he could. She came second, milking him in gentle waves, mewling softly as he painted her insides before all of Paris.

Strong arms - those bulking biceps - held her safe, cooling their blazing, sticky bodies against the steamy window, refusing to pull out since his pearly load was so precious. It felt right to keep it inside her - it scratched the itch, and even though he knew they shouldn't, it didn't mean he couldn't dream. 

Just knowing she was full to the brim with his cum, knowing one day he'd have the satisfaction of seeing her swell, was enough. For now. 

"Oh, fuck, Ray..." (y/n) sighed once they slumped against the window, fingers cupping her breasts and gently squeezing - more of a comfort thing than sensual. 

He rested his chin on her shoulder, sighing deeply as she leaned her weight back on him at his gentle touch, humming in mild discontent when she realised he was still wearing clothes. Admittedly, very hot clothes that made him look like some kind of God, but still. She wanted the intimacy of skin-on-skin, but that would be in a bit - once they had a breather.

"Good? He asked, kissing her shoulder, and he felt the weight of her flesh in his hands. He'd never seen someone so beautiful, utterly besotted.

"Good," she confirmed breathlessly with a delicate smile, reaching behind her to bring his face to hers. They shared a brief kiss, so soft compared to when he ploughed her senseless. "So good."

"Good," Ray smiled, squeezing her body before gazing at the skyline, all doe-eyed and gooey inside. The night sky was stunning, the warm glow of the lights even more so, but his sweet girl? She was everything he ever wanted and needed, looking so perfect with his softening cock still deep inside her. 

"I'm yours, too, y'know..." he muttered after a few moments of silence, "I want you to be mine so bad, darlin', but I'm yours too. You've got me--forever."

"I know, Ray. I love you, too," (y/n) sighed, rubbing her hand over his, grinning when she heard the slight chink of their wedding rings bumping together. 

To say she was glowing was an understatement; she was safe, happy, and warm with her husband, even if she realised post-entanglement that they'd played a risky game - fun but scandalous.

"Can't believe we just fucked in front of the most famous city in the world."

"I'm hearing no complaints...In fact, you begged for it. Screamed," Ray grinned, and upon hearing the smirk in his voice, (y/n) whacked his shoulder, albeit with warm cheeks and a grin of her own. 

Perhaps that was true, but people in glass houses... He made himself sound like such a prude. Yet, really, he was the horniest man she'd ever met, and the one with his pants hanging around his knees because he'd been so desperate - the one who'd still not yet pulled out because he was hoping to get lucky again. 

"Only because you seduced me! Like you did before we left home and were on the plane. You're a bad influence, you big doofus." She giggled, gasping slightly when their bodies moved, making his cock drag against her walls. 

It wasn't the best argument, given how her eyes fluttered closed, biting her lip in what Ray saw as an utterly seductive move. Was she trying to make him want her? Because it was working, he whispered hotly against her ear, suddenly serious and baritone, his voice as smooth as a rich, dark chocolate.

"Can't a man make love to his wife?"

"Against a window for the world to see?" (y/n) gulped when he tweaked her nipples again, sending all-too-familiar shockwaves down her spine as her sensitive core tingled. Ray was silent and simply leaned forward for a filthy kiss - all tongue and teeth as he planned his next move. What was that offer she made again?

His eyes glanced down to where their bodies connected, feeling himself harden inside her again when he observed the deliciously slick flesh engulfing his cock. Only he had a different goal, pulling out of her entirely to a chorus of petulant whines as he drifted north. 

He'd give the city a show, wanting his precious wife ruined and speechless by the end of the night. It started when he pressed himself into her tight passage, turning whimpers into wails and gasps as he whispered...

"Well, when in Paris, sweetheart..."

*je suis sweating after that, mon amors. mais oui, mais oui ray wants his baby so bad (and I do too but not yet ruth.)

children, open les peepers and let's go forth. we've got some weird mime shit to get through and endless bits of pda from our doofus and sweet girl. 

allon-sy! (said the 10th--or 14th???--doctor).

~The next morning~

The team rose bright and early, donning their uniforms before heading to a quirky cafe in downtown Paris. 

Everything was so French, unsurprisingly, with freshly baked bread, croissants and coffee for breakfast, walking down the street to the sound of an accordion. Of course, Ray and (y/n) went hand-in-hand, wearing matching lightweight, waterproof jackets for the cool morning air, and they adored the city of love. 

It screamed them, strolling with enamoured smiles as the kids trailed behind them, chatting about the thrill of being in a foreign country. Bose was a little quiet, but (y/n) supposed it could be jet lag, and her doofus had already swept her into a passionate kiss before she could think about it further. 

She entered the cafe first, ears warming when Ray opened the door for her like a true gentleman, even if he left Danger Force to fend for themselves. He strolled in like he owned the place, looking ridiculously handsome in his Captain Man costume. 

He faced a hoity-toity old lady with a sour expression and an alarmingly bright red jacket, tie, and crisp white shirt - her name was Marie, and she had the joy of being their host.

"All right, everybody! Calm down! America's here!" Captain Man announced as he walked toward the woman and unzipped his jacket. Miss Danger gestured for the children to come closer. She was willing to let her husband do most of the talking since only he could saunter around with that level of nonchalant confidence. 

"All right, first things first, I got a couple'a great jokes about French people, so let's dive right in. How many French people does it take to surrender to--" Or perhaps not.

"Okay, doofus, we're not gonna go there!" (y/n) shouted above his voice, jumping forward to push him away before he could say anything offensive. They'd not even been there for twenty seconds, and he'd already scandalised his host, etching a deep frown on her face - some things were still too raw to talk about. 

"Je suis de le mond désolé pour lui," Mika crooned to the woman with her sweetest smile, hoping to smooth things over as her friend gave the hero a stern look. 

She'd sat with them on the plane, and when they didn't sneak off to the bathroom together - which was obvious to her - she'd had a few French lessons from (y/n). Not much, just enough for the average tourist, but Marie looked at her like she'd grown a second head when she put it into practice. 

"I'm sorry. I do not understand," the older woman replied in a thick, French accent, making the group's Smarties frown. 

"But she was speaking French," (y/n) pointed out, coming up from behind Mika to gently place her hands on the girl's shoulders. Ray's soft eyes followed her every move, but he smirked at his young sidekick, ready to deploy his smug face.

"But no! French is just English with a very ridiculous accent!"

"See? I'm right about everything," he told Mika arrogantly when she turned to him with that stupid and annoying face. Marie was nice enough, but that couldn't be right...and she desperately wanted to smack him.

"Oh, doofus..." (y/n) sighed and shook her head at him, but as always, she couldn't help but smile and peck his cheek. 

Ray was just too adorable to her when he looked at her with that dopey grin, sliding his arm around her waist as Mika rolled her eyes. Deep down, he knew she was right, glaring at the French woman for being so ridiculed. 

"This place kinda looks like Hip Hop Purée," Chapa mentioned as she wandered around the café, noting the similarities. 

The counter was in the same place with all the snacks and drinks, the logo on the wall was similar, and the decor screamed modern American culture. Save for the random memorabilia and displays around the room and the name difference with Paris, the heroes felt at home - almost as if they hadn't gone transatlantic. 

"But of course! We want you to feel at home while you guard our national treasures," Marie replied, dramatically gesturing around the room with elegant sweeps of her arms. 

"Well, I guess somebody has to," Ray retorted as the woman moved to the priceless artefacts they had to protect. His gaze slid to the only other Parisian in the room, glaring harshly at the blond, garlicky man as he spun around in an ergonomic chair and sipped an espresso with an unbothered, clueless smile. "Since Monsieur Man over there is on strike."

"That is correct. I will not fight crime until someone buys me a pretty pink motorcycle," he replied defiantly, looking almost ridiculous in his copycat uniform. (y/n) had heard how he was popular with the ladies, sharing many characteristics with Captain Man, except he hadn't found a sweet girl of his own yet. She supposed he was handsome somehow, but he had nothing on her husband. 

"I'm sick of taking the subway! I want to drive around and say, beep, beep, beep! Out of my way! I am Monsieur Man!"

"Okay..." Was all Chapa had to say, reacting to his cheery explanation with a flat, bored expression--almost a look of repulsion. She wasn't impressed, wondering why she had to travel thousands of miles for the whims of some spoilt little French boy. 

"What are we guarding here?" (y/n) asked, turning to Marie to refocus the group. Still, when she saw the items the hostess had gathered, she wouldn't exactly call them treasures. 

"Only the most important treasure in all of France," she said proudly, gazing at the weirdest collection of knickknacks they'd ever seen.

"Napoleon's pants..." She held up the so-called antique, and everyone wrinkled their noses. The garments were pinned to a board for preservation and were tiny as if they belonged to a child. They'd yellowed with age, looking disgustingly old, wrinkled, and manky as she held them to the light. 

"The first French bread ever baked..." She gently picked up the long, stick-like baguette like it was made of glass, but dear God, the smell. 

The bread had to be decades old and had turned a dark shade of green due to a cakey layer of mould. It was enough to make anyone sick to the stomach, and (y/n) nuzzled against Ray's chest, subtly inhaling his fragrant cologne and not the musky stench from the bread. 

"And finally, the original helmets of music superstars, the Daft Punk." She smiled at the futuristic helmets, which made everyone genuinely smile. They could be considered true treasures - part of music history, even if they weren't precisely to Ray's taste. 

"Ah...I definitely know who Daft Punk is because I'm cool, and I know cool things," the man commented flatly as he stared at the helmets. Yet, nothing came to mind, not even when the kids cheered and gasped with excitement. Even his sweet girl grinned with awed eyes, her hand clamped over her mouth. 

"Really, doofus? I wouldn't have thought they were your thing..." (y/n) frowned confusedly as she squeezed his beefy arm to her body. She knew everything about him, from the colour of his underpants to his childhood imaginary friend to his favourite baby name. This was news to her. 

"Name any of their songs," Mika dared him, making the hero freeze, not that he showed it. He couldn't care less about this Daft Punk, but he played it off well, keeping his expression stern and focused as he ignored her. 

"There's no time!" He shouted dramatically before snapping his gaze to Chapa. "Volt! Let's get an inventory of those weapons before any of these cheese-eaters try to steal my favourite band's helmets or whatever."

"Uh, we got a problem, Cap..." The girl said slowly as (y/n) glanced at her lover suspiciously, only to look even more perturbed when she heard that. Those weapons were all they had; problems weren't what they needed when they'd left everything else at home. 

"We took the wrong bag," she revealed, snatching a familiar item from the gym bag. 

Ray scoffed at that doohickey of Bose's creation, his little windmill of angry faces. He hated that thing, but unfortunately, they'd mistaken the proper weapon bag for the identical junk sack, and he growled when he yanked out another bizarrely useless item - a tangled, brightly coloured, shaggy slinky. 

"Aw, what? Care to explain this, buddy?" He asked the kid harshly, stomping over with the slinky in hand to where Bose had been deathly silent, keeping himself to himself in a shady corner. It was weird; he was typically so outgoing, but he had barely said a word since they'd left Swellview, and even when his boss snapped, he didn't turn around. 

"I can't because I am the dumb one," he replied quietly, sounding like he'd gone swimming in a brewery, slurring his words in a funny voice. His jacket said BrainStorm, but (y/n) narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

"Bose, honey..." she called out to him, reaching to place a comforting hand on his shoulder. The poor kid sounded like he had the world's worst cold, but as Ray threw the springy tangle into a corner, a sour smell assaulted his nose, a shiver ran down his spine...a deep, instinctive yearning settled in his gut. 

"Ew...did someone science in here?!" He questioned in a disgusted tone with a wrinkled face, glancing at his sweet girl and the kids.

"Don't luck at me, doofus! I only do math when you're around to drool..." (y/n) exclaimed as she and Mika held their hands up in defence. They were The Smarties but had barely had enough time to sleep, let alone flex their brains, so it didn't make sense. That is until Ray's nose pointed him somewhere else.

"Wait a minute," he muttered, squinting at Bose's figure. His superhero senses told him something was wrong, especially when he noticed how the boy refused to look at him and how short he seemed to be--a little too shifty.

So, he yanked the hood down, revealing those familiar sickly brown locks and a pair of dark sunglasses. He quickly ripped from his stunned face, and there were a pair of irritatingly familiar, wide, brown eyes locked onto his. 

"Schwoz! Dang it!" Ray snapped upon seeing the genius through his cunning disguise, making the others gasp in horror, too. "I thought I told you to stay home, you little nerd!"

Schwoz didn't even need to think about his next move. He'd been busted, and now that the cat was out of the bag, he felt no loyalty to Ray. There was no need to keep up this façade, not when he had a personal mission to complete, so he threw the hero and his sidekicks an anguished glance before bolting for the door.

"I want to find looooooove!"

"Wait...if that was Schwoz...then where's...?" Mika pondered as she stared thoughtfully at Chapa, who was stunned speechless by the handyman's devious actions and dramatic exit.

"Kevin!" Ray screeched in horror, his face a picture of panic when he realised the worst. The thought was there, but come on...

"Um, doofus, you mean, Bose?" (y/n) corrected in a whisper as she hovered by his elbow. She was equally terrified at the heart-stopping thought of accidentally leaving one of her babies in the Nest. Still, she couldn't help but frown when her husband got his name wrong - after so many weeks, if not months, of knowing him. 

"I mean--Bose!--I mean, BrainStorm!" He exclaimed dramatically when he realised he lacked his wife's tact, shouting the boy's name when it should've barely been a whisper. 

But he got there in the end, and the couple gawped at each other in a state of pure panic; this was the first time they'd forgotten a child in the many years of having them, and it felt like they'd lost a limb. They felt sick to their stomachs, foreheads clammy and fingers trembling as (y/n) slowly shuffled into his embrace, picturing the poor kid alone in the Man's Nest. It broke her heart, and all she could think was how it was her fault. 

You didn't check. You should've noticed. You will be responsible if he gets hurt. Her brain always picked the right moments to be so helpful. 

"You guys, what happened to Bose?" Chapa asked angrily, breaking them out of their self-loathing. She was aloof and insensitive, but deep down, she cared about her friends--especially the ones who could barely tell a goldfish from a grenade. 

"Did we leave him at home?"

"Alone?" Miles gasped, snapping his gaze to his teachers as they gulped. 

"Yes! Oh, God...we left BrainStorm at home! Oh, my baby..." (y/n) whimpered, feeling truly awful as she hugged herself. Ray tried to comfort her, keeping his arm around her shoulders as he mournfully stared at the floor before pecking her hair. 

"He's my favourite one!" He nodded, not that it helped. The others looked at him offendedly, although Chapa could understand why. Still, (y/n) slapped his chest and tried not to smile or show any sign of approval because that would be wrong. Very wrong.

"Captain Man! We don't have favourites!" She told him firmly, flashing the children a wobbly but sincere smile since she loved them all for unique reasons, but that wasn't important whilst she sunk further into her sadness. 

"But poor Bosey...he's probably scared and cold and hungry and tired, and oh, God! Doofus!"

"I know, sweet girl. I know..." Ray sniffled, holding her painfully contorted face against his chest when her rambling turned into anguished, strangled cries. He couldn't bear to see her sad but knew her pain, feeling responsible and guilty despite not showing it; deep down, he cared, and it was enough to bring tears to his eyes, too. 

They could picture it now: he'd be tucked up in a corner of their home, not knowing how to find the kitchen or turn up the thermostat. He wouldn't have gotten any sleep, too afraid of the dark and the monsters that could lurk in it since he didn't do well alone. The poor kid must've been terrified, and it was impossible to help him--possibly days before they could go home. 

He didn't show it often, but Captain Man would move mountains for his sidekicks, so it mildly shocked them to see him so distraught. The man resorted to squeezing his beloved wife in His embrace, manically petting her soft hair as she fanned her eyes, refusing to show fear in front of her other babies, but they wouldn't stop. 

"Somebody call my baby Bose...My poor baby," she whimpered, feeling a little pathetic, but luckily, Mika swiftly fished the PearPhone from her pocket. She had Bose on speed dial, clicking his contact and holding the cell to her ear as the dialling tone beeped. 

"Relax, (y/n/n)...I'm calling him."

"It won't work!" A cruel, mocking laugh came from the corner - more like a sneer. Miss Danger flashed her most vicious glare at its owner, wishing she could burn holes in Monsieur Man's head as he sat there, perfectly content and carefree, whilst her world was in chaos. 

"Listen here, Pepé Le Pew..." she growled, so ready to sink her claws into him that Ray had to encircle his arms around her waist to keep her at bay, only for another annoying froggy accent to reach her ears. 

"The cell phone service you are using, ATandOui, is on strike."

"The whole country is on strike," the French hero explained, coolly sipping his espresso as Ray tried the number to no avail. "They all strike for Monsieur Man. Ha, ha!"

"Okay, that's it! I'm gonna rip his head off. See if he's still smirking then." (y/n) lunged for the man, hoping to at least gouge an eye out or break his nose, but Ray was too swift and strong. He kept her snuggly in his arms, whispering soothing words in her ear to drown out Monsieur Man's victorious huff. She was better than that, even if her babies' safety could make her ferocious. 

"If only we had someone who could teleport back home..." Miles suggested dryly, giving the woman a bemused yet tender look, making her ears warm. 

"Au revoir, Frenchies," the boy sassed before jerking his arm in the air, disappearing in a flash of golden light. Surprisingly, he didn't reappear half a centimetre to the left or an inch to the right, so Ray and (y/n) assumed he'd returned to the Man's Nest - a much-needed reassurance. 

"Nice! One of your superpowers actually worked... Lookin' at you, ShoutOut," the handsome man remarked, which earned a few eye rolls from the girls, but at least his wife perked up, and he was relieved to see her smiling again. 

"Wow, you're really gonna go there?" Mika growled, a little hurt, but she had the last laugh when (y/n) reprimanded her doofus like a mother berating her child. 

A gentle tug on his earlobe told him to behave, and he begrudgingly apologised to the girl, earning himself a soft kiss. They leaned in, needing a little sweetness after so much distress, but just when their lips were about to touch...

"What are you doing?!"

"Get out of here!" Two disgusted, ladylike voices suddenly bellowed from the female toilets at the back of the café, and a mortified figure burst through the door. It was Miles, who covered his blazingly hot face with his hands after seeing...things. He'd be scarred for life, but nothing was more humiliating than an utter failure. 

"Okay, if anyone else is curious, that is the ladies' room," he said meekly as his friends stared at him, making the girls cringe. Nothing was worse than stumbling into a place where you couldn't be less wanted, and he'd really taken one for the team there. 

"Anybody else got any ideas?!" Ray asked sternly, still worried and now pissed off since he'd missed a kiss from his sweet girl. And he really needed that kiss.

"I've got an idea!" Monsieur Man called from his cosy corner, ignoring Miss Danger's frosty glances. She'd warm up to him eventually - all women did - so he couldn't help but smile when she rolled her eyes and snarled.

"Merci, but we're good."

"Ah, but mon chéri..." the Parisian hero crooned smoothly with a blinding smile, a little too flirtatious for Ray's liking, as he stiffened and stood closer to her. But Monsieur Man was harmless, shifting his gaze behind them, finding something hilarious as everyone stared at him.

"Why don't you stop that mime from stealing the baguette?" He suggested playfully, pointing to where a sneaky criminal had slipped past Captain Man's razor-sharp senses and swiped the mouldy bread. 

The heroes turned around to see the bizarre man creeping away most ridiculously. He was a classic mime, his face painted a ghastly white with exaggerated features. At the same time, he wore a black beret, white gloves, a monochrome striped shirt, braces, and black breeches. 

Watching him was funny as he kicked his feet out with every step, the baguette raised high above his head, but despite the cutesy act, a criminal was still a criminal. 

"Freeze!" Ray ordered after getting over his initial shock, and the mime immediately stopped...and began shivering?

"Oh, freeze! Like he's cold... That's kinda good," (y/n) giggled as she watched the silly man tremble like he was stuck on an arctic tundra. It even broke a smile on Ray's face, laughing with the kids when the actor hugged the baguette close and chuckled, too. 

"All right, take it. You've earned the bread..." Ray sighed--so impressed with his quick wit and improvisation that he didn't have the heart to chase after the criminal. But that wasn't the point, much to his sidekicks' disgust and fury. 

"No!"

"That's stealing!"

"He's getting away!" Mika and Miles exclaimed, wildly gesturing to the mime, who prepared to make a swift if overacted, exit. Luckily, Chapa had the brains to guard the door, blocking his path with the deadliest weapon in their arsenal - The Mean Wheel. 

And surprisingly, it worked. One flash of Bose's grumpy face and the mime cowered away, holding his hands up in surrender with little fight left to flee.

"I guess it works!" The girl declared happily, expecting an epic brawl, but maybe Bose was onto something. It gave Ray enough time to grab the guy by his collar, yanking him back into the store.

"Well, sometimes, you just--" he grunted, pulling his detainee back with a mighty jerk as he jogged on the spot, "--y'know, get lucky."

"That's a Daft Punk song..." Miles pointed out, but he wasn't surprised when a blank expression passed over the hero's face. 

"I know it is. Thank you," he scoffed casually, even though no one was fooled by his bluff. 

Ray had to save face, not only for the civilians and so-called heroes watching but for his sweet girl, who shook her head in amusement as she kept her eyes trained on the mime. She didn't trust them - something about how they didn't speak made her nervous. 

"Then sing it," Chapa taunted, smirking underneath her poker face. Everyone knew the man couldn't resist a challenge, and it was a battle of wills as he pondered his next move. 

"Too expensive..." he answered vaguely before quickly dropping his gaze to the surly mime, clenching his fist around his collar in case he tried to escape. 

He didn't trust them either, snapping his fingers for Mika to bring him a chair. The girl gently placed it in the middle of the floor, unaware of his plan. 

She was shocked to see how roughly her teacher shoved the poor man onto the seat, nearly pushing him onto the floor as a melancholy pout made his bottom lip wobble. It was even more alarming to watch Miss Danger loom over him, an uncharacteristically aggressive glint in her eye as she studied the mime's pasty face, unnerving him for some weird reason. 

She knew they had to question him about why he targeted the national treasures, but did they have to be so...mean?

"Talk!" Ray bellowed, making the actor flinch at his loud tone. Still, he said nothing - just collected himself and returned to sitting prettily. 

"I said talk! Tell me where your friends are!"

"He's a mime. They don't talk!" Mika told him exasperatedly, knowing he could shout all day but never get through. (y/n) usually told him stuff like that, but she was weirdly silent for some reason, observing the mime broodingly.

"They also don't have friends," her brother jokingly added, which to most people would be true. Mimes were socially celebrated, perhaps a little nerdy and weird in most circles, but the couple knew better. Oh, they knew things the children would never believe. Things that would scar their innocent minds. 

"Oh, he's got friends!" 

"Guys, he's a mime. They live in hives, so when you see one, there's always a mime hive nearby," the heroine explained, much to the children's confusion. They looked at her like she was crazy, not missing how antsy Ray was. 

"I expect this from Captain Man, but not you, M-D. Are you thinking of bees?" Chapa asked dryly, unable to believe such outlandish, childish nonsense. 

"No! We're not making this up!" (y/n) exclaimed indignantly, clinging to her husband's arm as he frantically looked around for this so-called hive. "Mimes work together, they live in hives, and they protect their Mime Queen at all costs! Trust us!"

"I do not trust you..." Miles replied slowly, staring at the couple warily. He couldn't trust them, not when she spouted such nonsense, and he fondled any bit of flesh he could reach. Still, Ray didn't need their faith, nor did he seek their permission, returning to glare at the mime and bark his orders. 

"Talk! Tell me where your hive is!"

"He's not gonna talk!" Mika yelled back, wondering when the man would learn, not that he'd listen. 

"We'll see about that..." Ray growled before reaching for his belt, fingers fumbling angrily as he searched for his laser remote. In his experience, although unpleasant, a little pain and zapping here and there often loosened a criminal's lips. Even if the children disapproved, he shot a few orange bolts at the mime's shoulder, searing his skin a little - not enough to scar, but just enough to make him yelp. 

"Talk! Talk! Talk!" He snapped, zapping the guy three times until the mime clutched at his chest, a mournful expression turning his face sour. He was an excellent actor and didn't break character through the mild torture. 

"Okay, this guy's good! He's gotten me twice so far. I say we just let him have the bread, you guys."

"No!"

"Stop!" The children groaned as the hero stopped his interrogation and smiled cheesily. That's what the crook wanted--to lure them into a false sense of security, but they knew better. Plus, the bread wasn't theirs to give away like some two-cent fairground prize. 

"Doofus, our job is to protect the bread, not give it to the first person who smiles at you!" His sweet girl said, chastising him, but Ray just whined like a little kid. 

"But he wants it! Look, he's hungry!" He said petulantly, grinning as their captive pretended to tuck a handkerchief into his collar, rubbing his tummy like he'd not eaten in a week. The man felt sympathy for him yet failed to realise that the mime could just go to the bakery and buy fresh, non-mouldy bread. 

"Well, he can go and whistle for it 'cause he's not getting a single crumb!"

"He's got a little bib going..." Ray sighed, amusedly watching the mime's antics even as his beloved wife scolded him. He was in a world of his own, absentmindedly patting the small of her back as Mika groaned and rolled her eyes. 

"Cap..." she called out, but his stare remained blank and vacant. 

"CAAAAAPPPPP!" The girl said louder, her flat tone finally reaching him when (y/n) whacked his shoulder and flicked his ear. The man blinked a few times, turning to his wife with a slight pout since he didn't like being on her wrong side, but the annoying noise of Mika talking to him soured his mood. 

"WHHHHHAAAAAAT?" He replied in the same monotone drone, flashing the whites of his eyes when they rolled back in disgust. Would they ever stop pestering him?

"Let's try something else," she suggested, gracefully brushing past his rudeness when her friends slapped him again. Giving her a grateful smile, she turned to the mime, studying him closely. 

"Like what?"

"What if we just played along? Let's let him do his mime games, and maybe he'll like us and tell us something," The girl grinned hopefully, making her teachers exchange a thoughtful look. At least they were considering it. 

"If he won't speak our language, let's try speaking his..." Her brother added pensively, circling the glum-looking mime as he gently placed a friendly hand on his shoulder. He agreed with her; he'd always been the hippie type, and it was much better than lasering the poor guy. 

"Oh, no! I sure hope no one throws an imaginary rope around me!" Mika exclaimed in a weird voice, drawing puzzled frowns from her friends. 

Her cheery, overly enthusiastic attitude wasn't natural. She sounded like she was on a TV commercial or as if she'd had a brain transplant, especially when she smiled like that - a little too brightly for sanity. It didn't impress Ray or Chapa, the latter of whom folded her arms and glared because it was stupid. There was no way she'd do that. 

"What?" They said together flatly, but it worked on the mime. He perked up instantly, turning that frown upside down when he finally understood ShoutOut's meaning. Snapping his head in her direction, they smiled gently at each other, radiating hope, peace, rainbows, and everything else Chapa hated. 

"Because then I'd have no choice but to get pulled in." That had the stripey-shirt-wearing man leaping excitedly, as giddy as a schoolboy, to join her little game. As Mika began to jovially run away, he expertly mimicked taking an imaginary rope from his imaginary belt before spinning it around his head like a lasso and tossing it in her direction. 

"Oh no! I'm running away!" She announced in that fake voice before she was caught, arms glued to her sides like he'd tied her up. "He's got me!"

"He got you! He totally got you!" Ray exclaimed, happily pointing to the mime's antics as he began to pull the girl toward him in solid and dramatic tugs. Someone changed his tune quickly...

"Do me next! Do me! Rope me!" 

"Doofus, watch out!" (y/n) gasped when he pushed past her, Miles, and Chapa, utterly charmed by the mime's innocent act. 

It was a world away from how he'd threatened and assaulted him, jumping up and down with his hand above his head. He volunteered as tribute, ignorant to the tired, shaking heads behind him. Was this a good idea?

~

Ten minutes later, the mime had added to his posse. 

He'd managed to rope - literally and figuratively - Mika, Ray, (y/n), and Miles, lashing them together with his invisible lasso. They didn't struggle, playing his little game with bright smiles and good sportsmanship - everyone except Chapa. 

The moody girl refused to stoop so low, hovering on the sidelines with crossed arms and a joyless expression as she watched in disdain. She couldn't believe them, watching as they fell for its tricks one by one, huddling together until (y/n) was pressed against her husband's side and her fellow students were tucked under her arms. Utterly ridiculous. 

""Uh-oh, we're tied up!" They exclaimed, clamouring loudly about how fun it was, how clever the mime was, and how they were finally getting through with him. All of which Chapa resented. 

"Now, you gotta do Volt next!" She scowled at Ray's suggestion, throwing him a killer glare as she leaned against the door. 

"Tie up, Volt!"

"Yeah, do Volt!" Their endlessly irritating cries came, and she huffed and puffed at how they encouraged the alabaster-faced criminal. It got worse when he flashed a saccharine grin and began to spin his invisible lasso above his head, intent on roping her into it. 

"Nope. Not doing it," Chapa stated firmly, turning her nose up at the thought, even when they begged and pleaded. 

"Come on! You're in Paris! Give in to the whimsy!" (y/n) said teasingly, feeling a muscular arm curling around her waist. She wasn't keen either but quickly found the fun in the mime's horseplay since it gave her a great excuse to stand closer than proprietary usually deemed acceptable to her doofus. 

"Whimsy! Whimsy! Whimsy!" The Macklin twins chanted as Ray dipped his head to smooch his beloved wife's cheek. 

He'd definitely succumbed to the whimsy, holding her tightly as the children caused their raucous. Glancing up from her soft skin and sweet-smelling hair, the man smiled when he saw Chapa budge an inch, slowly - very slowly - edging toward her friends in little jumps as she fought off a grin. 

"She's moving! She's playing along!" He exclaimed, laughing when the girl finally gave in and showed that beautifully rare smile, side-stepping closer to them with every yank of the pretend rope. By the end of it, spurred on by the chant, she was entirely into it, leaping toward the group like no one was watching - even Chapa had a little child inside her who wanted to play. 

"Man, I told you this guy was good!" Ray noted as she wiggled close to him, beaming at her teacher due to her good mood. It was a little disconcerting, but they went along with it, happily huddling together as the mime crept away. He had them right where he wanted them...

"That's it, case closed. He's gettin' the bread."

"He's not gonna get the bread, doofus," (y/n) giggled as she rested her cheek against his chest, so entranced with his handsomeness and the thumb stroking her hipbone that she didn't notice anything behind her. 

It was just the chattering children, her, and her husband, who slowly reached down to kiss her gently - the best distraction. 

"Ew, do you guys have to do that when you're so close to us?" Chapa grimaced, looking up from her excited conversation to see them locking lips. She could even practically feel the pleasured rumbling coming from the hero's chest and gagged when (y/n/n) cupped his cheeks happily - vomit-worthy. 

"I think it's the romantic atmosphere. Do you see how he clung to her this morning when they left the--"

"Hold up!" Miles gasped, interrupting his sister's idealistic and romantic rambling, when he noticed something weird. While they'd been talking, kissing, and God knows what else, the mime had disappeared to rummage through their bag of useless weapons; only some of them weren't so useless.

"What's happening?"

"Uh, is this still part of his act?" (y/n) gulped nervously, feeling rather stupid as she separated from her lover to see how the mime had literally tied them up. Even though he'd used Bose's bizarre slinky, he'd wound it around their bodies tightly, forcing them together until he had a nice little bundle of superheroes under his control, stuck and helpless in the multicoloured tangle. 

"Yeah, let him do it, sweet girl! Don't worry!" Ray reassured her, returning to focus his lips on her jawline since he wasn't worried. He could protect her immediately, although the mime was utterly harmless in his mind. 

"I thought the whole thing with mimes is that they only pretend to do real things," Chapa noted, her happiness gone and replaced with her signature moodiness. But this time, it was justified, seething at the guy as he pulled the slinky tight, squeezing her abdomen uncomfortably. She knew this was a bad idea, but nooooo...

"No, the thing about mimes is they make invisible honey," Ray explained, not that it helped their nerves. 

"Again, bees." Mika sighed, wondering how his imagination worked, but then, an obnoxious laugh broke her from her panicked thoughts. A very irritating, French-flavoured laugh from the man across the room. 

"What are you laughing at, French fry?" (y/n) sneered as she turned to Monsieur Man, thoroughly irritated to learn that he'd witnessed their whole failure. 

He stood in the doorway to the other side of the cafe, nursing yet another coffee as he watched bemusedly, highly entertained by how his American cousin floundered so spectacularly. But he didn't react to her sore-loser sourness, flashing her that charming smile again like he did with all the ladies and nodded toward the entrance. 

With a small amount of strained effort, the group shuffled around to see what he was looking at, feeling faint when they faced a band of more merry mimes. 

Ray gasped loudly when he countered three more pasty-faced men, one clutching Napoleon's pants as the other two flanked a lady mime. 

She wasn't just any old weirdo, though, staring at them down her nose with pursed lips. There was something different about her than the others, not just the small accents of red in her outfit; above her white face and stencilled eyebrows, a pretty little crown sat nestled on her pinned-up hair, a symbol of authority in the mime world. 

"It's more mimes!" Miles cried, suddenly feeling like a sitting duck as he accidentally elbowed Mika in the ribs when he jerked in surprise. 

"They've come from their hive!" Ray growled, glad he'd taken his chance to wrap an arm around his sweet girl, protectively holding her against his chest. She turned in his arms to hold onto the kids, pulling Miles and Mika closer as she glared at the head mime, knowing she was as vicious as they came. 

"Is that...a Mime Queen?" Mika gulped, leaning back into the woman for comfort as the Queen pretended to act something out, holding a blue plate with a slice of toast. 

"And is she squirting invisible honey on a piece of toast?"

"Of course she is!" Captain Man exclaimed angrily, silently furious with himself for being duped so quickly when he knew their tricks so well. "I told you I'm right about everything!"

"Stop gloating, doof! They're...laughing at us..." (y/n) breathed out, her mouth dropping open when she indignantly watched all four mimes bent over, laughing their lungs out. They pointed and giggled, chuckled, chortled, and barked like a pack of hyenas, much to their anger. 

But no matter how much the team struggled, growled, or begged, they couldn't get free. The slinky was surprisingly sturdy, so knotted and jumbled that the links couldn't be undone, even if Chapa bit it, if Ray puffed out his chest, if (y/n) yanked it, or if the twins tried to untie it. Watching them struggle, muttering curses and harsh words as they knocked against each other, was hilarious, and the mimes retreated to the corner to plot revenge. 

With their enemies rendered useless, they turned to the Mime Queen for orders, hissing and giggling as they imagined all the fun of stealing the national treasures before their eyes. 

"We gotta stop those mimes!" Chapa exclaimed as the others tugged her one way and tossed her another. And to make matters even better, Monsieur Man sat on the sidelines, chuckling at every slip-up they made. 

"I'm trying. I'm just stuck!" Miles replied curtly, squirming against his friends and teachers to try and loosen their bonds, but it was no good. Bose was really ahead of the curve with that goddamn slinky. 

"I can't believe this stupid thing actually works..." Ray mumbled to himself, furious that he had his sweet girl pressed against him, gyrating, and he couldn't do a damn thing. Not to mention that his young protégés were at risk like fish in a barrel, and to top it all off, that smug idiot was loving every second.

"...and stop laughing!"

"Stop being funny!" Monsieur Man shrugged, his shoulders shaking mirthfully, much to the other hero's fury. 

It was too much for poor ShoutOut, who felt the pressure of every more than most - the mimes, that asshole, their infuriating bonds, the urge to protect the treasure, the reputation of her whole country on their shoulders. Succumbing to the stress, she released an almighty scream from deep within her diaphragm, reverberating so powerfully that it blew the door shut and knocked the mime squad over. 

"It worked!" Mika gasped softly, shocked that she'd managed to activate her super-scream when it was typically so elusive. 

"About time..." Ray muttered quietly, earning himself a sharp jab to his elbows from his wife. 

The kids were slowly but surely getting better at their powers, which Miles proved when he wormed an arm free and managed to thrust it in the arm. He vanished from the huddle, and with his disappearance, the slinky loosened enough to drop to their feet. Now, the tables had turned. 

"Hey! Nice job, AWOL!" Miss Danger exclaimed gleefully when she took her first unencumbered breath for the first time in fifteen minutes. The group immediately jumped apart, scared to be roped together again, even if the Mime Queen and her minions were still winded on the floor. 

"Where'd he go?" Chapa asked, scouring the room for her teleporting friend, but he was nowhere to be seen. He could've gone anywhere in the world knowing the unreliability of his superpower. Still, there was no time for a debate. 

The Mime Queen recovered from the minor attack relatively quickly, and her subjects followed when she got to her feet. She put up her fisticuffs, ready to battle the heroes to her last breath, glaring at them as they shook off the shock of Miles' teleporting. 

"Who cares?! It's queen-punchin' time!" Ray barked, dancing on his toes like a boxer as he readied himself for a fight - and boy, he wanted to sink his teeth into it. (y/n) copied his movements, drawing her fists close to her face as the kids did the same, following his lead. 

"Ahhhhhhh!" Ray bellowed his battle cry, brawny arm raised high above his head as he charged, desperate to pound the Queen into the ground. She met his attack with equal tenacity, leaping with the grace of a ballerina before she brought her fist down on his cheek. 

The hero tumbled to the ground like a sack of potatoes, dazed by the brutal blow as the other mimes circled his sidekicks. They were efficient, keeping (y/n), Mika, and Chapa away from their boss as the Mime Queen beat him while he was down - not very sporting of her. She kicked and clawed at him, trying to squish his skull with the pointed heel of her boot, and it was more than Ray's job's worth to swiftly roll out of the way before he was jelly on the floorboards. 

"Captain Man!" (y/n) called out worriedly, dodging the mime who tried to drag her around by her hair as she watched her beloved doofus rolling around to preserve his life. The woman was vicious, snarling with each foot stamp, but she had to trust him to care for himself. 

Mika and Chapa relied on her expertise to keep the mimes at bay as they battled to protect the treasure. The former wrestled with one to retrieve Napoleon's pants while the latter worked with her teacher to throw another against the wall. Monsieur Man nearly spilt his espresso as the mime bashed against it with a groan. 

Still, he was amused anyway, thinking Miss Danger looked very pretty in her uniform. He sighed contently as she held the mime by the throat, unabashedly slamming his head against the bricks as Chapa dusted her hands off. 

Across the room, Ray had escaped the Mime Queen's clutches, taking his chance to swipe her feet out from under her. Luckily for his French cousin, he didn't see how his soft eyes followed her, wondering what it would be like to have a pretty assistant like her to fight by his side. And what a sight she made, tossing another mime into Chapa's hold, only to roughly throw him to the ground. 

"Waaaaaah!" Mika shouted as she tried to activate her scream on her opponent as he whimpered on the floor, still refusing to release the pants. "Okay, this worked a few minutes ago!"

"Miss Danger, get over here and help me with the queen!" Ray yelled to his wife, making her anxiously dart from him to the children and the remaining artefacts on the counter. She'd fight by his side in a heartbeat, but a hand on her arm stopped her. 

"What the--?"

"We have to secure the treasures!" ShoutOut implored, knowing they'd merely stupefied the miming minions. They'd only need a minute to recover and swipe the treasures again - Ray would surely be okay on his own. 

"Who cares about the treasures? Give me my wife!" The man argued, ducking and weaving against the evil woman before him. "We gotta take out this queen before she lays any more eggs!"

"Eggs?!" Chapa gasped, having never heard anything so weird and grotesque. 

She didn't want to know how that was possible, but she didn't have time to question it, watching when Ray tried to punch the Queen several times. He gave her a succession of swift, straight lefts and rights. Still, she miraculously evaded them, floating like a butterfly and stinging like a bee. 

"What?" He mumbled when she mimed, moving something out of the way, distracting him for a split second. It was long enough for her to whack him across the face, much to Monsieur Man's amusement, as he tumbled to the floor. 

"Oh, shut up, you smug ass!" (y/n) growled at him before rushing over to her husband, unnecessarily worried, but she couldn't help it. "Doofus, are you all right?!" 

"I'm fine, darlin'..." The hero swiftly reassured her with an enamoured smile, wiping his lip to chase away the fleeting pain before lightly gathering her in his arms. There was no time for more comfort, but it was enough to quell her worries until he picked up a smooth, pale object from behind the counter. Well, that was worrying, and he turned to Chapa with a stern frown. 

"Eggs that hatch into mime larvae! Keep up!" He growled, his tone varying wildly from how he gently addressed his sweet girl as he brandished the disturbing egg at the girl. 

The Mime Queen didn't take too kindly to her enemy holding one of her...children and angrily yanked it from his dirty mitts before kicking him in the guts. The brutal blow knocked the wind out of Ray, who grunted and panted as (y/n) turned a disgusted and shocked scowl at her. She didn't take too kindly to see her husband hurt. 

"Hey!" She shouted, pointing an angry finger at the nonchalant Queen as Ray hunched over the counter. "No one kicks my doofus!"

In a daring, deadly charge, the heroine took everyone by surprise and tackled the Queen, pulling her to the ground for what could only be called a bitch fight. Straddling the woman's torso as she blinked up at the ceiling, she slapped her silly across the face, hoping to rearrange her pointed features or, at the very least, make it sting. 

After pummelling her cheeks a little, she scrambled to her feet, dragging the Queen with her as the children watched with wide eyes and mouths. God...remind them never to threaten her husband. She was lethal, taking the lady mime by her collar and launching her over the counter without mercy - it was less than she deserved. 

With the Mime Queen down, the mimes resumed their fight, brawling with the children as Ray straightened and rushed over to his breathless girl. 

She couldn't be hotter in his eyes, worthy of a thousand kisses, not that the girls cared if they shared them now. Chapa was busy with her mime, trying to zap him with some electricity to retrieve the Daft Punk helmet. Still, he was too slippery, slapping her hand away at the last minute. 

The scarlet lightning missed him and flew to Mika instead. Goddamn, it burned her skin like hellfire, pulling one of her ear-splitting screams from her throat, which luckily took down the mime. Unfortunately, as he tumbled, he crushed the precious helm, shattering it into a million billion shards. 

It was neither Daft nor Punk, just fragments of something formerly great, making the kids cringe as the treasures fell through their fingers. 

"Sorry!" ShoutOut exclaimed woefully as she stared at the ruined helmet, feeling endlessly guilty since the scream was unintentional - indeed an accident, but tell that to the people of France. 

"It's okay..." her friend said breathlessly, more thankful for the rescue than the loss of the treasure. 

Still, as she took a breather, Ray and (y/n) were plunged into the fray again as the Queen snuck up behind them, enacting her revenge by curling an arm around (y/n)'s throat. She had a little foresight, sensing the encroaching danger soon enough to jam a hand between them, but it was a barbaric attack. 

"Can't...breathe..." she gasped, flailing against the Queen and the iron grip threatening to crush her windpipe. Ray was ready to kick the woman's head in, seeing red when his wife's eyes narrowed, fighting to free herself, but Chapa moved quicker. 

Thinking on her feet, she grabbed the first weapon she saw - the beloved mouldy baguette that Marie loved so much. She didn't hesitate as she seized the slightly squishy yet stale French stick. She only saw the desperate need to free her friend as she stormed forward, brandishing the disgusting thing. 

"All right, lady. Ba-guette wrecked!" She exclaimed, particularly proud of her sick quip as she cracked the bread over the Queen's shoulder, making her release the heroine and collapse. 

Breathless, (y/n) fell against Ray's chest, unbothered by the mouldy crumbs all over her uniform since she was safe and unharmed, with only a few bruises for her super-regeneration to heal. Even Ray was stunned, instantly holding his sweet girl, but damn...

"Ba-guette wrecked?" He echoed incredulously, but there was a grateful glint in his eyes as the girl nodded sheepishly. "Okay, Chapa..."

"Thanks, kid," (y/n) said graciously, rubbing at her sore throat as her doofus smiled proudly and tittered over her health. She was fine, but the same couldn't be said for Mika, who'd been left to face the mime minions while they battled the Queen. 

"Uh, little help?" She called out awkwardly, struggling with one of the henchmen as he took inspiration from his lady and encircled her in a deadly embrace. 

Still, he was no queen, merely holding onto the girl for dear life as was his duty, so it didn't take much for her friends to free her. Glancing at one another, the couple and Chapa turned to the mime with bared teeth, threateningly stepping forward and screaming like they were about to tear him limb from limb. 

It was enough to scare him shitless, and he released Mika without hesitation, making a break for it like only a mime could. 

"Thanks..."

"No problem." The girls smiled at each other as (y/n) squeezed Ray's hand, glad to have a moment to breathe now that the mimes were scattered. They'd done pretty well to say they'd lost a third of the team, but the peace didn't last, not when Miles randomly teleported back into the room. 

He'd been across the ocean and back, bursting here, there, and everywhere before finally returning to his friends, eager and ready to fight. Unfortunately, he was a tad tardy, looking around for any enemies while his friends clutched at their heaving chests - did he have to sneak up on them like that?

"Aw, man. I missed my chance to punch a mime?" The boy whined after squealing, visibly deflated, when he realised that every mime was either unconscious or gone. 

Still, he wasn't disappointed for long, not when a loud, obnoxious, high-pitched alarm balled through the cafe, bathing its walls and residents in red light. The heroes looked around suspiciously, wondering if it was another mimey trick or something else to worry about. Yet, Monsieur Man leapt to his feet in delight, bounding over to them with all the energy and friendliness of a Golden Retriever. 

"The strike! She is over!" He announced joyfully, much to their confusion. It had barely been going on for a day - how could it be over already when they'd only just arrived?

"What?"

"Yes, the France has purchased me a pretty pink motorcycle," the smarmy hero explained, casually flicking through his social media before beaming at his stunned American counterparts. "Now, beep, beep, beep! Out of my way! I am Monsieur Man! Ha-ha!"

"God, I hate him..." (y/n) sighed as she watched the Parisian disappear through the entrance, skipping like a little girl at the thought of riding through the city on his bike, golden locks billowing in the wind. Well, as long as his garlicky smell was as far away from her as possible, she didn't care, tucking herself into Ray's side, smiling at his grumpy face. 

Some use he was; he could've at least stayed to help them round up the mimes before running off to play with his new toy, but no matter. The team were used to getting their hands dirty and doing all the work, so they gathered the mimes and their Queen up in no time. 

Bose's slinky - who Miles reported was safely at the Man's Nest like they feared - helped bind them together in a tit-for-tat style. They huddled in the middle of the room, snapping and gnashing their teeth like wild animals as Chapa helped (y/n) finish the final knot, ready for the cops to collect them. 

They thought it was a job well done, clapping each other on the back and taking a minute for themselves when Marie burst into Hip Hop Paris. She looked like she'd run halfway across the city, stray hairs flying away from her sweaty face as she fixed her gaze on them. Miss Danger would bet ten dollars she knew what she was about to say...

"Captain Man! Mademoiselle Danger! The strike! She is--"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. She's over. We heard." Ten dollars to her. She was ready to go home, tiredly tucking herself into Ray's side as he wrapped an arm around her waist. France was a little too hectic for them--and a little too weird. 

"Did you protect our French national treasures?" Marie asked in concern, only to pale when the couple and their sidekicks winced guiltily. They could barely look her in the eye, let alone explain that they'd either been crushed or smashed. 

"Well..."

"Uhhh..."

"Not even a little," Chapa replied in her signature deadpan, barely using a fraction of the remorse or tentativeness as her friends. She stood with her arms folded, not flinching when Marie's face fell because what was done was done. They'd defeated some mimes; that was something. 

"Hey, the pants made it," Miles exclaimed when the yellowish garments caught his eye, having been discarded by one of their opponents during the fight. They looked a little dusty, but otherwise, they were perfectly unscathed, and he bent down to pick them up for the concerned hostess. 

"Oh, wait, AWOL--" (y/n) started, reaching out to try and explain that old clothing tended to be delicate and easy to rip, but she was too late. The boy didn't reach for the board behind the pants; instead, he grabbed the leg, accidentally tearing the stitching when he pulled it too hard - and Napoleon's trousers were ruined forever. 

"Never mind..." she muttered timidly, cringing when Miles stood up with the material still clenched in his fist. 

"My bad. That's on me." At least he was noble enough to admit his mistake, not that it comforted the woman. 

"What are we going to do?" She cried, tears gathering in her eyes, which never moved from where the pants formally laid, unharmed and relatively pristine. How was she supposed to tell the nation that the ones they'd hired to protect them were no better than the ruffians who wanted to steal them?

"Oh, well. We...are gonna go home," Ray told her awkwardly, looking at his pretty girl, who eagerly nodded despite her morality saying otherwise. She didn't want to stick around for the angry mob to come with their pitchforks and torches, and Ray much preferred his own bed for many reasons, eyeing the door as Marie glared. 

"You cannot just leave!" She exclaimed haughtily, not that the hero gave a damn - he didn't answer to anyone...well, no one but his wife. "You came here, made a lot of dust-up, and destroyed all of our stuff!"

"Well, y'know..." (y/n) said awkwardly, not knowing how to explain it other than... "America."

"Nice one, sweet girl..." Ray chuckled in her ear as Marie tossed her arms in the air and marched off, undoubtedly to clean up the mess they'd made. 

Still, she left their exit clear, and the group happily tiptoed toward the door now that they'd escaped a major telling-off. 

"Can we go home, please?" She asked sweetly, smiling up at her doofus as he squeezed her hand. How could he refuse a request like that? He felt utterly exhausted after such a dramatic and lengthy trip, and nothing sounded like a better remedy than curling up with her in their bedroom to watch a cosy rom-com--one of her favourites, preferably. 

So, leading her by the hand with the children following like chatting ducklings, he guided the team toward the door...only to be halted again. Ray had to grit his teeth to stop swearing, especially when he recognised the smooth, shiny head that ambled through the door like nothing was wrong. 

Schwoz. He'd soon made himself scarce, the bald little weirdo, fleeing when they could've used another extra body during the battle, even if it were merely a meat shield. But something was off, namely the gorgeous woman with her arm wrapped around his shoulders. He didn't...did he?

"You guys! I met the love of my life!" He announced with one of the brightest smiles (y/n) had ever seen, and despite her tiredness, the romantic sight lightened her heart. 

She could see why Schowz had fallen for the lady; she was tall, cheery, and beautiful, with her hair falling around her face in soft curls, pretty pink makeup, a flowery dress, a matching scarf, and an elegant handbag. She was everything and more for the handyman, who beamed with such a delicate creature on his arm, even if she was almost double his height. 

"Aw..." she murmured, melting when the lovebirds smiled at each other, yet Ray wasn't so touched. 

"We're leaving," he ordered curtly before seizing (y/n)'s hand and dragging her through the door. She could barely steal another glance at the couple, feeling like she was losing her real-life rom-com before she could sink her teeth into it. Talk about a killjoy. 

"Doofus!" She exclaimed, digging her heels into the ground as he marched into the street, barely looking back at her. 

"But I just found true love!" Schwoz argued, refusing to give up his beloved's hand when he'd dreamed of this moment all his life. It wasn't fair; everyone else, even Ray, with all his flaws and failings, found their soulmate, so why couldn't he? It was heartbreaking, especially when a rough hand grabbed his shoulder. 

"I said, we're leaving!" The man hauled him through the door, and the love of Schwoz's life slipped through his fingers like sand. They stared at each other mournfully as the children hurried past, not wanting to be entangled in something so complex. 

Even the captured mimes looked gloomy, which (y/n) didn't miss as she tripped over her feet on the way out. One look at Schwoz's wobbly bottom lips and teary eyes and her feet glued to the pavement, stopping abruptly in the street, much to the frustration of several baffled Parisians. 

And if she stopped, the others stopped too, refusing to leave Miss Danger behind, even though they could weirdly ignore the genius' silent hiccups and sobs. 

"Doofus, what are you doing?" She asked coldly, although when Ray whipped around, he saw more confusion in her face than disgust. 

"You said you wanted to go home..." he replied simply, shrugging as if nothing was wrong despite her folded arms and Schwoz's trembling form. "So, we're going home."

"And what about everything back there?"

"What are you talking about?" He frowned, much to his wife's apparent disgusted shock. She stepped away from him as the kids looked at the couple with blank stares, wondering what to do since they were having a bit of a domestic. 

They deemed it best to step to the side and start their own conversation; experience told them that fights and arguments were vanishingly rare and often ended before they barely started. They discussed everything from the weather to the dichotomy of good and evil - anything to give them space. 

"Okay, don't be doofus all your life," (y/n) groaned, giving him a mildly bemused but mostly exasperated look. Even he wasn't that dense, merely playing coy because he knew she was irritated. "I'm talking about Schwoz and that French woman. Y'know, the love of his life."

"So?" Ray asked, tentatively placing his hands on her hips. He was gently surprised to realise that she wasn't totally pushing him away. 

She sighed and returned the touch, reaching up to fiddle with the zip on his tunic, knowing that he could be unnecessarily, stupidly, ridiculously dense sometimes. But she knew deep down that he wasn't cruel, just...silly. Such a silly doofus. 

"So, he should go be with her. You can't just rip them apart!" The heroine exclaimed, and Schwoz nodded weakly, pining for his sweetheart. He wanted to go and take her in his arms, just as Ray did with his sweet girl, but he wouldn't move with permission, too fearful of what the hero would do. 

"Eh, he'll get over it..." the man replied casually before taking her soft hand. He wanted to take her home more than anything, eager to board the first plane and forget everything about this irritating trip, but (y/n) would budge, standing still with a face like thunder. 

"Raymond..." she said firmly, taking his face in her hands so he could look into her eyes. "What if we lost our chance like this?"

"What...?" Ray gasped, heart fluttering at the implication, even if vague. 

He didn't question anything to do with her, too thankful that he'd landed the girl of his dreams to want to know what his life would be like if he one day woke up to find out everything was a dream. The thought felt like a knife through his heart, turning the man with unwavering nerves into a shuddering mess. 

"What would you have done if, all those years ago, someone took me away from you and said to get over it?" (y/n) proposed softly as the same emotions ran through her mind. 

It was unimaginable; they were so solid and dependable, the couple everyone could rely on to always be together because they were soulmates. They were the universe's plan, star-crossed, and whatever else, snuggling closer when they wondered...what if they never fell in love?

"I'd rip their head off," Ray said quietly, and (y/n) didn't argue when he wrapped his strong arms around her as if he was terrified she'd disappear. 

They were silent for a minute, hearing nothing but Schwoz's deep breaths and the children's debate over smooth orange juice or the one with bits in it. He kissed her head gently, so thankful he could say his ring was on her finger. "I'd go through hell for you, darlin."

"And I'd do the same for you..." she promised, pecking his cheek before pulling back to look at him with a soft smile, sighing. 

"So, don't you think Schwoz deserves the same?"

"But sweet girl...it's Schwoz!" The hero exclaimed, glancing at the sorrowful genius, who looked worse for wear. Even Ray could see how torn up he was, and he felt a little bad, but come on... It wasn't like any of his relationships ever succeeded--like Ray could talk about his past flings. 

"But doofus...nothing! Send him back there, or I'm not sitting next to you on the plane!" It was an empty threat; (y/n) always had to sit next to her doofus, needing to hold his hand on take-off so she'd never make him bunk with one of the kids. 

Still, it inspired a slight panic in the hero, who gasped in horror and held her tighter at the thought of sitting beside...Chapa. 

"You wouldn't!"

"Oh, I would! Come on, doofus...do it for me. And for Schwoz. And for the Frenchy lady," she argued, soothingly rubbing his chest while fluttering her eyelashes - tempting and convincing him in only a way she could. 

Ray sighed, weighing up every option. He hated the idea of losing Schwoz, knowing more than anyone that when a man fell in love, he'd forsake his every faculty and responsibility to pledge his devotion to her instead. He'd undoubtedly move out and start a new life, and he'd lose one of his oldest friends - that's why he was cruel...to be kind. 

"...Fine. But just because I love you." After a few minutes, he heaved a heavy sigh, meeting Schwoz's gaze, who hoped with all hopes to have the green light. One nod toward the café, and his face lit up like a Christmas tree, shouting a million thanks before sprinting toward the love of his life and all the possibilities she could hold. 

"I'll take it!" (y/n) squealed, looping her arms around his neck as she held him close, her beaming grin matching Schwoz's and the kids as they silently watched how he ran like the wind. It was weirdly kind for the man, who hated to see him go, but her happiness was worth it. 

It would be like that one day; everyone would move on until it would just be them left - just him and his sweet girl. Henry left, and Charlotte, Piper, and Jasper left, too. Danger Force wouldn't last forever, either, and Schwoz wouldn't work for him indefinitely, not when, hopefully, they retired and had kids. 

Not everything lasts forever, and Ray was gradually getting used to that fact, reassured that the love of his life was eternal. A love that would last a lifetime. 

"Y'know, there's a heart of gold underneath that grumpiness."

[spkyscry]

"Oh, you two are so sweet for taking care of your dear Gram-Gram's kids." It's said as fingers go to pinch a cheek of either of their faces, Ln'eta and Estir ceasing their glaring at one another. Only to lightheartedly give her arms a good few defiant pats so she'd release them, anyways, but at least they weren't paying attention to one another now.

"So, you have everything you need to handle them for the night? I should only be asleep for a few 'hours', as it were."

"Mhm! We've got all their favorite foods (even if some of this isn't food), I brought games and even some movies if they want entertainment!" Ln'eta affirmed, clearly sure that spawnsitting will go off without a hitch.

"Handling a swarm of brats is my specialty, after all!" Estir replied, getting somewhat in front of Ln'eta. Much to her sister's chagrin. "You don't have to worry about anything while I'm here."

The bickering between the two came fast and as expected, making Rhok'zan sigh as she rubbed at her temple. These two were nearly inseparable when they were growing up, but now putting them in the same room starts a fit. Rhok'zan wanted to complain, though she does have vague memories of her and Nyanlathotep having their hostile moments when they were younger, too. (Granted, they'd sunk a whole nation when they argued, but that's besides the point).

"Well, if you're sure you two can handle this. You'll have to work together, or you're liable to have some issues." Rhok'zan reaffirmed, pulling a bound scroll from her bosom to pass off to Estir.

The golden girl blinked her one prominent eye, beginning to unfurl the list of instructions. Watching as rotating the bejeweled center simply found more and more parchment to fall lower. So much so Ln'eta had to reach around her sister's puffy dress to procure it before it can reach the forest ground. Helping keep it off the ground as it only seemed to grow and grow.

"These, uh, these are a lot..." The priestess murmured, Ln'eta glancing down as the parchment inevitably touched the ground and continued spilling outward despite her efforts.

"Oh, not really. A lot of them are just the expected. Don't let them spill out into the material realm, nor the library realm, as they get fussy when anything there ends up with teeth marks." Rhok'zan explained, her ever-present smile shifting somewhat as she felt the shadows in the trees around their glade grew more solid.

"It should be manageable," Estir murmured, sounding far less sure of herself suddenly. "Ah, how many of your spawn are we sitting for tonight, anyways?"

"Oh, all of them." Rhok'zan stated, matter-of-fact.

The way both of them froze brought her attention back to the two, blinking as they both seemed pale (which for the both of them was an accomplishment). The two grandchildren glanced to one another again, some unspoken prayer to nothing in particular being exchanged before their attention returned to Rhok'zan.

"All of them all of them?" Ln'eta asked, sounding hopeful that Rhok'zan had just misspoken.

"Well, besides the ones old enough to take care of themself," Rhok'zan affirmed. "I'm not going to make you sit for ones that can take care of themselves, after all."

It didn't seem to calm them down too much, which certainly surprised the Great Old One.

"What about Amontillado?" Estir brought up, hopeful. "Surely she can take care of some of the spawn tonight, no?"

"No," Rhok'zan replied. "She has some sort of... 'tournament' happening in one of her silly videogames, but she had scheduled this months in advance, so I wasn't going to pry her away."

Rhok'zan watched the glitzy girl deflate, all four eyes rolling before she could stop herself.

"Besides, the walls here are rather thin. She'd barely be able to do much without falling through and disappearing again," she said, waving a hand in dismissal of the whole idea. "I don't particularly want my home cursed by one of you pulling her out." A beat. "I don't actually think you two can, even, and I don't want to find out either way."

"I still have a few hours to help you acclimate," Rhok'zan assured, giving them both a good pat on the shoulder. "So why don't you get introduced to all your siblings, hm?"

The question would be left unanswered, as Estir let out a quiet shriek as the shadows themselves seemed to grasp one of her tentacles beneath her dress, tugging with such force it brought her falling forward. The cursing at getting her dress dirty interrupted all the more as sharp teeth glinting in the many moons' light had sunk into the fleshy gold of her tentacle; pulling her into the dark of the woods with a scream of surprise.

Ln'eta watched all the while, barely suppressing her amusement, before large talons grasped onto her shoulders and she let out a curse in the native tongue just before she was swept up airborne and screaming herself at the dark spawn carrying her off.

"Ah, I believe it's playtime, then." Rhok'zan mused, watching the two be carried off away from the idyllic home in the glade and rather into the dark forest.

Well, this will be an eventful few hours before the party...

[mischief-and-tea-by-the-sea]

Ask game!

6 obvs

13 & 16

6. Show us a bit of a WIP!

From the June chapter of my Year of OTP 2023 (yes, I'm quite a bit behind, but I'll catch up...or not. Whatever - it'll all get written eventually):

The amount of work it took to plan the wedding and reception in the span of five months – and that included working around training schedules and missions and the unplanned fights with those who didn’t really CARE that Captain America and Winter Soldier needed time to pick out a venue, catering, the cake, choose invitations (and send them out!), get fitted for suits, find someone to officiate, and on and on – was sometimes so great that Bucky thought he would go insane.  Steve thought this wedding would be his villain origin story. 

Tony offered several times to fly everyone to Vegas where they wouldn’t have to deal with all the bullshit; just the two grooms, their found family as witnesses, and the entire bill for the time they were there paid for by Tony himself as one of their wedding gifts.  Food, fancy hotel with a lavish honeymoon suite (“We can even book you one with a heart-shaped bed and plenty of toys and gizmos to make your wedding night spectacular!” Tony had offered up.)  Bucky had been tempted by the offer and to just have the planning nightmare over and done with.  Steve put on his most gracious face when he thanked Tony but worried that tacky and flashy and glitzy just weren’t his or Bucky’s style. 

After that, Tony had suggested they could rent a couple of huge buses and traipse over to Atlantic City for the same type of deal.  Might not have the same shows with dancers barely covered in sequins and feathers, but they could have the wedding on the boardwalk, the reception in one of the finer dining establishments, and then party big at one of the hotels with plenty of gambling. 

Even if Steve and Bucky hadn’t scrunched their noses at the idea of New Jersey, Loki remarking that during one of the Avengers’ missions in that state – some really trite and dumbass mission to save a shopping mall of all places from idiot wannabe villains – a couple of assholes made fun of his accent (HIS accent!) by calling it ‘fake’.  So out of loyalty to his boyfriend, Tony nixed New Jersey on the spot. 

13. What's a character or ship you haven't written/drawn yet but would like to some day?

I have a few ships I haven't really played with yet that I'd like to - Loki/Bruce (they were a tiny background ship in a Scott/Logan fic I wrote for @scottxlogan for Yule), Logan/Loki - and for them, I have a fic in mind for the @marvelrarepairbingo I co-mod with Scottxlogan that's based on a Loki artwork she did, Bucky/Emma Frost (again, I have a fic planned/started just barely for them for the MRP bingo), and really weirdly enough, Emma/Logan. There's also Natasha/Steve (have one planned for MRP bingo), Natasha/Tony (no ideas just yet), and Natasha/Bucky (no ideas just yet). I even have one planned for Natasha/Emma.

16. Do people irl know you participate in fandom?

Most of them do, even several of my undergrad and grad school professors. My family does - my family being my sister and brother and his wife. I think most of my non-fandom friends know as well - or have figured it out by now. A few have even read some of my fanfics.

Thanks for the asks!

Fandom Ask Game.

[xoxoemynn]

6, 16, 26!

💜

Yay, thank you, friend!

6. Do you have your work beta'd? How important is this to your process? YES, and SO EXTREMELY IMPORTANT! I am useless without @monksofthescrew. And I'm EXTRA lucky bc she's there literally every step of the writing process. I'm constantly bouncing ideas off her when I'm still in the planning stages, asking questions as I'm writing, and then when she sees the actual draft it's like she's inside my brain and enhances it SO much. Genuinely would be lost without all her support and enthusiasm and brain noodles.

16. How many fic ideas are you nurturing right now? Share one of them? Hahahaha oh boy. I'll just limit it to on my immediate to do list, and I have... five, I think, although I have a few others simmering in the background that I'm trying not to think too much about. The one currently occupying most of my brain: Ed is a legendary Broadway dancer who fucks up his knee on stage. While recovering and determinedly NOT thinking about how he doesn't know what he's going to do with his life now, he gets absorbed in watching some old black and white musicals featuring Stede Bonnet and Mary Allamby. Through some weird weirdness, he ends up transporting into Stede's world. Stede, he learns, somehow got trapped in this glitzy glamorous grayscale purgatory that looks like all his film sets. Naturally they fall in love, but struggle to find a way to truly be together. It has themes of being your authentic self/the temptation of avoidance/being comfortable in the unknown. Influences include Astaire/Rogers musicals, The Giver, Pleasantvile, Barbie, and Afterlight. I'm not sure I'm doing a great job selling this but I am VERY excited about it.

26. Which of your fics would you call your wildest ride? Oh, Clock Boys, no doubt. Started off with me going "oh yes this will be a TRUE standalone PWP that's going to be super niche and maybe three people will read it because it's just going to get Weird." And then somehow it turned into a full series? And they kept getting weirder? And nerdier? And then they got romantic? Not at all what I expected writing it, also not at all what I was expecting in terms of a response. But I'm thrilled because I love them dearly.

Get to know the fic writer ask game!

[reneeofthestars]

Made for @kyjoraven #dtiys ! I may have gotten a bit carried away. It was so much fun, but took WAY longer than I was expecting. Still, I'm really happy with the overall result. Congratulations on 3k (now 4k)!!

Tara Ohvala belongs to Kyjoraven. 

Click on the image for better quality.

A brief fic to accompany this below the cut! 

*

The lounge went dark as the stage lights came on, and as polite applause filled the air, Gida felt the anticipation in the room surge. Only it had nothing to do with the band that was beginning to play.

For as glitzy and glamorous as the patrons were, they welcomed this cover of darkness. The shift in atmosphere was palpable to her;  all the surreptitious emotions that Gida had sensed lurking just beneath the cheerful, pleasant facades seemed to finally creep forward.

Gida took a sip of her drink - a fizzy, tangy juice that the bartender seemed pleased to have available. The Jedi Council had sent her and three other Jedi to discover if there was a possible Separatist mole in the Republic Senate. One thing led to another, and with a nice bit of detective work from Tara Ohvala, here they were, dressed in very un-Jedi-like outfits, waiting and watching. It was quite the change of pace from fighting droids.

Across from Gida sat Tara. The Mirialan was newly Knighted, having only been a fully fledged Jedi for less than a year, but she already seemed so poised and capable. And pretty. Gida looked away quickly before Tara caught her staring.

Up at one of the circular bars, Masters Eeth Koth and Teyla Marin leaned against the counter, turned towards the stage. But Gida knew their attention was everywhere except the beautiful music. It wasn't often that Gida and Master Teyla worked with a member of the Council, but Tara's former master had proved easy to like.

Gida caught herself rocking to the crooning singer and stilled, bringing her mind back to the task at hand with a sigh. She had thought this would be the easy part - sense for dubious or malicious intent, find the mole.

"Have you sensed something?" Tara asked quietly, raising her drink.

Gida shook her head, lekku falling behind her. "Only that we're going to be here a while."

Behind them, an argument had broken out over a game of sabacc. A Kel Dor in a rich cloak jabbed a finger at an offronted Umbaran, cursing him colorfully in what sounded like Huttesse. The Kel Dor was a well into his cups, and his vices made him angry; it bubbled and popped like lava. The Togruta between them acted in a placating manner, but Gida could feel the way he relished framing the Umbaran.

A Wookiee roared with laughter to her left, causing a brief pause in the performance before the band regained their composure and continued. Gida jumped, but not at the noise - at the sudden crash of rage from him that the laughter masked.

Nearby and older couple slow danced to the music. The Nautolan woman rested her head against the Theelin man's chest as they swayed in a slow circle. Calm certainty radiated from them, clashing oddly against the Wookiee's fury, still disguised by a wide smile.

A Tholothian dressed in what could be military garb stalked past, with an elegant Rodian woman whispering rapidly to him. Their whirlwind of emotions left Gida dizzy.

But it was all too much - the hem of her dress was too itchy, the shoes too blocky, it was too loud, too crowded, too many emotions, too, too too -

Gida ducked her head and squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her fingers to her temples. She let it all wash over her, all the emotions that twisted her gut and boiled her blood and made her want to draw her lightsaber or run --

They aren't mine, and they have no place with me.

She let out a controlled breath, and felt the onslaught of emotions lessen. When she opened her eyes, she was re-entered in the Force. A note of approval reached the edge of her senses. Master Teyla had noticed. It had been easier to manage this time. So much easier than when on the battlefield...

Gida took another drink, reaching out with the Force, and feeling the others do the same. They would know when they found their mark.

[milflewis]

Can u give me a spoiler free review of the hg movie?

oh for sure! ok so everyone was v hot and gay and batshit crazy it was wonderful. the capitol was brilliantly romanesque as per usual and it was v v interesting to see it before we came to know it in katniss' time! there was a lot of scaffolding and building going on in the bg and it wasn't as glitzy and glamorous as we would be used to! it was a lot more raw and threadbare and less jazz hands. (how lucky flickerman was portrayed really showed this i think) i had already expected this from the games pov bc its only the 10th one but hadn't considered how the capitol itself would look like in this same light!! idk i just thought it was neat i'm a bit of a slut for when the setting is its own character in itself. the acting was superb and ur one who plays lucy gray has a stunning voice omg. once again v obsessed and fascinated by the costume choices that the hg movies go with. it was lacking a little smth smth i won't lie but i'm not completely sure what it is or mb just there were parts that were more heavy handed than i would've liked (apart from the pieces that to me i do think didn't play as strongly as they could've but those are spoilery!) i do think care and time and thought and fun went into the making of it which tbh is all i ask for. i also really liked (in both the movie and the book) how intentional so many threads and pieces there were which imo is one of susanne collins' strengths. snow's arc and storyline is one of my favorite villian narratives i've heard in a long time

[jaynovz]

Hey, have this for the ask game: 🍌

Thank you 😘

🍌 In your opinion, what’s the funniest joke/reference/pun you’ve made in a fic?

oh boy oh BOYYY this is a fun one. HARD TO PICK. Okay okay it's a tie!

Cupcakes AU chap one:

“So... you are?” he says, his voice warmed to just above freezing. The guitarist extends a hand. “John Silver, musician and parrot enthusiast.” Musician is really stretching it as far as Flint is concerned, but he’s being polite now. He accepts the large, warm hand for a brief shake, letting go as quickly as possible and studiously ignoring the way his skin buzzes at the contact. And sure, maybe it’s been a while since anyone touched him with purpose (eight years, more or less; romance hadn’t exactly been a priority), but for heaven’s sake, James, it’s just a handshake. “James Flint.” Silver arches an eyebrow. “Baker and… conscientious neighborhood watch?” “Something like that.” There’s a teasing smirk on Silver’s mouth now, and his lips are very pink beneath his moustache. Flint wonders if there’s any cupcakes in the walk-in that need frosting away from the warmth of the ovens. Maybe he can make enough space in the chest freezer to curl up between bags of frozen fruit. God, this is already getting out of hand. “And who’s your musical, uh, partner,” Flint says as a distraction. He gestures at the parrot, which is climbing up Silver’s shirt to settle on his shoulder. It’s a striking creature, with turquoise wing feathers and a blood red accent above her beak. Flint might almost call it beautiful if it wasn’t so fucking loud. “MOTHERFUCKER,” shrieks the parrot. Silver doesn’t even flinch, despite the proximity of the noise to his ear. Well, being hard of hearing would certainly explain his guitar playing. He makes a little clicking noise at the bird, and it clicks its beak back to him. It would probably be cute if Flint hadn’t just heard it scream an obscenity. “Her name is John Silver too,” Silver says. He scratches the parrot under her chin as if it’s perfectly normal to name a screaming, swearing parrot after yourself. “It’s - what?” Flint manages. “Well, my truck is registered to her.” Silver gestures to an orange junker parked up the street. The fact that that truck belongs to the man sitting before Flint is the least surprising part of this whole ridiculous endeavor. “It’s for, y’know, tax reasons. But I can’t exactly register a vehicle to ‘Miss Feather Princess’ can I?” “How--” Flint starts, and then abruptly decides he does not actually want the answer to that question. “Your parrot’s name is John Silver.” “...Yes?” Silver’s brow is furrowed in confusion. Flint would suspect he is the victim of an unfortunate practical joke if he hadn’t been witness to a week of bad guitar playing and noisy parrot. “You can’t - that’s not - you can’t name your bird after yourself.” Silver squints, as if considering this for the first time. “It’s not like I call her that. Mostly I call her Miss Feather Princess. Or Precious Little Baby Girl.” The bird whistles in acknowledgement, and Silver gives her an adoring smile. “That’s right, who’s Daddy’s Little Feathery Treasure.” “SON OF A BITCH,” the feathery treasure responds, butting her head against Silver.

Break Up AU chap three--

“What do you think of the showcase?” Flint throws out. He usually detests this kind of inane chatter, though Silver seems like an avid talker who will need little prompting… and is a pleasure to listen to besides, voice smooth and cadence hypnotic. Silver doesn’t disappoint, scoffing loudly. "Oh it’s absolute bullshit. Have you seen the crowd? All these glitzy butterflies playing at knowing what the fuck any of this means. Much like your Picasso enthusiast over there. They pretend they’re here for a little culture, but we’re all really here for this." Silver pauses to toast and nod vaguely at the table of hor d'oeuvres. “And to have a place to wear this suit of course,” he finishes with a saucy wink that has Flint’s heart jumping in his chest. Whatever Silver is trying to sell Flint… Well, it’s not entirely unsuccessful. Flint is intrigued, face fighting a smile. It’s the most fun he’s had in ages, certainly at a mandatory promotional event. There’s no denying Silver’s the brightest thing in the room even (and especially) amongst the upper crust of NYC socialites. Silver continues riffing without further encouragement. “Most of this is garbage frankly. Dunno who they're trying to fool. This stuff makes me feel icky just looking at it.” Silver points at a sculpture a few feet away. “Like that over there? Dead baby statue. That's all I can see." Flint barks a laugh, shocked at the utter audacity. Silver is not being quiet, and his spiel is accompanied by dramatic and attention drawing gesticulations. Flint takes another drink of champagne to hide the smirk he’s unable to suppress, watching Silver’s one man act unfold with pleasure coiling warm in his belly. It’s more interesting than the entire rest of the evening combined. "And here?” Silver forges on, firing on all cylinders. “Somebody very impressively managed to find only the worst shades of every single color. Mustard yellow, puke green, eye melting purple.” The declaration is accompanied by an exaggerated face of disgust which still manages to look appealing on Silver’s handsome features. “Yikes."

--

Sometimes I think about these scenes and I just start crying laughing. GOD it's uproarious. I love writing little fucking shit Silver is the message here I think.

Thanks for the question <3333

[txttletale]

Favourite song ask game: Stop by J Dilla

[x]

too ambient and short and atmospheric for me to have strong opinions on... very smooth and glitzy. background music to me. kind of like a sweet-tasting smoke cloud

rating: 4/10 favourite lyric: 'you better stop and think about what you're doing' because i always like it in songs hwen someone says Stop

[song ask game]