#i have some words about him that need to be addressed

[ghstzzn]

roommates for dummies!

pairings: lee heeseung x f!reader, jay park x f!reader, jake sim x f!reader, park sunghoon x f!reader

synopsis: desperate to get off of your bestfriends couch, you decide to reply to an ad online in search of a roommate. sure, you were skeptical about living with four men—but if anything, just desperate. it wasn't long before you started to completely regret this decision. however, some things just might be worth the stress and anger.

part one! wc: 5.7k

tags/warnings (for this part): SMUT. theres no fivesome happening (sorry..), threesome(s), fingering, rough sex, unprotected sex, pullout method, oral ( m rec), deepthroating, cum eating/cum play/just cum stuff ig, voyeurism, degradation, name calling, some praise, manhandling, sex standing up idk just trust me, no aftercare, silly bit at the end, heeseung thinks he's sooooo funny! that's it for this part i believe.

🍊: havent posted smth fr in awhile kind of nervous. not much happens except sex but thats the point of this. by the way this is one of three/four parts ♡ enjoy and Uhhhhhh uhhhuhhh uhhhhhhhh

masterlist / part two

MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT

you savored every second you spent outside of your new home.

sure, you were beyond grateful to have a place to live. in fact, you were lucky considering how quickly you got in this situation. losing your old place due to unforeseen circumstances, a.k.a, your ex boyfriend kicking you out of his apartment after you caught him cheating on you despite you paying more than half of his rent.

though, you figured his new girlfriend could handle that portion now.

you crashed on your friends couch for a few days, actively searching for anyone looking for a new roommate. she assured you that you could stay as long as you needed, and there was no need to rush, but you were stubborn and had quite the false sense of being independent. 

which is why you clicked on the first ad you saw. a nice five bedroom house, the spare having its own bathroom and it was closer to campus unlike your last apartment. you couldn’t find much information on the poster, but you were desperate so you quickly dialed in the number on screen and waited while it rang.

you were taken aback when a male voice loudly boomed from the other side. you pulled the phone away from your ear and double checked the number— it was typed in correctly.

“hello?” he spoke again. “hellooooooo-”

“uh, sorry.” you cleared your throat. “i saw an ad online that you were looking for a new roo-”

the male cuts you off, “yeaahhh. man, was wondering when someone would respond.” you cringe at the way he interrupted you. “you lookin’ for someone else? no offense but you sound a little… y’know, like a girl.”

you let out a sigh, nodding even though he couldn’t see you, “i’m calling for myself… i wasn’t aware you were a man but– actually, i’m a little desperate.”

“yeah? desperate?” he chuckles. you raise an eyebrow at the response. “alright, can you meet me here then?”

caught off guard once more by the sudden eagerness of the stranger, you stuttered out a quick yes.

“cool. i’ll text you the address n’ shit.”

the phone hangs up, not sparring you a moment to respond. you blink as you stare at your phone, watching as you receive a few messages from the number you had just called. 

at least you had other options if this didn’t go as planned.

jake spun around in the barstool at the kitchen island, letting out a puff of air as he waited patiently.

“you waiting for something?” jake turns his head towards the voice. jay walks through the kitchen, chewing on some kind of protein bar.

the antsy male leans forward against the counter, “our new roomie. she said she’d be here ten minutes ago.”

“oh.” jay responds before stopping in his tracks as he actually lets jakes words enter his brain. “wait, what? new roommate? she?”

“yeah man,” jake lets out another huff. “she’s late.”

“no, run that back.” the other male draws circles into the air. “when the fuck did we get a new roommate? and why is it a woman?”

“we have a new roommate?” another voice rings through the kitchen.

jake turns around in his chair with a sigh, “yes guys! jeez, you all need to learn patience– she’ll be here soon.”

“she?” the voice, belonging to heeseung, questions. 

“that’s what i’m wondering!”

“ladies please, one at a time.” the male stands from his seat. “we have a new roommate, yes. she’s a woman, also yes.”

heeseung furrows his eyebrows, thinking for a moment before jay speaks up once more, “don’t we get a say in this? or at least some type of interview?”

“is she hot?” heeseung chimes in immediately after, receiving a scoff from jay.

“totally.” jake snickers. “her voice told me enough about her. sounded so nervous too, it was cute.”

“you don’t even know what she looks like?”

“you seriously only think with that dick of yours.” heeseung comments, shaking his head.

“says you!” jay frowns at the other roommate.

the doorbell rings twice, drawing the attention from all three males. heeseung straightens his posture, quickly checking his appearance in the reflection of the stainless steel refrigerator. jay finishes his protein bar in one bite and clears his throat.

jake rolls his eyes at the two, “careful now, don’t pop a boner in front of her.”

he practically skips over to the door, almost giggling out loud. he pulls the front door open just before you ring the doorbell once more. “was starting to think you weren’t gonna show.”

you look him up and down, quite shocked at the attractive face he had.

“uh, yeah, sorry about that.” you respond, clearing your throat. “traffic was heavy.”

“that’s okay, babe.” he opens the door wider, inviting you in, not even hiding the way his eyes immediately land on your ass as you walk in front of him.

your gaze immediately fell on a taller man with red hair, who you assumed was heeseung (you weren’t viewing this house without stalking the people who resided in it), now wearing a beanie and leaned over the counter with his chin resting on his hand. he shot you a crooked smile and waved his fingers at you. 

“hey roomie.”

jay looks at the man in disbelief; and so do you.

“i’m actually just here to tour and interview… right?” you turn to look at jake who shrugs.

“i mean we all agreed you could move in.”

“since whe-”

jake cuts jay off and steps closer to you, “you said you were desperate right? you don’t seem like a weirdo or a bitch so just give us a move-in date and you’re good.”

you squint your eyes at him, confused and questioning this entire thing. your friend's couch doesn’t seem like a bad idea, she even offered to renew her lease for a bigger space in a few months. 

“we promise we won't bother you or anything,” he continues, “you have your own bathroom and the door has a working lock. swear on our lives you’ll barely see us.”

before you could even respond, the front door opens and slams shut. a taller man walks past you and jake, clearly locked into whatever was on his phone. he continued to walk past the kitchen before stopping and spinning around.

“new roommate.” heeseung tells him. the other male lets out an “oh” and nods his head at you before walking away, probably to his room.

you let out a sigh and the three remaining boys turn their attention back to you.

“can i just see the room?” 

-

bothering you was the only thing these fools ever did. 

the front door shuts with a slam and you’re immediately greeted by heeseung sprawled out on the couch scrolling through his phone, completely ignoring the mess leftover from their small house party from last night. the one that kept you up half the night despite begging them to turn in early for the sake of your sanity.

you run your hands through your hair, frustrated that the house looks exactly the same as it did early this morning. well, save for the leftover food that heeseung managed to put in the fridge. kicking off your shoes, you make your way into the kitchen and grab the trash bag that was left on the counter and start tossing all the empty beer cans and disposable cups in.

heeseung looks up from his phone to find the source of the angry slams and movements, smirking when his eyes land on you.

“woah there,” he calls out to you, “wake up on the wrong side of the bed today?”

you look up from the trash bag, throwing a can in it with so much force it somehow bounces out, only fueling your anger, “save it.”

heeseung chuckles, standing up from the couch and stretching while letting out an obnoxious groan. he walks around the couch and leans against the back of it.

“are you gonna help or just stand there?” you motion towards the mess on the counters.

“no, yeah, i think i'll just stand here. i’m kind of loving this scene with you in the kitchen.” 

you look at him, disbelief written all over your face, “so you’re lazy and a misogynist, nice!”

“what? no,” heeseung looks almost offended at your accusation. “no, babe, i’m not a misogynist– i literally love pussy. i could prove that to you right now if you’d like.”

“not a misogynist, just horny. got it.” 

your roommate only shrugs and pulls out his phone once more. the carefree attitude of his was only adding to the frustration building in your chest. you cross your arms and glance around. “where are the others?”

heeseung hums, you only assume he’s using the full power of his brain as he recalls the whereabouts of the other three roommates, but really he’s only focusing on how your tits bounce ever so slightly with every angry movement if your arms.

“jake’s asleep, jay’s attending a group meditation and sunghoon… should be home in a few. why? miss them?”

you wanted nothing more than to take the metal scrub pad near the sink and scrub at the stupid smirk on his face. instead, you nod and take a deep breath.

the door opens just on cue however. sunghoon walks in, kicking his shoes off in two different directions with a bag of full of bottles clinking against each other. the noise of the liquor bottles only added to your rage.

“really? more alcohol?” you comment and point towards the counter where a few unopened and opened bottles sat. “you have all of this– plus the entire mini fridge full of drinks.”

sunghoon raises a brow at you, “okay. but that’s liquor for functions, not me.”

you wave your hands in front of you. it made zero sense to you.

the taller male looks at sunghoon, “what’s wrong with her?”

“man, i don't know.” heeseung replies with a sigh, “she came in here all pissy and started slamming shit.”

they were having a conversation about you– in front of you.

“what? why?”

he shrugs again, “like i said, don't know. maybe she should follow jay to one of his meditation sessions.”

you roll your eyes, “you’re not funny, heeseung.” he lets out a snicker. you grab a rag from the counter and chuck it in his direction.

sunghoon whistles at the action and sets the bags he was holding onto the counter.

“i’m seriously regretting this whole living arrangement.”

heeseung pouts and crosses his arms over his chest dramatically, “hey! we aren’t that bad to live with.” he protests, though his tone is playful. “at least give us a chance to redeem ourselves. look, we’ll help clean up the rest of the mess.”

you sigh and nod, it’s the least they could do but you won't protest. turning around, you glance at sunghoon, who was now storing away the liquor he had bought and the leftover bottles. 

“...except, it looks like you’ve finished.” heeseung grins. “thanks, darling.”

you shoulders fall in defeat, “i fucking hate you.”

he chuckles loudly as you study the room. he was right. you had completely cleaned the kitchen, minus the few liquor bottles that sunghoon had just stored away.

“no, no. she missed one thing.” sunghoon calls out causing the two of you to whip your heads in his direction. he crouches down and picks up the can that bounced out of the trash bag earlier and tosses it in the trash. “hah, how funny is that? it was right next to the bag too.”

heeseungs no longer holding back his laughter. you question whether or not the dude is blasted out of his mind right now because you definitely didn’t find a single thing about this funny.

“hey, chill.” sunghoon butts in, “i’ll wipe down the counters and shit.”

you turn to face him, “did you by chance buy any cleaning supplies while out?”

“no, why?”

heeseung laughs louder, wiping at his eyes. 

“i really don’t understand what could possibly be so funny about any of this.”

his laughter eventually dies down, finally shutting up. “sorry, sorry.” he clears his throat. “but seriously, thanks for cleaning up. you’re a real one for that.”

you hum and let out a sarcastic sure, heeseung nods and walks past you, patting your shoulder causing you to scrunch your face in disgust. you turn to follow his figure with your eyes, but you catch sunghoon staring at you.

“what?”

“hm, nothing. just wondering when you’re gonna snap out of your little tantrum.” he responds calmly, leaning against the counter. “it’s getting old, to be honest with you.”

you bite your lip, holding back a response to him. you watch as heeseung wipes his hand on a paper towel, throwing it on the counter right after.

sunghoon sighs dramatically, shaking his head. “seriously, what’s the big deal? nobody here is forcing you to clean up after us.”

“but it’s all the time,” you groan. “the constant parties and get-togethers you host while i’m trying to sleep after a long day or studying– then having to come out and clean it all up because you three are nowhere to be seen? i can only deal with so much.”

his expression hardens and heeseung leans against the counter with a bored expression, “well, maybe if you’d let loose for once and joined in on the fun every once in a while, instead of holing yourself up in your room like a hermit, you wouldn’t be so uptight.”

“fuck off.”

sunghoon scoffs, “my point exactly. you’re so uptight and bitchy— it’s not fun. you aren’t better than us for that.”

“sorry i don’t want to be involved in your weird ass parties.” you respond with a shrug.

“such a princess,” heeseung giggles, “always complaining, never participating. seriously, they aren’t as bad as you make them seem.” 

sunghoon nods in agreement, “yeah, i’m telling you that you’d be able to tolerate us a lot more if you cared to let go of that boring, angry personality of yours and showed up.”

you throw your hands up, more than done with the conversation. “whatever, i don’t care anymore. just… just clean up a little more. it’s all i ask.”

heeseung pouts exaggeratedly, eyeing the way you surrender in defeat “oh come on, princess. don’t be like that.” he tries to sound apologetic, “we’re only messing around with you.”

“yeah! we don’t care if you prude around alone in your room!” sunghoon adds, “but just for you, we’ll clean up after ourselves, your highness.”

“you both are childish.” you spit out, biting the inside of your cheeks as the frustration threatens to spill out in the form of tears.

heeseung grins, not at all put off by your insult, “childish? rich coming from the girl who’s about to cry from a little teasing.” he taunts, voice laced with amusement.

you scoff in response, turning around so you could leave the situation and escape to your room, but sunghoon has other plans as he steps right in front of you. his arms automatically wrap around your waist to steady you, his face mere inches away from you as you look up at him, shooting him a glare.

“where do you think you’re going, princess?” he flashes you a knowing smile, voice low and teasing.

you attempt to lean away from his face that only seems to inch closer, jumping slightly when the back of your head comes into contact with heeseungs chin. “to my room– away from the two of you.”

“oh, don’t let us stop you then.” heeseung grins from behind, his cheek nuzzling against your hair. 

“let me go then?”

“but we weren’t done,” sunghoon attempts to feign a pout, but his smirk grows stronger as he studies the way your body reacts to him, “we still have to thank you for cleaning the mess up.”

heeseung hums against your ear, “seriously. how sweet of you, doll.”

“you can thank me by leaving me alone.” you mumble, though you do nothing to back away from the situation. you couldn’t deny the way your heartbeat sped up from being sandwiched between the two, or the way your core pulsed from the way sunghoon traced small patterns into your side.

sunghoon chuckles, all knowing of what was running through your mind, “aw, but where’s the fun in that?” he asks, hands sliding down to your hips, giving them a teasing squeeze. “we love spending time with our favorite roomie.”

your hands fall on top of his, unsure on whether or not you should remove them from your hips. his eyes follow the movements of your hands, letting out a soft chuckle as he watches the way your mind struggles against the need you feel for the two.

“mm, not so fast baby.” heeseung purrs, his hot breath hitting the shell of your ear. “what did we say? gotta give you a proper thank you.”

“how?”

sunghoon smiles, looking at heeseung before turning his attention back to you. “they say actions speak louder than words,” he responds. “we’ll make sure to make it very clear just how grateful we are for you.”

you gulp as he responds, your thighs clenching together at the tone of his voice. the gaze in his eyes told you exactly what the two men wanted from you, the way they looked at you as if you were prey.

heeseung grows impatient from behind, his face nuzzling against your skin as he peppers kisses down your neck until he reaches your shoulder, biting the skin causing you to let out a gasp. he chuckles darkly before tucking his finger under the thin strap of your tank top and letting it fall off your shoulder.

he lifts his head and switches to your other shoulder, resting his chin on your shoulder as he travels his hand down your torso, reaching the waistband of your shorts.

your automatic response is to grab his hands but sunghoon shakes his head and grabs them, linking his fingers between yours and bringing them up to his shoulders. he leans in closer, his breath ghosting your cheek.

sunghoon begins planting soft but deliberate kisses against your skin, following the trail that heeseung had left earlier, kissing and sucking the bite mark left by the other male.

the man behind you takes the chance, shoving his hand down your shorts that he had undone moments before while you were distracted. he grins when he doesn’t feel any other fabric beneath your shorts.

“isn’t that just convenient?” he grins, giddy at the fact that you weren’t wearing underwear. 

“w-wait,” you stutter out, suddenly aware of where you were standing.

sunghoon grips one of your hands, guiding it over his chest, “shh, it’s fine.”

heeseungs hand dips lower, his middle finger sliding through your slit. he lets out a groan before removing his hand from your shorts but quickly yanks them down, letting them fall to your ankles.

you let out a small yelp due to the quickness of the male. he glides his finger from your dripping hold, gathering your slick and moving to your clit, tapping it a few times before pressing down. 

“can’t believe you’re already this wet just from a little bit of touching,” he groans against your shoulder. “really thought we’d have to ease you into this– but you wanted this bad, huh?”

sunghoon smirks against your neck, lifting his head, wanting to see your face as heeseung pleasures you with his fingers, “c’mon, don’t tease her. poor girl probably hasn’t been touched properly in awhile.”

“is that true?” the male behind you questions softly but teasing, “were you just waiting for one of us to fuck you stupid?”

their teasing voices combined with heeseungs fingers massaging at your clit cause you to let out a soft whine. one buck of your hips has sunghoon reaching down and holding your hips in place for heeseung to continue his attack on your sensitive bud.

“you don’t even have to respond,” sunghoon mutters, “look at the way you’re whining and squirming.”

heeseung slips a finger in your core, pumping a few times before slipping another one inside of you. the feeling of your warm cunt walls wrapped around his fingers is enough to send him reeling, he grinds his hips into your ass with a grunt. 

the male in front of you has to tighten his grip on your hips, rolling his eyes. you let out a loud moan when heeseung curls his fingers inside of you, he brings his other hand to cover your mouth.

“don’t wanna wake jakey up, do you?” his voice is low, hot breath hitting the side of your face. you shake your head desperately as he continues to finger fuck you, scissoring and curling his fingers, hitting the sensitive spot inside of you with ease.

“look at her, hee.” sunghoon mumbles, admiring the way you look between the two men, “so pretty like this, isn’t she? if i knew this was a good way to get her to shut up, i'd have done it earlier.”

heeseung chuckles darkly, lips trailing against your neck once more, “she’s so fuckin’ greedy too. literally dripping down my hand… aren’t you, baby?”

you let out a muffled whine and nod your head shamelessly. 

“yeah? you’re doing so good like this,” he continues, “but i think you need more.”

heeseung pulls his fingers out of you and removes his hand from your mouth. you’re about to question him but he’s pushing you forward while pulling your hips back against him. sunghoon holds you steady as the male behind you undoes his pants.

“take your time, hee.” sunghoon comments, slowly losing his patience. “jay’s gonna be home soon.”

“‘m fucking trying,” he mutters in response, successfully freeing his hardened cock with his one hand. “hold her still and shut up.”

sunghoon rolls his head back in irritation and tightens his grip on you.

“you’ll need to cover her mouth too. i’m not sharing her between you and jake today.”

your taller roommate doesn’t respond again but brings his hand up to your mouth with a smirk. you whimper softly through his hand when you feel heeseung slide his tip through your wetness, gathering it on his cock. he rocks his hips a few times, teasing your clit before catching onto your hole and slowly pushing in.

“fuuuck,” he hisses. “she’s so damn tight, sunghoon.”

“just fuck her,” sunghoon responds impatiently, he tilts his head down at you. “that’s what you want right, babygirl?”

you let out a muffled grunt when heeseung bottoms out inside of you. he waits only a few moments before pulling out almost completely, then pushing back inside of you with more force and speed. 

the two men have you perfectly held in place, controlling the movements of your body as heeseung speeds up his thrusts. each rock of his hips draws out a moan from you, covered by sunghoons hand.

heeseung groans softly, his pace never slowing as he takes all the pleasure he can get from your body. “she’s seriously so tight.” he growls, his grip tightening on your body. “feel that? feel how well you wrap around my cock, baby?”

your eyes squeeze shut from the pleasure. your cunt continues to squeeze around his cock as he pounds into you. sunghoon watches the way his roommates cock disappears inside of you, the way your juices glisten everytime he pulls out before slamming back in.

his own cock twitches in his pants, he’s so painfully hard and getting impatient. sunghoon wishes it were just him here instead of heeseung, wishing it were him being the one to fuck you– and only him. you let out a high pitch whine as heeseung speeds up his pace, his tip hitting your g-spot deliciously. he brings a hand down to rub at you clit, causing you to jump from the overwhelming pleasure. 

“mm, she jus’ gets tighter.” he slurs, drunk on the way your pussy sucks him in. “you like that, don’t you? shit.. y’gonna make me cum if you keep doing that.”

your eyes are shut, in a complete daze from the way his cock is fucking you. sunghoon smirks at the sight, in love with the way you’re fully enjoying every second of this.

“minutes ago you were about to rip our heads off,” he coos, “now you’re over here drooling on my hand over some cock. just a little slut, aren't you? maybe i was wrong about you being a prude.”

heeseung’s barely keeping it together behind you as his hips meet your ass with haste, hissing and groaning with each thrust. he’s uncoordinated and sloppy yet still hitting that spot deep inside of you, throwing your body towards sunghoon, who keeps a bruising grip on you as the other male pounds into you.

your past self would be embarrassed to see you now, yet, you couldn’t feel an ounce of shame at the moment. it feels as if heeseung’s fucking all the frustration out of you.

it’s dirty. the way the two men have you sandwiched in the kitchen— straight out of a cheap porno. every time you start to think about jay or jake strolling in and catching the three of you, it only makes your core throb more with need.

“what are you thinking about?” sunghoon whispers, leaning closer, offering his chest for your head to lean against. “hmm, baby? you thinking about something else while fucking yourself on heeseungs cock?”

the male mentioned lets out a loud groan, gripping your hips and pulling you back harder against him. you could tell he was close, as were you. your hands tug on the fabric of sunghoons shirt, attempting to pull yourself up. but with his hand on your mouth, you can’t let them know so you rely on your body language. 

“gonna cum for me?” heeseung grumbles, leaning closer to you. his thrusts are deep and rough as he chases his high. “c’mon, cum on this cock…” 

you feel your cunt flutter around him as you hit your peak, a muffled squeal leaving your mouth as you finally cum. heeseung pants, giving you a few more thrusts before pulling out completely and fisting his cock until he’s cumming all over your lower back and ass.

sunghoon removes his hand from your mouth causing you to take a deep breath, he wipes his hand on his pant leg which goes unnoticed by you. 

“jesus-” heeseung breathes out from behind you, hand gripping the counter. “fuck, that was good. why didn’t you tell me you felt this good before?”

you don’t reply to him– you just continue to lean against sunghoon as you regain all composure. the tall male keeps a hand on your waist as the other slowly unbuckles his belt. your other roommate redresses himself after using a paper towel to wipe himself down, giving your ass a small smack in the process.

“yo,” sunghoon calls out to him, earning a raised eyebrow in response. he cocks his head behind him. “keep jake in his room, yeah?”

“now?”

the man you were still using as support scoffs, “yes, dude. now..”

heeseungs stands there for a moment, looking at you as you finally turn around, slowly reaching to pull your shorts up. he clicks his tongue and walks off with a groan.

as soon as his footsteps fade away, sunghoon yanks your arm away from the article of clothing and pushes you against the kitchen counter. you gasp when the cold countertop makes contact with your skin. “s-sunghoon!”

he smacks his lips and pushes your sticky lower back down to keep you still, “you seriously thought i was about to let you walk away? after you made me watch him fuck you like that?”

he lifts his now cum covered hand off your back, studying it for a few moments. “not gonna let me have any fun? especially after you used me like a fucking wall?” he grips your face with his other hand, leaning over you as he shoves his fingers in your mouth.

the thick salty flavor hits your tongue immediately and you close your lips around his soaked fingers, the rest of the cum on his hand completely coating your chin and jaw. 

“you like that?” sunghoon chuckles darkly. “you know how pathetic you look right now?”

you groan around his fingers as he rocks his hips against you, grinding his bare cock in your slick. he doesn’t waste a second before shoving himself inside of you causing you to bite down on his fingers from the sudden full feeling once again.

sunghoon hisses in response, pulling out before roughly thrusting into you. the corner of the counter is digging into your hip but you couldn’t be bothered to resituate yourself. he pulls his fingers out of your mouth and snakes his hand in between your thighs, pressing against your clit as he starts to pound into you. his other hand is on the back of your neck, a tight grip as he uses it to stabilize himself.

your own cum is dripping down your thighs as sunghoon’s cock forces it out with each thrust. it’s truly a struggle to stay quiet, your moans are coming out in rough whimpers and deep breaths. you lay your upper body flat against the counter and hide your face in your arms to help muffle your sounds of pleasure.

though it wouldn’t even matter if anyone could hear your cries because the sound of wet skin slapping against each other could surely be heard from the other side of the neighborhood. 

“fuck, you’re taking me so good right now. heeseung loosened you up for me, didn’t he?”  sunghoons voice is low and rough, almost stuttering over his words. “so fuckin’ greedy for cock– look at you.”

if it weren’t for your arms, your face would be squashed into the hard countertops from the sheer force of his hand around the back of your neck pushing it down. sunghoon doesn’t notice, nor does he care about his roughness because truly all he cares about is cumming. 

you can hear the door slam and you try to lift your hand, in sheer panic, but sunghoon shoves it back down with a grumble. 

“t’sup?” sunghoon lets out a sigh and throws his head back.

“nothing,” the voice, belonging to jay, responds. he throws a few envelopes on the counter and sighs. “another noise complaint– like dude, who fucking cares? they act like the cops are gonna bust us or something.”

never in a million years did you think you would be getting backshots while two people had a completely casual conversation as you were between them.

sunghoon groans, his pace barely slowing, “my parents own half this fuckin’ neighborhood.”

“that’s what i’m saying! these complaints are useless.” jay responds, an annoyed tone lacing his voice. “is that– y’know what, i’m tired. clean the counters when you’re done.”

and with that, jay is walking away. you only hope he’s heading to his bedroom. however, your entire body is hot with embarrassment yet you feel yourself about to cum any second.

“fuck– sunghoon! s-slow down.” you barely cry out as you cream around his cock. he rolls his eyes, not that you could see, before pulling out completely. 

you take a deep breath before he grabs you and spins you around, pushing you to your knees. your hands fly to his thighs, trying to catch yourself before bruising your knees. 

sunghoon spares you a wicked smirk before tapping the tip of his cock against your lips, in which you invite him in with zero hesitance. he doesn’t start slow, immediately pushing his cock to your throat, enough to bring tears to your eyes before pulling out to let you breathe.

and he does it again. and again. until you're coughing around his cock.

“yeah, just like that, baby.” the male sighs, hand gripping your hair. he lets you take another deep breath before shoving his cock deeper down your throat. “look at you gagging– fuck, this is so good.”

he repeats his actions until his cock is twitching with the need to cum. sunghoon gives a few thrusts before pulling back slightly and cumming all over your tongue and throat. his release was almost too much for you, but he didn’t care that it was dripping out of your mouth, or that you were borderline choking on it.

“swallow.”

you try to shake your head no but he only tugs on your hair, “you can.”

shakily, you cover your mouth as you gulp, swallowing his sticky release. sunghoon chuckles, completely satisfied. 

“you’re so fucking easy, you know that?” he cooes. his thumb, sticky with heeseungs earlier release, wipes at your tears. you can only stare at him as he continues to degrade you. “oh, don’t be ashamed, princess, it’s perfect for us.”

you wipe at the corner of your mouth before grabbing your shorts that are laid close by. grabbing the counter edge above, you pull yourself up, not at all wanting to ask for sunghoons help. he leans against the counter, fixing his belt, completely uninterested in you.

slipping the shorts on felt useless in front of him. what was there to hide at this point?

“i’m gonna shower.”

“yeah, sure. i’ll try not to use any hot water for the next hour.”

you give him a nod. well, this is fucking weird. but you honestly would rather take this than it be awkward. genuinely, you would rather not have him force himself to give you soft and sweet aftercare. 

“jays cooking tonight!” sunghoon calls out to you as you head back to your room. you roll your eyes and push your door open.

you: 

    hypothetically, i have this friend who wanted to move out of her current place because she HATES her roommates but she just fucked 2 of them…. at the same time and suddenly doesnt want to leave

from: chaewon 💓

       what the FUCK did u just say to me

you:

     so basically im fucked

🍊: @filmnings @deobitifull @leov3rse @hooniehon @roslayy @strxwbloody @cutiepatootiejungwon @jakeswifez @yuriknows @d-dilemma (bold couldn’t be tagged / taglist open!)

[inkmonster21]

I Don’t Play Anymore

Hwang In-Ho / Frontman x Fem!Reader

Series Masterlist

As the daughter of the American Frontman, your life takes an unexpected turn as you accompany him to South Korea, to witness the 33rd Annual Squid Games. Being a spectator to the violent events unfolds, and you find yourself unexpectedly connecting with the Frontman.

01. Red Light, Green Light

The American Frontman had traveled to Korea with a purpose: to observe and learn from the infamous underground games. He wanted to gather as much knowledge as possible, so he could translate those elements into the games hosted in the United States.

He was a sharp, cunning individual, drawn to the spectacle of carefully crafted games that challenged people's wits, morals, and will to survive.

The American game maker, accompanied by a small security team and his daughter, boarded the boat that would take them to the remote island where the games took place.

You were well-acquainted with the concept of these games, having experienced firsthand the high-stakes thrill of your father's smaller-scale games. These events, limited to no more than 50 players, unfolded at a rapid pace, often concluding in just one day.

The games held a dark legacy within your family, a tradition passed down through generations. You had participated in the games four years ago, and emerged victorious, a title that filled you with both accomplishment and guilt. Your father, the current game master, was proud, carrying on a legacy started by your great-grandfather. The competition held its price - the cost of taking lives - but the thrill and satisfaction of victory outweighed any lingering doubts and remorse.

You were accompanying your father on a journey to the annual games held in Korea. This trip was more than just a spectator's view; it was an opportunity for both of you to learn and gain insights from the complex and ruthless games that unfolded on foreign soil.

The boat swayed and rocked as it navigated through the waves, and you gripped the railing tightly, a mix of annoyance and slight unease present on your face. You had never been fond of boats, finding the continuous motion and the vast expanse of water beneath you unsettling.

Frustration tinged your voice as you raised your phone, attempting to catch a single bar of service. The signal was weak, barely catching the faintest hint of a connection.

"I can't even get a single bar out here!" you exclaimed, the lack of reception leaving you disconnected from the world.

Your father, observant as always, shifted his gaze towards you. His expression was serious, and he spoke calmly.

"Do you really need it anyway?"

He raised an eyebrow, subtly questioning the need for constant connection and the distraction that technology often provided.

You nodded in response, your response coming out in a confident tone.

"Um, yes. Anderson said he was going to send the address of his friends' club. There's supposed to be a big party, and I can not miss that."

Your father's face remained impassive, but a small flicker of amusement flashed in his eyes at your eagerness for the party.

Your father chuckled, “maybe you can make some new friends, tell them about the good opportunities we could offer,” a hint of amusement in his tone. However, your reply, about friendships being cut short by the nature of your upbringing, carried a touch of bitterness.

"Yeah, and then have them killed. I swear I haven't had a friendship longer than 2 years because of you assholes." Your voice held a mix of frustration and resignation.

Your father's response was curt, and he reprimanded you harshly. "That 'asshole' paid for the Louboutins you're standing in," he scoffed. "I'd fix that attitude before we arrive. You don't want to make me look bad here, (y/n)."

His words held a mix of authority and warning, subtly reminding you to maintain decorum and uphold the family reputation.

As the boat neared the island, your father's head of security handed him a black crystal mask, shaped with the features of the mythical jackalope, adorned with its own set of black shimmering jeweled horns. The mask was a masterpiece, exuding a sense of power and exclusivity.

Your father's head of security handed you a smaller, more delicate mask, its design resembling an innocent rabbit compared to the intimidating jackalope. You looked at the mask with a hint of disdain, a scoff escaping your lips.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" you asked, your tone tinged with a mix of stubbornness and skepticism. Your father's tone was terse, his words simple yet commanding. "Wear it," he instructed firmly, his gaze unwavering. Without hesitation, he placed the black jeweled mask onto his own face, the mask accentuating his features in an eerie way.

With a reluctant sigh, you followed suit, slipping on the elegant black jeweled rabbit mask. The coolness of the metal against your skin sent a faint shiver down your spine. The intricate design of the mask felt both elegant and concealing, a subtle reminder of the event you were about to become a part of.

The black masks placed on the security men's faces only heightened your sense of unease, solidifying the gravity of the situation. The cold realization hit you like a wave, and you couldn't help but feel a sudden surge of regret. A whisper of doubt echoed in your mind, questioning whether staying home would have been a wiser choice. The island loomed ahead, a silent harbinger of the events yet to unfold.

As the boat neared the island, your father's tone held a tinge of seriousness, his words a stern command.

"I want you to pay attention to these games," he stated firmly, his gaze firm. "Observe the players, observe their responses, and see what makes the mind break." The stern words of your father echoed in your mind, his authority unwavering. "Yes, father," you responded, a mix of obedience and reluctance in your voice.

The boat docked, the path ahead uneven and treacherous, especially given the choice of footwear you wore. The path was clearly unwalked and unsteady, making it difficult for you to navigate properly. As you cautiously made your way along the path, you stumbled upon a seemingly invisible hatch door, hidden from prying eyes. The head of security stepped forward, punching in a code and signaling to a hidden camera. The hatch door slowly creaked open, revealing a descending staircase.

As the hatch door opened, you were met with the sight of a man dressed in a striking pink jumpsuit, his mask featuring a distinctive square shape. Behind him were an entourage of four pink-masked guards, each adorning black masks lined with triangles. The contrast of the bright colours and masks against the dim lighting of the stairwell created an atmosphere of surrealism and foreboding.

The head of security's words cut through the silence, his tone low and guarded.

"These are the American game makers," he spoke, his voice holding a mix of neutrality and wariness. "They've been anticipating their arrival."

The man in the pink jumpsuit responded in a simple, yet eerie tone that sent a chill down your spine.

"Yes," he said simply, "please, follow me." Without a moment's hesitation, he turned and began walking down the dimly lit stairwell, his guards falling into a precise formation behind him.

As you followed the pink-suited man up the staircase, you couldn't help but observe the surroundings, taking in the bright colors and cheerful décor. The room was intentionally designed to appear playful and pleasant, a stark contrast to the darkness and mystery that shrouded the truth.

You were led towards a pair of imposing double doors, their golden handles gleaming beneath the lights. The pink-suited man stepped inside, his voice carrying a respect and formality. "Sir, the American game maker has arrived," he announced, his words carrying a weight of significance. The doors opened wider, revealing a grand room.

As you entered the grand room, your gaze fell upon the imposing figure across from you - a man clad in a sharp black suit, his distinctive black mask adorned with a hood. His presence immediately commanded attention and respect, and you couldn't help but make the connection - this must be the Frontman, the counterpart to your father's role.

Your father stepped forward and introduced himself to the Frontman, ignoring your presence. You were not the focus here; you were merely a spectator, a silent observer, your importance seemingly diminished. The sense of insignificance gnawed at you, but you remained composed, maintaining a stoic expression as you watched the encounter unfold.

The Frontman spoke, his voice authoritative and confident. "It is a pleasure to have you witness our 33rd Annual Squid Games," he echoed with a practiced smile, his gaze fixed on your father.

The words echoed in the grand room, a stark reminder of the gravity and spectacle of the events about to unfold - the annual game where lives were on the line, and the consequences were severe.

Your phone buzzed, interrupting the tense atmosphere. With a pleased smile, you reached into your purse and retrieved the device. As you sat down on one of the couches lining the wall, you muttered, "Finally," under your breath. Despite the gravity of the occasion, you couldn't help but feel a surge of satisfaction at the distraction, grateful for a moment of respite from the tension.

You scrolled through the texts from your friends, their pleas for glamourous pictures from your vacation with your father only fueled your growing urge to break away and explore. As you glanced up, observing the room and the ongoing conversation, you weighed the option of sneaking out to indulge in something exciting of your own.

Just as you stood, preparing to casually leave the room, your father called out to you, his command firm and unwavering.

"Sit," he ordered, his voice stern. You froze in your tracks, the words reverberating in your mind. Your desire to step away and explore was abruptly brought to a halt by his authoritarian command.

“I’m just going to go-,” The click of the gun echoed in the room, causing you to halt your words. Your father's stern glare and the sight of him pointing the pistol at you filled you with a mix of fear and resignation. You reluctantly walked to the designated chair diagonally across from him and sat down, your eyes locked on the gun. It was a tactic he had used before, but it never failed to send a wave of fear through you, reminding you of the consequences of disobedience.

Despite being his daughter, you couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that your father wouldn't hesitate to pull the trigger. The tension in the room was palpable, and the cold, unwavering gaze of the gun sent chills down your spine.

You muttered your apology, the words leaving your lips with a mixture of guilt and resignation. Your father's glare softened slightly as he lowered the pistol, a hint of acknowledgment in his eyes. He said nothing, merely giving a subtle nod, acknowledging your apology but still keeping a watchful eye on you.

Your father turned his attention back to the Frontman, continuing the conversation with a casual tone.

"Kids," he remarked nonchalantly, referring to you with a subtle nod in your direction. "They can be quite a handful." You remained still in your seat, trying to blend into the background, silently absorbing the words exchanged between your father and the Frontman.

As the Frontman stared at you, his masked gaze fixed upon you, you couldn't help but feel a strange sense of acknowledgment. His gesture, the slight tilt of his head, conveyed a silent curiosity. Without fully understanding why, you responded with a subtle nod of your own, a silent acknowledgment passing between you.

The Frontman's curiosity grew as he observed you, his masked gaze now filled with deeper intrigue. There was a hint of concern beneath the hard exterior, a subtle indication of his genuine interest in your well-being. He couldn't quite pinpoint why, but there was an undeniable pull to ensure your safety and comfort.

The Frontman broke the silence, offering a gesture of hospitality. "Would you like a drink?" he asked, his voice calm yet with a touch of formality. The offer seemed almost casual, a small gesture amidst the tense atmosphere, but the underlying purpose remained clear - to maintain control and ensure everyone was comfortable while the games began.

With a grateful nod, you accepted the Frontman's offer of a drink. The nerves were building within you, and the thought of numbing the tension even slightly was enticing.

"Please," you replied, your voice carrying a mix of relief and anticipation, while your father remained stoic in his seat, observing the interaction with a guarded expression.

The guards moved swiftly and efficiently, providing you with a drink with remarkable speed. You couldn't help but appreciate the efficiency and the thoughtfulness of the gesture, offering a small nod to convey your gratitude, your smile tinged with a hint of tension. Your father watched the exchange with a guarded expression, his eyes scrutinizing every move you made, observing your every reaction.

The moment had arrived. The games were about to commence, and the first event was set to be red light, green light. A seemingly simple premise, yet the tension and anticipation hung heavily in the air. The atmosphere seemed charged with anticipation and the potential for both triumph and defeat.

As the screen lit up, the scene unfolded before your eyes. The field of players, clad in green tracksuits, moved forward, their movements slow and measured as they explored their surroundings. Their attention was immediately drawn to the large doll stationed at the far end, a sight that both captivated and unnerved.

The calm and cheerful voice echoed through the field, issuing the directive.

"Please stand behind the white line drawn on the field," it repeated, the words resonating in the air. "Once again, will all players please stand behind the white line and await further instructions."

The players, dressed in green tracksuits, stood in a line behind the white line, seemingly unaware of the danger that loomed ahead. They followed the instructions with obedience, showing no signs of comprehending the true nature of the games they had willingly entered. There was a sense of blind trust, oblivious to the impending chaos and violence that awaited them.

The phone on the small table beside you rang abruptly, catching your attention. The Frontman moved closer, answering the call with a sense of authority. "This is the Frontman speaking," he said, his voice carrying a confident yet somewhat chilling tone. "We can begin now," he confirmed.

The Frontman took his seat beside you, maintaining a respectful yet noticeable distance between you. However, you couldn't help but feel a subtle sense of unease as you felt his gaze on the small parts of your face that were left uncovered by the mask. There was an intensity to his gaze that felt almost disquieting, a mix of curiosity and observation, his eyes seemingly taking in every detail of your features.

The Voice's tone carried a blend of cheerfulness and authority, as it instructed the players on the imminent event.

"You will be playing Red Light, Green Light," the voice announced, a tone of gleeful anticipation evident in its words. The players, dressed in green, stood still, their expressions a mix of anticipation and tension, their eyes focused on the voice coming through the speakers.

The rules of the game were explained with a strange blend of innocence and coldness.

"You are allowed to move forward when 'it' shouts 'Green Light,' stop when 'it' shouts 'Red Light.' If your movement is detected afterward, you will be eliminated," the voice stated, its tone maintaining a mix of childlike playfulness and the harsh reality of the consequences they faced.

The voice continued, outlining the rules of the game with a matter-of-fact tone.

"Those players who cross the finish line without being eliminated within the five-minute playtime will pass this round," it explained. There was a pause, a dramatic moment of anticipation, before the voice concluded, "With that, let the game begin." As the words echoed in the air, the players braced themselves, the tension palpable.

The doll, with its childlike voice, issued the first command.

"Green light," it declared, its voice a mix of innocence and underlying menace. With those words, the game officially commenced. As the game began, a few players eagerly surged forward, attempting to make progress toward the finish line.

In an instant, the tension heightened as the voice announced, "Red light." The players, who had been moving forward, came to an abrupt stop, frozen in their tracks, their bodies gitty with anticipation.

You couldn't help but tense up at the sudden sound of a gunshot, the gunshot breaking the tense silence, causing your body to flinch involuntarily.

The voice, cold and unforgiving, announced the first casualty of the game. "Player 324. Eliminated."

The players, engrossed in the game, had yet to fully comprehend the true nature and danger of the situation. Despite the gunshot, most of them were still caught up in the excitement of the competition, their attention focused on the doll and the race to the finish line. The reality of the violence and life-or-death stakes hadn't fully sunk in for many participants.

As one player finally looked down at his dying friend, the reality and gravity of the situation became undeniable. Fear shot through their eyes, and realization dawned on their face. The cheerful facade shattered as they faced the brutal truth of the game's nature, a truth that left them shaken to the core. It was a moment of sobering clarity, the illusion of a simple game evaporating before their very eyes.

The chaos unfolded as panicked players rushed to the entrance doors, desperately trying to flee. However, their efforts were futile as one by one, they were shot by the hidden snipers in the walls.

The voice echoed through the loudspeakers once again, repeating the rules of the game with a chilling precision.

The remaining players, shaken and terrified, listened intently as the rules were reiterated, their hearts pounding in their chests.

"You are allowed to move forward when 'it' shouts 'Green Light' and stop when 'it' shouts 'Red Light.' If your movement is detected afterward, you will be eliminated," the voice stated, its tone cold and methodical.

Your father, visibly engrossed in the spectacle, couldn't contain his excitement. "Amazing first choice," he chuckled, his voice filled with a mix of admiration and enthusiasm. "We simply can't do it yet. We need more players on sight. But this is amazing!" His words showcased the twisted nature of the games and the satisfaction the game makers derived from the chaos and bloodshed.

Your father turned his gaze to you, seeking your opinion on the unfolding events. "What do you think, (y/n)?" he asked, a hint of amusement in his tone, as though he was eager to gauge your reaction to the unfolding spectacle.

Your words came out in a matter-of-fact tone, the practical aspect of the situation evident in your response.

"It's the best choice for the first game," you stated, a sense of realism lacing your words. "It gets rid of the mass amount of players and shows them the outcome if they don't listen. It's practical." Your father seemed pleased with your assessment, a subtle nod indicating his agreement and approval of your observation.

The Frontman, listening to your words, couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration for your practicality and realistic approach. He appreciated the way you had analyzed the situation and made a rational observation. In a world where brutal violence was the norm, your sensible view stood out, and he respected it quietly.

The game continued, the voice's cold instructions echoing through the field as players met their fate. Each round of "Red Light" brought a new wave of eliminations, the remaining players trembling in fear and uncertainty. The game was a deadly, ruthless spectacle, leaving the players in a state of constant tension and anxiety.

Your attention was drawn to the small figurine band that came to life, playing a gentle tune. As "Fly Me to the Moon" filled the room, you turned to the Frontman, a surprised smile gracing your face.

The Frontman's gesture took you by surprise, his action a mix of playfulness and unexpected charm amidst the cold, violent world of the games.

Despite the tense atmosphere, the Frontman's decision to play "Fly Me to the Moon" softened the mood slightly. As the song played, you crossed your legs, your voice carrying a slight tone of contentment.

"I like this song," you remarked, a small, appreciative smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

The Frontman's eyes flickered, his gaze briefly meeting yours, as he acknowledged your comment. There was a subtle sense of understanding in his gaze, a glimpse of a shared appreciation for the song that created a brief moment of connection between you two.

The moment of connection and shared appreciation between you and the Frontman provided a sliver of hope that this trip could indeed become more enjoyable than you had initially anticipated. The games were still unfolding, and the tension in the room lingered, but there was a hint of warmth in the air.

[okaysonny]

Hello, can we get a sweet, tooth aching, whipped, fluff goo with chubby reader, where goo is supporting/comforting reader bcs they being insecure abt their looks? Feel free to ignore this if u feel uncomfyyy, thank u sm🫶🏻💞

for the love of cake (and you) ╏ goo kim

ᯓ★ summary: a sweet treat never hurt anyone.

ᯓ★ details: fluff, f! reader, spoiler free.

ᯓ★ wc: 540

ᯓ★ A/N: pretty short. sorry anon, this is probably less sentimental than what you wanted 😭 that is beyond my level of capabilities...+ i didn't address reader's insecurities directly, but it's implied. still, i hope you like it!

you hear goo’s obnoxiously loud humming from down the hall, getting closer with every step. as always, he enters the room like it’s a broadway stage, presenting an elaborate box in one hand.

“voila!” he announces, popping the lid off with a flourish. inside sits the most mouth-watering cake you’ve ever seen: three layers of chocolate, whipped cream, and enough frosting to put anyone in a sugar coma. “a masterpiece for your majesty! go ahead, thank me for putting some brightness in your life”

you blink at the cake, your stomach growling despite your resolve. “uh…i’m good. thanks though”

goo blinks, caught off guard. "what do you mean?!" he pouts.

“i mean i’m not hungry!” you say quickly, waving your hands dismissively.

his lips quirk into a sly grin as he sets the box down. “not hungry?” he repeats, voice dripping with disbelief. “or… are we talking that kind of 'not hungry'? y'know, when you’re suddenly thinking about carbs and calories and—”

“no!” you cut him off, the denial coming out way too loud. “that’s not it. i just…don’t want cake right now. is that illegal?”

goo's grin turns devilish. “so, if i hand you this fork…” he holds it out dramatically. “...you’re not gonna grab it, shovel cake into your mouth, and cry happy tears?”

your face burns. “that’s not gonna happen, because i don't want it!”

he hums, tilting his head in exaggerated thought. “so, you’re telling me this has nothing to do with you trying to diet—”

“of course not!” you snap, snatching the fork from him, purely out of spite. “you’re insane goo. stop analysing everything!”

his smirk widens as you stab at the cake, cutting off a small piece and taking an aggressive bite. the sweetness hits you immediately, rich and creamy, and you have to fight the smile threatening to break through. goo, of course, notices.

“there she is” he drawls, leaning against the counter, clearly a little too smug. “see? you can thank me now. or later, when you finish the whole thing”

you glare at him through a mouthful of cake, trying to swallow before snapping back, but he beats you to it.

“oh, and by the way...” he adds casually, wiping his glasses. “...dieting is for people who actually need it. trust me, you’re not on that list”

he swipes a bit of frosting with his finger and pops it into his mouth. “so stop being weird and eat, before i finish this for you”

your chewing slows, eyes narrowing. “was that… a compliment?”

“dunno. was it?” he quips, winking before heading out the door. “either way, cake tastes better when you’re smiling. don’t forget it!”

you stare after him, stunned for a moment. you roll your eyes and scoop up another bite of cake, a small smile creeping up despite yourself.

as the door clicks shut behind him, the words replay in in his head. cake tastes better when you're smiling. don't forget it! his brow twitches, and he scowls at himself.

“fuck…that’s so corny”

but as he rounds the corner, his grin reappears. he can allow it for today, if it meant you didn’t feel like… whatever it was you were feeling before.

not that he’d ever admit it.

divider: @strangergraphics

[dollwhite]

K.O K.O K.O

𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐛𝐲 𝐃𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞

This is just a small story,I don’t know if I’m going to make it big. But if I don’t pls feel free to use my idea just give me credit!!

TW mentions if highness(aka weed)

No mentions of y/n

This isn’t really in my writing style, I wanted to try something different. If people like this I will write with this style more!!

Ps I need friends.

𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇

High,you were high as a light house right now. You found some old weed underneath your bed.Can weed get old? How old were you again? As more questions flooded your mind. You didn’t hear your name being called.

𝐊.𝐎

Where did the music go?.. just a few minutes ago, some random song was blasting .But now it’s like you could hear a pen drop.

𝐊.𝐎

Wait, this isn’t your bed? This isn’t your bedroom, you had black cat pictures on the door leading towards your bathroom. This isn’t your apartment…?

𝐊.𝐎

Who was that.. who was that calling you name?.. her voice sounds familiar. who is she. Do you know her. Isn’t her name R-Ram.?… why is she yelling your name..

“Ram..? What-were am I?..”

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬.

It’s like something’s in your mouth blocking the flow.like the words aren’t meant to be there.

what’s wrong with you.

“K.o we have to go right now! The police are here come on.”..

As you sat up taking a full look around who ever room you were in. It looks nice, nothing out of the ordinary.

𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒

“Are you sure this is the right address?” A figure with a blue bird embezzled on their chest spoke softly under their breath, but just loud enough for the other people on coms to hear. Also Taking notice of the youngest robin standing on top of a nearby building, waiting for the signal that Batman was supposed to be giving.

Police man were also on the scene, so all the suspects can be taking in to custody right away.

“Robin,Night-wing come in.” A deep voice came over the coms. The dark night himself was here to investigate this “party” in reality it was a human trafficking operation. The party was to lure young women primarily.

“I’m in, there’s approximately only three people left in this houses it looks like the others have left.” Robin’s voice filled the coms, informing his mentors about the situation.

As Robin makes a b line for the living room, Batman in the backyard looking for any kinda clues of were the traffickers went. And Nightwing in the bedrooms.

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐘

“Guys I found something…or someone” Nightwings words ring over coms. “Im on my way!” Batman yelled, Gotham dark night himself rushing into the house through the backdoor. Passing the youngest boy wonder, on the way.

“What-!” Batman stopped midway through his sentence. He know that this ‘party’ was just a cover up for human trafficking. But what he didn’t expect was to find a young woman high out of her mind. Maybe this was their new victim, and well they were in a hurry to get out of this house. They forgot to take her.

“Grab her, and take her back to the cave.” He said, “Don’t let the cops see you.”

“Alright pretty lady, up we go!” Night wing explained grabbing her in a bridal style.

“ promise not to drop me?..” you asked fear laced in your voice. “ Only a dummy would drop a pretty lady like you.” Nightwing said opening up a nearby window,shifting your weight on his more dominant arm.

he grabbed a all black grappling hook, “Hold on real tight for me?”

“Wait-what?!” You gasped, your hold on him tightening.

𝐁𝐀𝐓 𝐂𝐀𝐕𝐄

“Red I need you to do a saliva test”

“Nightwing, I’m not going to test you for stds go to a clinic” Red Robin said not taking his eyes off of the bat computer.”When have I ever asked you to- never mind that, the tests not for me it’s for her.”

“Who?” Red Robin asked turning around to look at Nightwing. Only to see a woman just staring back at him, in Nightwings arms. “uh, who’s she?” He asked, he prayed Niightwing didn’t just take a rondo lady off the street. ”this is pretty lady, pretty lady meet Red Robin.” “hi, uh I’m k.O” you said in a casual tone, as you climbed down from Nightwings arms. “Hey k.O, why is she her??” Red Robin said,”Br-Batman said your weren’t allowed to bring your flings in the cave”

”…she’s a woman we found at the party, we think they drugged her with something.”

That’s the end of K.O K.O K.O!!!! low-key think I cooked with this 😫 I tried my best to write for Tim, I think he gives off a moody teen vibes 😭 if y’all hit any suggestions for writing for Tim don’t be say drop them in my doll house!! It’s 4:18 am I got school in the morning wish me luck 😔 i

[fan-goddess]

If he’s a ghost, I can be a phantom

Authors Note: So this has taken way too long for me to write. I hit way too many blocks last year so hopefully i won't have the same with this one. I think though I'll be taking a haitus just to clear my head, as i want to take some space while i focus on other things

Word count: 14.2k words

Taglist: @hoosbandewan @humanpurposes @watercolorskyy @omgbrcat @blue-serendipity @arcielee

Warnings: Heavy sexism, patriarchal views, cheating, angst, sexual tension, does reader come off as i'm not like other girls? kissing, blood, descriptions of bullet wound, talk of one night stands, alcohol, arousal, threats of murder, pervy men (if i miss any which im sure i did let me know so i can add it.)

The mission was not supposed to go like this.

It was supposed to be a quick and easy mission, but you suppose simplicity is not as easy to maintain or even believe to be true, when you’re bleeding with a gunshot wound to your shoulder and at least a litre and a half of blood spilled on a once pristine white carpet.

Tom Bennett is supposedly one of the best of the best. He was recruited when he was still pretty young from the army, and since then, had been trained ruthlessly to know how to shoot and where the places had to be to look like somebody else’s vengeance.

You yourself were similar, but you actually had the smarts going for you rather than the brawn. Soon as you graduated from university with a degree in foreign communications, two men in suits were sitting on your sofa describing what’ll happen and how in very painstakingly detailed ways.

You’d never met Agent Tom Bennett before the mission briefing, but you had certainly heard of him. Son of a pacifist from Manchester, who ironically likes to get into one too many fights that the agency, while not being happy about paying the damages for, does not mention since Bennett does the job needed. What you hear most however from your coworkers, is how he never leaves a mission without a notch in his post, even if it’s from his fellow agent.

So when being told your mission and your partner, your male supervisor gave you a once over and told you to keep your head high and your legs firmly shut. And like the good girl you pretended to be, you just nodded your head so you could work and die someplace better than the dreary country that is mother England.

Even sitting in that briefing room waiting for Agent Bennett to grace you all with his presence you swore you could feel the eyes of every person in that room making bets in their heads whether you’d sleep with him on the mission or not. And by how you analysed everyone watching you, the probability of it being yes was quite frankly staggering.

“Hello hello hello!” A man's voice says, and when you turn to look at the intruder unlike everyone else who simply didn't care enough to turn, you’re met with such a cocky smirk you know exactly who this is.

“And who is this pretty little lady?” Tom says, finally directing his attention to you who just continues to sit there with a blank face.

“It’s Agent to you Agent Bennett.”

“Oh is it now? Well I’m very sorry, agent. I’ll be sure to address you right from now on shan’t I? Though I’m sure with our mission we’ll get on like a house on fire by the end.” Agent Bennett grins, sitting down directly next to you and plopping his arm round your neck. Though to his own amusement only, you immediately shove him off you and move yourself further down the sofa with a huff.

The supervisor overseeing the mission's progress thankfully manages to distract him by beginning the debriefing.

“Agents, we are sending you to France in a few weeks to-“

“Fuck off!” Agent Bennett shouts which even after all your training still manages to make you jump in your seat.

“As I was saying,” The supervisor starts again, glaring hard at Agent Bennett who sulks in his seat like a child on the verge of a tantrum. “You’ll be going to France to infiltrate and retrieve some information from a corrupt politician's estate that he keeps in a hard drive inside of a vault in his office.”

“What’s the security on the estate and vault?” You ask, as Agent Bennett it seems is still acting like a spoiled child after being told he needs to go to France, when already off the top of your head you could list so many other much worse places he could’ve been told he needed to go.

“The usual security protocol. He has security cameras equipped with night vision, guards to patrol the grounds as well as guard dogs trained to attack on site, and sensors in regards to lights, doors and of course the safe, which you two need to get into. We couldn't find anything about it in our extensive research, so you'll both need to use your heads when faced with that later on in the mission.”

“Sounds impossible…” You can’t help but comment.

“Oh come on, love don’t sound so negative!” Bennett grins. You can see him looking at you from the corner of your eye but it appears you’ve already managed to grow tired of his bullshit, so instead you merely look to the supervisor who, like you, appears to be attempting to ignore the guy. “I’m sure we’ll be done before suppers on the table!”

“Sure.” You simply say, rolling your eyes while the supervisor already looks ready to chuck Agent Bennett into the enemies home arse first.

“Now, you two will be our main operatives with the surveillance team being ready to assist whenever they’re needed. It took some work, but we managed to get a good enough alibi to get you both inside as it turns out our politician has a fancy for private masquerade balls.”

As he says this a much younger recruit who looks barely old enough to drink in Europe passes you and Agent Bennett your individual case files, and when you open it to look at your latest identity, you find yourself having to hold in your disgust.

“Mrs Dahlia Carrington?” You can’t help but question out loud, already dreading what Agent Bennett will say.

“Yes wife?” Like clockwork, his annoying voice rings out boiling your blood with every syllable. “As Mr Thomas Carrington, I suppose it is my duty to make sure my beloved is dressed to her best!”

“Never call me that again.”

“Just getting us both into the mood sweetie!”

“Don’t call me that either!” You snap, turning to him with a clenched fist that you oh so desperately want to damage his pretty smirking face with.

“Enough the both of you!” Your supervisor begs, glaring at you and Agent Bennett and making you feel like a child being lectured by their parents. “Agent Bennett, I for one can say have had enough with your playboy nature and how it constantly affects your missions. Will you behave this time, or will I need to prepare another incident report for your arrival with an extra year or two suspended field training?”

And like a child who’s been lectured by a parents, Agent Bennett pouts with a furrowed expression.

“No sir…”

“Good. Now learn your documents and meet with your team. They have the necessary equipment you’ll be needing to get familiar with. Formal wear included.”

You take the supervisor's ending nod as your dismissal and take the file in your hand as you leave. You do not dare look at Agent Bennett, especially as he begins to moan again only this time because he’s been told he has to wear a suit and tie, yet still you manage to get the feeling of goosebumps erupting on your back as you swear you feel his gaze roam your behind.

You cannot be bothered to snap at the man again, so you just sigh loudly to let him know of your annoyance at his actions, and his deep chuckle rings through your mind as you walk away.

As you sit on the stool waiting for your outfit to arrive for you to try it on, you read the file carefully making sure to try and memorise every word possible.

The man whose house you are to sneak into, with help of Agent Bennett as the supervisor had spoken in the debriefing, is a pure French blooded politician whose work slowly turned more and more poisoned against the good of the people. Most recently, he’s gotten access to certain information that could bring about war if placed into the hands of the wrong people, and like the idiot he is, he’s kept it on his computer in his estate.

So what you and Agent Bennett are simply assigned to do, is act like you’re both members of high society to get inside the politician's home and retrieve the information stored most likely on his laptop.

It seems very simple. But then again, all the files of Agent Bennett's other missions seemed simple too, and most of them ended up in millions of pounds in property damage and at least a couple hundred dead bodies needing an explanation only the government could provide.

“Here we are my dear!” The stylist says as he walks through the door with your dress in his hand.

Before you had been given access to missions and was stuck on desk duty, you had never realised that being an agent stylist was an actual job offered here at headquarters. But now that you’ve been upgraded and done a good amount of missions you definitely see why it’s necessary, especially since the bulletproof vest has certainly saved your skin once or twice.

“Oh Stan, it's gorgeous!” You gush as he hangs it on the rack and steps back to allow you to see it in its full glory.

The dress's colour is mainly a deep blue, similar to that of a sapphire, but in the middle where the deep blue fabric separates the fabric is a much lighter shade that you can only describe as being like the cornflowers you see in the fields. The dresses shoulder cuffs are short with a barely noticeable belt keeping the dress firmly fitted. The same sapphire shade continues down the dress till the very end, which happens to be just around your ankles which is the just the way you like your dresses to be.

Overall, it’s everything you’ve ever wanted.

“I’m glad you think so.” Stan smiles, stepping back towards the dress so he can show you the extra special details not seen by the public. “Now the fabric this is made out of is bullet resistant thread. It’ll stop the bullet going in you, but it’s not perfect. If you’re under fire and hit one too many times it’ll rip and you’ll get shot. Understand?”

“Understood.”

“Good. The dress is tailored for your preference, as I remember you saying you didn’t like too long dresses. Also, it’s not too short so it shows the knife or pistol that you will no doubt have strapped to your thigh. Other than those two things the dress is pretty explanatory and simple. Still, anything you wanna ask about?”

“Why blue?” You can’t help but ask. Usually you’d be asking all about the dynamics and the science behind it. But right now, you can’t help but feel curious when looking at the colour of the dress that you rarely ever see on your other wardrobe items.

“Cause Agent Bennett said it’d bring out your eyes.” Stan simply says, full on cackling with amusement when he sees your face melt into an untimely scowl.

On the day before the mission, the supervisor claimed that to get into a better mindset for the roles you and Agent Bennett needed to play, you both needed to spend a night in a nearby hotel.

Though you should’ve known that bastard was up for something when he smiled whilst he said this, as after speaking to the female receptionist, who seemed all too eager in your opinion in eyeing up your pretend husband, and heading to the room, you discover only one bed. And what’s worse, if it somehow could’ve been, is that it was covered in rose petals.

The supervisor had booked the two of you a honeymoon suit.

It was like he was enticing Agent Bennett to attempt to sleep with you, not that you’d ever let him get near enough though of course.

“Well could’ve been worse I s’pose!” Agent Bennett sniffs as he walks around the room. He opens every cabinet, leaves every door open, chucks his bags and other belongings on the bed until eventually his unique bout of chaos settles and he’s sitting on a sofa chair by the open window with an open bag of peanuts in one hand, a bottle of soda in another, and an old fashioned movie playing in the background.

“What?” He muffles with his mouth full. “If the agency is paying for it all, which I know they are, better make the most of it Mrs!”

“Don’t call me that.” You simply say, refusing to admit he’s actually correct for once in his statement. Instead you just take the time to organise your suitcase and your belongings so everything is where it should be and in a discreet place in case housekeeping decides to visit while you’re away.

This evening, you and your pretend husband were going to go, or rather are being ordered to go, downstairs for dinner to further push this idea that the two of you were just a regular married couple.

So about an hour before the dinner reservation in the hotels restaurant while Agent Bennett was too busy trying to find a channel on the hotels tv that wasn't all in bloody French, you slipped into the bathroom to attempt to slip yourself in a dress suitable enough for an evening meal, but not too revealing as to look like you're trying to be invited to work undercover in the red light district.

You stare at the five differently styled dresses you narrowed your two suitcases to, and can't help but sigh to yourself. How on earth have you managed to get yourself in this particular situation?

"Oi! You gonna be any longer missus? Think I'm gonna piss myself here with how long you've been on the loo for!"

"Piss off the balcony for all I care, I'm changing!" You yell back, not looking away from the line of dresses hung up on the shower curtain line.

"Touchy touchy... well if ya want I could always come in and-"

"Over my dead body!" This time, you sharply turn to the door and glare as you picture Agent Bennett on the other side with his smug smirk and his crossed arms that manage to somehow make his biceps bigger than what they were. Ugh it makes you sick in the stomach just thinking about them.

"For god's sake love open the door and I'll choose the god damn dress so you can quit fussing and I can quit trying not to piss myself over the carpet! I don't wanna barge in cause you're a lady and all that but i'm a desperate man over here!" He says, and you can't help but giggle for a moment as you imagine him hopping about with crossed legs and his arms crossed over his bladder. Still, with a straight face you unlock and open the bathroom door and stand aside as to your amusement, Agent Bennett just as you imagined, shuffles into the room with his legs fused together.

"The red one." He simply says, barely managing to get a look at them all before deciding on one you suspect at random.

"But it's got that massive slit down the side that shows my knee. I want to be formal, not like I'm looking for a good time."

"So go with the yellow." He quickly fires, definitely making eyes at the toilet.

"Washes me out like Edward Cullen."

"He an ex of yours or something? Green looks charming."

"I'm gonna respectfully choose to ignore that statement and accept your apology. Besides, I don't have the shoes to go with it."

"Choose the black one or I'm pissing with or without you in the room. And a word of warning, I think a number two may be coming up on the horizon sweetheart."

"You're disgusting." You snap, grabbing all the dresses from the shower curtain rail and swiftly retreating from the room. You can hear Agent Bennett's unique chuckle echo as you begin shutting the door behind you, and you refuse to believe it's why your heart feels like it's beating a million beats a second hard against your rib cage.

You stare in the mirror as you place the black dress in front of yourself in an attempt to see how it looks, and you can't help but think damn. You look fucking hot.

As you walked beside Agent Bennett arm in arm into the restaurant, you swore you could feel somebody's eyes resting on you. Even after the two of you had sat down and ordered some drinks, the back of your neck felt sweltering from the eyes of another.

“It’s cause of the dress.” Your pretend husband insisted as he sipped on some of the red wine. Apparently ordering a plain old lager wasn’t very upper class of him. “Your tits look really good in it.”

“Don’t look at my breasts agent Bennett!” You scowl, moving your arms to shield his and possibly even the other set of eyes from your slightly revealed skin.

“Maybe don’t call me agent Bennett whilst we’re undercover wifey.” He smirks, choosing to blissfully ignore your previous demand.

“Fine! Husband, do not stare at my breasts in public.”

“So you’re fine with me going it in the privacy of our room? Good to know.”

“If we weren’t in public right now I swear I’d-“

“Are you both ready to order some starters?” A voice interrupts you admittedly with a start. When you turn around a relatively young man possibly even younger than yourself stands there in a fancy suit and a small notebook in hand. He’s got a charming smile you suppose, but the eyes tell an entirely different story as you can see him very clearly taking the opportunity to look down the front of your dress.

“I’ll take the dived scallops with charred leak, onion broth and pink purslane.” You snap the starter menu shut loudly which thankfully draws the attention of the waiter from your breasts. He even seems to be bashful as his face turns a light pink and he coughs a few times as he adjusts himself.

“And you sir?” He finally squeezed, turning to Tom who looked at the man unimpressed as if he wasn’t doing practically the same thing not even five minutes ago.

“I’ll take the same as my wife.” Tom emphasizes those last two words firmly while he glares at the poor boy who begins to stutter out an apology towards you.

"I-I'm sorry ma'am! I'll send someone else over to take the rest of your order!" And like that, the lad runs off with his tail between his legs, leaving you with a distinct yet mixed feeling of both shame and gratitude, while Tom begins to chug the rest of his glass of wine and refills the empty glass with a smile like the cat who ate the canary.

Five minutes go by filled only with the background noise of the restaurant's classical music and the conversations of other hotel guests, and finally another person comes over dressed in the same looking suit.

"Hi my name is Henriette and I shall be taking the rest of your order and helping you with any issues you may or may not face for the rest of the evening. I see my colleague has already taken your starters, but could I please have the rest of your intended food order?" Compared to the other guy, this woman certainly acts like she belongs here.

"I'm afraid to say my dear that my husband is very particular with his food order so I will be deciding for him or else we'll both end up going hungry! I shall have for my main the ratatouille, while he'll have the beef carbonnade. For desserts, me and my husband will each have a chocolate ganache cake with the amarena cherries.”

“Perfect choice Madame!” Henriette smiles as she takes the yours and Tom’s menus before nodding her head to you slightly and walking away.

“I’m very particular with my food?”

“Yes. Like a child who refuses to eat their vegetables because they’re green.”

“I would take offence to that if it wasn’t true.” Tom admits, even shrugging his shoulders while you giggle slightly at his action.

The rest of the evening is filled with chatter and smiles that are not as reluctant as you’d like to admit. That stare you felt at the beginning of the night washes away as you concern yourself with Tom and his antics that leave your cheeks aching from how relaxed you've been with him.

The food soon arrives one after another, and each time a plate is placed in front of Tom he gives you a look of untrustworthiness as he raises his fork and moves to take a bite. Yet every time he does this he gives you a look of satisfying defeat which you always respond with a smile.

By the time the desserts arrive, Tom has eaten every bite of the food you chose for him, and you remember that fact distinctively so you could rub it in his face later on.

"So... how's the food been?" You can't help but ask as you savor the way too overpriced little cake that's about the same size as the distance between your thumb and your palm.

"They've been pretty good." He grunts, eyes focused on the cake he doesn't care about the size of, only the rich taste and the thought of how younger he would've killed for this sort of food.

"Pretty good? If we weren't in public I'd think you were about to lick the goddamn plate."

"Not my fault the portions are small as fuck."

"Tom, don't swear in public, it's unbecoming!"

"Jesus what are you my father now? Or my sister?"

"Tom, what are you talking about?" Your brow furrows in confusion at Tom's sudden change in mood. Where was that person who half an hour ago was joking and riling you up with only the topic of your own boobs for gods sake and who is this moody teenager that replaced him?

"Cause I know you're just putting up with me cause you were assigned to me." he begins, but pauses to refill his glass. That's when you realise exactly why his tongue seems to be so loose and why his mood is so well, moody. Tom Bennett has allowed himself to indulge practically at the very start of the mission and is now sitting in front of you pissed as a sea sailor on bloody red wine of all things. "You're probably thinking about how pathetic I am right now! Oh how pathetic is it that top agent Bennett is getting drunk so early!"

"Jesus Christ Tom, can you keep it together!" You attempt to whisper, but ultimately fail as you see everyone is slowly beginning to turn to look at the two of you including the waitress from earlier.

So in an attempt to halt the damage already made, you grab Tom's arm and try to pull him from his chair so you can drag him back to your room and let him sleep this mood swing off. Though that's about as effective as running through water as he just slumps against you and nearly knocks you straight to the floor, training be damned it seems.

"Do you wish for me to help you Madame? I could get someone at the front desk to help?" The familiar voice of Henriette says.

"No thank you I am perfectly capable Henriette. I am used to dragging my husband away when he's gotten into one of his moods. As much as he denies it every time he has never been very good at holding his alcohol no matter the amount of times he does it." You have to force yourself to act calm and like a true high class lady, but anyone with eyes could see how frustrated you were at that moment as you refrained yourself from whacking Tom over the head and teaching him a lesson.

You somehow manage to get Tom out of the dining hall with the stares of every man and woman in that room no doubt judging your sham of a marriage with their eyes and tongues. Just as you're about to leave though, you suddenly remember the bill and almost go straight back leaving Tom in the middle of the corridor whilst you sort it out, but then with a sigh of utmost gratitude you also remember how it'll be charged at the end of your stay.

“Where are you taking me, wife?” He grumbles, feeling you stop him so suddenly he gets the urge to throw up.

“Back to our room husband. Because of you and your inability to hold your alcohol, our mission may have failed before it even began.”

This time, the hotheaded agent doesn’t have a response to give you. Instead, he just closes his eyes and leans himself against you, allowing himself to be dragged to the room. In the elevator though there is some elderly woman decked to the dimes in diamonds and sapphires who gives the two of you a knowing look from where she stands.

“Long night?” She asks you, staring straight ahead as the doors close behind you.

“Tell me about it…” You laugh, grunting as Tom begins to slip and you’re forced to pull him up further against you. She laughs with you with a look in her eyes as if she’s remembering something long ago, and with that the conversation between you ends.

She gets off on the next floor, and you and Tom manage to make it back to your room giving the impression of a young dutiful wife just taking her drunk husband back to their room.

Soon as you get inside, you chuck Tom off you onto the sofa and chuckle as you imagine him waking up in the middle of the night with a sore back and his evening clothes.

You change into comfy pajamas you packed and get into bed, almost falling straight to sleep with how comfy the bed and pillows are, but not before listening to the sound of Tom's snoring that sends you into a deep sleep.

When you wake on the morning of the mission to the sound of your alarm, you can’t help but allow your eyes to be drawn to the sofa where you expect to see Toms drooped over a wine stinking body. Only there’s no one there.

“Tom?” You call out as you step out the bed and make your way to the bathroom thinking maybe he’s in there throwing up his insides. Only when you hear no response or even any throwing up noises do you enter to find it in the exact same way you left it this morning.

When you touch the sofa you take note of how it’s slightly cold to the touch, and can’t help yourself but think about Tom possibly staggering from his seat late at night whilst you slept and got himself in trouble.

The anxiety gnaws at your mind as the possibilities of what could’ve happened to him keep coming at you.

Where did he go?

What if he went looking for more alcohol in a dingy bar somewhere and got caught?

What if he’s lying somewhere dead?

By the time you come around your nails are half shredded and your legs are shaking slightly from how long you’ve been standing up. And to keep yourself sane for the time being you find yourself for the first time ever texting Agent Tom Bennett.

The agency for every new case assigns the agent a different phone with all the information and numbers needed. You’d been given yours after the debriefing, and yet somehow Tom had already begun to spam you with random texts throughout the day.

What is your favourite food? What's your drink of choice? What’s your favourite colour?

You never answered, partially because leaving him on read was an exhilarating experience. So texting him now felt strange to do.

Where are you?

You texted him that first. But after five minutes of watching the pixilated words be left unanswered and unread you sent him another.

I hope your having the worst hangover of your life. You deserve it after last night and how you acted. Show up to the mission sober if you can go so long without a drink I’m surprised the so great agent Bennett is an alcoholic

You take a break staring in order to take a shower and hopefully clear your thoughts. As you step out the bathroom and begin to towel dry your hair you hear your phone ping with a notification, and it’s as if rocks have been tied to your feet with how heavy they feel walking to your phone.

You open it with a hitched breath, and you almost get the urge to chuck it straight out the balcony doors when you see the message.

Didn’t think you’d have worried about little old me that much Mrs. And don’t worry, my hangover, which I’m sad to report is practically non existant, will probs be gone before the mission even begins. I’ll meet you there when you need me.

And when you think it’s over, he sends another

By the way it’s you’re when speaking bout my headache love, not your ;)

“Bastard.” You groan this time chucking yourself against the bed. Why does he take such pleasure in your annoyance? Why does he seem to enjoy making your life so hard?

In the end in an attempt to take your mind off the hurricane that was Tom Bennett you switch your phone off and spend the whole day in your hotel room fixing yourself up for this evening.

You firstly treat yourself to room service breakfast involving pancakes, croissants, bacon and the whole nine dimes. Then after cleaning yourself up you got onto the actual dressing up aspect.

The dress as soon as you had arrived in the room yesterday was hung up on a hook from within its protective bag in the wardrobe, and when you retrieve it and unravel it you go just as breathless as you were when you first saw it.

The blue is still as breathtaking and the length still as satisfactory. You almost get the girlish urge to put it on now and twirl around like how you did as a child in your Disney princess costume, but stop yourself as you remember Stan warning you not to crease the dress at all, so to be safe you zip the protective cover straight back up and close the wardrobes door firmly to be safe.

So you move on to trying on everything else. The bra you plan to wear isn't too important as the dress will cover up your shoulders so that's out of the way.

The shoes take up some time but in your opinion not long enough. Since practically as soon as the questions come at you their answers come shooting in quick succession behind them. The question on what was nonexistent as since you knew dancing was going to happen whether by the agencies demand or even Toms, heels were out of the question. And since there were few other shoes packed for you in your suitcase you soon found yourself with some dark navy kitten heels that managed to make you feel elegant and safe at the same time.

Makeup though was your biggest time consumer though. You spent hours thinking about what was suitable and what was not with all the products that had been packed all laid out on the dresser table in front of you.

You couldn't put too much on, as then everyone would stare and you might as well cancel the mission before it's even begun. Though you couldn't go without any or be super subtle with it all or else even then you'll get judgemental stares from people. So you spend quite a bit of time in front of the mirror putting various different products on your face and finally after what thankfully feels like forever, you find a style that suits both you and the mission at hand perfectly.

When experimenting, you did debate on possibly wearing something you think would interest the man whose house you're infiltrating, but you soon put that thought to bed when the con list became longer than the pros, not that there was even anything on there in the beginning. You had no idea what he was truly like behind closed doors apart from of course betraying his country and his people that is.

Though the one you wear now, it makes you feel powerful.

It’s a good mixture of subtle yet striking, with the use of eyeliner forcing people to look into your eyes. There’s only a little conditioner and foundation to cover up a few spots and blemishes. The only other thing you decide to use make-up wise is some lipstick that’s a little darker than your natural lip shade.

You decide to take it off as it’s still a while before you need to leave before the ball, so to waste time you do what you never would’ve done before this mission.

You sat on the bed in a complimentary dressing gown, ordered some fancy lunch, and watched reality tv. You watch it all as you eat without any complaints. It feels like you were a teenager all over again without a care in the world.

Though soon the time ticks away and it’s about time for you to get changed into your outfit and prepare your weapons. A small pistol strapped to your thigh. A signet looking ring on your ring finger that when activated, could deliver 50 thousand volts to whoever is unlucky enough to be on the receiving end of it. And your personal favourite, a pepper spray that’s disguised to look like a shade of red lipstick.

When that’s all sorted though and hidden away from the public eye, only then do you dare turn your phone back on. You don’t really know what to expect. Messages from Tom begging for forgiveness? A message from your supervisor saying you’re gonna be extracted as Toms blew the mission?

You will say what you do find when you turn your phone. Nothing. No messages, no notifications, nothing.

It’s a blow to the stomach but you take it on the chin and deal with it, especially when it's Tom you’re dealing with.

Walking down to the lobby to get to the car that’ll bring you to the rich guy's mansion, you can feel the stares of others on your skin as you walk. To keep appearances you simply sway your hips as you pass to show you are unbothered by your past, and smile at yourself like you own the world.

Which you certainly feel like when you realise the car that’ll be dropping you off is a smaller yet still classy limousine, even equipped with an equally handsome man who opens the door for you to get in.

“Good evening Mrs Carrington,” The kind man begins as you slowly sway closer. “My name is Webster, and I shall be your chauffeur for the duration of this service. There are drinks within the back as-well as many small snacks in case you were feeling particularly peckish. Do you have any questions for me?”

“No thank you Webster I believe any I thought of have already been answered.” You just simply say with a smile of gratitude as you duck into the car and let out a sigh you didn’t even realise you were holding as you sat down on the soft leather.

You turn your head slightly to get a look at these drinks and small snacks on offer, and it truly does seem all your questions have been answered as you meet the eyes of your pretend husband for the evening as he drinks at a bottle of unlabelled substance.

“I’d have thought after yesterday you’d avoid alcohol…” You can’t help but snidely comment, watching as he grumbles at it.

“I came back didn’t I? Ain’t that the most important thing?”

“The most important thing Bennett, is you making sure you don’t screw this mission over with your day drinking.” You respond, and in an act of retaliation that shocks even you, you make a grab at the bottle of drink and sniff at the top to try and tell what it is.

Though you suppose it’s even more shocking for you to discover that the bottle doesn’t smell like cheap booze as you thought it was, but actually it was the scentless yet still recognisable scent of water.

“Not had a drop since yesterday.” Tom sneers, grabbing back the bottle to take another swig. "Wouldn't want to embarrass the perfect little agent anymore than I already have."

"Don't call me that Bennett." You snap, looking at him with hate in your eyes as you try to think back to the nice man you talked with yesterday.

"Why not Mrs? Aren't you the one who's got the 100% success rate in all their missions? The one who always catches the bad guy with not a single scratch on her soft delicate skin?" Tom continues to antagonise you and you swear you're this close to yanking that bottle from his hands and whacking him to death with it in this very car.

"Let's just focus on the mission, husband, so then this can all be over and done with and we can go back to never talking too or even better not even seeing each other again. Alright?"

"Fine..." He amusingly grumbles as he slumps further into the seat. "Run the plan by me again Mrs as I'm sure you've memorised it all already."

"I actually have, but if you insist. We get into the venue posing as Mr and Mrs Carrington, then socialise for a bit to appear as the average bourgeoisie couple, maybe even dance a bit if we need to. After that we head to the politician's office to extract the information from the hard drive within the vault. Hopefully we should be out and back in bed before midnight. Any questions?"

Tom, deciding to be the class clown in a car of only three people, raises his hand as if in a classroom. "I've got a question Mrs! Who said anything about dancing?"

"The supervisor did. As according to him we need to fit in as much as possible and that includes dancing whether you like the idea or not. Oh, and one more thing silly old me forgot to mention. Don't flirt with any lonely wives or daughters."

"Oh come on Mrs don't you think I have some self restraint?" He attempts to laugh with a smile on his face that soon much to your own amusement however, is quickly wiped away when he sees the dead seriousness of your expression and voice. "Do you really think that little of me?"

"Well within the first full day of knowing me you got drunk as a sailor after being honest for two seconds with me, then left in the middle of the night to do god knows what in the streets. So yes Agent Bennett, that is what I think of you."

"You remind me of my sister... I don't say that often or with great pleasure..." Tom grumbles while you yourself find yourself acting surprised at his words.

"You've got a sister?" You find yourself asking.

"Yeah. Lois. The brains of the family while I got the looks. Was a singer in a pub before she got the qualifications after having a baby to become a nurse at some great big hospital. Dad's little brainy-box while I'm sitting in a jail cell for another night." This time, you don't say the words that immediately pop into your head. As even as helpful as they will try to sound you know he'll take it as pity whichever way you say it. "Though I suppose I got the looks at least! We can agree on that, can't we missus! What you say after this we go to the pub? My treat!"

And with not even what you could say a snap of the fingers the energetic careful Agent Bennett returns. Along with the urge to smack him round the head with one hand while with the other you call HR.

"And do what? Just drinking?" You find yourself asking.

"Sure! And maybe more if you feel like it. No pressure at all! I do like my ladies, consenting I'll have you know!"

"Oh great you like the basic rules of sex. Good to know..." You grumble, and with your last strand of patience snapping, you find a small bottle of fruity cider you remember drinking back when you were a uni student and taking a swig.

"Now who needs to be told to watch their liquor!" Tom laughs.

"Shut it or I'm throwing you out of the car myself and making you walk."

"But I dunno where I'll be heading sweetheart!"

"Then ask a local for directions."

"But I don't speak french?"

"39% of the French population say they can speak English. With how much of a talker you tend to be, I'm sure you won't have much of an issue finding someone!"

After yours and Tom's little marital spat, as Tom himself called it as he grumbled like a toddler slouching against the seats, the rest of the ride to the estate was filled with silence. Occasionally the sound of a honking car or the regular noises of the bustling city life broke the silence, but apart from that you and Tom made no effort to get along.

You sometimes take a sip of the cider you opened without much thought, and you regret very soon as the taste washes over your tongue. There’s a reason why you drank this at uni. It’s cheap, it’s strong, and after a couple bottles you can’t remember your own name.

“We’re about five minutes from the location Mr and Mrs Carrington,” The driver says through the little intercom. “I suggest you start thawing out before the entrance.”

You and Tom look at each other from the corner of your eyes, and deep down know the man is right. Even if the two of you couldn’t stand each other right now, for the sake of the country as much as Tom claims to hate it you both do not want the innocent people to suffer.

“Fine.” You spit.

“Fine.” Tom grumbles back.

So like the loved-up couple you were both playing to be, with neither knowing who began moving first, yours and Tom's hand found each other and clutched together in a firm embrace.

When the both of you get out of the car at the front of the politician's house, your hands still clutch hard against one another as you both adorn the masks you’ve been given to conceal your identity.

In an almost ironic turn of events, you were given the mark of the devil, and Tom the mask of the angel.

"Looking good Mrs." You hear Tom say.

"Save it!" You simply snap back with your eyes facing straight forward. If he wants to try and make you begin liking him again with simple words, he's gonna have to try much harder than that. Preferably on his knees, but you don't mind as long as he truly shows his regret.

And with how you can practically hear him rolling his eyes at you, you know he'll at this point need to be doing a lot more than getting on his knees for you if you had anything to say to him.

The target as expected wasn't at the door to greet his guests. Instead, he simply walked around the rooms like God's greatest gift and allowed them the honour of approaching.

Only he wasn't going to be the spider standing idly by waiting for the fly to come to him. Tonight, he was the ignorant fly while you and Tom sat perched in your little web, venom ready awaiting the right moment to strike.

"You seen him yet angel?" Tom murmurs against your ear as he leads you into the main ball room with his hand perched firmly on your lower back. You can feel the warmth of his palm alone through the fabric of your clothes, and you hate the way it makes your stomach churn in a way that leaves you craving for more.

"If I saw him, I'd tell you." You just simply say, turning your head away from him as you still feel where his breath had tickled you. Somehow though, you didn't manage to pluck the courage inside you to move from his hand that still firmly imprints itself against you.

You can hear him lightly chuckle beside you, and with a quick yet heavy sip of the complimentary champagne you were offered when you both walked through the door, the mission began.

With every step forward you felt daggers piercing the back of your neck, and with every sudden high pitched laugh belonging to some man's wife you felt the grip on Tom's arm suddenly tighten.

"What you doing that for?!" He suddenly whispers after the fifth time.

"Something doesn't feel right..." You try to reason, resisting every urge to turn around.

"Oh I'm sorry. I guess I didn't realise I was partnered with the bloody girl who saw dead people."

"If we were not in this room full of people I want you to know I would've smacked you round the back of the head for that."

"Careful love. If you do it I may just like it."

"Save it for the gullible women you manage to con into sleeping with you." You attempt to seem disgusted at his actions as you think about how many women seem to be affected by Tom's typical charm, but then you're reminded that you were one of the women who'd fallen victim to his boyish-like smiles and his dopey laugh. You'll never admit this to anyone, but your face may have turned a little pink at the memory.

"Only if that gullible woman is you my sweet." Tom quips right back, smiling at you in such a way it feels like your heart may beat out of your chest. Yet to stop him from charming you anymore, you just roll your eyes and nudge Tom into the direction of the bar.

"Thought you said I wasn't allowed to drink?

"I did. It's just the extra cherry on top of the milkshake being able to drink in front of you. Like eating chocolate in front of a child past its bed time." You grin, ordering a double gin and tonic and finishing that first sip with an exaggerated sigh. "Husband, would you mind paying the bartender for my drink pretty please? I seem to have left my purse at home!"

"Any man that makes his wife pay for her own drinks looking like that in that dress is no man." The bartender comments, looking you up and down as he takes Tom's card and puts it through the machine. While the man's back is turned for a moment you can't help but observe him.

You recognise him from the list of employees you looked at before arriving tonight. His name is Henry Clarkes, a ginger middle aged man from Exeter currently on his 3rd marriage collapse. Though to be fair, that wouldn't have happened if he hadn't gotten another girl even younger than yourself pregnant with his 4th child. Though that's just your opinion...

By your side Tom grumbles something illegible as he stares daggers into the back of the man's head. And to your surprise, he only manages to push out an obviously strained thanks that even the man behind the bar chuckles at. So before Tom takes it upon himself to leap across that bar and beats the man black and blue, you take Tom's hand firmly in your own to squeeze it tight and drag him away from the scene.

"Bet you loved that." He says soon as you're far enough away. "But you would've taken him into our hotel room if I wasn't there!"

"Fucks sake Tom if i'd have known you were just as a dickhead sober I would've gotten you a drink before we came here. Maybe it would've made you more bearable..."

"So you don't deny it!" He growls, pulling you with a yelp as he forces you to a wall at the edge of the party. "You would've fucked him in our bed?"

"Jesus Tom no I would not have fucked that random man in our hotel bed!" You try to whisper, but it's sort of hard too when there's gossipy women practically circling you where you stand. "Unlike you, I don't sleep with random people I've met in the span of less than a minute!"

"I don't do that anymore!" Is that his defence? Really?

"Since when? This morning!?"

"Since I realised I'd be working with you a few weeks ago." It's the way he says it so quickly you suppose is what makes you so flustered. The way he had no hesitation in the words as if he had been waiting to say them all his life.

"Tom... I-"

"My my and who are these two lovebirds tucked away in the corner?" A voice suddenly says, bursting the two of you out of whatever trance you were entrapped in. You both turn to this person, and you have to physically stop yourself from reacting when you recognise them. The exact man whose home and party you just sneaked into, the corrupt french politician.

"I'm Dahlia Carrington monsieur, and this is my husband Thomas! I apologise for our behaviour, we were just having a little argument and-"

"Oh no need to apologise mademoiselle! I myself have at least one argument a day with my own wife!" That's cause you've been cheating on her with the nanny of your four children all under the age of 12. If it wasn't so sad to think about given the age gap, you'd have laughed at the cliche of it all. "Let me guess! She's been hitting the cards and the drinks a little too hard huh?"

Did this man really just manage to call you a gold-digger and some kind of alcoholic all in one insult? You think he did. Tom thinks it too, by the way he seems to glare the same kind of despising glaring at this man just like how he did at the bartender.

"Sure." Tom grits out, his jaw clenched down hard. You look down, and see that even his whole body is reared up.

Yet it seems this man is as dense as his security is, since he just keeps on talking.

"You know what you need to do son? Need to get her on a tighter leash if you ask me!" If Tom doesn't hit him, you definitely will at this point. "Maybe even give her a child! Cause I can tell from her figure alone that she hasn't had any yet! But trust me on this, only have a single son! Cause then you've got the heir, the wife off your back, and a still tight one when you need it! Oh, and by the way mademoiselle, you may want to smile a bit more. Makes you look all wrinkled and old."

How is this man smiling right now at you? He has just told you that you were pretty much just at best, a childbearing sex doll for your husband, and he's just standing there with the biggest fucking grin on his face drinking some million dollar looking champagne. How fucking dare?

"Ooh! I must be off now! There are so many guests to see and so little time... au revoir my good friends!" He smiles, disappearing into the crowd of the bourgeoisie, leaving you and Tom at the edge with anger written clearly on both your faces.

"I'm gonna kill him." You say first.

"Not if I do it first." Tom responds immediately after. "I'll push him down the stairs so everyone will claim it was cause he was drunk."

"I was just gonna shoot him in the head."

"Wouldn't that blow our cover?" Tom curiously asks, turning to you while you look back at him with a unique smile on your face that Tom can't help but cause a shiver to run up his spine.

"Doesn't matter to me. At least I get the satisfaction of knowing I rid the world of another patriarchal dickheaded twat..." You firmly say, watching Tom's mouth slowly turn into an almost impressed smirk.

"Fair enough wife. Fair enough."

Tom takes your hand in his as he slowly directs you through the room till you get to the staircase to the upper floors. Thankfully they haven't been shut off to the public, and instead people are being encouraged to look around and marvel at all the weird and frankly sort of disturbing memorabilia adorning the walls, such as stuffed animals being glass and paintings of worryingly young girls.

"His office is another floor up. If we continue looking like some regular prissy couple then we can get there easy." He says directing you further down the corridor to yet another set of stairs.

"If I knew I'd need to be climbing up so many stairs I'd have requested the costume team to have packed me more comfortable shoes..." You grumble as Tom looks over his shoulder to merely laugh at your pain.

"Awe, is the poor little lady unhappy she has to climb some simple stairs?" He pouts as he tilts his head, laughing loud at how you scowl at him. "I would've thought little miss perfect would've actually looked at the mission plans before this. My my was the mrs slacking?"

"Idiot." You simply sigh, rolling your ankles as soon as you get to the next floor. "I did look at the plans I'll have, you know! It's not my fault that it was never specified the height of the stairs..." You mumble. You can see Tom laugh slightly with a delighted twinkle in his eye as he looks at your pouting lips. He sure loves to see you suffer....

"I mean I could've carried Mrs up if her royal highness had asked me." Tom shrugs, laughing as you take the time to wack him on his upper arm with the back of your hand. "Hey hey hey Mrs don't hit our loving devoted husband! I did offer!"

"Yeah, when we were already up the stairs!"

"At least I offered at all! Besides, the office is just up here. You've stretched your ankle enough." Tom groans, grabbing you by the wrist this time to lead you. You grumble behind him as you look around at the corridor for any cameras and any extra security.

You spot three cameras already by the time you both get to the door, and tap Tom's hand to let him know. Thankfully you can't see anything else that would get in the way of the mission like a keypad or a retinal scanner. If you had to admit, it was sort of basic considering what information the man was storing and with how much money he had.

"You got it?" He pulls you in close to murmur against your ear. To those currently watching, it would've looked like a husband leaning in to whisper some romantic words to his wife.

"Of course." You simply murmur back, fiddling with your earring as you find the tiny switch and press it. It's amazing what kind of technology the intelligence lab can come up with, as to any other person looking at you they may have thought you were wearing simple ordinary earrings. But, in actuality they were specially designed in order to, when having the switch pressed, would expel a small burst of electromagnetic waves that'd disrupt the cameras feed, giving the organisation enough time to replace it with a fake copy. "Should be replaced now."

Usually, the organisation would have people on hand to hack into the cameras and change the feed. But apparently they couldn't do it within the time they got to the secure location and the time you'd be getting to the location. So for the time being, the earrings had to do.

"Then let's get inside. Stupid bastard doesn't even have a lock on the door." He laughs, stepping inside and closing it behind you. "He even left his safe in clear view of the room! What a twat!"

"Careful Tom!" You can't help but say, watching as he strides across the room with no possible caution for danger. "We don't know exactly what sort of security this man has on his safe!"

"Then I suppose we better figure it out then Mrs." He continues to smile, this time walking directly up to the safe as he puts on a pair of gloves you didn't know where he was even hiding them. "Seems pretty simple to me..."

Tom puts his head against the cool material of the box and slowly begins to turn the dial ever so slowly so he can hear the distinct clicks from within. Slowly you walk up behind him and watch him as he works, which gives you a view of something you had no idea you'd be interested in viewing.

From where you stood you could see Tom's long nimble hands work as they touch the dial and in a strange way stroke the surface of the safe as he moves his hand. If you had to be honest with yourself, it's sort of hypnotising.

"You know I can feel you staring at me right Mrs?" Tom's cocky voice suddenly says, breaking you from whatever strange spell Tom's fingers had on you. He even turns to stare at you as he says this, and you can't find yourself even in the position to lie to yourself that Tom's grin doesn't make you feel like you have butterflies swarming right now in your stomach.

"Just open the safe Agent Bennett." You snarl, admittedly the nickname feeling strange against your tongue.

"My my back to the origins are we missus? Then it's a good thing I've got the perfect nickname for you and I'll never be using anything less for my favourite girl!" Tom turns back to the last few digits of the safe, and you're left with a blush you pray this man does not see. He still calls you Mrs after seeing how annoyed it got you. Just how long would it take to shake off the fact you blushed due to his charm?

"Are you almost done?" You ask, attempting to distract yourself and hope it goes down quickly.

"If you let me listen I'd be done quicker." He quips, letting out a loud "Aha!" when the final distinct tick sounds, and he's able to turn the wheel and open the safe door with a self-satisfied smile. "And you thought to doubt me?"

"Shut it." You sigh, stepping out the way as Tom swings the door out towards the two of you, to reveal another door.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Tom groans, the sound of which you ignore as you walk up to it and see what it is you're dealing with. Unlike the security on the last door, this one is equipped with a key pad with numbers zero through nine, and no real indication on how long the sequence needed to be.

Yet that doesn't appear to stop you as you try putting in the birthday of the nanny, to which an annoyingly loud noise sounds out indicating a failed attempt. "Two attempts remain." A male robotic voice says.

"What did you do!?" Tom shouts, forcibly grabbing your upper arm to turn you around and look at him.

"I took my shot." You simply say, taking Tom's arm in your hand and shoving it away so hard he steps back once. "And don't you dare touch me like that again Tom."

To your relief, he doesn't seem in the mood to pick a fight with you as he just grumbles under his breath staring at the door keeping the both of you from your mission.

Admittedly, you both stay where you stand for a few minutes thinking about possible numbers the politician would hold dear to him. Anything to do with his wife is immediately off the table such as anniversaries or her birthday. You'd thought he'd maybe take advantage of the nanny more than he had already, but that seems to be just as effective as the wife. That's when you suddenly get reminded of something he's said to Tom early while he was halfway through a misogynistic ramble he'd been on.

'But trust me on this, only have a single son!'

"Tom," You begin to ask, turning to said man who at the sound of his name looks back at you recognising the thinking expression on your face. "What was that thing the bastard was saying about his son?"

You say this rhetorically as you step closer and closer to the keypad with a grin as you enter the birth date of the politician's only son and youngest child, and are welcomed with the same robotic voice as before. "Welcome monsieur, to the vault." It simply says, before this time Tom's voice breaks through the silence.

"Fucking smarty pants!" He says as he moves in front of you. At first you think this is just another insult, but then you see the way his face is actually lit up in pride and realise quickly he's actually proud of you. "Knew you could do this Mrs!"

"Really?" You can't help but ask, watching as his face quickly turns serious as he looks at you. It's strange.

"Of course. You're smart, you are. More smarter than I could ever be. I mean, you actually listened to the French bastard while he was talking to us."

"You weren't?"

"No. I was just imagining my fists pummelling into his face till he swallows his own teeth and is forced to be put on life support in some shitty hospital that without him knowing bleeds his money dry as he fights for his life." He admits, watching you closely as you blink in surprise at the level of violence this man in front of you is willing to express.

"Damn... he must've pissed you off good Tom." You try to make the mood lighter, but still Tom's face stays oddly serious and calm.

"Of course he did. No one should get to talk about you like that in front of you, or even away from you, and get to smile like that ever again. Now let's get into this vault thing." Fuck. Here comes the blush and the feral butterflies in the stomach. A double whammy...

"Y-yeah lets!" You quickly say, standing close behind Tom as he opens the door and thankfully this time not revealing another door, but instead revealing a large room filled with a variety of things that would no doubt add up to millions, possibly even ranging into a billion pounds.

"Who even needs this?" Tom's voice suddenly rings out. You turn to the direction of where his voice came from, and begin to laugh hard when you see exactly what Tom is so confused by. A large bottle of what looked like it used to hold port, but now holds a deep amber coloured liquid that took you a second to realise what it is as well as some other bits floating about.

Agent Tom Bennett is holding in his hands a witches' bottle. AKA, a bottle filled with some random person's piss, toe nails, hair and other various bodily things.

You must've made him nervous as for the first time you think since the mission started he says your name in a meek manner. "What am I holding..."

"You, you're holding some poor person's piss!" You laugh, practically wheezing with no consideration for noise levels as you watch Tom's face contort into one of pure disgust and horror. He manages to put it down as gently as a man who just discovered he's holding a bottle of piss can be, yet it still manages to make you laugh so hard you almost fall over.

"That's fucking disgusting!" The poor man shouts, staring at the offending item with deeply furrowed eyebrows and hateful eyes. "Why the fuck would anyone want that?!"

"I dunno. People used to make them in order to draw in and trap harmful intentions directed at their owners like evil spirits or counteract witches spells. It's sort of cool, when you get past the fact that it's basically just piss and nails and other bodily stuff in a jar."

"Still fucking disgusting. Let's just find this stupid hard drive..." He grumbles, rubbing the hand that touched the bottle on his suit.

You continue to giggle behind Tom as you follow him through the assortment of items. By the looks of it, basically all of it has been organised into sort of sections, making the look for the area with the electronics much easier for the two of you.

After some time looking through some boxes of various things, you find a hard drive labelled with the dangerous info the politician was storing. You'll be honest, it almost felt too easy finding it.

"That's it?" You hear Tom comment from behind as you turn around to face him with the device within your pointing finger and thumb.

"That's it." You shrug, stepping forward to adjust Tom's suit jacket so you can get to the small inside pocket and place the device inside it. It's a little bigger than what was expected, but it still fits just fine within its containment.

"Are we done now," Tom starts to murmur, making you realise the position you were in. You were standing barely a breath away from him, still holding his jacket lapel with your hands keeping him close. You swear you can feel his breath fan against your face, your own face though being pulled straight out of your lungs when you for certain feel his hands slowly move to touch your waist. "I was beginning to enjoy my time with you. Maybe we can fit in a dance before we leave, huh missus?"

You can barely find yourself able to speak as you're frozen where you stand. You can barely manage to nod as you can only find yourself praying for your life that the blush on your face isn't as noticeable as you feel it being.

"Y-yeah." You finally manage to strain out, not even able to look at him as you try to focus on instead of his face a small stain near his chest pocket. Yet it seems Tom has other plans, as he removes one of the hands from your waist to your chin, which he uses only two of his fingers to gently move your head up and force you to look at him eye to eye.

You feel your eyes drawn upwards to look at his face, yet even that action doesn’t last long as you suddenly find yourself staring at his lips while he moistens them with his tongue. They’re a pretty shade of pink, and under the harsh light overhead you can swear you find them glistening slightly.

You murmur Tom's name under your breath lightly, and your eyes close as you feel his hands curl tightly around your body with a sense of possessiveness you never thought you’d get from him.

As you begin to lean closer, feeling his warm breath slowly cause goosebumps to raise all along the length of your arms, you can feel your eyes slowly close as you begin to wonder how this situation has occurred, and why the hell does it feel so right to do?

That is however, till you hear faint footsteps that sound like they're coming closer.

"Do you hear that?" You murmur as you open your eyes slightly to look at Tom, who to your slight amusement is still stuck within the moment. His eyes are still closed, and his mouth slightly puckered as he still tries to inch himself closer and closer.

"I didn't hear anything." He quickly says, not opening his eyes or anything. "Just get over here so I can-"

"They're over here!" A voice shouts in the distance, finally forcing Tom to accept the moment is over, and open his eyes to see your 'i told you so' expression.

Tom grumbles some incoherent words under his breath as he takes his gun out from his hidden inner pocket before turning to you. "Don't think this is over missus." He simply says, before turning to the direction of where the shouting came from.

You yourself just roll your eyes as you retrieve your own pistol still firmly strapped against your leg, and follow behind Tom as you both try to get some cover underneath all the ornaments and objects placed amongst each other.

There is only one main walkway that is designed to showcase every item as you walk around the room, but that doesn't mean people can't make their paths, as demonstrated when Tom walks head first through a rack of old animal fur coats. As the two of you begin to get closer to the exit, the sound of talking gets louder the more steps you take, and you both duck for cover behind a huge set of antique chests of drawers.

"Do we know how many are here?" You hear one of them say, followed by a symphony of guns being reloaded one after another. By the sounds of the guns alone, there's got to be around an even 10 guards ready to shoot you if given the command.

"The boss says can't be more than two." Another says soon after, most likely the squad leader if he's the one answering the questions. "They can't be too far, so fan out and shoot only to disarm or incapacitate. The boss wants us to question them to find out who they work for."

You and Tom from where you both are hiding look at each other in mutual understanding as the promise makes its way through both your heads at the same time. Don't leave the other behind no matter what.

Even though you had both gone through with missions that slipped last second and been tortured by one too many people, even though you both knew the other could handle it the silent declaration still happened without a shadow of a doubt. Neither Tom nor you could bear to think of the other person being hurt by this French asshole.

"Any idea how to dodge these French pricks?" Tom asks as he turns to you, much to your surprise.

"Huh... and here I thought that you'd be all ready to shoot first escape later. What's changed? Did you hit your head when I wasn't looking? Trip on some old Victorian teddy bear?" You can't help but laugh, watching Tom's face doesn't even turn to a simple smirk as he answers.

"Can't have my missus getting hurt. So have you got a plan or do we need to fall back onto the shoot first plan?"

You hate to admit it, but it's at that moment when you finally realise why it had felt so right to be in his arms. Somehow between the chaos of the mission and the short but sweet moments together, you'd fallen for the man worse than James Bond himself, Agent Tom Bennett.

"I think I can see the entrance door from here. The guards have started fanning out more in the middle of the room, which is their mistake thinking we'd still be cowering in the back corner. If we're silent and don't draw attention, then I think we can get out of the room without gunfire and any unnecessary attention. Got that?" You finally say, turning to him and watching as he nods his head in return to your question.

"Got it missus. Take the lead." He says, gesturing his hand in a random direction. You roll your eyes at the nickname but less due to annoyance, and more due to amusement that he still insists on using it even though by now, the disguises have long since crumpled away.

Still, you say nothing and just gesture for him to follow you, which he does in a heartbeat. You can hear the heavy footsteps of the guards in the distance but to your and Tom's relief they go quieter instead of louder, indicating that the group were still making their way to the back of the room.

You make your way through all manner of objects in an attempt to stay away from the main path that stays primarily visible most of the length of the way. You pass rugs, more furniture similar to those earlier sets of drawers, faberge eggs, and even coincidentally old stuffed toys.

Soon, the view of the office you had passed to sneak in came into view. It was so close. You could not tell if there were any guards on the outside which was good for the both of you, as it seems these guards were dumber than they looked.

You turned around to check that Tom had successfully followed behind you with all the twists and turns through the junk, only as you did so, you managed to catch just in time Toms shoulder banging into wobbly piece of display furniture, causing an expensive yet boring looking vase to come toppling down and smash against the hard floor.

"For fucks sake..." You mumble as shouts go off in the distance in chime with heavy footsteps that inch close and closer towards you both.

"Sorry!" Tom yells at you as he leaps up and begins firing like crazy in an attempt to get these guys before they get either of you. You have to sigh in defeat at the turn of events before you also begin to fire at these men with everything you got while also moving backwards towards the exit.

For a minute, all you could hear was gunshot after gunshot, mixed in with the sounds of the guards screaming in pain when either you or Tom managed to get one. But that all changed when you felt one of the last guards bullets burying itself within your shoulder, bringing you down hard against the floor with a surprised scream.

You can hear Tom yell out your name as the last rounds of gunfire go off. As soon as the sounds stop you feel Tom's arms enveloping you so he can pull you closer and assess the wound.

"Shit shit shit you ok missus? Where'd it hit?" Tom begs, his voice frantic as he sees the hole in you gushing blood by the second. He doesn't know if the bullet has done any more damage other than the initial tissue damage, such as bone fracture or nerve injury. If Tom doesn't get you help soon, there's a chance with those nasty ass bullets you could get an infection within the wound.

"Come on darling let's get you safe." Tom says as he takes off his suit jacket and rips off a large section of the back to create a make-shift sling for you. As soon as he deems it tight enough, Tom pulls you up and places your uninjured arm around his neck so he can support you and make sure you leave this place by his side.

Every few steps Tom takes with you on his arm he is watching the surroundings carefully with his gun in easy reach. The previous gunfire must have alerted someone else about their presence, but to Tom's surprise there was no one. No other guards springing out of walls with their guns ready to blow his and your brains out. No evil bad guy with a pathetic monologue on the tip of his tongue. It's as if they were letting him and you walk out of there free with just the gunshot wound. How the hell could it be that simple?

"You still awake missus?" Tom asks, his lips crooked as he attempts to smile for you to show nothing could be worse, even though it easily most definitely could've been. You manage to groan a small response in return, and even if he couldn't make out a single syllable, he'd recognise that smart mouthed sass of yours anywhere. "Yeah yeah I hear you... There's a car out front we can get away in fitted with medical supplies for yourself. Why we don’t get some small basic med kit to keep on hand in case this shit happens, I've got no clue..."

The mission was not supposed to go like this. It was supposed to end great. With the hard drive in the hands of the supervisor and Tom and you having dinner somewhere. Not with you leaning on him for the support while you practically bled out all because of him.

Tom can hear the blood droplets hitting the once pristine white flooring of the hallway, and each soft individual splatter sends a shiver up his spine. He has no idea why he cares so deeply about you right now, and why even the thought of you being permanently injured sends pure nausea down to his stomach. Yet he pushes the thought process down as he makes sure you don't end up losing consciousness right now. The hallway cameras should still be under the control of the organisations tech people by now, but Tom doesn't want to risk chances by lingering when he could be getting you to safety as quickly as possible.

So while making sure your body is fully supported, Tom leads you down the stairs and the other hallways to a more discreet exit away from the crowds of people still there in the ball. The music from before had been so loud that he doubts they heard anything. Plus, they were no doubt distracted with the copious amounts of alcohol they'd all been ingesting in the last couple hours. 

The camera's tom spots are all pointed away from the two of you as you make your way through the halls. The blood coming from your shoulder has slowly begun to lessen, yet still with the way your shoulder and the surrounding areas were beginning to go numb, you still could feel the faint trails trickling down your legs and hear the odd droplets fall to the floor.

"Almost there missus almost there..." Tom mutters, seeing the last door separating you both to the outside world. When he first tried to get through, the door stayed firmly shut even after Tom attempted to slam his body against it in an attempt to loosen it.

"Fucks sake!" He groans, looking down and seeing the simple key lock needed to escape. "Can afford to purchase all that useless shit and keep it behind an electronic keypad but can't be bothered to purchase an electronic lock for the front door..."

Tom carefully places you upright against the closest wall so he can kneel down and get a closer look at the problem. It's just a simple titan key needed, but seeing at how simple it is and where the door leads, it's probably in the pocket of one of the many waiters walking around, and Tom didn't exactly have the time to ask all of them which person had the key. So he did something he never thought he'd be putting to use in real life. Tom grabbed a bobby pin from within your hair, and stuck it within the key lock.

It takes him an embarrassingly long time to get it right, but eventually after a couple hundred swears and scratches on his fingers, the door opens with a soft click and a small 'hurrah' from Tom himself. He even turns to you with a victorious smirk, which you return with another exhausted groan and even an exaggerated eye roll even though you begin to feel lightheaded with all the blood that's come out of you within the hour.

"Let's get you help missus."Tom grunts as he picks you back up from the floor and directs you to the direction of a car parked not too far from the entrance. It's smaller than the original limousine that brought you to the mission in the first place, but you can't help but faintly smile when you see the familiar face of Webster watching you from the driver's seat.

As soon as Tom sets you down inside the vehicle, you feel your body slump in the most unladylike of ways against the soft exterior of the car's seats and let out a sigh of relief that it's all over.

"I trust you know about removing a bullet Agent Bennett." Webster's voice rings out through the speaker as you feel the engine begin and the car drives off.

"Sarcastic bastard..." Tom murmurs as he swiftly takes the med kit from underneath the seat and opens it to take out the tweezers and the gauze and place them beside you on the seat. Next, he removes the piece of his suit he had used to originally stem the blood flow of the wound and rips your dress slightly so he can see your shoulder better without it interfering. You'll no doubt be pissed later, but he'll just send it to Stan later to get fixed.

With the barrier gone, blood flows more steadily than what it was a few minutes ago, but it doesn't matter right now as much as it does to make sure the bullet comes out fully. "This is going to hurt." Tom simply warns before he picks up the tweezers and begins to poke and prod his way inside of the wound.

It truly breaks his heart to hear your screams of pain, but he needs to persist and find this damn bullet. Thankfully it doesn't take too long, as with the combined layer of your dress and bra it managed to not let it go in as deep as it could've. So soon enough as the pesky bugger is soon plucked out and thrown somewhere within the car space while Tom quickly takes the gauze and wraps the wound tight.

"Feeling better missus?" He asks, forcing you to look at him as your eyes slowly regain a look of focus you minutes ago were losing fast.

"Yeah..." You manage to say, wincing as you move your shoulder slightly. "I'm alright. Thanks, for not leaving me in there."

"I'd never." Tom quickly says, shaking his head and furrowing his brows to further his point. "And besides, now that I know you're ok, I can continue where we left off."

"What do you mea-"

Before you can begin to question what Tom is trying to say, his lips capture yours, and your heart feels as though it stops mid-beat between your chest. You have no thoughts running through your head right now. Your focus being only on the calming warmth of Tom's lips and the faint taste of mint.

His hands cup your waist and face delicately as if you were made of pure glass. Yet as much as you enjoyed his tender touch, you didn't want Tom to think of you as delicate. You wanted him to hold you with the knowledge you could never crumble from him. For him to know he could never hurt you.

You never want this strange feeling of right to end, but when it eventually does, with the two of you both silently attempting to catch your breaths.

"Was that good?" Tom eventually asks, staring at you with hopeful eyes. "If I made you like uncomfortable or anything I'm sorry-"

"You didn't." You say with a smile as you lean forward to peck his lips again in a sweet kiss in reassurance. As you pull away, you can see Tom's lips turned in a bashful smile and his cheeks heat up to a light pink. If you were being honest, it was really fucking adorable. Words you never thought you'd ever say about agent Bennett in your life.

"Good." He simply says, focusing on the curves of your face and trying not to think about how his face is probably bright red due to embarrassment from being so soft with a girl. "Now let's get back to the hotel."

"Why are we going back to the hotel?" You ask, confusion in your voice.

"Cause I want you to get dressed up before I take you out for a date tonight. So shower, take as much time as you need to get ready, cause I want to make this as special for you as I ever could for you. Tell me your favourite food so I can book the best restaurant available for you. I'm sure Webster can deliver the hard drive when he returns the car."

"I can indeed sir." Webster says through the intercom, scaring the two of you as you both jump slightly in your seats. "Just pop it through the slot and I can take it straight to the supervisor no issue."

"Thank you Webster!" Tom grins as he takes the device and puts it through to the other side.

Webster takes it in his hand and places it within his own suit jacket pocket. His eyes are focused on the road, but he can't deny the warmth in his chest when he sees the two of you giggling and smiling between yourself in the backseat like a couple of lovesick teenagers. He drops you and Tom at the hotel as told, but he can't stop himself from watching the two of you enter the hotel together.

As soon as Tom had stepped out before you, he made sure to reach for your hand and help you step out like a proper gentleman, and the entire walk up to the hotel doors none of you made the step to let go.

Webster watched the two of you with a smile, as he thinks to himself, he has never seen a pair of people so in love with each other.

[breadandbloodybutter]

Flexing some Not Safe For Work writing to get back in the groove. Warnings/What's Involed: Raphael x 'Reader' {no gender implied}, Mild Sex Scene, Mild Mention of Choking, Most Likely Didn't Live Through That Sex, Raphael Language of being derogatory of mortals needs and lives or just anyone that isn't him.

As he'd lifted their leg to partake in the scent of their skin, a longer than mortal tongue ran along half of the appendage's length.

Was he showing off? Transforming himself, one piece at a time? Of course he was. After all, part of such an intimate dance was the performance itself.

All for his own benefit.

Haarlep had once quipped that Raphael only ever loved Raphael - as true now than it had ever been. Putting on such airs and graces, indulging in the subtle art of using words and whimsy to ensnare the willing; it might as well have all been foreplay for himself.

Still, there was always something so deliciously divine about the way that they would look at him, breathless and wanting - just the way that he liked them. To taste the very sweat from their pores, to know that in this moment, they existed only for him.

Souls would never taste sweeter than those willing to bear themselves nakedly to the endless hunger of a devil.

"Legs apart now, pet." Raphael would purr with a voice thick and sweet as honey, now black nails digging into their thighs as he settled himself between them. Ordinarily, pleasuring another was beneath him, more of a mercy on their behalf than any desire to do so - oh, but the way that this one begged and pleaded so sweetly, the air thick with how much they wanted to be defiled..

It would have been ungentlemanly to not have a more personal taste.

The screams that followed would have surely been heard by the tavern below, but he cared little for any auditory audiences they may have had. Let them hear - let them envy, tremble before how he could command mortal flesh to bend, to beg and to break. To hang on every one of his words, to sing (and sometimes curse) praises to the heavens, whilst he showed them every sin that hell had to offer.

Licking at his lips, Raphael reached over to grab a nearby silken handkerchief, wiping their filth from his mouth before addressing them again smugly. "I take it that you have no complaints?"

Rather a pity that mortals tended to be so fragile. One of the few benefits of Haarlep at least, that there were less limitations, if any. Perhaps, that's why he found himself indulging from time to time - that their lives were so fleeting. To taste upon their souls before they were completely consumed. Such a privilege it was for them, surely.

Oh, and the trepidation! The way that their poor hearts would stutter, their breath would catch at having to accommodate his cambion form, far greater than any cock they would have taken. How their eyes would widen for the briefest of moments, before rolling back at the overflowing of ecstasy, even with the pain of it - to feel every ridge driving again and again without pause.

Succumbing to such desires could ultimately earn one their death.

How their arms would try to hold him - so sickeningly mortal - and he would knock them away, that they would dare try to embrace him in such a human way - holding them down by the throat and knowing that their lives, the very essence of body and soul - they were in his hands, that they were dependent on him, every thread of their existence in this moment was tied to him--

Such thoughts always led to the same conclusion. Snarling through a furious climax that most couldn't even have the decency to live through. And why should they? Blood certainly wasn't the only thing an infernal had that was always running hot.

Thankfully, the staff at the Sharess Caress were always providing excellent room service, and a discretion that led to a profitable exchange. For as long as he would support their business, they would support his.

..Even if on occasion, that business may have overlapped with personal pleasures.

[lulublack90]

Prompt 5 - First Date

@wolfstarmicrofic January 5, word count 686

Remus was bricking it. He’d been set up on a date with some guy who was Lily’s boyfriend's old schoolmate. He’d apparently only recently come out and the Evans-Potters had decided they would be perfect together. There was a reason Remus was still happily single, but that damn Lily Evans had used those dazzling emerald eyes to trick him into agreeing on this date. He heaved a sigh and drank another mouthful of his beer just as the most beautiful man he’d ever seen walked into the restaurant. The greeter took his coat and led him towards the bar, straight towards Remus.

“Remus Lupin?” He asked. Remus’s eyelids began fluttering as his brain short-circuited. He screwed his eyes shut and shook his head, clearing it of the fog and thrust out his hand.

“Yes I am. Sirius?” He asked, neither Lily nor James had told him his last name.

“Yep, that’s me,” Sirius grinned back, taking Remus’s hand and giving it a firm shake, one that Remus would expect from a businessman and not the model before him.

“Your table is ready gentlemen,” A waitress told them before guiding them to a romantic table for two right in the window. Remus felt instantly more nervous as they would be completely on display there, but he was too scared to say anything.

“Er, sorry, but do you have something a bit less front and centre,” Sirius asked, shocking Remus. He’d expected Sirius to be fine with the attention. He really needed to learn not to assume things about people before he got to know them. The waitress's red-lipsticked smile faltered, but she recovered quickly before leading them to a table in a darker corner. “This is perfect, thank you,” Sirius flashed her his dazzling smile and they sat down. 

“Sorry about that,” Sirius began to apologise. Remus wondered if he was still nervous about being out in public with a man as he’d come out so recently, but no, Remus had assumed again. “There were already a few photographers gathering, and I wanted to actually enjoy our date,”

“I’m sorry what?” Remus asked, craning his neck to see out of the glass front, where there were in fact three people with cameras peering into the restaurant. One saw him and raised his camera. Remus quickly pulled his head back into the shadows, hoping the man hadn’t managed to snap a pic of him.

“Didn’t James tell you who I am?” Sirius asked, his brow furrowing. Remus shook his head.

“All they told me was your first name,” Sirius groaned and massaged his temples.

“Okay, let me introduce myself properly,” He sat up a little straighter as he began what sounded like a speech he’d had to make a few times. “My name is Sirius Orion Black. I am the heir, well, ex-heir, of the Noble House of Black. I recently came out, which is why I am the ex-heir and there are photographers, as this is the first time I’ve been seen in public since all the drama.” He sat back in his seat, his jaw tight and his eyes pinched as though he was waiting for Remus to explode and walk out.

“Damn, that’s a lot,” Remus blew out a breath and started laughing. After a second, Sirius joined in. “If someone had said something I’d have suggested meeting at mine and having a movie night and get a takeaway, less pressure then and none of those burkes,” Remus said, prodding his thumb in the direction of the photographers. 

“That sounds like such a good date,” Sirius whined.

“We can still do it if you like?” Remus offered. Sirius’s face lit up. He jumped up from his seat and offered his hand to Remus. Remus took it, and they ran out of the restaurant's back door. Racing down the street and jumping in the next black cab they saw. Remus gave his address, and then they were on their way. Both of them grinning ear to ear. Remus would have to thank the Evans-Potters, as so far, dating Sirius was thrilling and just what he needed.

[falling-star-cygnus]

i've been toying with this idea for a while now, but the weekly release of s3 has been giving me motivation to post more Link Click stuff!!!

so, Lu Guang's ability allows him to look into the 12 hours following the aftermath of a picture- right? sooo hypothetically, if someone knew about this ability- they could set a trap not a 'trap' trap, obviously, but like- they could hurt him with it yk? it'll make more sense in fic form

kinda hand-wavey when it comes to timeline placement, but let's just say it's before Lu gets stabbed :3

"So..."

"...yeah."

"How weird."

Three pairs of eyes stare at the little envelope left on the counter.

"Neither of you left it here? Cheng Xiaoshi?" Qiao Ling asks- rather accuses her brother, while Lu Guang reaches for the package.

"Wh-!? I was out with you all day! When would I have even- Guangguang's the one who's been here!"

The accused in question tunes out the bickering siblings to pry open the glue seal. This argument was nothing new, after all, not this lifetime and not this week. It was kind of comforting, like a white noise machine.

What was new, was this package.. that only held a single photo. And no return address, or name attached... It wasn't even a particularly remarkable photo, just- a room. An empty, rusted room.

"Don't accuse Lu Guang! He's much more responsible than you-"

"Well how else could it have gotten there!?"

The pale haired boy wracked his mind for any ounce of familiarity, but... nothing. He can't recall having ever seen this place, or any timeline where this thing was dropped off. It didn't make any sense.

"LU GUANG!" the siblings shout at him, each slamming their dominant hand onto the counter. The photo slips from his fingers as he jumps.

...maybe he tuned them out a bit too much.

Cheng Xiaoshi catches it to take a look for himself, appearing equally as puzzled.

"Sorry, Qiao Ling-ji," Lu Guang ducks his head, "I stepped out for a second to check the darkroom. I didn't see who left it."

And wasn't that disconcerting. Someone had managed to sneak in and out of the studio without ever alerting the ever vigilant time-traveler. It left a weird itch under his ribs.

Were they in danger again? So soon? They hadn't even met the twins yet... had this timeline changed too drastically to be saved?

Apparently, his discomfort showed on his face too- his spiraling sanity as red threads frayed around him- because the next thing he knew he had his roommate nudging his side and offering the photo back.

"Guangguang? We're not actually upset, you know.."

"Uh... right." he didn't think they were, but he'll take the escape. And distraction.

"Yeah! Mistakes happen," Qiao Ling chirps, reaching up to ruffle his hair, "No harm, no foul, Lu Guang. We'll check the tapes."

The time-traveler can't help the rosy blush that colors his cheeks under the siblings' onslaught of affection and attention. Affection and attention that he didn't deserve for lying to them for so long. But.. he was greedy. Greedy for their friendship and so, so terribly afraid of what he would become without it.

"Oh, so the landlady gets to touch your hair without permission but when I do it-" annnd then Cheng Xiaoshi was ruffling his hair too, saving him from his head again in a far more chaotic fashion than his sister [yet he was no less gentle], "you get all complain-y!"

"Idiot, you're still hung up on that? It was years ago-"

"Hardly!"

Qiao Ling giggles at their antics and takes her leave- presumably to go check the tapes like she said. The two watch her go from their peripherals.

And then get to work.

Lu Guang raises the photo, trying to ignore the fuzzy feeling that spreads in his chest when Cheng Xiaoshi adjusts to block him from the view of any onlookers. They didn't need words at this point.

He could feel his friend's eyes on the side of his face, as if drawn to the blue light for some inexplicable reason. It was fine, he could dissect that feeling later. Or never, preferably never.

Right now, he had to figure out why this picture appeared.

Nothing happened at first. The photo was taken of and empty room, and the man who took it sat in a chair just behind the camera. It almost seemed like a prank. One hour passed, then two, three... four.. six.. nine.

Lu Guang was prepared for his time- his limited, precious time- to be utterly wasted. For Cheng Xiaoshi to be laughing at him when he resurfaced, and for that tight ball of anxiety in his chest to loosen somewhat when-

"How long are you going to hide in the past?"

His heart drops to his stomach, the empty space it left behind squeezing like a vacuum.

"Do you truly think you can save them?"

The man stands up, still facing the same half of that empty room.

"Do you think you deserve to, Lu Guang?"

"How do you.."

In all these timelines, all these threads he ties and breaks and travels and resets, he's never- no one has ever- Whoever sent this knows about him and his powers. Knows about the timelines.

Lu Guang runs through potential names.

Qian Jin? The twins? Vein? Liu Xiao? Liu Min-

"Don't bother guessing. I doubt you'd get it, even with all the time in the world."

"...what?"

He couldn't tell if the man was responding to his thoughts or words or just- knew him and was covering each base.

"See, people like you are interesting. People who think they're above the rules are interesting.."

A pale, crooked hand runs over grimy bricks. The hour creeps past eleven.

"You were raised better than that."

Everything happens at once.

The man turns around, revealing a mirror barely a foot away. Lu Guang doesn't get a chance to make out more than burning amber eyes before the room goes up in light.

| + + + |

Cheng Xiaoshi's knuckles are white on the counter.

He doesn't want to mess up Lu Guang's focus, or accidentally hurt him by pulling him prematurely out of the photo but.. he looked so scared.

It wasn't an emotion he was used to- or liked- seeing on his friend at all. If Lu Guang was scared, then what- the dark haired boy shook his head. If Lu Guang was scared, then... Cheng Xiaoshi would just have to be strong enough for both of them.

He could do that- he could totally do that! After everything Lu Guang helped him with in the past, Cheng Xiaoshi would offer his own hand tenfold.

"How do you..." his friend muttered, voice weak and fragile and quiet.

"Guangguang?"

As far as he's known, Lu Guang had never talked when inside a photo before. After and before, sure, but... never during. He itched to reach out, to brush that soft white hair off his friend's suddenly clammy brow.

Lu Guang's slender fingers trembled.

"...what?"

....he shouldn't. He really shouldn't. But Lu Guang's never acted this way before! Not when he was awake. Maybe he wouldn't even notice-

No. No no no, he shouldn't risk it.

Cheng Xiaoshi would just- take him out for milk tea after this. Yeah.

A few more minutes pass, filled only by soft breaths and the tap-tap-tap-tap of Xiaoshi's finger on the counter. Lu wouldn't notice.

Would he?

No..

The photo falls from Lu Guang's hands at the same Cheng Xiaoshi lunges for him.

Barely, just barely does he manage to tuck his hand between the shelves and the soft white hair of his best friend- seconds before collision and so, so worth his undoubtedly bruised knuckles.

"Lu Guang? LU GUANG!"

The sound his friend looses is primal- hurts his chest in a way he didn't know possible- and his hands, slender and crooked in the knuckle, clutch at his face with such ferocity that his nails almost break skin. Cheng Xiaoshi guides him to the floor as gently as he can as the pale haired boy's knees give.

"It's okay," he whispers, looking around for something- anything- that could help, "It's okay.."

"I can't-" Lu Guang gasps, his chest heaving and his eyes still blue, "I can't see- I.. I can't-"

"Okay.. okay.. it's okay."

He feels like a broken record, but he doesn't know what else to say when Lu Guang is in so much obvious pain. God, could he even hear him? Who would- how-?

Cheng Xiaoshi bats his friend's hands away from his face and quickly covers his eyes for him, not wanting to add scratches to Lu's discomfort.

"Just breathe, Lu, I'm right here.. I'm right here." he says, tucking the pale haired boy against his chest until he was sure he could hear the thump of his heart, "Just focus on me, okay?"

That always seemed to calm Lu Guang down, at least.

"What did you see? Lu Guang, what did you see?"

"I don't- I don't know- there was.. there was a room.. and a man- and- and then light. He knew-"

He wish he hadn't asked. he hadn't heard Lu Guang this panicked and raw in a while. He was in pain. And Xiaoshi couldn't do anything about it.

"Okay.. it's okay," Cheng Xiaoshi digs around in his pocket, keeping his friend bracketed by his legs, "Lu Guang-"

Okay, okay, deep breaths. You can't help him if you're panicking too. Deep breaths. Don't tell you don't know what to do...

He tucks himself around his best friend, as if he could hold Lu Guang together with his body alone and rescue him from this awful, awful pain he was in. They never should've opened that envelope.

Eventually, Qiao Ling wanders back in, and she looks far more troubled than when she left. To be fair, so do her boys.

From there, it's a blur.

Lu Guang gets checked into a hospital, the sibling's lie to the police, Xiaoshi gets grilled by his sister on why they had to lie to the police, and everything spirals out of control.

Or, at least- that's what it feels like.

"Cheng Xiaoshi," Qiao Ling speaks up, from where the two are hovering anxiously outside of Lu's room. And wow, does this feel achingly familiar.. in a way he can't quite put his finger on..

She's biting on her thumbnail.

"The person who left that envelope on the counter... "

Cheng Xiaoshi looks at her, fist clenching in his pocket in preperation to swing at whoever dared-

"It looked like Lu Guang."

"...what?"

[butchciri]

the difference between having a male therapist and a female therapist is night and fucking day. 2 years ago when i told this guy i had transition regret, he listened to me explain how im tired of pretending to be a man and how i’ve accepted that im female. i cried as i told him how much i wanted to be seen as a human, not as a gender. it was the longest time i went interrupted in a session, and i was proud to finally verbalize my experience.

his response? maybe you’re agender! the solution? how about we figure out what clothes you like to wear and what gender neutral name you want! and then he pulled up a list of gender neutral names started reading them off. i was stunned. i had just laid my soul bare and finally put words to how fucking dehumanized i felt because of gender, and he’s sitting there like “how about kai? ash?”

i started seeing a woman, and when i told her the same story, she took me seriously. we discussed how much value i was placing in other people’s perceptions of me. she helped me break down the negative beliefs i held about myself and unknowingly projected onto others. we talked about body image issues and beauty standards. we had philosophical discussions about sex and gender roles. she helped me apply rationality and radical acceptance to my thought process. i could finally see the power of normalization over individualization. she asked provocative questions, never interjected, and never presumed to know what i was thinking. i stopped having suicidal thoughts. i healed.

CBT is supposed to meaningfully address inner conflict and challenge thought patterns. but some men treat it like an exercise of their authority on the subject of life, bestowing wisdom and advice to all that sit below him. like sorry but you need to go be a preacher or something dude you aren’t helping anyone.

[ancha-aus]

Yes HI!! I am back!! With words!!!!!

First thing i need to address. i love the fact that N just lives in the fucking basement. That is TOO funny and fitting.

Because it makes sense lore wise as this is The Maskmaker. Something the rroyal family is guarding and holds highly. the fact the wood used is connected to the apple ritual?! Even more reason.

But the idea that there is just a person in the basement is so funny.

Yeah. you turn to the left and get to the dungeon. but you go down the hall and to the right and you find the maskmaker. That is too funny on so many levels

Okay but the detail that Nightmare can't feel the cold anymore is delicious. Just.there is somehting so human about feeling warm adn cold and nightmare just always feeling lukewarm. But still being able to feel the warmth and cold of others.

It means even more that nightmare takes care to make sure that ccino has weather fitting clothes, ESPECIALLY with the fact that the winters were gone and didn't come back until after nim is gone.

and the detail that ccino gave him a cloak!! special and custom made! hell maybe he even made it himself because he didn't have time yet to go order one, between his 101 duties.

nd the fact that while the cloak doesnt'truly make him warm as he can't be warm. the fact it does ground him. that it is a way for him to feel secure and just safe!! God that is so good Spot!! It is so good!!!

I love the fact that Nim took the twins down there to meet the maskmaker when they weree young. and the maskmaker just being casual about alreayd knowing their measurements. You just KNOW that nim went through something similar when she was young. which means. that it is tradition to take the young twins to meet the mask maker. Maybe it is to showcase that the maskmaker is pwoerful and special? important and in need to keep in the castle and secure.

I love love love that the effect of the tree is sitll noticeable here!! That being down here, near some of the source of the wood of the tree. near the source of this old spirit. That it still effects the people. and it would especially affect the ruling king as they ate the apple to gain those powers. making them extra receptive to this effect!!

Ngihtmare wanting to hide and cry. For just a moment in that space that little kid came out again. that little kid who just wanted to be safe and help hihs brother.

and then he pushes through because this is for a reason! He has his rights here! But most importantly. This is the least that ccino earns and damnit Nightmare is not going to let him be scared away.

The fact that the old maskmaker had looked with grief at nightmare. Knowing that nightmare would ahve died. Also i don't know if this is on purpose but the dark wood being used? the fact that nim didn't want nightmare to have a mask of the special wood. That is such a big deal. Yet it having been made with love and attention and so much care. that nightmare loved it, and still loves it.

And then the reveal of it being N!!

and nightmares FIRST thought being that N is an intruder. and he is so annoyed. not because of the fake being in the castle or even feeling afraid that someone broke in. just annoyed because he had plans and he wanted to get ccino his mask!!

And then it turns out that N IS the maskmaker.

and the fact that nightmare ASKS who N is. the fact he asks why there is a new maskmaker. and N being so happy because Nightmare is the FIRST king to ask about them!! that is a big deal and nightamre isn't even aware how big of a deal this is! I love that.

and i love how N's emotions are just wave upon wave upon wave of intense feelings. because N has been around the source of the tree's wood for so long now. They have been longterm exposed and even if it is part of her personality being near the last bits of the tree can't be helping them! also the fact she doesn't truly care what nightmare calls her. That is such a neat detail!

(okay side note. I got IDEAS about the line about the many different type of woods. and i understand that it are imported woods and stuff. but!! But!!!I got ideas and I will get back to that wiht an ask eventually because i need to make bad sketches to best explain!! but i swear i will come back to this and you can call me out and ask me about it in case it takes long!!)

okay but the rage tha tnightmare immediantly felt when N implied the mask was for a consort. later the fact that nightmare isn't even surprised that N knew who Ccino was. the fact nightmare immediantly figured that Nim would have taken Ccino down here to make sure the maskmakers are prepared in case Dream loves Ccino as much as Nim expects.

I don't know what is better. the fact that N is just snooping around and found out that way. Nim taking Ccino down here to show him off (also got thoughts about the fact that nim took a young skeelton which she KNEW would eventually grow into HER type as gift to her son. you think she ever watches the slowly becoming adult ccino and was disappointed her health was already declining? thoughts to discuss later.) OR! a secret third option. the carvers are right by the wood of the tree. the tree that is fond of ccino. maybe the tree just shared their emotions and feelings about ccino to them. which is protect. respect. special.

Just. options!

I love the process of the mask making?! not just the form or shape of the mask that is expected (though N asks for it at first so maybe most king's just told them what they wanted and expected the maks makers to make it work?) but when N sees that ngihtmare is very agaisnt it and tells him for who it is and why he wants one before anything else they go for the traditional way. which is to get a feeling for how the other thinks about them. To literaly FEEL what they feel to put THAT into the mask. that is so strange and alien but so damn beautiful! I love it!

And nightmare. gosh. he is so impacted. because thinking about ccino. about all he did for him. while his emotions are amplified. All those feelings and knowledge circling and effecting himself on such a level he is close to tearing up. i love that.

THE WAY HE CLUTCHES THE CLOAK TO GROUND HIMSELF!!!! The thing that Ccino GAVE him. just another reason why he is exactly there.

and N just being excited to get STRAIGHT to work. skipping over to the pile of wood to grab the best option and nightmare wanting to stay before deciding against it because it is just too much for him.

AND THE TAGS!!!

The fact the gang and ccino went down here to make a new mask for nightmare. ccino claiming first go because he IS the brother/caretaker/ REAL parent of nightmare.

Just. fuck! that would be such a banger drabble too! Maybe N doens't even address them by name but like by which animal mask they were given. Just right away she knows who is who without EVER seeing them. wihtout even being at any ceremony or anything!!

Ccino knocking and N opening the door only to smile and say "If it isn't the white cat!! Come in come in!" and Ccino is shocked. his mask is a very tightly held secret. just for his own safety. sure ccino figured nightmare told N for who it was but Ccino never met N. So he knows N never met him either.

And them all taking a moment to talk about Nightmare. You could really dive into their realtionships like that. ccino talks about nightmare with such pride and love. that is HIS kid at this point and his emotions and feelings say as much. Killer speaks about nightmare as this naive person still but willing to listen and learn. Soemthing that ngihtmare takes price in. Dust speaks about nightmare as his savior. Nightmare saved him first from dead and then from his own magic exploding him. Horror speaks about Nightmare of a trustworthy hardworking caring king. someone who tries his best to do right. Cross speaks about nightmare and can only think of forgiveness and second chances. He is safety.

Just. AAGH!!!

Also the idea that dream goes down here and N just smiling like "took your sweet time to visit me prince. You wanted a mask and you were literally down the hall!"

Dream sputtering "I was in a jailcell?!"

N tilts her skull "so? Could have still called for me. I could ahve had the mask you wanted ready AGES ago." :/

It is just not efficient lmao!!

The fact N just walks into town casually is so funny to me. Just. making my way downtown. walking fast. faces passing. no one knows how the fuck i do this :3

Spot this was such a good drabble!! I always love what you write!

The Maskmaker (New Age AU Drabble)

Hiiiii. So, this isn't very long and doesn't do Nightmare or N enough justice, but I wrote this a while ago and my lovely pals looked at me w/ big ol' eyes on my post about posting it, sooooo!!! Here it is!!

This is shortly after Night's coronation and follows Ancha's drabble regarding Ccino + his remaining by Night's side!

   These halls. They were cold. Colder than the rest of the castle.

   Nightmare only knew, thanks to the gentle puff of steam left by his shallow breaths as he stepped down the corridor. The dark, long, corridor.

   He couldn't feel it. No. His sense of warmth and cold had faded almost instantly after eating the apple. The nervous chill in his core had been replaced with a luke-warm air. Like a puddle left after a summer rain. The chill couldn't reach him.

   Still, he wore his cloak. One which Ccino had tailored not a week ago because he feared Nightmare would feel bare without it. His old one used to keep him warm. Ccino was right, of course. Purposeless or not, the new heavy fabric kept him centered. Covered the restless twitching of his tendrils as he spoke with the few he could bring himself to communicate with since the incident.

  

   Now, it's bottom hem was suspended away from the old floors, just barely, by his extra limbs.

   His steps were silent, he wasn't sure when that had begun, but he imagined in this darkness no one would know he was there at all until the Cyan of his eyelight was turned upon them.

   He approached the door. Finally reaching the ornate, carved surface he'd visited only once before. When he and Dream were young. Nim had ordered them to come alone and let the mask-maker measure them. So they'd know when time came for them to commission their own masks. They didn't have to come down, the mask-maker already knew their measurements. They always did.

   His knuckles hovered away from the door. With its carving of that tree, swirling and dancing in the low light his eyelight provided. This space held more lingering emotions than he'd expected. His hand trembled a bit.

   No. He couldn't chicken out. He couldn't go crying, this was important to him. It was his right. It was... the least he could do.

   His fist connected with the door, twice, steadily. The loud sound echoed into the space behind him, and he stood. Prepared to face heckling and anger abd fear, for he wasn't sure the mask maker even knew of his rise to the throne. He hadn't been there, after all. At the ceremony.

   The door swung inward, and... Nightmare found hinself staring down at a monster.

   This monster... was not the one whom he remembered.

   Before, when he was young, he recalled a large, imposing monster. Heavy clay hands that held the pristine masks so carefully. Kind eyes which skimmed sorrowful past him, and handed him that lovingly carved owl mask. The one made simply out of dark wood.

   Now, the monster stood before him, leaning in the doorframe, was not that monster. This one was slightly shorter than him, stocky in the shoulders, and bundled in layers of cloaks and gloves. Their face hid behind the mask of some sort of rabbit, bright, burning lights behind the eye-holes were a soft lavender and blue. Only a lashing tail gave away their species. A skeleton varient.

   "Mask-maker." He greeted, composure renewed.

   The monster blinked, before they widened the door a bit more. A wave of amusement and excitement washed over Nightmare, and he thought he might be sick from just how potent it was.

   "Ah, my King!" They exclaimed, and Nightmare could almost hear the smile in their tone. "I wasn't expecting you so soon after your whole coronation, come in!"

   They darted away from the door, allowing Nightmare to see past them. The room beyond was as he remembered. The large sets of work-benches, suspended candles, piles upon piles of wood. Masks lined every inch of the walls, though now he could see newer ones piling up along shelves and along the stations.

   The monster seemed to round to a large chair, much too oversized for them, and plop down into it. Nightmare drifted inside, closing the door behind him carefully.

   "You royals only come down to see me for masks, that is my job though," They mused. "Or, well, that's what my mentor always said."

   Nightmare drew closer to the opposite side of the table which now separated them. He could see the messy, amalgamated surface of a partially-completed work laying between them. The wood mangled and frayed not unlike torn flesh.

   "I must ask," He knew he had other business and little time, but, "Who are you, mask maker? My mother never mentioned a change in position."

   It would be just his luck that a fraud would be hidden here in the depths. Though, the emotions were simply so delighted. They swirled about, as though every flick of their tail sent another ripple through the air.

   A giggle erupted from behind their mask.

   "Oh, I think I like you already, my king!" They said happily, "Mask-makers have never been asked such a thing by the royals! We have always been known to retire and pass on the mantel without care from you folks."

   They divulged the information so easily, but Nightmare didn't recieve the answer he had asked for. It took a few more breaths before they spoke again.

   "My name is N, my King. Call me as you see fit, I change as easily as replacing my mask." They finally admitted. "King Nim visited me once, two years ago, only to inform me her prince may quickly approach after his coronation. Though, I'm sure you're not the one she meant?"

   Nightmare withheld the hiss which desperately wanted to bubble up in his throat. His tendrils whipped about in frustration. Guilt. Of course they were expecting Dream. He'd figured as much.

   "No matter. I am here to serve my king, and that king is you, my good sir." They dipped their head a bit, "So, what is it you'd like me to carve? A noble wolf? A regal ibis? Something fitting a consort or-"

   "None of that." Nightmare cut them off, his good socket narrowing in disgust. The thought made his stomach churn.

   He thought he'd have to wait for her to speak up again, but found they had quieted and were seemingly awaiting information.

   "My... head of house. Recently promoted as of my ascension." He said, slower. He wouldn't get worked up again, "He deserves only the best, and I know you understand this well."

   N seemed to smile beneath the mask again, their eyelights hidden in thin crescent slits.

   "Describe away, my king!" They exclaimed, reaching out for a scrap of paper.

   Nightmare remembered how he'd been taught. To describe the mask with intention. Feelings and thoughts tucked away into each and every word. Those were supposed to be insightful for the mask-maker. To guide their hand as they carved.

   "This mask. I would like it to be the Visage of a cat. Well-kept, clean, orderly." He spoke, gently, drawing his eye away from the table and to the plain floor were nothing would influence his thought. "A kind face, soft. Trustworthy and bold. Clever. Warm."

   Nightmare wasn't sure what came over him. Descriptions and feelings tumbled from his jaws for what felt like ages. By the time he finished, his throat was raw with emotion. His hands clutched the inside of his cloak like a life-line.

   It was the tapping of N's charcoal stick to her desk which alerted Nightmare. Made his eyelight snap back up to her position.

   Though, she'd already put her sketch down and was up and across the room. Tugging at her piles and piles of enchanted and imported woods. For being a stationary monster, they had strength to move the wood with ease.

   "You've given me the perfect working material, my King! This mask should be done in four-days time." They assured him, not turning around.

   Their emotions read as elation now. A pure, unadulterated joy at the... the way Nightmare had described his mask? He could only imagine his magic intent had something to do with it. Ccino would, hopefully, understand.

   Oh!

   "The mask. You are aware who it is for?" He questioned.

   N hummed, before popping away from the stack of wood with a nice chunk of white-ish wood. It reminded Nightmare of cooked fish flesh, a pristine off-white with an intricate pattern.

  

   "I can only imagine it's that guy? Ccino? Good for him with the promotion, by the way. I'm sure he had his fair share of struggles to get there." N replied.

   Nightmare gave a minute nod. He hated that he had a heavy suspicion as to why N already knew Ccino by name. Nefarious plans set by his mother yet again. Bastard woman.

   He debated staying longer. Watching N strip the bark away or making smalltalk.

   In the end, it was better to leave. His hands were still shaking and his gut felt like it'd spill if he felt one more overwhelming emotion from the craftsman he was standing with. So, he bid them a farewell, promised to return in four days time, and exited from that heavy wooden door.

   The trip would be worth it so long as N delivered. And she would.

[winteriron-trash]

rdj the (whitewashed) electric boogaloo

This is a reminder to everyone who's excited about RDJ's casting as Doctor Doom that this casting is whitewashing. Victor Von Doom is a Romani character and has been a Romani character since his introduction in the 1960s. (Fantastic Four Annual #2 [1964]) Not only that, but his Roma identity and the persecution he and his family faced due to it is integral to his character, it is what forms his identity. (Books of Doom by Ed Brubaker) Even if on the off chance this casting is meant to not be Victor but instead be some variant of Tony or whomever else becoming Doctor Doom, it is damaging to the character to rob him of that important cultural background. Doctor Doom does not exist without that history. Fans have been pushing hard to cast Doom as a Romani actor for years, especially since the MCU has whitewashed other Romani characters. (Wanda, Pietro, etc) This casting is not a celebration moment, it's fucking heartbreaking that the MCU repeatedly ignores the important and nuanced cultural backstories of characters.

I know I can't change anybody's mind on whether or not you want to be excited about RDJ's return to the MCU. But I do think at the very least you should be mad that the MCU is baiting us all and destroying nuanced and interesting characters for the sake of self-referential easter eggs and nostalgia bait. Because that's what it is. Feel how you'd like to feel about RDJ's return, but personally, this is soul-sucking. I had such a deep love for the MCU as a teenager, it was obviously something incredibly formative to me, especially Tony Stark. This isn't recreating what I fell in love with the MCU for. This is turning a well-planned and artistic storyline of adaptations into cheap cash grabs and fan service. Because, I think we're past the point of being able to call the MCU an adaptation of anything. They can use existing characters' names and powers, but to say they're being properly adapted is laughable.

This is not an adaptation of Doctor Doom. This is RDJ the Electric Boogaloo because Marvel's fear of losing the interest of dedicated MCU fans overrides their willingness to tell stories that are genuine to the characters. I don't know what there is to be excited about that. The MCU has lost its authenticity and aside from a few projects, feels heartless. Every movie is a copy of a copy. This announcement isn't something celebratory, it feels like a death knell of a cinematic universe that's so desperate to cling to relevancy it's resorting to nostalgia for a character/actor who hasn't even been dead for a decade. We're not getting anything new, we're just rinsing and repeating the same song and dance.

I get it. I love Tony Stark, his death destroyed me and I to this day, rue the ending he got in Endgame. It misunderstood his arc and it robbed him of a satisfying conclusion. But the solution to that isn't dragging the corpse out of the grave five years later to whitewash an existing character with rich and interesting nuance, just to forcibly tie his existence in the MCU to Tony. Whether he is a variant or not. Why would you want someone else's fave's legacy to be destroyed simply so your fave's legacy can go on? Hell, if we were really all so hellbent on the return of RDJ and/or Tony to the MCU, we have the multiverse for a reason. There were other ways to do it that didn't whitewash and ruin someone else. This just. Isn't something to be happy about.

[ceilidho]

Buttermilk

It doesn't take long to settle into the rhythm of your new summer job. Or: the babysitter x single dad au

Part 3 | masterlist

-

It’s not unusual for someone to mistake you for the baby’s mama.

How could someone not, at least for a moment? When you take the baby to the grocery store, older people gush over him babbling in his stroller, eager to shower him with compliments in baby-talk or tell you how much you resemble the little tyke. After hearing the same comment for the umpteenth time, you tire of correcting people by saying you’re the babysitter only to watch their face fall, somewhat mortified and feeling as though their comment should’ve been directed to the baby’s actual mother. Which isn’t you. 

It’s less typical for someone to mistake you for John’s wife, though that does happen from time to time.

You’ve become a fixture around the neighbourhood since John hired you at the beginning of the summer, and over the weeks, the other nannies and the stay-at-home moms have started to gradually warm up to you. Before long, you’re being invited on coffee runs and playdates with some of the other women, always careful to ask for John’s permission before bringing his baby into a stranger’s house.

“Just text me the address and their names,” he requests while you stand awkwardly in front of him, John sitting on the bed to finish buttoning up his shirt and fixing his watch around his wrist. You would’ve been fine standing on the other side of the door while he finished changing, but he insisted on inviting you in.

“I will,” you promise, nodding along with his words.

“And call me if you don’t feel comfortable. I’ll come get the two of you right away if you need me.”

You swallow. Nod again.

The first time you take the baby for a playdate with a couple of the moms from the park, one catches you in the act of texting John the address of the house as he requested. “Hubby wants to know where you are, huh?”

“Oh,” you choke out, face heating up. “He’s not—”

“Not a control freak, I know. They’re all like that.” Her smile is ebullient, rolling her eyes like you’re in on a joke together when you most assuredly are not. “Why don’t you share your location with him? Mine’s the same way. Here—I’ll show you how.”

She takes your phone and tap-taps something and suddenly you see it in the notifications of your conversation with John. If you bite your lip instead of correcting her assumption about the nature of your and John’s relationship, that’s for you and you alone to know. Your rationale is that any explanation will just make things tense; it’s not like you haven’t seen it happen before. 

It’s far more concerning when John doesn’t correct those assumptions. Particularly when you’re standing right next to him. 

Like at the local water park on a particularly hot weekend, wading in the kiddy pool with the baby nestled tight against your chest in his little swim trunks and floppy hat only for an employee to ask John if his wife would like something to drink. 

“Iced coffee, love?” John asks, taking your stupefied silence as a yes. “Nothing for me, mate. Cheers.” 

Your head spins like a top on that thought until a good while later. The server hands you a glass of iced coffee with condensation already dripping down the sides and John thanks him for you, taking the baby from you and pulling you to his side. You drink your coffee quietly with your thigh flush with his under the water, gripping the glass harder when his free hand squeezes around your waist, laughing at something another parent said to him.

It’s so over for you. There’s no coming back from this. 

The sight of someone of John’s size, a bulky, military man with arms of pure steel dusted with dark hairs, cradling a tiny, chubby baby with a thatch of similar dark hair on his head and big cheeks and roly poly arms unlocks something primal in you. An old, buried need. 

In the family changing room, you stand under an ice cold shower until it breaks the fever slowly consuming you. All you can do is hope it takes. 

In the evening, you sit out on the porch with John at the back of the house until the crickets swell with song, the moon a half-crescent in the sky. A cool breeze makes your shoulders lift a little, huddling into your body to keep warm. 

It’s hard to keep your eyes on the view in front of you and off the man sitting beside you when they want so badly to be running over him. He’s changed out of his work clothes into a soft pair of sweatpants and an old threadbare shirt, the sage green fabric faded after years of being run through the washing machine. It clings to his biceps and the soft pudge of his stomach, a layer of fat over the hard muscle beneath. 

A cigarette dangles from his fingers, thick wrist perched on the arm of the adirondack chair. Every so often he lifts it to his lips for a puff, always breathing out in the opposite direction from you. Considerate of your health, at least, if not his own. 

“Cold, sweetheart?” he asks before ashing his cigarette, and your bottom lip purses when you turn your head to look at him because you thought you were doing a good job suppressing your shivers. 

You stare at him, confused. He cocks an eyebrow at your questioning stare and deliberately glances down, waiting until you notice the way your nipples are protruding through your white tank top. You forgot that you’d taken your bra off earlier for a bit of relief and hadn’t yet had a chance to put it back on. 

“Oh my god,” you squeak, crossing your arms to hide as much as possible, humiliation flooding through you. “I’m so sorry—that’s so—I-I’m so sorry.”

John makes a rough sound when he rises to his feet, knees cracking as he does. “S’alright, hun. Lemme get you something to put on.”

The screen door creaks when he goes back inside briefly to fetch something only to come back a few seconds later with a big, cotton sweater that reeks of him. It looks well loved, some remnant of his younger years, and even from a distance, you can smell the distinct smoky aroma clinging to the fabric. 

When he kneels in front of you, you nearly go cross-eyed at the realisation that even on his knees, he’s as tall as you. The bulk of his waist forces your legs to spread around him. 

“C’mon, arms up,” John commands, barely waiting until you’ve raised your arms above your head before helping guide your head and arms into the right holes. 

Dragging the sweater down the way he does forces it to rub over your nipples, sending a shock through you. If you had any less self-control, your teeth might actually chatter together. 

“There we go,” he says, fluffing out the sweater around your waist before resting his hands on the tops of your thighs, the gesture coming so naturally to him that you doubt he’s even noticed the placement of his hands. “Much better. That’ll warm you up.”

He isn't wrong. You’ve already worked up a sweat. 

Late night rain.

It comes down in buckets, a dark slate rapping hard against the window pane. A bolt of lightning flickers across the horizon off in the distance. White striations across an otherwise dark sky. About thirty seconds later, thunder rumbles. 

You peek from between the blinds, chewing your lip nervously. You’ve never driven in rain this bad, but with supper done and the dishes washed, there’s no excuse for you to stay any longer. Still, the rain comes down so heavily that despite your timidity, you briefly contemplate asking John if you can stay a little longer. At least until it lets up a bit; until your headlights won’t blind you reflecting off the puddles on the drive home. 

Someone else pulls the blinds further apart.

“There’s no way in hell you’re going out in that,” John says from behind you, practically growling his words. Daring you to contradict him. 

You glance over your shoulder to find him right there at your back, staring out the window. He’s so close that you can smell the red sauce on his flannel from dinner and make out the flecks of grey in his beard that are almost masked by the darker hairs. 

“It’s not…that bad…”

“Sweetheart, don’t piss me off,” he warns.

The blinds shuttle back together with a clatter when you finally let go of them. 

“I could—I could take the couch,” you offer. 

“Sweetheart,” John sighs, looking down at you meaningfully.

“What?” you ask, confused.

“I’m not gonna take the big, comfy bed and leave you with the couch.” When you open your mouth to protest, he cuts you off. “And don’t even try arguing. I won’t hear it.”

There’s not much you can say to dissuade him after that. The furrow of his brow lets you know he’s made up his mind; no ifs, ands, or buts. Besides, there’s a not-so-secret part of you that’s relieved that you don’t have to drive home in this weather. You’re an average driver on a good day. You don’t need your last moments before shuffling off this mortal coil to involve hydroplaning on the highway before ramming into the guardrail. 

John gives you a shirt of his to change into for after your shower, which you spend far too long in, scrubbing your body with his shower gel and quivering under the warm water. When you pull it on, you bring the collar up to your nose to smell. The same patent smoky scent, musky like ambergris and leather. Intoxicating. It makes the blood rush through your ear like a conch shell, the ocean swirling behind your eardrum. 

You hadn’t asked for underwear, content at first to keep on the same pair, but after your shower, you cringe at the thought of putting your day-old panties back on. Besides, his shirt is long enough to cover anything indecent. 

He sits on the edge of the bed when you come out, the concern on his brow melting away at the sight of you. 

“Practically a dress on you, isn’t it?” John says, voice a little wondrous. His eyes drag over you, tip to toe. 

You fiddle with the ends of it. “…Are you sure you want me to take the bed?” 

“Wouldn’t be fair. It’s yours for the night.” His lips quirk up at the corners when you frown. “Don’t worry about me—I’ve slept in worse places before.”

“Like where?” you ask dubiously.

“Tents. Abandoned buildings. Shacks. In the back of a moving van a few times. You wouldn’t believe half the places we used to make camp. Definitely no place for pretty girls like you.”

His condescending tone vaguely annoys you, but it’s hard to dig into your irritation when he thumbs the edge of the shirt you’re wearing and you realise that he’s just a few raised inches away from noticing that you don’t have any panties on. You should’ve just put your old ones back on, but it’s far too late now. 

You clear your throat instead. “We could…um…we could share.” 

You don’t know what possesses you to offer to share the bed, but the words are already gone, out of your mouth and in the air. John cocks an eyebrow.

“Unless you don’t want to,” you amend. 

“Don’t know about that, sweetheart,” he rasps. “…I snore like a bear.”

“That’s okay. I’m a pretty deep sleeper.”

John scrutinises you a bit longer, looking for any sign of hesitancy. You know he’d squash your offer in a second if he found any wariness in your gaze. 

“Alright,” he finally concedes, letting go of your shirt and slapping his thighs. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you when you wake up and can’t fall back asleep because of my snoring.”

After his shower, during which you lie on your side facing away from the bathroom door, stomach fraught with nerves as you consider the fact that he’s naked in the ensuite, you hear him come out and rummage around in the dresser for a change of clothes. You lie beside him with your stomach twisted in knots, your hands shoved under the pillow and staring resolutely at the wall. 

The appropriateness of sleeping in the same bed beside your boss isn't lost on you, but you're too far into this now.

The bed dips when he settles onto the other side, and the sudden absence of light when he switches the bedside lamp off nearly makes you cheep. 

He breathes heavily, you notice, particularly when he finally falls asleep. It’s a deep, rumbling sound—not entirely unlike a bear, though you can’t really confirm that for certain seeing as how you’ve never slept beside a bear before. 

Those are the thoughts that would signal the approach of sleep if you weren’t soon to be engulfed by it. 

Sometime in the middle of the night, you wake up to a rough hand stroking your back leisurely. There’s a hard chest under you, your cheek propped up on a pillowy pec that rises and falls with his breaths. Sleep bobs around in you like a toulouse decanter. You struggle to keep an eye open, certain that there’s something you need to tend to, but then his hand slides down your back again to curve over your rump and sleep drags you back down. 

You wake up again to your breath wafting back into your mouth, your face shoved into the crook of a man’s neck. Humid, hot. You’re lipping at the skin of his neck, little tongue darting out to lap up a bead of sweat, salty on your tongue. 

Your cunt pulses against his leg, toes curling when John drags his hand up your thigh and hitches it higher up around his waist. 

“Baby?” he groans, his voice still rusty from sleep. The sound is a rough burr up your spine. 

“Sorry,” you whisper. “Couldn’ get comfy.”

“You hot?” he asks.

The denial on the tip of your tongue slips back down your throat when he plants his foot on the bed and draws his leg up, pressing the meat of his thigh into your throbbing sex. 

“Here, lemme help you—” he groans, reaching down to ruck up your shirt, dragging it up over your breasts and helping manoeuvre your arms out of the holes. It gets tossed off the bed onto the floor. 

Now your breasts are flat on his chest, smushed against his ribcage. It registers somewhere in the back of your head as inappropriate, but sleep pushes that thought away, focusing instead on the discomfort of moving around when you just want to settle back down and go back to bed. 

It must be the heat making you act this way. 

“Shit—sorry, sweetheart,” he apologizes, shifting under you. “M’hot too.”

He plants a hand on your ass and heaves you up his chest, giving him enough room to wiggle out of his boxers. It pushes your breasts right into his face, your nipples mere inches from his mouth. When his tongue pokes out to wet his upper lip, it nicks your pebbled nipple. 

A hard length presses against your butt when you’re slid back down, the tip wet when it catches against your skin. 

“Jus’ ignore it, sweetie,” John mumbles, petting a hand down your back. 

You lie like that for a while, splayed over his body. Want simmering just under your skin. Flustered and exhausted all at once, sleep-drained; not a drop of strength in your muscles. 

The heat is just—

Scorching. Dizzying. You feel featherbrained, slipping in and out of sleep, biting off the whimpers that threaten to crawl up your throat when John tucks his hands into the crevice of your thighs to wrench them apart, spreading them around his hips again. 

Distantly, you remember that the man under you is at least twenty years your senior. Your employer at that. A man now palming your butt, sinking his fingers into the flesh and rumbling low in his throat. 

It’s wrong—flagrantly wrong. You know that you should say something, that you should get up and tell him that you’re going to sleep on the couch instead. But your tongue is too thick for your mouth. And your thoughts are a sticky paste. The pulse between your thighs empties out all the common sense from your head. 

His palms are slick on your skin. 

Your breathing grows shallow when a hard length suddenly pushes between your thighs as well. 

When the mushroomed head nudges at your opening, you flinch, heart thumping ferociously against your chest. 

“John—John—” you breathe, panicked. As if to warn him. As if he weren’t planting both feet on the bed and lifting his hips. 

As if it wasn’t his hands, warm on your waist, dragging you down onto the shaft spearing into you. 

Your blood is molten hot in your veins. Sticky hands and sticky fingers curl into his chest hair. Your head thumps against his pecs, too weak to hold it up, lipping at the damp skin of his chest. 

“It hurts—” you bleat, tears pricking at the backs of your eyes. 

“I know, baby, I know,” John pants. He draws his hips back just to press forward again, deeper this time. Filling you up more than before. “I’m sorry, baby—I can’t, it’s just…too good. Shit.”

Resolve in tatters. Shattered like his willpower, like his determination not to fuck the girl twenty years his junior sleeping beside him in his bed. 

His hips pump up into yours, bouncing you in his lap. Each thrust plunging his cock deeper into your pussy. It’d be painful if you weren’t so wet, but you’re dripping, arousal making you leak around his shaft and slickening his way. 

Sleep still rattles around in your brain, but not even the fog of sleep can shake the ever intensifying realisation that you’re fucking your boss. No two ways around it—breasts naked against his hirsute chest; pussy wet and stuffed to the hilt with a big dick. Knocked senseless by it. 

The veins of his cock drag over the viscid walls of your cunt with every thrust. He must like the involuntary noises you make because he loses his rhythm when you cry out, growling out a string of unintelligible curses. His body feels bigger like this somehow, biceps and forearms bulging where they’re wrapped around your waist, hips forcing your legs to spread wide around him, the ache sinking deep into your muscle, into your bones.  

When you look up at him, his eyes are more hooded than usual, the blue of his irises so dark that they’re almost black. 

“Such a good girl,” he grunts, big arms like steel bands around your waist, holding you tight to his chest so you have nowhere to run. “Jus’ let…jus’ let daddy come and—oh Christ, fuck, fuck…—jus’ lemme come and we’ll go back to bed, okay, sweetie?”

“I’m gonna…” you pant, trailing off when he gets a little rough, pumping harder up into you. The sound of your pussy squelching around his length makes your eyes roll back, mouth hanging open. 

“Yeah, yeah, you—you come too, baby. Jus’ need to take the edge off, both of us.”

You squeal when he reaches a hand down to dig his fingers into your butt cheek and it makes you tense up, walls tightening around his dick. One well-placed swat hard enough to make the flesh of your ass jiggle and you come, clenching up so tight that his next few thrusts are slowed by your spasming walls, forcing him to really cram his cock into your hole. 

“Christ, that’s cute,” John growls, his pupils blown out. 

It hurts to come that hard; makes your belly cramp up and everything. Whatever gibberish spills from your mouth gets lost in the aftermath. 

That’s when the temperature goes from hot to blistering. The muscles of his thighs tense, straining with his impending release. Even his grip around your waist gets tighter, his self-control steamrolled under his approaching climax, oblivious to the way you squeal and squirm when it threads the delicate needle of being too much. 

“Sorry, baby,” he apologises, voice treading gravel. “M’gonna mess your pussy up a bit—”

“Wait—wait—” you gasp, trying fruitlessly to lift yourself up, his arms keeping you pinned tight to his chest. “You’re gonna—John, you’re gonna come inside me—”

His hips thrust up hard at your words, one last rough pump that has him digging his heels into the mattress and clenching his jaw, the veins in his neck protruding. You feel it flood inside you, hot spurts of cum right up against your womb. He curses when he comes, eyelids sliding shut, lost in the sensation of emptying himself into you. 

A few last, punishing thrusts that make your teeth clack together. More heat spurting into you. A murmured oh fuck before his legs slide back down the bed, spreading out over the mattress. 

The blanket is somewhere at the foot of the bed, all scrunched up and nearly dangling off the edge. You only start to shiver when the sweat on your back finally begins to cool. 

When he pulls you off his cock, you whimper, a hot flash snaking through you. Oh Christ did he plug you up good. Stringy, viscous cum leaks from your hole, leaving a little puddle on his thigh when you slide off his chest and to the side a bit. 

“Oh baby,” he tuts softly, reaching between your legs to feel where you’re wet and a little swollen. “Sorry, sweetheart…wanna get cleaned up?”

“No…” you rasp, so dazed that you can’t even lift your cheek off his chest. 

Exhaustion has never ridden you this hard before, but considering the circumstances…—perhaps you’re lucky to be conscious at all, is all you mean. There’s not a chance of you having enough energy to do anything as rigorous as showering though. 

“Okay, baby. Little kiss?” John asks in a murmur, lifting your head up by your chin and swooping down for a kiss. Not even giving you enough time to process his words before his mouth is on yours. 

His lips glide slick against yours, tongue slipping into your mouth like he needs a good, deep kiss to ground him. A wet twisting of tongues; a thick finger stroking up your neck. He can’t stop touching you. Running a hand up your spine and curving it back down over your ass. Featherlight touches meant to calm you down. His kisses grow sticky, lingering; each one almost the last until he pulls you in for another. 

“Go back to sleep, okay?” John says, still speaking low enough to push you back under. He smooths his hand down your back again. 

You fall back asleep with a load in your belly and your head in a tizzy. The you of tomorrow is going to have a lot to contend with from the you of tonight.

[homunculus-argument]

And speaking of scurvy, I am eternally amused by the thing where some ancient form of healing that was born in a time where people didn't know exactly how the human body works, or what causes it to stop working sometimes, that still somehow worked. Like how so many old folk medicinal plants were listed as a cure for various ailments that - from a modern view - are clearly just symptoms of scurvy, and the plant itself is rich in vitamin C.

I recall reading some story, no recollection of the exact time or place, where the king of a large empire suffered from constant horrible headaches and was incapable of falling asleep unless drugged or blackout drunk. Sick of taking temporary fixes to dull the pain and having to be sedated every night, he called up some old sage healer who was said to know how to fix things nobody else could explain, and the healer heard his symptoms and went

"Hmm. You spend too much time being a king. Your skull is packed so full of kingly thoughts that they don't all fit in there and that's why your head is in pain. You need to spend time not being a king." And prescribed him to schedule three days every month where he must go to a peasant village where nobody knows he's the king, live with a family there under a fake name and identity, work in the rice fields with them, eating the same food and sleeping on the same mats. Absolutely nobody is allowed to address him as the king, speak to him of any royal or political matters, and he himself is not allowed to think any kingly thoughts or think of himself as the king.

And naturally, this worked. Taking a regular scheduled break from a highly stressful office desk job to completely decompress, paired with physical exercise in the form of hard but simple physical labour, plain and simple food and Just Not Thinking About Your Fucking Job All The Time does help chronic stress, which here was worded as "spending too much time being a king clogs your brain."

Sometimes you do have ghosts in your blood, though I'm not entirely sure whether you should do cocaine about it.

[impudentmedico]

Alex was at the point in his life where he just let things go. Izzie ruined a lot for him in terms of just wanting someone and trusting someone. She had ruined a lot of things and that is when Alex took his job more seriously and that is when he started to not catch feelings and just sleep with anyone who would give him a chance. Maybe that was the wrong thing to do because then it led to him having a reputation and that is something Jo really thought who he was. But it wasn't. He just was masking up a lot of pain and hurt by someone who claimed to love him. But things changed and they developed a friendship first, because come to found out, Jo and him had a lot in common. Something he didn't think anyone else would understand.

But they have formed a good bond. Love held them together, even when the world was meant to tear them apart. But he panicked and left. Alex knew what Jo would think once this happened. He knew that he messed up all those years of them fighting people to let them know they were there for the long haul. Maybe he did things wrong, and maybe leaving her the way he did was wrong, but he regrets it all, because he had it good with her. This life he has now, it wasn't anything he wanted and it wasn't anything he thought he could keep up. Yes, he has kids. Kids he never knew about until he got the letter and they are already big enough to tell him yes or no. And hearing from Jo, well that did it too. He missed her and he knew all of this was on him and he that is something he has to deal with.

But this unexpected text and Jo and him have talked. He knew she was trying to hide the fact she wanted to cry and there was a tone of unsaid words between them when text were sent and received. That is how well he knows her. That is all it was and that is something he had learned to read. But Alex was determined not to be his father. The one who abandons his kid and not make it known he is trying. This was him trying but he wanted Jo apart of the picture and not just him with Izzie. That is not what he wanted. But he had to quickly reply, because he needed to tell her everything because he knows she won't trust him.

[Text: Jo]

"It is not like it was an easy decision Jo. I panicked. I didn't want to be considered like my dad. Because you know how much I hate that man. I didn't want to abandon my kids, even after I knew about them. I do love you. I have been sitting here thinking about you, and you were the first one i wrote a letter to, then Mer. So it was just something I have been trying to come to terms with because she hid this for so long. I am not with her though. We are just co-parents and I sleep in another room, so please just let me be there, send me the address and I will be on the next flight out. Just, please, let me be there. I can not deal with the fact you didn't want to hid this from me and then not want me there. So, if Arizona is mad at me, I will find a place close and meet you at the hospital. Just give me the name of the hospital as well. I am looking at flights as we speak."

He could tell Jo was mad from hers and he kept his cool as he hit send and opened up his laptop and looked at the flights from Kansas to New York to see Jo and hopefully they can work this out because they are having a kid and he rather be with her and his twins come and visit then not with her and being stuck in a place he is not happy in. He just needed to let her get over being mad at him. Seeing the address he jotted it down in his notes on his phone and texted Jo again.

[Text: Jo]

"Thank you for the address, I will see you tomorrow. Get some sleep please. You need to rest. I am sure Arizona will insist on doing everything for you. it is just who Robbins is. Let her."

Starting Again

@ImpudentMedico 

Complicated was the word when it came to Alex and herself. From barely speaking; from the rage of hate she felt for him. To the common goal; which was to raise a healthy child. To push aside our distaste for each other; well more so on my part. Jo knew she could’ve had it easy by not engaging by avoiding Alex especially when they first messaged after a month of him being gone. She could’ve gotten through the pregnancy on her own. She was built for it; to be alone. But one confession; one text changed the relationship she had with him. 

He was the dad; and as angry as she was with him; She didn’t want to be like Izzie; she didn’t want to keep a child from him. She still loved him; she wanted him to be apart of their child’s life even if it made her sick to see the pair had ended up. All that to say it wasn’t smooth sailing; but Jo had promised to keep him updated. To let him be there for her and their child. 

A promise she intended to keep. And that’s why Jo found herself digging into her purse when she stepped foot into the New York airport.  Stepping to the side as she listened to people chat, she found her phone letting fingers dance along the keys. 

[ Text} Alex. 

“ I debated telling you, but a promise is a promise. I’m in New York. I’ll be staying with Callie and Arizona so you know I’ll be safe.”  Not wanting to keep talking; Jo came to the city to move on from the last chapter not be dragged back into the old. But Jo also knew they had to figure out the next steps together. One text at a time. Because let’s be honest he left once; why wouldn’t Alex do it again? It was a fear; the reason why Jo was keeping him at arms length. Protecting herself. 

Slipping her phone into her coat pocket she slung her carry on over her shoulder and began to walk to the baggage claim; the signs directing her. A new Chapter; exhaling deeply Jo assured herself this was the right move for her.

[yuutryingtowrite]

Yandere!Maid x Vampire!Reader

A/N: If you like this setting, consider reading about your chef at the castle too. And, if you wanna know more about the levels, check this post :)

Warning: Not nsfw, but suggestive. MDNI. Butler (side character) calls reader “Mistress”

Danger level: ★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Submissive level: ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♡ ♡

————————————————

Yandere!Maid who looks at the castle in front of him, then the flier in his hands, then the castle again. Unless there was a typo in the address, the job interview should be here. He hesitantly uses the bat shaped door knocker and waits...This place looks so creepy and ominous, was this a prank ? Was it to scare him? Seriously? Sigh…He has had enough of being treated like a fool. As he continues his descent into frustration, bitterness and self-pity, he doesn’t hear the door opening. Nor does he see the butler standing at the entrance until he hears a: “Sorry for the wait, my kind sir. Are you here for the housekeeper position?”.

Yandere!Maid who thinks the butler is telling him a load of bullshit. According to him, the owner of this place is a vampire in search of additional staff members. He resists the urge to scoff. Whatever, if the “mistress” wants to take part in some weird role-play, then so be it as long as he would get paid. The same guy tells him to “please take a seat” in the living room and that “mistress will come and attend to you in a moment”. Soon after his departure, the air shifts. Black particles float around until it materializes something, or rather someone. The poor boy's shock and confusion quickly turn into enchantment. Fuck, you are totally his type. This is bad, he can feel his face burning. “Shall we go to my office?”, you ask with a smile.

Yandere!Maid who hates you. Who hates the fact that your personality matches your looks. Who hates how much control you have over him. The other day, your...pet sneezed on him, so he needed another uniform. “It seems that I only have a female one left ”, you told him. “There is no way in hell I am wearing that”, he sneered. “But wouldn’t you look cute in it? Besides, it is either that or cleaning with your normal clothes on until your new uniform arrives here-” “Alright, shut up, just give me that”, he abruptly took the offending dress from your hands and went to change. Since that conversation, his work attire has fully transitioned to said maid outfit. Maybe he becomes a bit too proud of himself whenever he catches you staring at him. And maybe, just maybe he wants to give you a nice view by bending down and taking his time “to clean the table” whenever he knows you are behind him. He will never admit that though.

Yandere!Maid who, one day, demands asks you about your eating habits. As soon as you answer, something regarding animal blood, he turns oddly quiet. You are about to ask what is wrong, but then he surprises you by climbing into your lap. You watch him get comfortable and, with trembling hands, undo the first buttons of his dress. The cherry on top is him pulling on its collar a bit to show a silver of his chest. He now avoids eye contact as he waits for you to take the lead…You are still just looking at him, so, with a blush becoming darker, he snaps at you: “A-are you stupid or something ? Do you want me to spell it out-” “I am just enjoying the view”, you respond with a teasing smile. Before he can sputter more insults, you grip his chin and tilt his head to the side, exposing his neck to your hungry gaze. “But if you insist…Thank you for the meal <3”

Yandere!Maid who has his face buried deep in his pillow while he tries to calm his flustered self down. After you finished drinking from him, he hurriedly got up and scurried to his room without so much as a word. The more he recalls the embarrassing noises he made in front of you, the more mortified he becomes. It was not his fault, it just felt really good and you even pulled him closer and tugged on his hair and-He whines and squirms in his bed as he feels his body turning hot again like that time. The action causes him to feel a sharp sting on his neck. He freezes. That is right. You marked him. You marked him. You marked him.

...

Don't drink from anyone else, ok?

[not-neverland06]

broken promises

pt two

bodyguard!logan howlett x congressman's daughter!reader

a/n: the fact that he was canonically a bodyguard makes me absolutely insane someone congratulate me, I finally figured out how to make my own dividers Summary: He's learned from past mistakes that no matter how tempting the girl is, it's better not to get involved. He just needs some cash, he doesn't give a fuck how pretty you are. He doesn't care about you. He makes it clear he wants nothing to do with you besides seeing you sign his check. But, is that really all he wants? You're not blind to the way he looks at you. 18+ MDNI Shameless smut at the end, I'm not sorry about it at all.

Logan had gotten used to this. The long drawn-out wait to meet with the man who wanted to hire him. He always arrived right on time, not a moment earlier. They all had the same game they liked to play. 

The secretary would greet him, a pretty girl in her 20s that the men were screwing or trying to screw. Then they would make him sit in the lobby for half an hour. They’d apologize by pushing the blame on someone else, saying a meeting had gone on too long. But there wasn’t a meeting. There never was. 

They liked to make themselves seem more important than they were. It was a power game, an intimidation tactic that he had always scoffed at. He didn’t give a fuck what government ties they had or otherwise. He just wanted his paycheck. 

This one was no different. A congressman who had only recently begun to make waves when he started up an anti-mutant agenda. Ironic that he had specifically requested Logan for the very thing he was trying to eradicate. 

There was a buzz and then the secretary was picking up her phone. She spared Logan a fleeting glance before whispering something into the receiver. She looked over at him and he already knew what she was going to say.  “He’s ready for you now.” 

“Thanks, sweetheart,” she gave him a coquettish smile as he made his way towards the large office at the end of the hall. The door was closed when he reached it, three quick knocks and then a quiet Come in. 

The man didn’t even look up to greet him. He continued signing something on his desk. Logan took a seat in one of the chairs, waiting for another few minutes before he was deemed important enough to address. He received a tight smile and narrowed eyes as the man took in the way he was dressed. 

He never dressed up for these things. He’d learned a while ago that a suit wasn’t going to get him any further than his leather jacket was. Might as well be comfortable while talking to these pricks. 

“Had a phone call with an associate of mine. Ran on longer than I meant it to.” Always an excuse, never an apology. 

Logan scoffed and shrugged. “I was fine.”

The man sniffed, “I’m sure. Look, I’ll cut straight to the chase. You come highly recommended by my peers and I need help fast.” Logan nodded, motioning for him to continue. The man’s eyes lingered on his fists for a long while before he finished. “It’s my daughter. Things have been a little rough for her at school, for lack of a better word. Especially since this new campaign started. I just need someone to keep a closer eye on her.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed, “She a party girl or something?” He wasn’t sure he could handle another bratty daddy’s girl again. The last one had nearly made him blow his brains out. They always think flipping their skirts up will let them get away with more and he can’t stand it. 

The man’s face blanched and he shook his head so vigorously that his jowls moved with him. “Oh, no, not at all. But she’s,” he paused and lowered his voice. He leaned in closer to Logan and waited for Logan to do the same. He rolled his eyes but did it anyway. “She’s like you, you know.”

Logan shot him a grin, “You mean a mutant.”

“Lower your voice,” he hissed, face tightening up in anger. “But, yes, a mutant. And I need one to guard her.” Ironic, this man was driving a campaign to make mutants second-class citizens, and his daughter was one. But Logan needed a check, he didn’t give a fuck about the morals of it all. 

“Sounds good to me.”

“Perfect, you can pick her up from school for me.”

You had your earbuds in, head lowered while you made the trek across campus when you noticed him. He was difficult to miss, tall and buff. Very buff, you’re surprised that tank top of his hasn’t ripped every time he flexes. 

Your dad’s newest campaign has you hyper-aware of your surroundings. You can’t afford to let your guard down. Not after the last attack. 

There’s something about this man that tells you he isn’t someone looking to jump you, though. You’re not sure what it is. Every part of him screams danger, but not the type you’re looking out for. The cigar perched between his lips, the glistening muscles you want to bite, he’s trouble. 

When you spot him outside your lecture hall for the third time that day, you finally figure out what’s happening. Your dad had told you he’d hired someone new to watch over you at school. You hadn’t voiced just how against it you were, but you didn’t like the idea. 

You didn’t mind this guy, though. He wasn’t busting into your classes and embarrassing the shit out of you by making everyone empty their pockets like the last guy. He just lingered. You could deal with lingering. 

What you couldn’t deal with was the way he was leaning against his motorcycle, smirking as you slowly approached him. 

“Did my dad hire you?” You call out, tugging your earbuds out. “Who are you?”

He speaks around the cigar like it's second nature. “Your new bodyguard, sweetheart.” You suck in a deep breath when you hear his voice. He’s extremely attractive, you're surprised your dad would risk this. 

One of the other ones had kind of gotten a little obsessed, stalking you even in his off hours. You didn’t think your dad would want another pretty boy around you. Though, you suppose this one isn’t pretty. He’s extremely handsome, ruggedly so, very manly. Jesus, you might end up being the stalker this time. 

His lips curl up like he knows what you’re thinking about. You clear your throat, shifting your backpack higher up your arm. “You planning on taking me home on that?” You ask, pointing at his bike. 

He straightens up and shrugs. “Got a problem with the bike?”

You grin, “Not really,” but your dad will. “No, not at all.”

You walk towards him and he reaches out, grabbing your backpack straps and tugging you towards him. You stumble, hands bracing against his chest so you don’t land flat on your face. “Sorry, kid,” but he doesn’t sound sorry at all. He buckles the straps of your backpack together and tightens them, puffing smoke in your face while he does. “Don’t want this flying off.”

“Mhm,” you hum. You’re not paying attention at all. The only thing you care about right now is just how ripped he is under your hands. You’re not sure how long you gawk at him but he seems to be ridiculously amused by it. 

“Ready to go home, or what?” You jump back from him, brushing your hands off on your leggings and clearing your throat. 

“Yes, yeah.” You rip your eyes off his body and instead focus on the bike. “No helmets?” You ask.

“You heal, don’t you?” You nod and he shrugs. “Don’t need them then, do we?”

You can’t help the giddy grin on your face at that. It’s gotten tiring being treated like glass. You’re about to get on the bike when you finally process what he said. “Wait, how do you know I heal?”

He doesn’t respond verbally. Instead, his gaze darts down to his fists. Your eyes widen when you see the metal poking through the skin. Of course, your father would only tell another mutant about his abomination of a daughter. You scoff and roll your eyes. He’s such a fucking hypocrite. 

Logan climbs on the bike and you follow after him. You're hesitant to wrap your arms around his waist but he just reaches behind himself and jerks you forward. 

You suck in a sharp breath, pelvis tight against his ass while he squeezes your hands. “You want to go flying?” You shake your head and he chuckles, starting the bike and driving off without another word. 

Part of you loves the ride home, the other part detests it. For once you get to experience a little freedom. You’re not trapped in a steel box staring at the back of a car seat while the man beside you pretends he doesn’t exist. 

You can feel the wind in your hair, get a taste of real speed, and enjoy a moment uninterrupted by someone’s expectations of you. On the other hand, Logan does not respect speeding laws. And healing abilities or not, you don’t actually want to experience road rash. 

He manages to get you home in one piece, parking the motorcycle in the driveway and waiting for you to get off. But you can’t, your thighs have been clenching the seat so tight you think they might need to scrape you off. 

“Kid?” He mutters. You shake your head against his back, arms still strangling his waist. It was actually kind of fucking terrifying being on one of these things. You can’t tell if you loved or hated it. 

He lets out a rough sigh, forcibly moving your arms and then tugging you off the seat. Your legs are like jello while you try and straighten out. “Wasn’t so bad, was it?” He asks. You can’t manage much more than a strangled hum and he laughs. 

You turn to your front door and spot a leering face peering out the window. “Shit,” you huff. Your stepmother sees you spot her and disappears from view. You feel your hopes of ever getting back on that bike go with her. 

“You took her home on your bike!”

“Well-”

You flinch at the volume of your father’s voice. “I don’t give a fuck what your excuse is! I will not have my daughter seen riding that monstrosity! You are not to do this again, do you understand me?”

You don’t know what Logan says, but you’re certain it’s not the submissive Yes, sir your father is looking for. He continues shouting at him for another ten minutes. When you hear the door to his office open you scramble to look like you hadn’t been listening in. 

But you’re a bad actress and if his huff of laughter is anything to go by, Logan knows what you were doing. “Did you know that was going to happen?” He asks, pointing back to your father’s, now closed, study. 

You nod, pursing your lips with an apologetic smile. “If it helps, I was really hoping he wouldn’t do that.”

He shrugs, “I don’t really give a fuck how much he wants to scream at me.” It’s refreshing, to finally have someone in the house who doesn’t kiss your father’s ass. It makes you smile, a real genuine smile for the first time in a while. 

You stand from the chair you’d been sitting in, gesturing further into your home. “Are you hungry? I haven’t eaten all day so I was thinking about making something.”

The smirk drops from his face, expression suddenly serious. It makes you tense up. “Look, I appreciate the offer, but I’m here to get paid. I don’t want to be your friend, kid.”

You suck in a sharp breath, trying not to let the rejection sting. He’s a professional, it should be a relief after the last one. “Right, yeah, I’m sorry I didn’t mean it like that.”

He nods, “Right,” tone stiff. You stare at him for another awkwardly long moment before you finally turn on your heel and walk toward the kitchen. You rush there, speedwalking so you don’t have to look at him any longer. 

You open up your fridge, keeping your back to him for as long as humanly possible. You can hear him take a seat at the island, can feel the way his eyes bore into you. It’s a physical thing, his gaze, makes chills scrape their way down your spine. 

You make yourself a sandwich and finally force yourself to turn around. Like you’d expected, he’s already looking at you. Lips ticking up just slightly when you finally get the courage to look up at him. 

Logan feels a little guilty. You weren’t coming onto him earlier, you were being genuine with your kindness. He knows there were no ulterior motives to it and there’s a very slight part of him that feels bad for making you so quiet. “Why’s your dad so pissy about the bike?”

You’re a little startled by the question, after the comment he made you’d thought he wouldn’t want anything to do with you. You swallow down the rest of your bite and cough a little when the bread gets stuck on the roof of your mouth. 

“He doesn’t want me to crash.”

“But you heal,” he points out bluntly and you can’t help but laugh a little. 

“Yeah, that’s the problem. He doesn’t want me to crash and for someone to see that I miraculously healed. Having a freak for a daughter wouldn’t exactly help his campaign, would it?” You can’t even attempt to hide the bitterness in your voice. And you know Logan picks up on it because he doesn’t ask any more questions. 

Your gaze drops to your plate and you finish the rest of your meal in silence. Or, you try to. “Got any plans tonight?”

You chuckle and give him an odd look. “No,” you respond sardonically. “None at all, prepare yourself for a very boring job. I don’t even know why he hired you, I never leave the house unless it's for school.”

“Yeah?” he muses, but he doesn’t seem particularly interested. More like he’s talking just to pass the time. “I heard you’ve been having a hard time at school.”

You suck in a sharp breath, a sudden wave of anger roiling through your gut. The cabinets behind you begin to shake and you wince in embarrassment, tamping down on your powers before you accidentally blow up the kitchen. 

Logan watches the moment with subdued interest like he’s not all that surprised or impressed with the display. “Unless they were a PoliSci nerd, I was a nobody up until last year.” There’s no concealing the hate lurking within your words, “And then my dad took up this whole anti-mutant regime. Well, you can imagine how much the activists love me. I’ve just had a few incidents with some particularly passionate protestors.”

“Do you believe in it?”

Your eyes widen in surprise, you hadn’t expected him to actually continue the conversation. “What do you mean?”

He leans back, arms crossed across his chest in a way that makes his biceps bulge. He shrugs, “The anti-mutant regime, do you agree with it?”

You open your mouth, the perfected script almost rolling off your tongue. But this isn’t some politician's son you’re wooing. You’re not the perfect daughter, you’re in your own home, finally talking to someone else like you. 

“No.” You answer, voice strong in its conviction. “And every time I see one of his PAs running around with their little signs I want to ram the stick up their ass.”

He barks out a laugh, eyes crinkling up in amusement. “I think we might get along, kid.”

You try to ignore the way your cheeks warm at his words. You don’t want to be this affected by him, you’ve barely spoken to him. But this is the first person in a long time that you know with absolute certainty you can be honest with. He doesn’t care about protecting your political image or bowing to your father’s every whim. 

It’s a relief, like a constricting weight being taken off your chest. You give him an easy smile and get up to wash your dishes. His eyes are on you again but they feel less oppressive this time. You’ve already forgotten the rule he’s set in place, you’re not supposed to be friends. 

It’s going to be hard to remember that. 

Your father tightens his grip around your waist until you feel like you might squeal. “Smile, now.” You raise your hand, taking the stairs up the stage and waving out at the crowd that’s formed. It’s hot today, your makeup would be melting off if it weren’t for the artists who put it on for you. 

Always have to look good in front of the camera. All of you. Seeing Logan in a suit was certainly a surprise. You’re almost completely sure that your father had to give him a bonus to even consider wearing it today. 

He looks good, but you honestly prefer him in the normal beater and leather jacket. It’s something so uniquely him. This is just a reminder of your reality, that nothing around you is real. It’s all pretty lies wrapped up in expensive clothes. 

You have to bite your tongue and hold back a grimace when your father begins his speech. “First, we had to let them into our jobs. Now they’re in our schools! Our children aren’t safe, not when they’ve got loaded weapons sitting beside them! Because that’s exactly what they are, weapons of mass destruction that will take apart-”

“Fuck me,” you hiss under your breath. Your cheeks hurt from keeping this smile on your face. You’re struggling not to flinch every time the crowd surges up to agree with him, bigoted shouts making your ears bleed. 

Logan’s brows raise and he gives you a brief glance over his shoulder. Your face pinches in confusion only for a moment before you quickly correct it. Still, you keep your lips nearly completely motionless as you whisper, “Can you hear me?”

You dart your gaze back down to him and catch the barest of nods. Your smile softens, becoming something real if only for a moment. You don’t say anything else, you don’t need to. It’s just a comfort to know someone else is there with you, seeing through the painted faces and plastic smiles. 

There’s movement in the crowd. It cuts your father off midsentence. He peers over the podium, trying to get a better look at what’s happening. You hear someone scream and then the entire crowd is getting knocked to the ground. 

You jump back in shock, everyone on stage still. The security, however, is rushing to get to you and your family. It’s too late, though, there’s a mutant in the crowd and his eyes are set on you. “Fuck you,” he screams out your father's name and lugs something at the stage. 

You hear someone shout your name but it’s too late. Glass shatters against the side of your face. It takes less than a second for the pain to start. You can feel holes being burned through your skin, like living fire melting through your bones and gums. A scream rips out of your throat, your hands coming up to block your face too late. 

“Get her out of here!”

As agonizing as it is, you can already feel your skin working to mend itself. You can practically hear the flesh bonding back together. But the acid is dripping down you. It keeps moving steadily through your clothes and skin, your abilities on overdrive trying to repair the damage. 

You can’t focus on anything except the sensation of being burned alive. Suddenly, there’s an arm being thrown around your shoulder and you’re being lifted off your feet. Your skin scrapes against the rough material of someone’s blazer and it makes you grit your teeth and scream again. 

“I know, hold on kid, it’ll be over in a minute.” Logan rushes you behind the stage, where there are no cameras to watch you heal. You don’t know how your father’s PR team is going to spin this. Everyone saw it, saw the way your flesh bubbled and boiled. There’s no hiding the fact that half your face should be melted off. 

“Car,” you grunt out when he puts you on your feet again. 

His hands are clamped firmly around your shoulders, inspecting you for any further damage. “What?”

“We gotta get to the car,” the words are a struggle to get out. Your lungs constrict painfully in your chest while you force the rest out. “Can’t let them see.”

He looks pissed off that that's what you're worried about and not the fact that you were just attacked. Finally, after a minute of just staring at you, he nods. He wraps an arm around your shoulder and runs with you back to the limo. He throws the door open, pushing you inside and sliding in beside you. 

You take in a deep breath the second you’re no longer in view of the TV cameras. “Fuck,” you gasp out. Your dress is in tatters on your left side and you quickly cover your chest. You pray that you didn’t accidentally flash anything while you were still on stage. Your father would never forgive you for that. 

It’s silent in the car for a moment. You feel something being draped over your shoulder and look over to see Logan passing you his jacket. When he catches your gaze he gently grabs your jaw and titls your face towards his. 

His eyes rove over the left side of your face and he gives you a tight smile. “You’re fine, kid.”

You pull your chin out of his grip and pull his jacket closed around you. “See why my father wanted you around? How would he have ever explained his daughter surviving an acid attack?”

There’s something pinched in his gaze. A deep-seated irritation and something else you’re too tired to identify. He’s looking at you oddly and you wish he wouldn’t. You press your forehead to the cool glass of the window and slump against the car door. 

You don’t know when you fall asleep but by the time you wake up, Logan’s already carrying you up to your room. He sees you shift awake and places you on your feet. You steady yourself against the stair banister and walk the rest of the way to your room, trying to shake off the pain of the day. 

You look back just in time to see Logan at the front door. “Goodnight,” you call down to him. You know he can hear you, but he walks through the door without another word. You bite your lip, ignoring the sinking feeling of your gut. 

You toss your destroyed dress to the floor and turn your TV on. You surf through the channels for a bit before finding a clip of today’s incident. “-apparently part of a protest for mutants against the government. I don’t know Bill, they seem to just be proving everybody’s point. They are unsafe.”

“I agree, my thoughts and prayers go out to…”

You roll your eyes as they say your name. They’re saying it wasn’t acid, instead it’s some sort of chemical compound that causes extreme pain. Even you don’t believe that bullshit. You have a feeling your father is going to be looking for a new PR team tomorrow. 

Your attention is snagged by the replay of the accident. You don’t focus on the acid, you don’t want to. Instead, you see how quickly Logan rushed to your side. He seemed to be right there even as the acid was being thrown. 

Your brows pinch together and you glance at the jacket beside you. He’d forgotten to take it back before he left. You pick it up, eyes skating over the fabric before you find what you’re looking for. There’s a large hole in the right sleeve, acid having burned through it. 

You hadn’t even realized he was in pain. You know he can heal, but it doesn’t get rid of the fluttering feeling in your stomach. You’ve never had someone look after you like that. 

You grin to yourself, tucking the jacket in the back of your closet. You’re sure he wouldn’t want it back and you’re not planning on parting with it anytime soon. 

You’re on house arrest for a week after the acid incident. Which includes no school. Your father has to play into the idea that you’re recovering from the trauma and healing. You don’t know how much longer he’s planning on keeping you locked up but you’re going stir crazy. 

Not only do you not get to go to classes, but Logan isn’t around either. He doesn’t need to be, not when the only place you’re in is your room. He’s not a friend, he’s made that clear, but he’s something. And you are desperately craving that specific something. 

“It was a sickening attack against my daughter that my wife and I are still trying to recover from.” You roll your eyes as you listen to your father spew his bullshit to the interviewer in the next room. 

You’re not allowed to be out and about, of course. You can’t risk someone seeing you. But that doesn’t stop you from lurking. 

“It was an incredibly traumatic experience for her, I’m sure.” You grin to yourself, picking at your nails. You like this one, whoever the reporter is interviewing him. She hasn’t let him catch a break. Especially not when he tries to capitalize on your trauma. Even though he hasn’t checked in once with you. 

“Well,” he splutters for a moment. “Yes, of course,” he tries to sound humble but anyone can tell he’s just covering his ass. “And it just further proves what I’ve always said about mutants. They are animals, they’re not like us.”

You’d think at a certain point you’d go numb to it. You’ve been raised hearing this rhetoric from him all your life. But the sting never eases. That cloying ache in your chest never quite leaves you. Not when you know the only reason he publicly accepts you is for political gains. So everyone can see what a wonderful father he is and vote for him.

You feel sick to your stomach and you don’t think you can listen to much more of this. But right as you’re about to tap out a hand clamps down on your shoulder. You nearly scream but you catch a whiff of the man’s aftershave and your mouth snaps shut. 

You leap out of your chair and whip around, a grin plastered on your face. “Logan, what are you doing here?” You can’t disguise the giddiness in your voice. He might constantly be reminding you that you hold nothing more than a professional relationship, but you don’t give a shit. He’s a constant in your life and that’s rare for you, so you’ll latch onto whatever comfort you can find. 

His gaze briefly darts to the connecting wall to your father’s study and you flush. He’d probably heard all of that. You’ve never had someone see the side of your father that you do. There’s something shamefully embarrassing about it. 

He looks back at you and gives you a sly smirk. “Wanna get out of here?” You’d have to be an idiot to say no.

“Uh,” you can hear the music from where you stand across the street. You shuffle uncertainly on your feet beside Logan, glancing up and down the sidewalk like your father’s going to pop out of an alleyway. “I don’t know if this is such a good idea.”

Logan tugs his cigar out of his mouth. He’s leaned up against a lamppost and he’s watched you struggle for the past ten minutes. “Live a little kid, would ya?”

You look back at the dingy bar and grimace. “Okay, there’s a difference between living a little and having my face blasted on the news. How’s it going to look if I’m photographed at a bar while I’m meant to be healing?”

Logan points with his cigar to the entrance of the bar. “I can promise you, no one in there gives a fuck about who your daddy is.” Comforting, and a little humbling. 

You take in a deep breath and Logan must sense the change in your demeanor. He flicks the cigar to the ground, crushing it with the heel of his boot. He holds his arm out, “Ready, kid?”

You nod, hurrying to his side and slipping under his grasp. He lets his arm hang heavily around your shoulder, hand squeezing your bicep gently to try and quell your nerves. You’d be swooning at the touch if you weren’t about to throw up from anxiety. 

You used to have a life. Until your father had blown it up. You haven’t been around this many people in ages. Well, you haven’t been around people who are just having fun and not sucking up to every politician’s kid they meet. 

The music gets louder as you step over through the threshold of the bar. The soles of your shoes stick to the floor. People laugh loudly all around you, some of them shouting up at TV screens for whatever sport is currently playing. You’re sure half of them don’t even normally watch the game. They just need an excuse to get their wives off their backs. 

The thought brings a small smile to your lips. Logan glances down at you and frowns, “You are old enough to drink, aren’t you?”

You roll your eyes and move out from under his hold. “Yes, Logan. I’m going into a master’s program, my frontal lobe is fully formed.”

He huffs a little at the attitude, cheeks twitching with a suppressed smile. He nods towards the back of the bar, “Find a seat, I’ll get us drinks.” He walks towards the bar without another word and you resent him a little for it. 

Without him beside you, it’s like everything comes crashing down all at once. The songs playing grate on your ears. Every laugh feels like they’re screaming in your face. You’ve never been more in tune with your sense of smell and you hate it. 

Your hands tremble by your sides and you nearly miss the man in front of you spilling his beer down his shirt. It looks completely unnatural, the way it just flips out of his hand. And you know it’s your doing. 

You shove through him and his friends, running to the back and sliding into the first booth you see. You dig your nails into your palms, taking a few deep breaths to try and calm your heart rate down a bit. 

Logan slides into the seat across from you, placing a beer in front of you. It’s barely touched the grimy wood of the table before you tip your head back and drain it. You’ve never been a particular fan of beer or any alcohol for that matter. 

But right now you need a buzz before you accidentally level the whole bar. You slam the bottle back on the table, taking in a deep breath, and sitting back. Logan gives you a hard stare, glancing between you and the empty bottle. 

He clicks his tongue and stands up, “I’ll go get another one.”

You bite your lip and give him a sheepish, “Thank you.”

It doesn’t take long for the buzz to settle in. There’s a slight tingling in your legs and the tips of your fingers. It almost feels like how you get when you’re starting to get aroused. But you don’t know if that’s from the alcohol or the way Logan looks in his slutty little t-shirt. 

Definitely tipsy, you think to yourself, nudging your third beer to the side. 

“Always been a lightweight?” He teases, watching you with amusement in his gaze while he works on what must be his fifth whiskey. 

You shake your head with a soft smile. “No, I used to go out with my friends all the time.” You laugh a little at the memories and lean in a little closer like you’re sharing some horrible secret. Logan rolls his eyes but acquiesces, leaning in to listen to you speak. “We made up alter egos for our drunk selves. Wanna know mine?” You ask, wiggling your eyebrows at him with a stupid grin.

His brows pinch together and he frowns, “I don’t think so.”

You laugh and lean back in your seat. “You’re the worst!” He places his glass down on the table and fixes you with an odd look. You shift around uncomfortably, “What is it?”

“What happened to your friends? Why are you hanging out with me and not them?”

“Oh,” your gaze drops to the table and you suddenly find the stains on it very interesting. It’s practically abstract art. You swallow harshly around the lump in your throat and shrug. “Um, just all the stuff with my dad happened, and,” you shrug, “I don’t know. My life kind of fell apart.”

You try and shake off the funk, bring back the happy-go-lucky feeling you were in only minutes ago. “I had to move out of the dorms and head back home. My friends stopped talking to me. My boyfriend dumped me. It all just kind of blew up.”

Logan frowns and you swear he seems angry on your behalf. It’s a nice feeling, having someone care enough to hold a grudge for you. “You ever tell him how it was all affecting you?”

You snort, “Of course I did. He was overjoyed. He never liked my friends, especially not my boyfriend, they encouraged me to be too independent. He thought I was losing the values he raised me with. He just never cared to learn that I never agreed with them in the first place.”

Logan doesn’t say anything for a while and you let your gaze drift to the karaoke stage. Two women are singing a bad redemption of Led Zeppelin and it makes you smile. You don’t see the way Logan’s eyes linger on the curve of your lips and then drop to your chest. 

You never seem to notice how you make him squirm. There is something so interesting about you. Something so different from the families he worked with before. He doesn’t know if it's the whole mutant thing, if you two are somehow kindred spirits in that regard. He doubts it, he’s never really cared much about that. 

But he knows that there is something magnetic about you. It draws him in and makes him hate his own rules. He promised not to get involved with another client. It always ends messy, most times bloody. 

You turn back to him and smile. Your voice is a low purr as you ask, “You wanna get out of here?”

Of course, he’s never been one to follow the rules. 

“I am so sorry about this. Really.” 

Logan glares down at you while you straighten out his tie. You duck your head so you don’t have to meet his gaze and he lets out a long-suffering sigh. 

“Forget it, kid.” He says it with a smirk but it doesn’t make you feel any less guilty. 

This will be your first public appearance since the incident. It’s a gala, of course, because your father hates you. He’d demanded you find a date, someone to look pretty on your arm because he doesn’t want you talking while you’re there. You’re meant for pictures and nothing more. 

Considering the fact that no one wants to talk to you on campus, the acid incident not helping at all, you had no luck finding a date. You’d had to beg on hands and knees for days to get Logan to agree. 

You don’t know what it is that finally made him cave but you’re grateful for it. You think your father was expecting you to fail. To come crawling to him and be forced to go with who he wanted you to go with. 

You were not going to spend the whole night listening to some political major try and explain your own father’s campaign to you. You’d rather swallow acid than go through that for another night. Your father, of course, doesn’t know that Logan is taking you. 

You’re planning on ambushing him with it. He can’t do anything about it now. He wants you to have a date for some reason and there’s no way for him to find a backup now. You take a step back from him and turn to look in the mirror. 

Side by side, you do make an incredibly attractive couple. He looks amazing in his suit, his muscles just slightly pushing against the fabric. And as much as he hates the tie and constricting material, he makes it work. 

And you feel pretty for the first time in a long time. You actually got to do your own hair and makeup for once. You’re a lot less heavy-handed than the assistants your father hires. You feel comfortable in your own skin, finally, wearing the deep red dress your stepmother had gotten for you. 

“We look good,” you muse. 

Logan looks down at you and smiles slightly, “You do.”

You give him a confused grin, “I said we.”

He leans down, lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he whispers, “I know what you said, sweetheart.” Your heart nearly beats out of your chest at the proximity. Gooseflesh raises on your arms where he’s touching you and your knee buckles ever so slightly. 

You can perfectly imagine his husky voice whispering something much, much dirtier to you. He pulls back with a slight chuckle and forcefully turns you around. “Come on, kid, we’re gonna be late.”

He nudges you towards your bedroom door and you nod your head mutely. He keeps doing that to you. These little things that could be so easily dismissed as you reading into his actions. But you know, deep down, you’re not reading into anything. 

But you don’t know what to do with this information that he might possibly be into you. Or at the very least, attracted to you. He made it clear early on that he wants nothing but professionalism between the two of you, yet he continually breaks his own rule. 

Your father and stepmother are waiting at the bottom of the stairs for you both. Your stepmother smiles when she sees you but your father’s face screws up in anger. “Are you fucking kidding me? The goddamn bodyguard?”

You shrug and slip past him, already walking to the front door. “A date’s a date.” You pause and grin over at him, “What are you going to do about it?” It’s a taunt, one you don’t give him a chance to respond to. 

You’re already slipping outside and heading to the town car. Something about Logan being with you emboldens you to act in ways you never would. Even when he’s not there, when you’re just having family dinner and your father says something off-putting. You fight back, you don’t let him steamroll you and your opinions. 

You feel better than you have in ages with Logan beside you. Still, the ride there is incredibly awkward. 

The hotel is grand and luxurious. But they all are. You feel guilty complaining about your life when this is your weekend. What do you have to be upset about when you regularly stay in five-star motels and wear designer dresses without glancing at the price tag?

Sometimes you feel guilty around Logan. You wonder if he ever resents you for your privilege. You might be a mutant like him, sure, but you’ve never had to struggle to make ends meet. Or try and scrap together enough money to get your next meal. You’ve never had to worry about where you’re going to sleep next or if you’ll have a roof over your head. 

Your struggles have been so different that you worry if something ever did happen between the two of you, you might not work together. 

But those are spiraling thoughts for another time. Right now, you’re just trying to get through the front door without someone bombarding your father with questions on his stance about whatever. 

When it’s clear that he’s going to be there for a while, he sends you and Logan off to the ballroom on your own. You feel bad for your stepmother, having to stay behind and pretend she’s interested as they bore her with stories that have no real meaning. 

“Poor woman,” you mutter, watching her struggle to keep the smile on her face. 

“You don’t call her mom,” Logan muses. You turn to look at him and he just shrugs. “Just a little weird.”

“Well, she’s not my mom.” His head tilts in confusion and you elaborate. “My bio mom left the second she figured out she gave birth to a mutant. We lie to the public, stepmom’s interfere with the perfect nuclear family ideal my dad’s pushing for.”

“If he cares so much about family then why don’t you have your dad’s last name?” A good question, one you had to field a lot when you first started school. 

You give him a sly grin, “Took my mom's maiden name the second I was eighteen, just to piss him off.” There’s no true reason behind it other than being vindictive and petty. “He’s been trying to get me to change it for years but he can’t force me to. Besides, I like having my name separate from theirs. Lets me pretend I’m not a part of the family. Don’t get me wrong, she’s nice and all, we just never really had the chance to bond.”

Someone passes by you. A couple you know you’re supposed to recognize but you can’t place their names. The man calls out your name, coming toward you with his arms open wide. You can see Logan tense up slightly beside you, bodyguard instincts coming out for a moment. 

You squeeze his hand briefly before stepping forward to hug the man. “So nice to see you, again.” You tell him. He grins and squeezes you a little closer to his chest than necessary. 

Logan clears his throat, glaring at the man’s drifting hands. Before either of you can react, Logan is pulling you back, hand resting lightly over the small of your back. He holds his hand out, forcing the man to shake his hand and take his attention off of you.

You can’t hold back the smile on your lips when you see how much smaller the man is under Logan’s intense stare. You’ve gotten used to the men at these events treating you however they want. They don’t see you as a human, you are your father’s accessory and their toy. You envy Logan for how easily he can dismiss these men, take away their larger-than-life personalities, and reduce them to the sniveling rats they truly are. 

He doesn’t even speak, simply tugs you towards the ballroom and away from the man’s wandering hands. You can’t help the stupid smile on your face while you look at him. He glances out the side of his eye and huffs, “What?” He snaps, tone impatient. 

You shrug and shake your head. “Nothing, you’re just…” You trail off, unsure how to continue. You don’t want to make him uncomfortable by telling him how you really feel about him. How deeply you appreciate him, how horribly you desire him. You’re afraid it will all just blow up in your face. That you’ll have truly been reading into everything and gotten his intentions all wrong. After all, he’s made it abundantly clear that there’s meant to be nothing between the two of you except a paycheck. 

You take in a deep breath, smile faltering, “Nothing.” You finally spit out, slipping out of his grasp and walking quicker towards the doors. His hand lingers on your back, fingers trailing slowly down your spine until you’re completely out of his reach. 

The chatter inside gets louder the closer you get to the entrance. You listen to the indiscernible voices, the quartet playing in the corner, and the clink of metal on the glass as they all eat. You straighten out your shoulders and put on your best smile, mentally preparing yourself to keep it stiff on your cheeks for the rest of the night. 

Logan catches up to you, the both of you stopping the second you see the inside of the ballroom. 

People Against Mutants

Evolution or Monstrosities

Parents for the Removal of Mutant Children

Your eyes widen as you take in the banners and signs hanging off the walls. More and more uncreative rhetoric all for the annihilation of mutants. Of people like you and Logan. Your smile drops immediately and you know you should have expected something like this from your father. He’d been refusing to tell you what this gala was for, saying offhandly he was just raising some money. 

You thought it was another charity. Not this. Not people, quite literally, calling for your head. For Logan’s head. You suck in a sharp breath and glance towards the silent man beside you. His jaw is clenched as he takes in all the finely dressed people around you. They’re all laughing and chatting like they’re not actively campaigning for the destruction of children. 

“Bar?” You ask, already walking towards it. 

“Sounds good to me.” His hand is on your back again and you’re grateful for it. The glower on his face, the attitude that screams I don’t belong here keeps people away from you. He shoulders through the men huddling around the bar, forcefully clearing space for the two of you. 

And when they turn around, posturing like they’re going to say something, he only has to look at them for them to retreat with their tails tucked. It’s ridiculously attractive seeing someone command these men so easily. 

“Whiskey,” Logan grumbles, he looks back at you and you slide beside him, leaning your elbows against the cool counter. 

“Just champagne, please,” you tell the bartender. He nods, quickly making your drinks and handing them to you. You turn with the flute in your hand, surveying the room. It feels less like a gala and more like a production of false niceties that will never end and never be genuine. 

“Don’t know how you deal with these fuckers all the time,” Logan mutters, glaring as a man slams into him and keeps walking without apologizing. 

You let out a short huff of laughter, “Honestly,” he glances over at you and you shrug. “I’ve got no fucking clue either.” He scoffs and takes a swig from his glass. But you can’t take your eyes off of him. You feel the words on the tip of your tongue, weighing you down until you feel like you have no choice but to spit them out. 

“You,” his brows quirk up and he glances over at you. You take in a deep breath and start over, nerves making your palms sweaty around the glass. “You make it bearable.”

Logan’s face falls and he sucks in a deep breath. You see the expression on his face, you know what he’s going to tell you. And you hate how apologetic he looks. You especially despise the way he’s making you feel pitied. He’s never done that before and you don’t want him to start now. 

“Don’t,” you tell him before he can say anything. You let out a self-deprecating laugh and place the champagne flute on the bar so you don’t have to look at him. “I know what you’re going to say, alright. So, just, don’t.”

Logan purses his lips and grabs your jaw. You try and jerk your face out of his grasp but he doesn’t let you, he forces you to look at him. He only lets go once you reluctantly make eye contact. You’re surprised by the look on his face. There’s no pity in his gaze like you’d expected. 

This is something else, something darker and more twisted. You can’t put your finger on what exactly you’re seeing but you know it makes your heart race and your thighs clench. “Listen, sweetheart, I-”

“What the hell are you doing?” You jump away from him but Logan just clenches his eyes shut with a short huff of irritated breath. You clear your throat and turn to face your father. He’s glaring between you and Logan, but smiles warmly anytime someone looks your way. “I didn’t bring you here so my contributors could see what a fucking whore you are for the help.”

“Dad!” You exclaim, eyes widening in horror. But Logan doesn’t seem bothered by your father’s words. If anything it seems to incense him, his hand drifting from your jaw to drape itself over the nape of your neck. You try not to show just how much the possessive grip is affecting you but you know they can both tell. 

Your father’s face pinches and he nearly stomps his foot as he looks between you and Logan. He looks like he wants to say something else but your stepmother, thankfully, calls his name. She waves him over towards her and you hold your breath, waiting to see what he’s going to do. 

He takes in short puffs of air, straightening out his suit jacket and glaring at you. “You’re not going to be a fucking wallflower all night, got it?” He doesn’t give you a chance to respond before he’s stomping off. He calls out a warm greeting to someone across the room and you feel like you can finally breathe again. 

You give Logan a tired smile and nod towards the rest of the party. “Time to mingle.”

He laughs, loudly, enough to make people’s heads turn. You can feel your skin heating up from embarrassment and flinch away from the sound. “Sorry, kid, mingling ain’t part of my contract.”

Your jaw drops as you glare at him. “Are you serious?”

He turns back to the bar, flagging down the bartender for a refill. “Deadly,” he tells you firmly, barely looking at you. You roll your eyes and walk away from him, glaring at his back the whole time you do so. 

He thought coming to one of these things, being stuffed in a scratchy suit, would be his worst nightmare. He was proven wrong when he heard them talking to each other. Bitching about golf and their mistresses wanting more attention. Their kids nagging them and their wives being bitches. 

All of it made him want to down a whole bottle of whiskey and then blow his brains out. His worst nightmare turned into ever having to hold a conversation with one of these pricks. 

Then, he turns around, surveying the room for wherever you were lurking. He expects you to be by your father’s side or hiding somewhere in a corner. Instead, you’re standing close -extremely close - to some pretty boy. 

His hand is on your waist and you’re laughing at whatever boring fucking story he’s telling you. Logan tries to pick up on your conversation but there are too many things happening at once already. His senses are on overdrive and he’s already struggling against a migraine. 

He feels something brewing in his gut, something he’s been trying to just shove down for months. He doesn’t know what it is he hates about this picture but it makes him sick to his stomach. He hears something crack and looks down to find the glass of whiskey split on one side. 

“Shit,” he hisses, slamming the glass on the bar behind him. He shakes his hand out and tries to unclench his fists but it’s hard. He couldn’t have possibly been standing here long enough for you to suddenly find the love of your life. Why the fuck are the two of you so close?

This was so unlike you. Rarely did you ever have something good to say about the men you would encounter at these things. He’d heard you bitch about it enough times. Something about this isn’t adding up and he doesn’t know if it’s his own jealousy or intuition. 

Still, he finds himself pushing away from the bar and stalking towards you both. Closer, he can finally see what the problem is. Your hands are on the guy's chest but you aren’t leaning against him, you’re actively trying to push him away. 

It makes Logan’s blood boil, jaw clenching as he tries to keep himself at bay. He didn’t want to cave some kid’s head in in the middle of the gala. But the closer he got the clearer he could hear your hissed warnings to take his hands off of you. 

Logan finally reaches you and the look of sheer relief on your face makes him want to bring the claws out. He’d love to see that smug smirk ripped off his face, but he holds back. If only so he doesn’t traumatize you. 

“Alright, bub, hands off,” he warns. 

“Why don’t you just leave us alone?” He had to give it to the kid, he’s got balls. Rarely did anyone ever buck up to him like this. Normally, he might entertain him a bit, drag this on longer than necessary to get a kick out of it. 

But he still hasn’t taken his hands off of you and Logan’s not interested in fucking around tonight. Without a word, he grabs the kid by the collar of his jacket and tosses him away from you. 

He lands roughly on the floor with a loud gasp and people turn to look. Logan pays no mind to the onlookers. He places his hand on your back and leads you out of the ballroom, unwilling to have eyes on you for the rest of this conversation. 

“Logan,” you start, tone nervous. 

“Don’t,” he snaps. He regrets it immediately from the way you jump in surprise. He lets out a rough sigh, running his hand down his face, and walks through the first door he finds. “I’m sorry, kid, I just-”

“Logan,” you cut him off. The tone of your voice is enough to get him to finally look at you. Your arms are crossed and you’re glaring at him. “Why the fuck did you drag us into a closet?”

His brows furrow in confusion and he glances around, finally realizing what he walked into, “Fuck,” he hisses. He gropes blindly around the room for a light switch. There’s a small click and then an unflattering fluorescent light is shining down on you both. He’s managed to drag you both into a small, incredibly cramped, cleaning closet.  

You’re grimacing as you push a few mops away from your head. You look over at him and something about the look on his face must be funny because you start to laugh. “What were you thinking?”

Your smile makes one curl up on his own lips. He can’t help it, something about you eases a bit of the tightness constantly lurking inside him. “Thought it was one of those stuffy conference rooms.”

You scoff and reach for the handle, “Just a stuffy closest, good going, Logan.” You roll your eyes and tug on the knob. Your brows furrow together as you jiggle the handle every which way, desperately pulling on it. 

“Move over,” Logan mutters, nudging you to the side. He wraps his hand around the handle and yanks on it, expecting the door to swing open. When it doesn’t his face falls. 

“Did you miraculously unlock it, genius?” You demand sarcastically. Logan feels his shoulders tense up, frustration levels steadily rising. He’s already got a shit temper, he doesn’t need you adding to this. 

“No,” he snipes, “but I don’t see you coming up with any wonderful solutions.”

You throw your hands up in the air, wincing when your elbow collides with the shelving unit behind you. “I didn’t drag us into this mess! Why did you even come in here?” You demand and he can see how angry you are. 

It shows in the way you tapped your heeled feet against the floor and glower at him like he’s the bane of your existence. He doesn’t know what happens, what comes over him, or why this is the moment he chooses to break his rule. 

Your back slams into the shelves behind you and you gasp as he surges towards you. His hands come up to cup your cheeks and before you get a chance to question him, his mouth is covering your own. Logan buries his hand in your hair, ruining the perfectly styled curls. You don’t seem to mind much if the way you arch into him is anything to go by. 

His tongue runs across the seam of your lips, tasting the cherry-flavored gloss you’d applied earlier. He wants to devour you. Consume you body and soul, take everything you have to give, and then keep going. He doesn’t want to stop, but he’s not sure he wants the first place you have sex to be in a janitor’s closet. 

He pulls back, tugging you back when you try to chase his lips with your own. “Shouldn’t do this here,” he mutters. He’s struggling to hold back. And when you look up at him, lips swollen from his kiss, and you mutter why, how is he meant to resist?

He tugs you away from the shelves, pushing you against the door so he doesn’t have to see your face twist up in pain every time the corner digs into your lower back. Your hands drop down to his belt, lips desperately carving a path down his neck. 

He’d laugh at your eagerness if he wasn’t just as desperate for you. He reaches for the hem of your dress but it’s one of those floor-length gowns with no slits. He struggled for a minute before getting too impatient and just muttering, “Fuck it.”

You gasp when you feel the metal of his claw against your leg, eyes dropping down to watch as he makes himself a slit. He slices the fabric along your thigh and then just rips it. “Logan,” you hiss as he hikes the silk over your hips. 

“Something wrong, sweetheart?” You glare at him, eyes darting between him and his pants before you finally shake your head. He laughs slightly, hand drifting under your dress and reveling in the way you shiver under his touch. “Yeah,” he whispers, “that’s what I thought.”

His fingers move gently along your thighs, easing you into his touch. You let out breathy whimpers, tucking your face in his neck the closer he gets to your core. He lets his hand drift lower, searching out the band of your underwear. 

He’s pleasantly surprised when he’s met with nothing but you dripping for him. “Shit, you’re not wearing any underwear?”

You freeze and keep your face stubbornly buried in his neck. Logan laughs slightly, tugging you back and forcing you to look up at him. You mumble something under your breath. It’s said so quickly he can barely understand you. “What was that?”

“Ugh, god, Logan.” You groan and let your eyes drop down to his shirt, fiddling with the end of his tie. “I was hoping this would happen.”

When he doesn’t say anything your face shifts, worry gnawing away at you. You glance up at him and are surprised by the intensity of his gaze. He’s staring down at you like he wants to eat you whole. His pupils have consumed all the color of his eyes, there’s nothing but want on his face. 

“You wanna know why I agreed to come with you, kid?”

Your mind is completely dulled just by being this close to him. It takes you a moment to process what he’s saying before you nod your head. “Why?”

The look on his face reminds you of a wolf guarding its territory. It’s predatorial, animalistic, it makes you want him even more. “I didn’t want any of these little boys getting a chance to have their hands on you.” His gaze drops down to your lips and he leans in until your breaths are mingling together. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you.” He dips his head down and his kiss isn’t as intense as it was the first time. His lips move lazily over your own, tongue stroking against yours like he’s savoring the taste. 

You can taste the whiskey he’d drank earlier, can still smell cigars on his breath. It should be revolting, you’ve never liked kissing smokers. But there is something so intoxicating about him. Everything he does is enchanting to you. 

It’s a naive train of thought but you trust him wholly. He could do whatever he wanted to you and you’d let him willingly. His hands continue their exploration down your body and you can’t help but arch into his touch. His fingers stroke languidly over your center and you moan into his mouth. 

Your lips part with little gasps and your head thunks loudly against the door. Neither of you notice or care, you’ve all but forgotten the gala outside. The government employees and rich socialites that you’re supposed to be entertaining. 

And when he slips a finger inside you, you don’t care who hears you call out his name. The rough pad of his finger creates a feeling you’ve never been able to produce on your own. There’s something so exhilarating about this whole situation. 

Stuck in this tiny closet, no air to breathe but each other’s. No room for anything other than your bodies pressed as closely together as possible. You're completely surrounded by him and you never want to leave. 

“Logan,” you gasp out his name and shove at his shoulders. He momentarily stops his ministrations, giving you a worried look. “Please, I just want you.” You tug at his wrist, hissing when his fingers leave you with a lewd pop. 

He looks hesitant, but you can see the way he’s straining against his boxers. You let your hand trail down his stomach, palming him through the thin fabric. His hips buck into your hands and he lets out the most attractive noise you’ve ever heard. You’ve always liked guys who aren’t afraid to be vocal. 

“Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he whispers. He swats your hands to the sides, tugging his boxers down and squeezing your hips hard enough to bruise. “Come on, up.”

You jump and he slings your legs around his waist, lining himself up with your entrance. He drags you slowly down his cock, resting your back against the door and giving a hesitant thrust inside you. 

You can’t help the low groan that leaves your parted lips. It’s like you’re full of nothing but him. You’d been mentally prepared for the stretch he would present, but you probably should have given him more time to warn you up. 

You don’t care though, this is all you’ve been craving for months. To feel nothing, taste nothing but him. You’ve been praying that he feels the same way you do, and if the look on his face is anything to go by, he does. 

He looks completely wrecked, head resting on your shoulder while you both take a breath. It’s overwhelming, this feeling of finally having what you’ve always wanted. Someone you can give yourself to completely and still feel safe with them. 

You drag your hand up his back, burying it in his hair and reveling in how soft it is. You tug him back by the roots, tilting his neck until he’s forced to look at you. Your gaze drops to his reddened lips and you smile at the gloss you’ve smeared across his chin. 

“Come on, Logan, don’t tell me you’re all talk.”

His eyes narrow but you can see the amusement swimming within them. “You’re gonna regret that.”

“Oh, yeah?” You goad, grinding your hips down against his and biting your lip hard enough to draw blood. You’re trying not to make a noise, trying to make sure he doesn’t see just how much he’s affecting you. But you can already feel your orgasm forming, it’s a low tingle in the tips of your toes, a burning hot desire rushing through your thighs as you clench around him. 

“Yeah,” he promises, thrusting sharply into you. This time the moan is forced out of you, your lips parting unbidden as you slump over him, burying your face in his neck. He doesn’t waste any time, using your hips as handles to pump you over his cock like you’re nothing more than a toy. 

The door rattles behind you, each thrust of his hips makes it shake in its frame. His hands fist the back of your dress, grip so tight you think it might tear. You don’t care. He could rip it off of you and you’d walk outside naked right now. 

You don’t care what happens, not when he’s beside you. There’s a feeling of security that comes from being around Logan and you can feel it in this moment. You trust him to take care of you in every way. 

Maybe you shouldn’t. After all, you two haven’t known each other long. But there’s not much you’re worried about when he’s moving steadily inside you. You can taste the desperation you share for each other in each pump of his hips. 

He whispers it into your ear while you claw at his back. The shelves around you shake and you worry you might bring them down if you can’t rope yourself in. But you can feel the wave building in the back of your throat, your vision blurring as you tighten your legs around his waist and begin to match his rhythm. 

“There you go,” he mutters, pinning you to the door and keeping your hips still while he moves inside you. “Come on, I can feel you clenching around me, sweetheart.” He manages to hold you up with one hand, the other diving between your legs to rub tight circles around your bundle of nerves. 

It doesn’t take much longer for your muscles to seize up, back bowing as you clench desperately around him. “Oh, fuck, Logan,” you shout his name, and his hand quickly comes up to smother your cries. He squeezes your cheeks until your eyes snap open and he drags you down to meet his gaze. 

“Don’t want to lose my job, need you to be quiet for me,” he grunts out, his tone breathy and strained. He loses his rhythm, movements speeding up erratically while he lets out low groans and whispers of your name. You almost cum again when he finally finishes inside you. 

Your limbs are twitching in overstimulation by the time his hips still. You feel completely boneless, body slumped lazily in his arms. He wraps both arms around you, squeezing you a little before slowly lifting you off of him. 

It’s a relief of pressure when he pulls out. His cum leaks out of you, dribbling down your thighs and dripping onto the floor of the closest. Your face screws up at the feeling and you internally cringe. No condom was probably a stupid call.

But you don’t really want to think about the repercussions right now. Not when he’s stroking your hair and rubbing a soothing hand down your back, waiting until you can form a coherent sentence before he lets you go. “Alright?” He asks, voice bordering on something smug. 

“Mhm,” you push away from him, legs shaky as you try and straighten out your dress. It’s a loss cause, trying to hide what happened in here at all. You’ve got a tear going up to your hip and you’re pretty sure there are holes in the back. Logan’s tie is gone and you don’t even remember taking that off. His shirt is completely wrinkled and your lip gloss has stained his face. 

You’ve both got horrific sex hair and the room reeks of it. You don’t know how you're going to sneak out of here. You still try and relax your hair, patting down the flyaways while Logan retucks his shirt. 

It’s silent between the two of you, heavy but not awkward. You don’t think either of you knows what to say now that you’ve physically acted on what you want. A sudden thought hits you, makes your heart clench painfully and your tongue ties up in your mouth. 

He’d confirmed that he wanted your body. That he desired you sexually. But you don’t think he actually said anything about a real relationship. There would be problems, of course, your father for one would have a lot to say about it. But you don’t care about that. You don’t care about any of the consequences, you just want to be with him. 

You open your mouth to ask him what he wants when the door swings open. Both you and Logan whip towards it. But where you look like a deer caught in the headlights he looks like the epitome of male pride. 

Especially when he realizes it's your father on the other side. “Dad-” You start, but you have no idea what you could even say. Your dress is in tatters and both you and Logan are still mussed up. There’s no hiding what happened here. 

He doesn’t let you finish, holding up his hand. His voice is eerily calm as he says, “I thought I heard something banging around in here.”

“You did,” Logan scoffs, crossing his arms and glaring at your father. You feel your heart jump to your throat, staring over at him with a horrified look on your face. How could he think that was okay to say? It was so dismissive of what you believed had happened. 

This was more than just a quickie in the dark to you. This meant something, but you’re seriously starting to doubt that it was the same for him as it was for you. And that just makes you feel like the stupid little girl everyone seems to believe you are. 

Your father says your name but you can’t bring yourself to meet his eye. “You’re feeling sick,” he tells you, no room for argument. “Your date had to take you home. It was just too much too soon after the incident at the rally.” When you don’t say anything he shouts out, “Understood?” That makes you jump. 

“Yes,” you clear your throat and face him. “Yes, understood.”

Your father has made his stance on mutants clear. He hates them, despises them to their very being, and wishes he could kill every last one. And as much as you were raised with those ideas, they were never truly turned on you.

But he’s looking at you right now like he wishes you were never born. You feel like shit on his shoe. Something to be hidden away and buried. It makes your shoulders slump like a hundred pounds was just tossed onto your back. 

You try to run past him but he jerks you back, fingers so tight around your bicep you feel the skin tear. You gasp in pain but don’t say anything, too afraid to argue. “Put his jacket on, I won’t have you looking like a whore.” He releases you with a rough shove and storms off. 

You can feel something burning at the back of your eyes. A moment later Logan drops his jacket over your shoulders, pulling you back into his chest and running his hands over your arms. “Come on, kid,” he mutters. There’s something resigned in his voice that makes your heart drop, “Let’s get you home.”

The walk through the lobby feels like you’re walking through a dream. You’re not completely present for it, or the ride home. Your mind and your heart are warring and you feel like you’re going to be torn apart if you keep lingering on what just happened. 

You just can’t understand how you could go from having everything you wanted to feeling like the scum of the earth in less than two minutes. Logan doesn’t speak as he drives you home. His knuckles are turning white around the steering wheel and you’re afraid to even try and start a conversation. 

You don’t want to hear him tell you that he didn’t desire you past your body. You don’t want to discover that you’re just another notch on his belt. He seems to do this a lot, sleep with the girls he guards. The idea of just being another job, another fun night, makes you absolutely disgusted with yourself. 

When he pulls into the driveway of your house you both just sit in the car. Neither of you knows what to say. And the air between you is so thick with tension you feel like you could choke on it. You stare down at your hands, fingers fiddling with the ripped seams of your dress. 

You pick at the threads and feel his stare on you. You can’t do this. You can’t deal with the possibility of rejection. Not after what happened between you and certainly not after what your father said. 

You undo your seat belt and Logan watches as you go through the movements of getting up. His eyes never leave you and it’s like a physical caress, his stare. Normally it would make you warm inside, comforted by his presence. But right now all you can feel is the chill of where his cum has dried between your legs and the icy-hot stab of nausea in your gut. 

You throw the door open and you’re nearly out when he calls out a quiet, “Goodnight.”

You don’t look at him, you can’t. You slam the door shut and walk silently to the front door of your house. You don’t look back, don’t respond, you just slip inside your house and finally let the weight of the night come crashing down on you. 

You don’t cry until you hear him pull out of the driveway. 

Your father and stepmother usually stay at the hotel the night of a gala. Most nights you come home and enjoy the house to yourself for once. Tonight, you’re woken up by the front door slamming so hard your walls shake. 

You can faintly hear your stepmother’s voice trying to console your father. She’s muttering something to him you can’t make out. You shoot out of bed, running to pull some sweatpants on. After you’d cried yourself out you’d taken a shower. 

You’ve scrubbed your skin raw but you swear you can still smell him on you. You rush to your bedroom door, turning the knob quietly and slowly peeking your head outside. Your father’s at the bottom of the stairs, the second he spots your open door he’s screaming your name. 

Your stomach twists painfully and you can feel panic starting to overwhelm you. Your hands shake and your legs are stiff as you slowly step into the hallway. You’re a grown woman. You shouldn’t feel like this because your dad is going to yell at you. 

But he’s been so good at forcing you to rely on him. At forcing you to bend and break to fit his beliefs and mold. You don’t know what to do if you’re not striving for his approval. And right now it’s very clear that he’s never been more disgusted by you. 

If the look on his face isn’t enough to twist the knife deeper, his words are. “I have never,” he screams at you. You take a step back, keeping the stairs between you, refusing to meet him in the middle. “Been more embarrassed to call you my daughter. Do you have any idea how humiliating that was for me? Do you know how many people saw you being dragged outside like a fucking whore off the corner?”

You clench your eyes shut, turning your face away from him as the shame becomes a physical thing inside you. You can feel it making its way up your throat. Because he’s right. Tonight you were nothing more than a slut without any self-respect. 

But you’re also pissed off. You’re fucking enraged at yourself for being so stupid as to ever believe Logan wanted you for anything more than your body. You're mad at Logan for knowing how you feel about him and taking advantage of it. And you’re so fucking tired of doing everything you can to make your father proud and it never being enough. 

“Have you ever once asked me what I want?” You raise your voice, screaming down at him with a ferocity that surprises even you. His eyes widen, frame trembling with unreleased rage. You plow through, not stopping because you know if you do, you’ll never get this out. “No, you haven’t. Not once. Because you don’t fucking love me! And it has taken me years to accept that, to finally realize that you’re incapable of loving anyone but yourself.”

You gasp, the noise wet and painful as something warm trickles down your cheek. You stare down at him with your eyes wide in realization. “It’s so clear to me now, I feel like an idiot for missing it for so long. You never loved me. You’re incapable of it!” 

You’re embarrassed at the way your voice cracks. As much as you want to pretend you’re stronger than him, not afraid of him. There’s still a little girl inside you who wonders why Daddy doesn’t love you. 

“I don’t give a flying fuck what you want, Dad. I don’t care what you want my life to look like or if I embarrassed you. I’m glad I did, glad someone finally saw a sliver of the truth you try so desperately to hide-”

“Enough!” He shouts and it startles you so bad that you jump back, your abilities reacting and a vase behind you flying off the shelf. You duck as glass shatters across the stairs and floor. You glance at the scene with shocked eyes, looking down at your father to see that he’s not even a little bit surprised. 

Instead, he just looks so deeply disappointed that it makes you shrink into yourself. The anger within you is extinguished in a second. He rubs his face, shaking his head and turning his back on you. “Dad?” You call out, voice trembling. 

“Go to your room,” he tells you quietly. “I don’t want to look at you anymore.” You hover by the top of the stairs for a moment, not quite believing him yet. And when he realizes you're still there, that you’re not taking him seriously, he finally looks at you again. 

“I wish every goddamn day that those doctors had just put you down. I’d rather have a dead daughter than one like you.”

You stand there, stunned, even after the rest of the house has gone to bed. You clean up the pieces of glass while you try and swallow down your tears. Let the sharp edges dig into your skin and tear until you can feel any type of pain besides the one inside you. 

A week of solitary confinement. You’re surprised that you haven’t just been kicked out of college. You’re sure that your father’s many donations to the university are the only thing stopping your professors from dropping you from the class. 

You don’t care if they do or not, though. You never actually care about what you studied. You’d just always hoped that it would be a way for you to escape the tight grip around your neck your dad has on you. 

You’ve figured out that no matter how hard you fight, you’ll never escape him. He hates you and yet, he can’t let you go. You’d laugh if you weren’t busy wallowing in your depression. 

Someone keeps leaving food by your door but you can’t find it in yourself to be hungry. You’ll nibble on something, but you feel like you’re going to throw up when you so much as breathe the wrong way. 

You haven’t heard from Logan since that night. You knew your father would fire him the second he woke up. But you’d held out hope - foolishly - that he might still try and reach out to you. You have this childish image in your head of the prince coming to rescue the princess from the dragon. 

But you’ve been naive your whole life, you don’t want to keep going down this road. You don’t want to keep expecting the best of people and live your life in perpetual disappointment. 

You haven’t seen or spoken to your father since that night. Wordlessly, he’d banned you to your room. No one’s said it, but you know you’re not allowed to come out. You don’t know when he’s going to deem you useful again and drag you back out into the public eye. 

Contrary to his belief, no one had seen you leave that night with Logan. You hadn’t been in any tabloids or shitty news articles. Besides emotional estrangement from your father and losing the only guy you’ve ever really liked, there were no consequences to your whorish behavior - as your father so lovingly puts it. 

You roll over in your bed and picture yourself taking a shower. It feels like such a workout but you can’t stand lying in your sweat and tears for much longer. With a long drawn-out groan, you throw yourself out of bed and enter the bathroom connected to your room. 

You know you’ll feel better afterward, but everything besides sleep sounds like too much work. Still, you force yourself inside and finally clean the grime of laying on your ass for a week off. 

You walk naked through your room, making a beeline for your dresser. You feel a little better after washing yourself off and moisturizing. But not much. Physical health can only do so much for how you feel inside. 

You hope this will blow over soon, you’re not sure how much longer you can take feeling so awful. You hate pitying yourself, and that’s exactly what you’re doing right now. You huff irritatedly, digging around your drawers for your favorite shirt. 

A hand clamps around your mouth, rough and big, yanking you back into a muscled chest and keeping you quiet. You still try and scream, hands clawing at the skin of their hand until you feel blood. 

“Fuck, quit that, would ya?”

Your erratic movements slowly come to a halt. You still feel your heart pounding against your chest, adrenaline warming your blood and making you feel like you're on fire from the inside out. But, you recognize the voice, recognize there’s no danger to the situation. 

That doesn’t make you any less pissed off. When Logan is sure you won’t keep attacking him, he lets you go slowly. You immediately whirl around on him, uncaring that you’re still naked. Energy moves quickly through you, becoming a physical thing under your skin. 

He smiles at you and you push the energy out, throwing him across your room. He flies into your bookshelf, crashing to the ground with a loud slam. “What the fuck are you doing?” You scream at him. 

There’s no one home right now, luckily, or else you both would be screwed. He shakes his head off, brushing pieces of wood out of his hair and slowly getting to his feet. “Well, I was coming to say hi-”

“You say hi by ambushing naked girls?” You interrupt, grabbing the clothes closest to you and pulling them on quickly. 

Logan rolls his neck out and shrugs. “No, that was just a plus,” he gives you that insufferable smirk and you want to scream. 

This is the first time you see him in a week since you had sex together and your father officially disowned you. And this is what he’s leading with? Seriously? “You’re a real fucking prince, Logan.” You shake your head with a scoff and glare at him.

He narrows his eyes, looking to be in disbelief at your attitude. “What happened?” You expect to hear irritation in his tone. Anger that you’re being such a bitch right now. Instead, he sounds concerned, like he can see right through you. 

You hate that. You used to love having someone who could see past all the pretenses and walls, but it just hurts now. “Nothing,” you tell him, unable to hold eye contact any longer. “Look,” you take in a deep breath, and your brows furrow in confusion. “How the hell did you even get in here?”

Logan doesn’t look like he wants to drop the topic just yet but he relents. He nods towards your window and you fix him with an astonished look. “I climbed, I didn’t want your dad to risk seeing me on the security cameras out front.”

You feel suspicion brewing inside you, tone turning defensive. “Look, if you came here because you want to fuck again, I suggest you go find another girl. I’m not interested anymore.”

“Well,” he scoffs, “I find that hard to believe.” How easily he just dismisses your words. Like they hold no real importance. It makes you want to scream. Instead, you just flick your wrist, throwing him into another wall. You don’t know how you’re going to explain these holes in the wall to your father but you don’t really care. 

“Enough,” he snaps, brushing himself off and glaring at you. Your lips curl up in amusement, the first thing you’ve felt besides anger and depression for the last week. “Look, I was coming here to get you the hell out, kid. Clearly, I’m not wanted.”

He walks towards your window, intent on climbing back down the side of your house and leaving. You almost let him, if only to see him scurrying down the wall. Instead, you take a step forward and stop him with a small, “Get me out?”

He sighs, running an aggrieved hand over his face and propping the other on his hip. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Look, I can’t stand the thought of you cooped up in here, isolated from the rest of the world. It’s not fair, I was gonna see if you…” He trails off and roughly swallows. 

Your interest piques. Whatever is this hard for him to get out has to be interesting. “Logan,” you call his name softly. “See if I what?”

He huffs out a rough breath, turning around and staring you down. There’s something in his eyes, something reflected in yours. He’s looking at you the same way you always look at him. “You wanna come with me, kid?”

Well, you’d have to be an idiot to say no. 

You don’t leave a note. You don’t give them any clues or hints as to where you might have gone. They can draw their own conclusions about what happened to you. They can tell the news whatever twisted lies they want. 

You don’t care, that’s not your life anymore. Your life is packed away in a backpack in the back of Logan’s trailer. Your new life is in the passenger seat beside him. You’re equal parts terrified and excited to figure out what you’re going to do with the rest of it. 

a/n: can you tell I know fuck all about politics?

Also, smut, wow, this was hard and rough to write. I don’t know why it’s such a struggle. I just feel guilty writing such dirty words, it’s absolutely diabolical that I have no problem being crazy over a guy whose age gap with me is the same age as my parents, but I can’t write smut.

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

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