#it’s been sitting in my head for like a year and a half now
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𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐒𝐊 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒.
this is a repost from my old blog. original post was 1,186 notes.
pairing(s): steve harrington x shy!reader
words: 1705
warnings/tags: best friends to lovers, mentions of food, shy!reader.
“stevie?” you ask into the empty air, tearing your eyes away from the view in steve’s passenger seat as you previously pondered silently. “mhm?” is all he mumbles back, to show he’s listening while scooping another spoonful of the chocolate ice cream from his tub.
you weren’t sure why you were having ice cream on a cold winter’s night, but steve had suggested it and you never tend to question steve’s random motives as such. your half-eaten raspberry tub rests on your lap, slightly melted from neglect during the reverie you coaxed yourself into. parked atop a hill overlooking the town below the moonlight.
you don’t continue at first, looking down to your knee which now bounces anxiously. and with the extra space of silence, steve looks up from his ice cream, eyes peeking beneath the strands of hair that poke his face.
sitting the tub into one cup holder, steve moves back against his seat, one hand beginning to drum the steering wheel aimlessly while he watches your body language. “you don’t like it? thought it was one of your favourites?” steve continues worriedly, and nods towards the dessert in your hands.
you shake your head, ushering it into the cup holder beside his with a very small, “no, no. i do… i’ll have it in a second.”
“okay.”
the car falls silent again, steve watches as you slump against your seat and lose yourself in the view again. however, steve can tell it isn’t the landscape you’re thinking of, but if only he could pinpoint exactly what you were thinking.
penny for your thoughts, steve thinks and hesitates upon saying. in the end leaving you be at first, instead reaching a hand over to your restless knee and it suddenly stops moving. steve squeezes it affectionately, a small message that he’s still listening as he turns down the radio ever so slightly.
“what was your first kiss like?” you splutter all of a sudden, voice quiet and a deep nervous inhale following. steve wasn’t expecting it, eyes blinking and eyebrows raising as he processes the question. he taps your knee once more before moving his hand back to his lap, and you immediately miss the warmth.
“eighth grade with vanessa johnson. i freaked out so bad i bit her lip and she never spoke to me again.”
with steve’s statement you giggle. of course he did just that. “you bit her?” you repeat, hand covering your mouth as more laughter falls from your lips, and steve joins you with an amused nod, “sure did.”
your hand falls from your mouth while you lean your head back to face the car roof, laughter slowly falling back down and steve can only watch you with the fondest smile. “do you bite every girl you kiss?”
“no. funnily enough it was an accident and she hated my guts for it,” steve responds to your teasing with another chuckle emitting his throat. your head tilts to the side, cheek pressed to your shoulder as you look over at him, his gaze intoxicating as he smiles so warmly towards you.
“i got much better, y’know?” steve smirks, ego boosting himself. “i know,” you reply without thinking and steve pulls a face, confusion and amusement packed into one before nudging your arm gently, “what do you mean you know?”
you laugh again, embarrassed and quietly when you reply, “high school girls locker room. steve harrington was the topic of conversation most days before gym class for the popular girls.” steve grimaces, unamused and worried about the fact that you had heard those conversations about steve’s kissing techniques.
“god, high school. don’t miss it a bit.”
you don’t reply. looking out the passenger door window and to the couple of cars upon that side, distractedly staring as you sigh sadly. and steve’s not an idiot. he’s your best friend and also someone who’s been infatuated with you for years, he can tell what you’re thinking this time.
“it’ll happen, you just need to find the right person.”
your first kiss. still in your twenties without having ever kissed someone, while others around you were now in serious relationships.
you close your eyes and sigh at steve’s words. that’s the problem; you have always had the right person but you’re too terrified to make the first move. the unbearable fear that steve wouldn’t like you back was excruciating while he dated several girls during your friendship that you hoped he would be brave enough to do something instead.
maybe he just wasn’t interested in you that way. since he had no problem asking all those other girls out, as far as you can tell.
“i have an idea.”
steve’s quiet and patient to match your timid voice, you can usually get more shy in conversations you’re scared of and he’s willing to hear you out. but when is he never. “yeah?” is all he asks, practically a whisper.
your words get lodged in your throat, how are you supposed to ask your best friend to kiss you? that’s not easy. what if he hates you after? what if he thinks you’re impatient? or what if it ruins your friendship?
you wave yourself off, cringing on yourself and about to change the subject completely while leaning a hand down for your tub of ice cream but steve grips your hand and bends his head down to meet your gaze.
“hey, hey, hey. you can tell me your idea. i won’t judge you.”
“i don’t know, steve, i—” steve turns, his body facing yours while he grips your other free hand and you follow his movements to face him more clearer. the car light was on while you previously ate and it illuminated the tanned skin upon his face, showing off the sweet dark freckles spotted across his cheek and neck.
“i know who i want to be my first kiss.”
your forehead falls into you and steve’s held hands, embarrassed while a small ‘o’ shape forms on steve’s mouth as he thinks. “oh,” is all steve says, a pang of hurt sprawling across his chest rapidly at the realisation of... someone. someone.
before you can lift your head to ramble an apology about how stupid it is, steve beats you to it by holding onto his pride and storing away his sadness. “any guy would be so lucky to have you, yeah? so lucky, baby. and if you know who you want to be your first kiss, i say go for it.”
steve’s ready to continue, busy trying to seem like he’s okay with this idea and not noticing that you lift your head back up to look at him properly. he doesn’t notice the way you squeeze his gripping hands or giggle at his rushed voice, he doesn’t notice anything until you say, “steve.”
it’s quiet. your voice barely audible but steve thanks his good hearing because he immediately cuts himself off to listen to you. your faces are close, his pupils rapidly moving when they scan over your features as if he’s figuring out what you’re trying to say.
“what, baby?”
“steve.” you say again, tone knowing and desperate and almost a hint of feeling shameful and steve’s eyes widen when yours fleet to his lips for the shortest second. this can’t be real, steve thinks. there’s no way.
you huff when he still sits still, hands keep holding yours tightly, “don’t make me say it,” you whine and steve chuckles. he tilts his head down, forehead pressed against yours as he replies, “oh, but i want you to say it. please say it.”
you can feel the warmth spread to your face as another shy whine threatens to break your throat, but just as you move your head in an attempt to tuck it into his neck, steve’s hands are shuffling from yours so he’s cupping your face.
“it’s okay, baby. it’s okay. i can do it, i’ll gladly do it. if you want me to?” his thumbs swipe your skin so delicately and his eyes are gazing with such a genuine stare that you feel you might crumble. with a nod, there’s a strangled sentence you let out, “y-yes. i do, stevie.”
he chuckles once more, a mixture of how cute he thinks you are but also in disbelief that he’s about to kiss you.
steve’s so slow, head tilting as he leans forward so his nose runs across your skin and you can feel the ghost of his lips closer and closer. in a warm daze, you whisper into the cold car when steve’s lips touch the corner of yours, “don’t bite me.”
you feel the curve of his smile while his nose drags down your face so he’s tucked under your jaw, both of your chests heaving with laughter. your hands reach up so they are holding onto his wrists, and he looks back up at your cupped face, “no promises, you’ll probably taste of raspberry ice cream.”
this time steve’s patience isn’t as strong, leaning forward to crash his lips against yours in what you believe will be most breath-taking kiss you could ever receive. corners of both your lips threaten to smile as you feel the sparks within your chest and squeeze the skin of his wrists.
he tastes of chocolate from his ice cream and the coffee he had earlier on and you go light-headed at the thought, never wanting to pull away. he’s so sweet and slow, lips guiding yours against his so tenderly that you pray to god it won’t be the last steve harrington kiss you receive.
you both reluctantly pull away, lungs begging to be filled with air but steve only pulls away for a moment before pecking your lips again. your mind feels foggy from the gesture that you almost don’t notice the nip to your bottom lip as steve pulls away.
you gasp mockingly, opening your eyes with steve’s smug smirk, turning his palms from your face so he can hold yours again, resting them against your lap. “i was right,” steve says, leaning forward when you dip your head to contain your happiness.
“you taste like raspberries,” steve murmurs just as happily against your lips.
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#➵ amorchai works ౨ৎ#stranger things ⁑ steve harrington ᡣ𐭩#steve harrington#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington imagine#stranger things#steve harrington x you#steve harrington fandom
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Butterfly, Fly Away (part one)
Aizawa feels out of breath. Despite the fact that he drove to the daycare center, it feels like he ran the whole way. He doesn’t run inside, but he does do an awkward half jog to get in there quickly without looking like some sort of lunatic.
The room, as expected, is a disaster. Kids are crying. Drawings have been torn up and thrown around, chairs have been overturned. Eri is at the center of it all, with an uninterrupted scream at the top of her lungs that he’s sure has lasted at least a full minute by the way her red face is slowly starting to show hints of purple.
Eri has been kicked out of another daycare.
She skips alongside him merrily as he walks back to the car with him, her little purple bag in one hand while the other holds her own pudgy little palm. You would think that she was a perfectly well behaved little angel if you saw her now, no traces left of her hurricane of an outburst mere minutes ago.
There was a familiar throbbing pain forming like a tight band around his skull.
Once they were in the car, Eri kicking her feet in her carseat and playing with the straps of her bag, Aizawa couldn’t help but spare glances at her in the rearview mirror when he stopped at all the stop signs on the way back to the high school. His daughter was the best, most important thing in his life. He loved her more than anything, no matter what. He just didn’t know what to do with her anymore.
As he parked in his designated spot, five minutes left of his lunch break, Eri hurriedly tried to unbuckled her carseat before Aizawa could get to her. It was a game she liked to play, despite the fact that her clumsy fingers hadn’t yet grown strong enough to fully press the big red button that released the clips. But Aizawa didn’t get out of the car to come around and unbuckle her yet.
“Hurry daddy!” she taunts, grunting as her fingers slip as they always do. “I’m gonna beat you this time!”
“What happened, Eri?”
She paused, looking up at him with those eyes that look almost too big for her head in the sweetest way. She looked unphased. Unashamed, unapologetic.
“I didn’t like it there,” was the simple answer she gave. “Daycare is stupid.”
“But honey,” he sighed, “you know that you have to go. And don’t use the word stupid, please.”
The little girl starts to shift uncomfortably in her seat, no longer trying to unbuckle her restrictive straps, but attempting to pull them down her shoulders instead.
“Why?” she asks, an edge beginning to form where a smooth curve used to exist in her voice. “Why can’t I just come with you to big kid school?”
“Because next year you’ll have to start going to kindergarten, so you can learn new things and make friends. I won’t be able to just drop everything and come get you. Instead you’ll be forced to either sit in your classroom or sit in the principal’s office for hours until big kid school is done.”
Eri slumps in her seat. The tears are welling in her eyes and Aizawa has to look above her head in order to keep talking with her.
“This is the fourth daycare you’ve been kicked out of, honey. That’s not good.”
Eri turns her face away. “Guess you’ll have to maybe take me to a new one then,” she says.
“I can’t.” At this she perks up, catching the feeling of excitement in those little hands of hers before it slips from her grasp and runs off when she sees her dad do that thing where he drags his hand down the entirety of his face and then rubs at his scruffy jaw. “This was the last daycare in our area that I can afford. No more daycares.”
“So I’ll have to come to school with you now, right?” she asks, hopeful eyes shining with a few embarrassed tears that hadn’t yet gone away.
Aizawa doesn’t say anything. He gets out of the car, opens her door, and helps her out of her seatbelt.
“Come on,” he says, holding her bag in one hand and her palm in the other. “Today you get to watch my students take a pop quiz.”
Class 1-A loves Eri. They love to dote on her, like she’s their princess and they are nothing but her humble servants. They don’t bat an eye when she shows up during the second half of the day anymore, used to their visibly stressed teacher sitting her down with coloring pages and an old cd player (there’s no way in hell he would ever put an ipad in her hands) in a poor attempt at a fort under his desk. They felt bad for him, really, knowing how hard he’s had it since…
They also like to sneak little snacks and fidget toys to her when he’s not looking. They get passed down the rows of desks like contraband, making a wide loop around the goody-goodies that rat them out. They think they’re helping, really they do. And it’s endearing. But it makes it more difficult for him, in all actuality, when he’s trying to convince Eri that his classroom is not the place for her to be and they’re doing everything to make it friendly for her. They even stopped swearing when Eri made her little visits. (At least, they tried their best.)
“They’re like her gang of babysitters,” Aizawa explains to Mic as he pulls out a bottle of scotch from the baby proofed cupboard above the fridge and two glasses. Eri had been put to bed an hour prior, after having her bath and getting her hair braided and insisting on TWO stories tonight; one from her dad and one from her godfather. “It just makes her want to be there even more.”
“Maybe that’s what you two need,” Mic says from the sofa, helping himself to some chips and dip.
“What?”
“You know, a babysitter,” the blond elaborates. “Or a nanny, in this case.”
Aizawa’s brow furrows. His lips turn down. Mic can already tell this is going to take a lot of selling. “What’s the difference?”
“Nannies do more,” Mic says, his mouth partially full. He gave up on manners around Aizawa sometime around… well, they met in middle school, so he probably never had them in the first place. “Babysitters are for, like, date nights and stuff.”
“I definitely don’t need one of those,” Aizawa grumbles, handing Mic his glass before settling onto the couch himself.
“Nannies are more long term,” Mic continues, not addressing the comment, “they would stay with her at home the whole day while you work, maybe do some tidying or run some errands for you. It’s like daycare, but more personal and actually not at all like daycare. You just have someone watching your kid all day.”
Aizawa groans, gulping down most of his drink in one go. “I don’t want some stranger in my house alone with my kid. That sounds terrible.”
“Man, they call them nanny cams for a reason. And when you use the websites they do background checks.”
“How do you know so much about nannies?” Aizawa asks suspiciously. Mic had no kids. He had no nieces or nephews. All he had were a bunch of elementary school students singing the same ten annoying songs off key.
“Remember the lady with the two kids I was hooking up with while they were with their dad? She had a nanny.”
“And how long after you stopped seeing the mom did you start sleeping with the nanny?” Aizawa asked, an eyebrow raised.
“Hey, it’s completely a coincidence that I met her nanny out at a bar one night, okay? Swear on my life. Not like I ever met her before then, I never met the kids!”
“Whatever,” Aizawa says, downing the last of his drink before pouring another. “I’m not getting a nanny.”
“You at least gotta think about it,” Mic says, “you don’t have many other choices here. Unless you want to call your mom and have her-”
“Absolutely not.”
“Then I recommend you take the weekend to research nanny websites,” Mic says. “You can’t bring your kid to work with you every day. It’s not good for her. It’s not good for you.” Mic leaves his unfinished drink on the coffee table, knowing Aizawa will just drink the rest himself after he leaves. “I should tuck in for the night. Think about it, alright? And I’m right down the street if you ever need anything. And-”
“Good night, Mic.”
“Later.”
Aizawa stays on the couch, sitting in the same spot, staring at the wall in front of him for an hour before he finally sighs to himself.
“Don’t have many other choices,” he grumbles as he pulls his laptop out of his work bag and starts his google search, Mic’s unfinished glass of scotch in hand.
‘best nanny websites’
#posts from the meadow 🌼#shota aizawa x reader#aizawa shota x reader#aizawa x reader#mha x reader#my hero academia x reader#bnha x reader#boku no hero academia x reader#no reader in this part because it's setting up the actual story but are we seeing the vision
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Soooooo I finally got some free time 😃✊ here’s your order of bllk characters with their short s/o with a side of some suggestive interactions 🤌. I’m making it a short series since I probably can’t finish so many characters in one sitting, so tell me if there is anyone specific you’re looking for. I’m gonna start off with my favourites, humour me.
***
1. Size doesn’t matter. I mean your height- your height doesn’t matter.
-Isagi definitely, but also anyone else who might fit this category like Bachira, Kunigami and maybe Niko + Any character from other shows that you think might fit, ignoring the mention of the bllk program <3
The first time you encountered him, the two of you were around only 11 years of age. You had been walking by the park, back home after school, when a ball had come flying at your face, knocking you squarely in the jaw. You had two broken teeth because of this, and the boy who had kicked the ball, our little sweetheart, had insisted on taking you to his home, bawling his eyes out all the way for no good reason, while you intermittently spat what blood was spilling from your gums, freaked out by the little crybaby.
Once all that confusion and worry had passed by, your parents had been given his address so that they could come pick you up.
And that was how you’d snatched a place in his life. That and the fact that once you had managed to get your hands on his address, you would randomly drop by his house on your way home, uninvited, scare the living daylight’s out of him, gratefully accept what titbits his mother would humorously provide you with, give his father a salute on your way out and never bring up the visit again.
Over the next three years, the two of you had gained a reputation as a pair, and it was a well known fact that wherever one of you were, the other was bound to be close by. So much so that your school teachers often questioned one of you when the other was absent to class.
You had grown fond of the silly boy you had met by chance and had often made him extremely flustered with your quite direct flirting conquests, while he hid behind his hands like maiden.
This was quite hilarious to due to the fact that over the years you had remained a short, skinny kid, where as the other boy had out grown you and was now both taller and more muscular due to his football training.
Your friendship came to an abrupt pause as you were to move across the world for your father’s job, with only a week’s notice to make the most of your time with the other boy.
In a moment of childish desperation, the boy had confessed to you asked you out on a date which earned him a good thwack on the head. For what joy was he asking when you were moving half way across the world in a few days and were going to return god knows when. But you had agreed nonetheless, admitting that you liked him too and that you wanted to make the most of your time with him. Ah. Young love.
Four years passed as you lived your life abroad, finishing high school, making new friends, having fun, not growing any taller, but most importantly, you had kept yourself up to date on the events happening in blue lock. Since when did your silly boy get so… egotistical? It was concerningly endearing.
Finally, you received news that you would be moving back to Japan, back into your old house, by yourself, to pursue your studies in psychology and you desperately hoped that he hadn’t moved in that time. The Blue lock program had ended a year ago, and he might have been selected for a team somewhere across the world.
Your fears dissolved into confusion then disbelief as you were met with the sight of the same boy waiting for you at the airport, with a stupid grin on his face, which was doing nothing to hide how obviously he was trying not to cry like the way you used to tease him about.
The second he laid his eyes on you he broke into a sprint, crashing into you as you tumbled over the luggage, putting your arms around him and spinning him around, bursting into laughter as his feet dragged around behind him. He had annoyingly gotten taller.
The two of you had somehow managed to get to his car before you gently pushed him against the door, crashing your lips onto his as he slid down against the door, lowering himself to your height.
Like I said, height doesn’t matter in your relationship. He’s more than eager to kneel to you. You’re the boyfriend.
***
Next up- the boys who think that since they’re taller, they’re the man in the relationship. They get put in their place 🪭. I’ll post it by next week. Probably.
#hissykat <3#blue lock#bllk x reader#blue lock x reader#bllk#top male reader#short male reader#short dom reader#fanfic#hsr#honkai star rail#tgcf#mxtx svsss#svsss#star rail#wuwa x male reader#hsr x male reader#💬 anon#👅 anon
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Massage(ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 1/2)
Manipulation of tissue in the course of preparation of the body
“Forgive me if I come across as overly familiar, dear, but I feel I must ask: are you nervous?” Her eyes darted from his, looked at his hands, his wine glass, his own half-finished salad - anywhere but at him. “I… I uh…” Andraste’s ashes, she felt like a dull-minded idiot whenever she opened her mouth around him.
My sensual take on Rook's dinner date with Emmrich, and how it lead to them sleeping together for the first time.
Rating: Explicit
Under the cut or on ao3
Neve was right - I should have worn the old shoes���
She shifted her knee upward slightly and pressed the ball of her foot into the ground, freeing her right heel from stiff new leather and hiding her grimace of relief behind the rim of her wine glass as she wriggled her somewhat crushed toes now that they weren’t crammed together, fighting for space in the narrow toe box.
There were a perfectly good pair of well broken in heels sitting in her wardrobe back at the Lighthouse that would have been more than acceptable to wear to dinner with Emmrich, but no, she just had to go to Dock Town earlier in the day with Neve who had all but insisted she buy herself something nice for the occasion…
‘Not saying you don’t know how to clean up - I know you Watchers are a well put together bunch, but I don’t know… maybe you’ll have a nicer evening if you’re not sitting across from Emmrich wearing the same clothes you wear to make funeral arrangements with people?‘
‘I’m almost certain he’ll be sitting across from me wearing the same clothes he wears to make funeral arrangements with people,’ Amina had pointed out, and Neve laughed.
‘How sure are you about that? I’d put my money on him showing up in the most formal, four-piece ensemble he owns if it helps his chances of getting you into bed tonight.’
She had a point - but not about sex. Amina knew perfectly well that weeks and weeks of burning tension shrouded under the polite mantle of collegial professionalism had become increasingly difficult to ignore now that they were… well - now that they were… together. That shoe was going to have to drop sooner rather than later, unless…She wrinkled her nose at the very thought: Unless he was the sort to take a courtship so seriously that abstinence from intimate activities was expected until she shared his name…
But no… surely not. Not judging by the way his hands wandered confidently around her waist and his lips eagerly roamed her neck when he kissed her against the Lovers’ Grave.
Be that as it may, she still didn’t want to overdress for the occasion - how embarrassing would that be? How oblivious?
Her face reddened at the imagined awkwardness of waiting for Emmrich at the eluvian, dressed in a lavish floor-skimming evening gown and gloves, her mass of sleek black hair time-consumingly plaited and pinned up to emphasize the small amount of grave gold that she owned, retrieved from its dusty velvet-lined box for the first time in years because she never had occasion - nor the desire - to actually wear any of it, unlike her gentlemanly new companion who clanged and clattered around everywhere he went like a sentient drawer of silverware.
He’d inevitably appear, descending the stairs from the library wearing what he wore every day - that well-loved waistcoat, a crisp clean shirt, and his favoured combed Druffalo wool trousers. He’d look as handsome as always, and not at all underdressed for a romantic dinner in the
Necropolis, and his eyes would widen at the spectacle of her dressed like she was heading off for cocktails with the King of Ferelden. The corners of his mouth would twitch and he’d clear his throat in a polite attempt to stifle his laughter.
At her.
At how absolutely stupid she looked.
‘It’s dinner - not a setup for a marriage proposal, Neve.’
‘If you say so, but if there’s a cummerbund involved, you owe me five gold.’
‘He wears a cummerbund every day,’ she sighed, turning and pulling open the door to one of the many clothing boutiques populating the market district.
‘I thought it was a sash.’
‘Don’t let him hear you say that unless you want an hour long oration on the particulars of ‘a gentleman’s wardrobe.’’
At the sound of the bell over the door tinkling, the boutique owner appeared from behind a rack of angular Tevene formal gowns.
She wiped her clammy palms on her pants - shit she was bad at this. She always had been. She hadn’t even been on a dinner date in what… three years?
And now she was sitting across from him, as predicted, wearing the stiff deepstalker leather shoes she’d purchased in a state of utter panic at the shop, along with a plunging, emerald green satin blouse that Neve insisted she leave with, and a new fishtail skirt that she admittedly quite liked: it was a woven fabric, mid-length, pinstriped in black and a rich chocolate brown. The ruffled hem was arranged with thin laces that lended the article a rather pretty bustled look that she thought nicely accentuated the curve of her rear. Disaster of an evening or not, that skirt was going to become a frequently worn item.
And as for the prospect of sleeping together…
She tipped back her glass again. Found it empty.
Dammit.
“Allow me.”
She looked up from the empty crystal goblet to see Emmrich’s hand reaching over the table, waiting patiently for her to pass him the glass. The warm light of the candles on the table between them contrasted with the cool light of the veilfire lanterns and the subtle, ever shifting glow of the wisps that floated lazily around them, drawn to curiously observe the spectacle of the two courting Watchers taking their dinner in the Memorial Gardens.
He had indeed dressed as she predicted: put together, poised… perfect. A man who looked like he was always prepared to hold court at a lectern, soothe a wayward spirit, or arrange a romantic meal complete with an embossed menu with gilded corners.
He was so untouchable, so lofty and distinguished, yet there was an aspect of him that she still couldn’t quite place - perhaps she hadn’t known him long enough yet. Perhaps their relationship was still too new and he’d not seen fit to reveal such parts of himself to her for fear that she would flee. Whatever it was dwelled deep beneath that veneer of perfection, shrouded so well from view that it simply begat speculation.
Was he some sort of deviant? Was this all a facade to disguise a self-serving, narcissistic monster who would eventually wear her down and rob her of her personhood as he claimed her and reduced her to little more than a pretty possession to wear on his arm to fancy parties?
Maybe this was just how he operated: luring in vulnerable and attractive partners until he bored of them and left them for someone more interesting?
Was he a priggish asshole and this was a finely honed act that had worked well for his purposes until he no longer had need to maintain it?
There had to be a reason why a man as genuine and kind as this hadn’t been snatched up decades earlier.
There had to be some literal or figurative skeleton lurking in his closet, and once she tore open the doors and shed light on it, she suspected would step back and place her hands on her hips as she surveyed the stinking desiccated corpse of Truth with a grim and knowing smile, simultaneously satisfied and despondent that she had finally confirmed that Emmrich Volkarin was in fact too good to be true, just as she knew he’d be.
‘Ah yes, there it is,’ she’d say with the nonchalance of someone who’d just found a missing earring stuck behind a cushion, utterly unsurprised and proud of herself for seeing through him and catching onto his game before he could do any real damage. Then she’d gently close the doors of the closet and leave, and he would never hear from her again.
But until such time…
Her scarlet lips parted in a smile and she extended her hand, slipping the delicate crystal stem into his fingers, not drawing back when they made contact, her fingertips brushing over over his own and lingering for perhaps a moment longer than they needed to before they parted and he refilled her glass, the steady ‘glug, glug’ of the wine filling the silence between them.
He passed it back to her and she said thank you, and this time it was his fingers that lingered - like he had been waiting for some sort of unspoken permission to touch her.
Heat pooled in her belly, and she pressed her thighs together, letting her other heel slip from its shoe, praying he couldn’t see the flush that was heating her cheeks under the rouge that she wore on them. She drank from the glass and set it down gently, returning to the stunningly arranged blood orange salad on the plate before her, collecting a few pine nuts on her fork before skewering a mouthful of greens as silence fell between them again.
Fuck - this was just as awkward as she thought it would be - he was probably regretting suggesting this in the first place…
“What do you make of the wine?”
Oh good, they were going to make small talk about what they were drinking: one of the most blatant indications that a date was going terribly.
“It’s nice. Refresh me on its origin?”
He set down his fork and held up his own glass to the candlelight, swirling the semi-translucent garnet vintage and watching it recede down the sides, observing its legs discerningly. “Quite enigmous, truth be told: an entire crate of bottles was left sitting outside the main gate of the Necropolis over a decade ago with no note, no shipping manifest, each bottle containing this same wine - Adirondack Red, according to the label, bottled on well… a date that falls outside the format of any Chantry, Tevinter, or Elven calendars going back to the beginning of dated history.” He angled the glass and dipped his nose into the bowl, nostrils flaring slightly as he took in the fragrance of the wine. He took a sip, letting it roll over his tongue before smiling pleasantly at Amina. “Could it be the mystery of it that makes it taste so scintillating, or does it stand on its own merit?”
“Mhmm…” Amina breathed, realizing she hadn’t blinked in over a minute - she’d been tracking Emmrich’s every move with a gaze that was nothing short of predatory… hungry. The heat that simmered deep in her core flared and sparked, embers of its existence rising up through her like molten sap spitting from a piece of burning pine. “Merit…”
He set the glass down, folding his long fingered hands together in front of him to lean forward slightly, his expression soft and inquisitive.
“Forgive me if I come across as overly familiar, dear, but I feel I must ask: are you nervous?”
Her eyes darted from his, looked at his hands, his wine glass, his own half-finished salad - anywhere but at him. “I… I uh…”
Andraste’s ashes, she felt like a dull-minded idiot whenever she opened her mouth around him.
His hand found hers on her side of the table, covering it and imparting a gentle squeeze.
“I’m… yes. Yes, I suppose I am.” she finally admitted, staring at his hand on hers, still unable to meet his eyes.
“So am I.”
That did it.
His thumb danced over her skin, sending welcome jolts of sensation up her arm. She dared to lift her gaze to find him regarding her with a look of understanding affection, his moustache quirked slightly, following the curve of his soft smile. “Does that put your mind somewhat at ease?”
“Yes, actually,” she managed, her voice wavering slightly. “Thank you, Emmrich.”
“Think nothing of it, darling.” He lifted her hand over the table and pressed his lips against the backs of her fingers. “Do try to enjoy yourself - tonight is only for us: there is no expectation, nor misplaced assumption… not on my part, at least.”
He was right: it wasn’t that he was telling her to pretend she was having a nice time for the benefit of his ego. He truly did want her to relax, loosen up, and just… be.
“It’s been uh… quite awhile since I’ve spent time with someone like this. I think I’ve forgotten how.” Despite the self-deprecating statement she felt some of the tension in her shoulders release as Emmrich set her hand back down on the table, and she felt safe enough to laugh a little.
His own chuckle of amusement joined hers and he sat back and picked up his fork again. “I daresay I find myself in a similar predicament, dear Rook, but I can’t think of better company in which to reacquaint myself with such things.”
Maker’s breath he’s smooth…
They finished their salad and the remaining courses with much more ease, conversation flowing as effortlessly between them as it had since Amina started taking him up on his daily invitations to tea instead of diligently avoiding him as she had in those early days in the Lighthouse.
They covered the standard array of dinner date conversation topics: favourite colours, exactly how long it had been since either of them had been in a relationship, and what attracted them to each other in the first place. It was predictable, typical fare that neither tread too far into the realms of disclosing any damning personal flaws, nor deflected enough to draw suspicion that the other was being deliberately obfuscating.
Normally Amina loathed this brand of superficial small talk - it really didn’t tell one much about a person - nothing important, at any rate. But perhaps it was the Adirondack wine, heady and rich, curiously rife with something that could only be described as magic. Or it could have been the way she kept catching faint whiffs of his fresh, mossy cologne when he waved his hands through the air as he spoke, but as traditionally banal as the topics were, she found herself hanging onto his every word: watching the shape his mouth made as he enunciated certain vowels and consonants, savouring the charming lilt of his tone and how she could nearly pinpoint the exact place in his chest from which his voice resonated…
Then of course there was the food itself: a varied and inspired spread that incorporated an exotic bevy of ingredients that Amina knew to be aphrodisiac in nature: figs and pomegranates, saffron, and spicy peppers that were sweet on her tongue but left her lips tingling, blood-flushed, and tantalizingly swollen.
There was no overlooking the sensual tone of the menu, each course arranged like art on the plate; each morsel designed to arouse and stimulate all five of the senses: it was a meal designed to impress - and to seduce: to make plain his desire for her in the form of an elegant, sophisticated proposition.
Yet here they were, well into dessert (a sinful dark chocolate gateau that was decadent and rich, but didn’t leave her feeling overfull) still trading surface based small talk and polite compliments: they might as well have been at the annual Wintersend Ball put on for all the Watchers, surrounded by colleagues and apprentices.
It was frustrating to say the least: her arousal had made itself known over the course of the evening; blood rushing to her sex, engorging her as she shifted in her chair, bare upper thighs damp as Emmrich prattled on about flowers.
Amina set her fork lengthways across her bare plate and dabbed at the corners of her lips with her napkin before neatly folding it and placing it atop the plate as well. “That was delicious.”
Emmrich finished the last bite of his gateau as well and his fork hovered over his plate as his eyes locked on her mouth and he leaned forward, “You’ve got… there’s a bit of chocolate still–” he laughed - not the cruel, jeering laugh she imagined earlier, but one of charmed endearment - and tapped the left corner of his mouth, “-here.”
Amina probed her tongue around the corner in question, “There?”
It was Emmrich’s turn to look bashful, blushing slightly as he shook his head and lifted a hand towards her, pausing midway to ask, “May I?” She nodded and his thumb found the corner of her mouth, delicately sweeping up the chocolate in question.
He had been about to draw back, pleased that the offending confectionary had been satisfactorily dealt with, but Amina - having spent months dancing around this man, and having officially tired of it as of this moment - caught his wrist and drew his thumb across her lower lip, parting her mouth just enough to lick the bittersweet smudge from his fingertip, smiling when his eyes widened slightly at her audacity as she gently dragged the pad of his thumb over her bottom teeth.
“So chivalrous,” she noted, a hush to her voice that could no longer be attributed to nerves.
He reddened further, swallowed, and managed to take his hand back, promptly scooping up the dregs of his wine as he retreated back to his side of the table. His other hand, Amina observed, had vanished under the table for a fleeting moment and was accompanied by a slight shifting in his seat that did absolutely nothing to quell her very active imagination.
He was nervous, the fact made abundantly clear now that she was actively flirting with him instead of staying within the safe, unthreatening confines of civilized conversation that he was most comfortable in.
He wanted to bed her. He wanted to take that next massive step forward in their relationship. Why else would he have used his sway to have the Gardens cordoned off for the night just for them? Why else would he have conceptualized a culinary experience so blatantly steeped in raw erotic overtones? She knew Emmrich well enough by now to know that he didn’t make oblivious mistakes when it came to romantic gestures.
She was more than willing to partake in his flesh if he was keen on hers, so why the hesitance?
Clumsy silence reigned once more as a skeletal servant cleared away their dessert plates and placed a stemmed cordial glass filled with an opaque daffodil coloured liqueur in front of each of them.
Knowing full well what it was, Amina plucked the delicate glass from the table with fingers that were deceptively gentle despite the scarred, gnarled state of them. “What have we here?” She asked Emmrich as the servant shuffled away.
“Antivan Limón - a vivacious digestif that rounds out a fine meal quite nicely.” He lifted his own between his thumb and forefinger, immediately appearing relieved to be talking about drinks again.
She sipped it, savouring the bright, tart flavour as it pirouetted over her taste buds like a crisp summer breeze: light and vivacious indeed. “Mmmm… it is lovely.” She lowered the glass but didn’t set it down, softly tapping her lacquered fingernails against the patterned crystal. She looked up at Emmrich and treated him to the same soft, kind smile he’d shown her earlier. “Forgive me if I come off as overly familiar, Emmrich, but I feel I must ask: are you nervous?”
The cordial glass wobbled in his hand at her words and he used the other to steady it before putting it down on the table where it would be safe.
“I suppose I am,” he admitted, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards at the familiarity of this conversation.
“So am I,” she quipped, and she leaned over the table to place a soft kiss on his heated cheek, then the quaint line of his smile, etched into his skin from so many years of the kindness and compassion that he gave so freely; then the corner of his mouth. Then she kissed him fully, her tongue feathering past her lips to taste the summery limón that clung to his. He parted for her and she slipped into his mouth, caressing his tongue with her own for only the barest moment before pulling away and sinking back down into her chair. “Does that put your mind somewhat at ease?”
“It does,” he breathed, looking bemused, evidently not yet trusting himself to pick up the cordial glass again. Instead, he studied her, his rich hazel eyes taking in every detail of her hair, her face, and her bare shoulders. “You look truly ravishing tonight, dear.”
Emboldened, Amina smoothed the front of the low cut satin blouse with one hand, pushing her shoulders back and her chest out. “You mentioned that when we met at the eluvian earlier, but I don’t mind hearing it again.”
The wine. It had to be the wine. And now the limón which was considerably stronger was making its way through her bloodstream too, and perhaps she should stop now before she made a complete fool of herself, but…
“What do you think of my shoes? I bought them just for tonight.” She slammed her heels back down into the shoes in question and lifted her feet under the table, depositing them tidily into Emmrich’s lap, causing him to jump with such abruptness that the table shifted and the candles wobbled, “Sorry,” she demurred, reaching out to steady a candlestick to keep it from falling over.
He looked down at the shiny, midnight blue shoes in his lap, the pointed toes catching veilfire and wisplight, his mouth wonderfully agape.
“They’re… they’re lovely, dear…” He rasped, his hands disappearing from the surface of the table to softly caress the leather against his fingers, curling them around the sides of her feet and tracing the shape of the expensive shoes, finding the silken texture of her stockings as they wandered towards her ankles. Something changed in his expression then - like he’d woken up and come to his senses. She half expected him to shove her feet off of him and admonish her for her lack of decorum. Instead he looked up at her, his eyes burning with passion. “But they’re hurting you.”
“They’re not,” she lied, tossing back another sip of limón.
“My valiant, stalwart Reaper,” he tutted. “You do our order credit with your devotion, don’t you?” His hands curved beneath her ankles and his thumbs hooked under the pitch of the shoes, popping them free from her soles. “You concealed your discomfort admirably until we were two thirds of our way through the Vault of The Beloved.”
She flicked her hair, maintaining nonchalance even though every one of his calculated touches filled her with a ravenous need for more - for all of him - as much as he would give her. “That’s ridiculous. This is hardly my first time wearing shoes in this style.”
“Oh I’ve seen you traipse around the Lighthouse in shoes like these often enough…” he murmured, his fingers and palms still roving over her feet and ankles tenderly. Had the candles just dimmed slightly? “...and I consider myself to be quite capable of discerning the difference between your comfortable stride, and your belaboured one: I am familiar with the finer points of anatomy.”
Oh. Well that was certainly a response. A response that was… dripping with entendre?
“Been watching me, have you, love?” Her eyebrow raised, her heart made itself comfortable somewhere in the vicinity of her throat.
“I can’t help myself, you see, though I have tried to compose myself and observe you with the deference you deserve…” He tugged the shoes fully from her feet and set them on the ground next to him, enfolding her tiny, pedicured toes in his large, warm hands. “But try as I may, I see glimpses of you in nearly everything I perceive of late: your smile fades through beams of dusty sunlight; a verdant gaze regards me from every living thing in Harding’s greenhouse… I fear I am bewitched, darling Amina, yet the eye does not go wanting when it has the privilege of looking upon you. If I am indeed under your spell, it is surely the happiest curse in existence.”
His thumbs curved into the balls of her feet, cradling her arch and working slow circles into the tense, cramped joints as she took in his words - played them over in her mind… lived in them.
She didn’t know what she’d been expecting him to say, but it… it wasn’t that.
“Emmrich…” she sighed, taking another mouthful of limón and letting her head fall back. The stupid shoes were agony, but his fingers were rapidly undoing the damage they’d done.
“They are stunning shoes, for what it’s worth.” He gathered her right foot in both his hands and began languidly massaging, “But you needn’t sacrifice your comfort in an effort to impress - I assure you: you’ve already accomplished that.”
Unable to help herself anymore at his words, her left foot dallied, stretched, and found what it was looking for - the growing bulge in his pants, pinned against his thigh. She curled her toes against it, marking the catch of Emmrich’s breath and the flutter of his eyelids as she felt him under her toes, her heart beating faster, mouth going dry, touching for the first time this aspect of his anatomy that she had so often fantasized about late at night in her room, her own fingers moving inside her as she fucked herself to climax imagining they were his hard, hot cock pounding into her instead.
It was her favourite thing to think about recently.
“Is this alright?” She asked, watching his throat bob; watching his eyes glass over and then darken with lust.
“Yes,” he whispered, his voice straining as he watched her continue rubbing her petite, stocking-clad foot against his hard, clothed cock under the table. “Oh… darling, yes…”
Amina swallowed the last of her limón and set the glass on the table, tugging her right foot from Emmrich’s hand and softly caressing his cock with both feet now. “Don’t worry about me, Emmrich: I knew exactly what I was getting into when I selected those shoes.”
His fingers clasped over her toes again and stroked her feet over his length, his hips arcing subtly into her soles. “I had rather been hoping we might get to know one another better tonight, but I must say: I didn’t anticipate dessert taking this turn,” he murmured, something even more sinful than the chocolate gateau dwelling in his smile.
“Would you like me to stop?” She meant it: she wanted him to enjoy himself, not feel uncomfortable.
“Of course not–”
She traced the shape of him with her flawless feet again, coaxing a soft hiss from him.
“But we should–”
“- get out of here?” She finished for him. “Indulge in a nightcap back at the Lighthouse?”
Neither of them were inexperienced in this arena: they both knew that ‘a nightcap’ consisted of Emmrich burying himself to the hilt between her legs, and both of them finally finding the release they craved after what felt like an eternity of yearning for one another.
“That sounds like a marvelous idea, dear.” He nodded tightly, threw back his entire glass of limón in a single go, and slipped Amina’s shoes back on her feet before standing, the front of his pants visibly straining as he swept around to her side of the table and pulled her chair away from the table - gentlemanly even in his haste to leave this place.
Amina rose to her feet with Emmrich’s hand and twined her fingers between his as he began to lead her from the table, snagging their coats from the nearby coat rack and draping them over his forearm, concealing his arousal from anyone they might might pass by on their route back to the eluvian.
She managed not to limp the distance to the doors of the garden, and before they left the gardens behind, Amina halted and squeezed his hand. “Wait - before we go: this was beautiful,” she looked over her shoulder at the candlelit table, now empty. “It was the most thoughtful, heartfelt dinner anyone’s ever arranged for me, and…” she saw some of the urgency leave his face: his brows softened, his jaw relaxed. “Emmrich… I’m… I’m so glad I met you.”
And she stood on her toes and curled her fingers around the back of his neck, bringing her lips to his in a bruising kiss that caused him to rock back half a step, throwing his free hand back to catch himself before they tumbled backwards into a hedge from the momentum.
When he was sure he steadied himself, he leaned forward into the kiss, carding his fingers through her silky hair, returning her enthusiasm with a muffled groan as he licked into her mouth, tasting her lips and her tongue, feeling the smoothness of her teeth and the warm, wet heat of her.
He pulled away, pupils blown wide, cradling her jaw in his hand as he looked down at her, a thin strand of saliva still connecting them both. “And I you, my sweet Amina,” he breathed. “I only regret that it took so long for us to find one another.”
“Oh I fully intend on making up for lost time,” she purred, gently adjusting his treasured collar pin, worrying at her lower lip with her teeth. “Don’t you worry about that.” Her fingers drifted from the pin to his jaw, feeling the realness of him against her flesh. “What I am concerned about is a matter of logistics: where, my handsome suitor, do you propose we enjoy our nightcap?”
Surely he had a bed. She’d never actually asked, but it would be lunacy for him to pack Manfred through the eluvian, back to the Necropolis and up the lift a few dozen levels to his apartment every night… wouldn’t it? There was no way he slept in his armchair or at his desk - not when she’d seen the slow, tentative way he’d unfold from a sitting position sometimes, and heard the brittle cracking of his poor knees as they straightened, worn ligaments and tendons protesting.
She was thirty-six and her knees weren’t in much better condition due to the physical demands of her vocation: she could sympathize, and for that reason, she knew if he didn’t have a bed, he most definitely would have made it everybody’s problem by now.
Oh no, he had a bed, and tonight she was going to learn where in the damned Lighthouse it was, and then she was going to fuck him in it until he couldn’t think straight.
He shouldered the door open, and guided her over the threshold before him, taking care to close the heavy slate doors behind him before turning to her, his eyes glinting. “As it turns out, I do in fact have a bed, darling - did you assume I slept in the laboratory, standing upright like a horse?”
“Of course not: that would be silly.”
“Tremendously,” he concurred, his moustache twitching with a wry smile the instant before he swept one arm around her shoulders, the other behind her knees.
“Hey–!” She warbled out, startled at this new development, and her feet left the ground as he scooped her up, cradling her to his chest, the coats still draped over his forearm.
“You didn’t actually think I was going to let you hobble the entire way back home, did you, dear?”
Home. He’d said home…
Amina knew her face was beetroot as she scrambled for words. “You - you could have just magically healed my feet!” She squirmed halfheartedly in his grip and he snorted in amusement, his breath washing over her face.
“Now where would be the fun in that?” He teased, kissing her nose and setting off down the corridor through the cavernous vault. “But if you find it truly undignified, I’ll gladly set you down and take a moment to tend to your feet...”
She glanced up at him. He was looking ahead to make sure he didn’t trip on anything and send them flying. The sharp angles of his cheeks and jaw stood out against the dusty tomb light diffused throughout the vault, and he still looked well-pleased with himself as he strode onwards, not struggling at all with the task of hauling her bones around.
“I suppose this isn’t so bad…” She leaned her head close to Emmrich’s neck and nuzzled into the expanse of exposed skin between his collar and his jawline, inhaling deeply, filling herself with the comforting scent of him. “My hero… whatever would I do without you?”
He crooked his neck against her ministrations, her breath tickling him - or arousing him - she was unsure which. “I’m hardly a hero, darling - just a gentlem—“
“Professor Volkarin!”
Oh dear.
She felt Emmrich go rigid under her and he turned to address whomever had called out to him: it was an apprentice mage - a young man, no older than nineteen with a shock of curly red hair and a pointy little beard growing from the very tip of his chin.
His eyes went from Emmrich to Amina, then back to Emmrich, widening the entire time.
“Oh - I - s-sorry Professor, I didn’t know you - uh - I know you’ve been… away… b-but I was w-wondering if you could help me understand a few things about uh… Ley lines and their relation to dowsing and other methods of cyclomancy. You see, I’m running into some difficulty wi–”
“Hamish.” Emmrich’s interjection wasn’t unkind, but there was a firmness in his tone that garnered respect and immediately shut Hamish up. “I have absolute faith that a young man of your intelligence doesn’t require a dowsing rod to divine the truth of the matter, which is that I am presently indisposed–”
Amina buried her face in Emmrich’s shoulder to conceal her grin and stifle the giggle that slipped past her lips.
“— now be on your way and submit your questions to me in writing and I shall respond in due course when time permits. Now: good evening to you.” The farewell was delivered with curt finality that indicated the matter was not up for debate, and Amina peeked up from Emmrich’s shoulder to see Hamish soundlessly opening and closing his mouth as he struggled to come to terms with the abject horror of accidentally interrupting his professor during what was obviously a romantic evening.
“Y-yes - of course! Good - good evening to you, Professor…” he bowed jerkily to Emmrich. “Lady.” He tipped his head further down and then turned and fled so quickly Amina thought he Fade-stepped away. Perhaps he had.
When she trusted the lad was out of earshot, Amina laughed properly, curling her fingers into the worn but lovingly kept material of Emmrich’s waistcoat. “I think poor Hamish thinks he’s ruined your chances with me and destroyed his career because of it.”
“Hmm…” Emmrich mused. “I suppose that depends: did young Hamish spoil the evening with his uncouth interruption?”
“Not even close.” She licked his neck - planted a wet, sucking kiss on the hot flesh there.
“Then he has nothing to fear,” he declared, tilting his head down and claiming Amina’s lips in one more deep kiss before setting off again towards the eluvian.
Towards home.
#emmrook#emmrich x rook#emmrich x ingellvar#emmrich x amina ingellvar#emmrich x female rook#emmrich romance#emmrich smut#emmrich volkarin#emmrich#dragon age emmrich#dragon age#datv#dragon age the veilguard#dragon age fic#dragon age fan fic#veilguard#veilguard fanfic#v writes#this is an emmrich thirst post#this is arguably an amina thirst post too#ao3#archive of our own#nevarra#mourn watch
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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.
#tom bennett#tom bennett x reader#world on fire#world on fire fanfiction#ewan mitchell#Ewan Mitchell x reader#my works#my 1k special#spy!au#tom bennett/reader#tom bennett fanfiction#tom bennett imagine#ewan mitchell/reader#fanfiction#spy#spy au
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play for the crowd
lauren james x english!influencer!reader : social media + fic
summary: a fake relationship never ends well.. or does it?
warnings: angst, very long chapter
for @pinkyqily + @jackiesunshines
“welcome back to ‘call her daddy,’ babes,” alex starts with her signature grin, leaning closer to the mic.
“today, we’ve got the it-girl of england sitting across from me. she’s hilarious, she’s fashionable, she’s friends with basically everyone worth knowing—please give it up for y/n!!”
you laugh softly, adjusting your seating in the red fancy chair.
“oh, stop it. you’re hyping me up too much.”
“listen, i only speak the truth on this podcast,” alex replies dramatically, hands gesturing like she’s addressing an audience of thousands.
“so, let’s just jump right in. your fashion—people are obsessed. i mean, half the girls listening are probably taking notes on your outfit right now as we speak.”
you smile, settling into your seat.
“i feel like my style is a bit all over the place, to be honest. one day i’ll be in baggy streetwear, the next i’m in a full-on luxury brand look, then i’m in some scandi-inspired minimalism, and before you know it, i’m frolicking in a meadow in a cottagecore dress. i just wear whatever’s cute.”
“so, you’re telling me your closet must look insane.” alex leans forward, clearly intrigued.
“oh, it’s a disaster,” you admit with a laugh.
“you know when people say, ‘if you can’t see it, you won’t wear it’? yeah, my clothes are in piles. i try to organize, but then i get new stuff, and it’s chaos all over again.”
“and yet you always look put together. how does that even work?”
“magic,” you joke, adjusting your oversized blazer.
“or maybe just panic dressing.”
alex grins.
“fair enough. okay, now—this is a call her daddy episode where i am the nosey host, so we have to get into your social life. you’ve got so many famous friends. who’s in your circle? who’s in the inner circle?”
you raise an eyebrow.
“you’re really trying to get the tea, huh?”
“always,” alex says without hesitation.
“give us something.”
you smirk.
“well, i’ve got a mix of people, you know? like, models, footballers, actors... it’s a weird little melting pot. i vibe with people who are chill and don’t take life too seriously.”
“what about jude bellingham?” alex’s grin widens, mischief sparkling in her eyes.
“you’ve been seen with him quite a bit. are we finally getting confirmation here?”
your laugh is immediate, and you shake your head as you roll your eyes playfully.
“oh my god, no no no absolutely not. jude is not my type at all.”
alex gasps theatrically.
“wait, hold on. you’re telling me jude bellingham, literal dreamboat that maybe has a million edits of himself, is not your type? do you know how many women would kill for that chance?”
“i’m sure they would,” you reply, still laughing.
“but, yeah, jude and i are just friends. strictly platonic. in fact, he’s hilarious.”
alex’s eyes narrow in mock suspicion.
“so, what is your type, then?”
you pause for a moment, knowing the question is loaded. you take a breath, then grin.
“well, just know that i don’t swing jude’s way.”
alex’s face lights up.
“ohhh, so you’re into women?” her excitement is palpable.
“yeah,” you say, nodding firmly.
“i mean, people have speculated for years, so… there you go. confirmed. i like women.”
“iconic,” alex replies, clapping her hands.
“this is huge!!!! so, do you have a partner? because i feel like everyone’s going to be dying to know now.”
a weight sinks in your chest, but you plaster on a smile. you hate lying, but this is part of the game.
“i do,” you say carefully, keeping your voice light.
“but i’m not spilling anything just yet.”
“oh, come on,” alex pleads.
“not even a little hint?”
you shake your head, laughing softly.
“nope. but trust me, everyone will know who she is eventually.”
alex groans in mock defeat, throwing her head back.
“you’re killing me, y/n. absolutely killing me.”
“i gotta keep some mystery, alex,” you tease.
“otherwise, what’s the fun?”
y/n.l/n
{tagged: yourbsf}
liked by lj10, samanthakerr20, and 101,927 others
y/n.l/n hello 2025
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y/nl/nluvr5 SO CUTE
yourbsf ily
ashley_lawrence10 pretty! 🤩
wosofan2719 why are all of the chelsea girls in her likes?? 🫣
user6282 I thought I was the only one who peeped
random12938 after her podcast with alex on friday, I am convinced y/n's girlfriend is known to the public already. you might be onto something since she is already close with english footballers
madelineargy 😍
~view all 2,039 comments~
you’re sitting cross-legged on your plush beige couch, the soft hum of a charli xcx playlist filling the quiet of your london apartment.
a steaming mug of tea sits on the coffee table, untouched, as you absently scroll through your phone. your eyes flick to the clock—just past noon. you’re waiting on lauren to send over the ticket details for tonight’s chelsea vs. arsenal match, the anticipated london derby.
your stomach twists slightly at the thought. not because of the game—you actually enjoy football. it’s the situation you’ve been thrown into that makes you uneasy.
a fake relationship. a pr stunt. your team’s bright idea to boost both your profiles. it’s not like you haven’t heard the horror stories: influencer friends venting about staged dates, awkward photoshoots, and scripted chemistry with people they couldn’t stand and hated.
you swore you’d never do something so fake, yet here you are.
your phone buzzes, snapping you out of your thoughts. it’s a message from lauren.
lauren: hey, just sent your name to the list—tickets will be at will call under 'guest of lj.' fancy title, right?
you smile faintly, typing back.
you: wow, i feel so important.
you joke. a reply comes almost instantly.
lauren: absolutely. “fake girlfriend to chelsea star.” major clout.
you laugh under your breath, appreciating her humor despite the absurdity of the situation.
you: i can’t lie.. this is all so ridiculous. have you done this kind of thing before?
lauren: nope. first time for me too. i feel like i should apologize in advance if i make this awkward.
you: i was just about to say the same to you. we’ll both be awkward… it’ll balance out.
lauren’s next text takes a second longer to come through.
lauren: for what it’s worth, i know this isn’t ideal. but i promise i’m not a complete nightmare in person like the media can paint me out to be.
you pause, rereading her message. there’s something about her tone—genuine, almost reassuring. however, you frown at the last part of her message. you have seen the tweets and post that have villainized her about certain situations that have happened between her and other players. you don’t play football, but you understand how intense things can be.
lauren’s genuine personality makes you think that this won’t be as terrible as you’ve been building it up to be.
you: well, if you’re not a nightmare, i guess i can survive one football match. or how ever many as i will need to go to for us. as long as i don’t get smacked with a football in front of your everyone or something.
lauren: if you do, we’ll just blame it on the opposing team.
you laugh again softly, shaking your head. her dry wit feels disarming, and you find yourself a little more curious about meeting her in person. maybe, just maybe, lauren will surprise you.
the cool london air nips at your cheeks as you step out of the car, pulling your brown puffer coat tighter around yourself. the excitement hums through the blue and red crowds gathered outside the chelsea stadium.
you glance up at the familiar facade, the blue and white banners waving proudly in the breeze. you’ve been here before, more times than you can count, but tonight feels… different.
you make your way through the gates, clutching the ticket lauren organized for you. your name’s on the guest list, which feels oddly official, even though you know it’s all just for show. navigating the stadium is second nature by now—you’ve been here for england matches, screaming alongside the fans, but you’ve never been here for chelsea.
the thought feels strange, almost disloyal, considering most of your friends are manchester (city and united) fans through and through.
their reactions flash through your mind, the way they nearly lost it when you casually mentioned you were going on a "date" with a chelsea player.
"you’re joking, right? chelsea? you can’t be serious," one had said, barely hiding their disbelief.
"wait, who is it?" another pressed, practically bouncing in their seat.
"don’t tell me it’s lucy bronze—no, wait, she just transferred here so i don’t think it's her."
you’d shrugged them off, offering nothing but a sly smile. “you’ll find out soon enough,” you’d teased, leaving them to spiral into speculation. you didn’t have the heart—or the nerve—to explain the truth yet.
not until you’d met lauren in person, not until you knew how this whole fake relationship would pan out.
as you approach the friends and family section, a subtle wave of nervousness rolls over you. this is it—the start of whatever chaotic media circus your teams have orchestrated. you take a deep breath, smoothing the invisible wrinkles on your coat, and step inside.
you wonder if people will question your presence in that section, why you were here by yourself with none of your friends to accompany you. however, you decide to take the next 90 minutes to collect your thoughts while lauren plays her match.
taking your seat, directly where you can see the middle of the pitch, the noise of the crowd fills your ears as you settle. your focus is razor-sharp. your eyes stay locked on lauren as she moves across the pitch with ease, weaving through arsenal's defense like it’s second nature.
the game already started three minutes ago.. and she’s good…really good. you knew that already, of course, seeing her play live is something else entirely.
you shift in your seat, trying to keep your expression neutral. the plan is simple: be here, watch the match, and appear supportive. it’s harder than you thought to ignore the weight of the cameras that occasionally pan away from the game and land on you instead.
you know what the headlines will say. you can already picture the tweets that are posting on twitter as your eye move along lauren’s body.
the speculation is what you’re here for. you tap your fingers against the armrest of your seat, trying to drown out the chatter in your head. this is all part of the plan, you remind yourself.
still, the questions buzzing online are ones you’re not ready to answer. not yet. this isn’t even real after all.
your eyes dart back to lauren. she’s on the ball again, making a sharp run from a sharp pass from lucy that sets up a near-perfect chance. the crowd erupts, and you find yourself caught between genuine admiration for her skill and the uncomfortable reality of why you’re here. with the cameras on you, though, you know better than to let anything too much slip.
you lean forward slightly, keeping your attention locked on lauren, as though she’s the only thing that matters in the moment.
the game ends with a 2-1 win for chelsea. you stand awkwardly by the fruit stand in the lounge room area, pretending to be invested in the arrangement of grapes and orange slices. the truth is, you feel out of place.
this isn’t your scene, and it shows. the other friends and family members seem at ease, chatting and laughing like they belong here. you, however, can’t shake the anxiety in your chest. of course, people recognize you—this is england, after all. your face is plastered on magazine covers and social media feeds. here, in this context, you feel more exposed than ever.
you shift your weight from foot to foot, glancing at the clock on the wall. lauren’s team has just wrapped up their post-match debrief, and any minute now, she’ll walk in. the thought doesn’t help your nerves; if anything, it makes them worse.
you haven’t even met her in person before, yet the entire world will soon think that she’s your girlfriend. the absurdity of it all threatens to make you laugh, but the knot in your stomach keeps you grounded.
you’re about to reach for a piece of pineapple when you feel a light touch on your shoulder. the sensation startles you, and you turn around quickly, almost dropping the toothpick you’re holding.
“i didn’t know you could be so shy, y/n,” lauren says, her tone teasing but warm. she’s standing there, freshly showered, her hair damp and swept back. the post-match attitude has faded, leaving her looking relaxed, but there’s a spark of curiosity in her eyes as she takes you in.
you smile nervously, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your blazer.
“well, i’m usually not,” you reply, your voice quieter than you intended.
“but this is… a little out of my comfort zone.”
lauren’s brows raise slightly, and she steps closer, her presence somehow steadying.
“really? you, out of your comfort zone? that’s hard to believe.”
you glance down, feeling heat rise to your cheeks.
“it’s different when it’s not my crowd. football people, you know? i’m more used to influencer events or fashion shows, not… this.”
lauren chuckles softly.
“well, for what it’s worth, you look like you fit right in. maybe too well. people are already whispering about you.”
“great,” you mutter, trying to keep the sarcasm light but unable to mask your discomfort.
“exactly what i wanted.”
she tilts her head, studying you for a moment.
“it’ll die down eventually,” she says, her tone more serious now.
“but i get it. it’s weird, isn’t it? pretending like this? its going to be worse once we have to tell the media.”
you let out a small laugh, more out of relief that she said it than anything else.
“weird doesn’t even begin to cover it,” you admit.
“i mean, we haven’t even met before today, and now the world will think that we’re madly in love. it’s ridiculous.”
lauren nods, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.
“yeah, it is. but hey, we’re in this together, right?.”
you meet her gaze. she’s genuine, at least, and that’s something. “you’re right,” you say softly, your smile more genuine now.
“i guess we’ll figure it out.”
she grins, and the moment feels strangely natural despite the layers of pretense surrounding it. then she gestures toward the lounge area where the other players’ families are gathered.
“come on. let’s get you out of the corner. they’re going to think i’m a terrible girlfriend if i leave you standing here alone.”
you laugh, following her lead, the tension still present but slightly eased by her presence. it’s strange, walking beside her, knowing that the world will see something entirely different from what you feel inside.
for now, you push that thought aside and focus on surviving the night.
lj10
{tagged: y/n.l/n}
liked by y/n.l/n, lucybronze, and 131,216 others
lj10 recent
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random28383 IS THAT WHO I THINK IT ISSS??????
y/nl8vr MY BABY ON THE THIRD SLIDE
chelseafcwfan7 I KNEW IT WAS LAUREN THAT WAS DATING Y/N
❤️ *liked by author*
y/n.l/n 😘😘
user91010 oh that's not..
meazalykov ??
user91010 @/meazalykov i did not expect lauren and y/n no shade..
meazalykov well too bad..
lucybronze hard launch era
catarina_macario 😍😍
~view all 10,378 comments~
the days throughout the next few weeks blur together in a haze of carefully curated social media posts and staged interactions. every picture, every story, every comment feels like a chess move, calculated for the public eye.
by now, the world has accepted the narrative—lauren james and y/n l/n, england’s newest power couple.
behind the scenes, it’s a different story entirely. you and lauren barely talk, only exchanging the occasional text when coordinating your next “public moment.” it’s efficient, professional even, but cold.
you can’t help but feel the growing weight of the disconnect between the facade you show the world and the reality of your relationship. or lack thereof.
yet, something about lauren lingers in your mind. she’s kind in the brief moments you’ve interacted—genuine, with a subtle humor that catches you off guard. you’ve noticed how her quiet demeanor shifts when she’s irritated, her sharp gaze and tense shoulders mirroring your own tells when you’re frustrated.
it’s a trait that feels too familiar, like looking into a mirror.
sitting on your couch late one evening, your phone in hand, you scroll mindlessly through instagram. you pause looking at the instagram story you posted with lauren, staring at the image, at the way lauren’s hand rests casually on your back in the mirror picture. you’d both laughed during that shoot. the memory stirs something in your chest—a quiet ache you can’t quite place.
she’s fascinating in a way you didn’t expect. it’s not just her talent on the pitch or her rising fame; it’s the little things. the way her smile softens when she’s genuinely amused. the thoughtful pauses she takes before she speaks. the way she seems to carry a quiet confidence, even in the chaos of the public’s attention.
you shake your head, exhaling sharply. this is ridiculous, you tell yourself. the truth is, you want to know her… the real her, not the polished version you’ve pieced together through brief interactions and online impressions.
you open your messages, your thumb hovering over her name. for a moment, you consider texting her something—anything—to start a conversation. however, the thought of overstepping, of complicating an already convoluted situation, keeps you frozen.
with a sigh, you lock your phone and toss it onto the couch beside you.
whatever this is, whatever it could be, will have to wait. for now, you’ll stick to the plan, no matter how much your thoughts keep drifting back to lauren.
y/n.l/n
{tagged: lj10}
liked by lj10, lucybronze, and 211,746 others
y/n.l/n good evening
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❤️ *liked by author*
lj10 good evening 😍😍
lucybronze its 11:09am..
y/n.l/n again, good evening lucy bronze
lucybronze good evening ig 😒
catarina_macario 🤩
random2728 lj and y/n having a private but not secret relationship 🥰
user72929 LOVE
random2728 there's something off about this..
random10989 wym?
leahwilliamsonn 😍
~view all 4,290 comments~
the bar is calming, music thrumming in the background as laughter and chatter fill the air. the dim lighting casts a warm glow over the group, everyone mingling and sipping on their drinks.
you’re perched on a stool near the bar, glancing occasionally at lauren, who’s leaning against the counter, chatting easily with one of her teammates, millie. she looks relaxed, her posture casual, but there’s something about the way her eyes flick to you every so often that has your stomach in knots.
“another drink?” her voice cuts through the noise, her tone light but carrying just enough warmth to catch your attention.
you look up at her, a slight smile tugging at your lips.
“are you trying to get me drunk, lauren?”
she smirks, handing you the glass.
“maybe. or maybe i just want to make sure you’re having a good time.”
you take a sip, feeling the burn of the alcohol mixed with something sweeter—the way she’s looking at you.
“thanks,” you murmur.
“but i can return the favor. what are you drinking?”
“water,” she says simply, holding up her glass.
“staying hydrated.”
you tilt your head, studying her.
“water? not even one drink? you’re playing it too safe.”
she shrugs, a playful glint in her eyes.
“someone has to keep an eye on you.”
you laugh, the sound escaping before you can stop it.
“oh, so now you’re my babysitter?”
“if that’s what you need,” she fires back smoothly, her grin widening.
there’s a moment, a charged pause, where the noise of the bar seems to fade into the background. lauren’s gaze lingers on you, and you feel your cheeks heat under the intensity of it.
you lean in slightly, emboldened by the drinks and the energy between you.
“careful,” you tease, your voice dropping just enough to match the tension.
“someone might think you actually care.”
“and what if i do?” she counters, her tone light but her eyes unreadable.
you blink, caught off guard. the banter feels easy, natural, but there’s something underneath it that feels heavier—real. you search her face for a clue, but she keeps her expression steady, a flicker of amusement playing at the corners of her mouth.
“then i’d say you’re doing a great job convincing everyone here,” you say finally, trying to match her confidence, even as your heart races.
her lips curve into a smirk.
“convincing you, too?”
your breath catches, and for a split second, you don’t know what to say. she watches you, her expression calm but undeniably smug, as though she knows exactly the effect she’s having on you.
“maybe,” you admit, keeping your voice steady despite the way your pulse thunders in your ears.
she chuckles softly, the sound low and intimate, and it leaves you feeling both flustered and unmoored. then, as if sensing the moment tipping into something too real, she pulls back slightly, raising her glass of water in a mock toast.
“to good acting,” she says, her voice light but her eyes holding yours a beat too long.
you clink your glass against hers, your stomach twisting as you try to discern whether she’s teasing or deflecting.
as the night wears on, you can’t shake the way her words, her gaze, her presence—all of it—lingers in the back of your mind. was it an act? or was there something more beneath the surface? you don’t know, and the uncertainty gets at you in a way you didn’t expect.
your drink—something sweet and forgettable—sits untouched in front of you, the condensation pooling around the glass on the counter. the room feels alive as you watch your surroundings again, as lauren’s teammates and your friends fill the dance floor, laughing, swaying to the music, completely at ease.
you, however, feel like a misplaced puzzle piece.
you’re here for a purpose, after all—not to let loose, but to be seen. you and lauren were both instructed to attend, to sit in proximity long enough for someone to notice, snap a photo, and post it online. the public needed to see the happy “couple” out and about, living their seemingly charmed lives.
that was the plan. it always is. however, something about tonight feels off.. or maybe it’s you that feels off.
your eyes drift to lauren, who’s sitting a few stools away at this point, talking to sjoeke. lauren’s body language is relaxed, her posture casual, and she exudes that effortless charm you’ve come to associate with her. her laugh carries over the music, soft but genuine, and it’s disarming.
you’ve seen her in a dozen different settings by now—on the pitch, in interviews, even in those staged photoshoots your teams made you do together—but she always carries the same quiet confidence.
“why do i care so much about her flirting earlier?” the thought hits you suddenly, and you blink, startled by your own realization. you know you shouldn’t care. it’s not like there’s anything real between you two. this is business, nothing more.
you’re about to take a sip of your drink when movement catches your eye. a brunette woman, her steps uneven and her smile a little too wide, weaves her way through the crowd and makes a beeline for lauren.
she stops next to her, leaning on the counter for balance before sliding onto the stool beside her.
at first, you think nothing of it. people approach lauren all the time; it comes with the territory of her being a footballer.. then you notice the way the woman leans in, her body language screaming flirtation.
even over the music, you catch snippets of her words.
“i’ve been watching you all night,” the brunette says, her voice slurred but still clear enough to make your chest tighten.
you force yourself to look away, focusing instead on the condensation trailing down your glass. but your attention snaps back when you hear lauren laugh—a soft, polite chuckle that quickly morphs into something warmer. she’s flirting back.
it’s subtle, nothing overt, but it’s enough to make your stomach churn.
you grip the edge of your stool, willing yourself to stay calm. this doesn’t matter, you tell yourself. this isn’t real. lauren is a footballer—a brilliant, talented, and undeniably attractive one. of course people are drawn to her. of course she’s going to flirt back.
you remind yourself that you’re just the one her pr team picked for this charade. nothing more.
the tightness in your chest refuses to go away. watching lauren lean in closer to the brunette, her smile softening, feels like a punch to the gut and worse, it makes you question things you don’t want to question.
like why you even care in the first place.
the noise of the bar feels suffocating, and before you know it, you’re sliding off the stool and heading toward the bathroom. the music dulls as you push through the door, and the quieter space is a welcome reprieve.
then, your eyes land on zion and amber.
your two friends are tucked into a corner of the bathroom, lost in their own world. amber’s hands are tangled in zion’s hair, and zion’s lips are pressed firmly against amber’s. they don’t even notice you until the door clicks shut behind you.
zion pulls back first, her face flushed. “y/n?” she asks, stepping forward.
“you okay?”
you hesitate, the weight of the night pressing heavily on your chest. you don’t want to talk about it, but the lump in your throat makes it clear that you need to.
“not really,” you admit, your voice quieter than you intended.
amber straightens, exchanging a quick glance with zion before walking over to you.
“what’s going on?” she asks, concern evident in her tone.
just like that, everything comes pouring out. the fake relationship, the constant public scrutiny, the pressure to perform for an audience you didn’t ask for. you tell them about the brunette at the bar, how lauren flirted back, and how much it hurt even though it shouldn’t have. when you’re done, you feel a little lighter, but the knot in your chest remains.
zion crosses her arms, her brow furrowed in thought.
“y/n,” she says carefully, “are you… catching feelings for lauren?”
the question hangs in the air, heavy and uncomfortable. your first instinct is to deny it, to brush it off as ridiculous. but the truth gnaws at you, undeniable and unrelenting. you don’t say anything, which is answer enough.
amber steps closer, placing a hand on your arm. “look,” she says gently, “you need to figure this out. either you tell her how you feel and end this whole fake thing, or you set some serious boundaries before you get hurt.”
you nod slowly, the reality of her words settling over you like a weight. “yeah,” you murmur.
“you’re right.”
as you stand there, staring at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, the question lingers in your mind.
how did i even let this happen?
the days pass in a haze of avoidance and overthinking.
you bury yourself in work, content for tiktok, and anything else that keeps you busy enough to ignore the fluttering in your chest every time you think of lauren. it’s not hard to avoid her; after all, your only real interactions have been the orchestrated ones... lunches, coffee dates, the occasional walk in the park, all designed to feed the narrative.
without the need for those, you manage to keep your distance.
your phone buzzes occasionally with texts from lauren. nothing accusatory or probing, just polite questions about when your next outing is or casual jokes about how your pr teams must be getting impatient about when the next outing will be.
each message makes your stomach twist, the guilt poking at you. she doesn’t deserve to be avoided, but you can’t bring yourself to face her right now.
the bathroom conversation at the bar replays in your head on a loop. amber’s words, “set boundaries or tell her how you feel,” echo louder with each passing day. it feels like you’ve done neither, stuck somewhere in limbo, unsure of what to do.
all you know is that seeing lauren flirt with someone else hurt more than it should have. and now, it’s painfully clear why.
you caught feelings.
the realization had hit you like a train that night, leaving you panicked. you’ve spent years building walls around yourself, keeping relationships at arm’s length, unwilling to let anyone in after your last heartbreak. yet here you are, feelings growing for someone who isn’t even truly yours.
lauren’s face lingers in your mind far more often than you’d like. the chelsea player’s quiet humor, her thoughtfulness, the way her smile lights up when she’s genuinely happy.. it’s all etched into your brain, no matter how much you try to push it away.
the worst part? you know this is going nowhere. fake relationships don’t magically become real, and even if they did, there’s no guarantee lauren feels the same.
you sit on your couch, scrolling absentmindedly through your phone. the notifications pile up—comments on your latest post, messages from friends, an email from your team about your next public appearance.
you can’t bring yourself to focus on any of it. all you can think about is how scared you are that you’ve made a mistake, one that’s far too late to undo.
hours later.. around midnight.. you’re curled up on your couch, a soft blanket draped over your legs as you dig into a bowl of rice and chicken. the dim glow of the tv lights up the room, the suspenseful soundtrack of squid game filling the air.
it’s the perfect distraction, engrossing enough to keep your thoughts at bay, even if just for a little while.
then, a faint knock interrupts the quiet. at first, you assume it’s coming from the show, but when it happens again, you freeze. your eyes flick to the door. you weren’t expecting anyone, and frankly, you’ve been avoiding everyone for the last few days.
the knocking persists, steady and deliberate, until you reluctantly pause the show and get up.
your heart races as you peek through the peephole. the sight of lauren standing there, hands shoved into the pockets of her hoodie, sends your mind spiraling.
what is she doing here? how did she get my address?
you open the door slowly, your confusion evident.
“lauren?” you ask, your voice wary.
“what are you doing here? how did you even know where i live?”
she offers a small smile, almost sheepish.
“hey. i asked madeline. hope that’s okay.”
you step aside, letting her in despite your confusion at why she would go so far to ask your mutual friend what your address was. lauren looks around, her eyes landing on the paused screen of squid game.
“season two?” she asks, nodding toward the tv.
“is it any good? haven’t had the chance to watch it yet because of training.”
“so far, yeah,” you reply, your tone cautious.
“like the first season. but… why are you here?”
she turns to face you, her expression soft but serious.
“i came to talk to you. you’ve been avoiding everyone.. me included.. and it’s not like you. i just want to make sure you’re okay.”
you try to brush it off, waving a hand dismissively.
“i’m fine. just needed some space, that’s all.”
lauren doesn’t budge. she crosses her arms, tilting her head slightly.
“come on, y/n. i know something’s wrong. you can’t just disappear like that and expect no one to notice.”
you let out a dry laugh, shaking your head.
“what does it matter? you probably have a real date to get to or something.”
she frowns, her brows knitting together.
“what are you talking about? i don’t have a real date. why would you say that?”
your heart pounds in your chest, but you push forward, your voice tinged with frustration.
“do you have a real partner, lauren? someone you’re seeing while we’re doing this… this fake thing?”
lauren’s confusion deepens.
“what? no. where is this even coming from?”
the tension boils over, and before you can stop yourself, the words spill out.
“because it’s driving me insane, lauren! this whole fake relationship thing.. it’s messing with my head. i can’t stop thinking about you, and it’s not just for the cameras or the public or whatever. i caught feelings, okay? within these few months of pretending to be your girlfriend, i somehow…. god, i don’t even know. i like you and i know that’s not part of the plan, so if this makes things too complicated, we can stop. i get it.”
the room goes quiet, your words hanging heavily in the air. lauren’s eyes widen, and for a moment, you brace yourself for rejection. but then her expression shifts… softening into something that looks like relief.
“wait,” she says, stepping closer.
“are you serious?”
you nod, your heart in your throat.
“yeah. and if that’s too much, just say the word, and we can call this off. i’ll tell the pr team about the situation myself.”
lauren shakes her head quickly. “no, no. you’re not calling anything off.” her voice is steady, her gaze locked onto yours.
“if we’re going to stop the fake relationship, it’s only because we’re starting a real one.”
your brows knit together, confusion washing over you.
“what are you saying?”
she takes a breath, her lips curving into a small, genuine smile.
“i’m saying that i’ve caught feelings too. you’re kind, funny, and beautiful.. completely yourself no matter the situation. you’re the kind of person who i love spending my time with, even for something as ridiculous as a fake relationship, this has been the best part of my year.”
you stare at her, your brain struggling to catch up.
“you… like me?”
“yeah,” she says, her smile widening.
“i like you, y/n. for real, nothing fake.”
the tension in your chest finally loosens, replaced by something warm and overwhelming.
“so, what do we do now?”
lauren grins, her expression brighter than you’ve ever seen it.
“first, i’m calling the pr team and telling them we’re done with this fake stuff. after that, we’ll figure it out. together.”
you let out a breathy laugh, relief washing over you.
“okay. yeah. let’s do that.”
she glances at the tv, her grin turning playful.
“before that, can we watch the rest of this? i’ve been meaning to start season two.”
you laugh, gesturing to the couch.
“sure, but you’re sharing my blanket.”
lauren plops down beside you, pulling the blanket over her legs as the two of you settle in. for the first time in weeks, everything feels right.
also real..
masterlist
happy very early birthday aj 😆
#lauren james#lauren james x reader#woso fanfics#woso community#woso x reader#chelsea fcw#engwnt#lucy bronze
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can you write something about what would happen if jenova (which lets just say it's conscious and genuinely cares for sephiroth) spends most of the game saving energy to return to their original form which I imagine is something akin to an eldritch monster (since they are a literal space alien that lives by eating PLANETS) and instead of the final battle against safer sephiroth, the AVALACHE group just goes to sleep one day and when they wake up cloud is nowhere to be seen and a gigantic tentacle monster and sephiroth are inhalating the planet.
Meanwhile Cloud wakes up in one of jenova's tentacles just to be greeted by the Alien talking about how they are about to be done whit this planet and not to worry because "Cloud is their son's chosen mate", Cloud obviously tries to scape, to no avail because the G cells inside his body are making movement impossible, so he just sits there and is unable to do anything but listen to jenova while the the two destroy the world.(sephiroth and jenova win)
Jenova is just happy to be done with this god forsaken planet, but hey, at least they've got a son and his mate now, jenova just has to teach sephiroth the correct ways of mating for thir species.
This one is a doozy, haha
“Wake up little one, it would be a shame for you to miss your first planetary destruction.”
Half awake and suffering from a pounding headache, Cloud barely registers the words spoken into his mind. Instead, he somewhat registers the odd sense of security he is feeling—almost as if he is being held securely in someone’s arms—and a strange inner peace he hasn’t felt for years.
“Open your eyes little one, you do not want to miss this.”
Once again coaxed by the voice in his mind, Cloud opens his eyes with a few sleepy blinks. Instantly, the feeling of security and peace are shattered by the sights around him. Rather than being in the bed he fell asleep the previous day, (or whenever he fell asleep. Who is to say it’s been only a day since he went to sleep?) he’s being held several thousand feet off the ground by a large tentacle thing. Everything is…
“Finally being destroyed.” The voice in his mind finishes, “It has taken a long while, but your little planet is finally fulfilling its purpose.”
No, this is absolutely not the purpose of his planet. This planet was not designed to be destroyed and eaten by an alien and a wannabe god. Struggling to move, Cloud can just barely turn his head to look behind him at the massive creature behind him. Instinctively, he knows that this is Jenova’s true form. Once he heard someone talk about the concept of eldritch horror—the sort of thing that your mind cannot even begin to comprehend just due to the sheer size of it—and he realizes he never fully appreciated the concept until now.
Jenova is more than eldritch. Jenova is…hurting him to look at. With great struggle, Cloud manages to turn his head back towards the planet’s destruction. In the distance, he catches sight of what he thinks is—once was—Sephiroth. Even from afar, he can tell Sephiroth’s new form is just as massive as Jenova’s is.
Seeing Sephiroth like this, Cloud can almost understand why Sephiroth thought Jenova to be his mother. Although he has wings where the alien has tentacles, the sheer size of both of them is enough to make them related.
Just then, Sephiroth turns to them and waves almost shyly. Strands of the lifestream drip from his mouth like blood.
“Ah, he’s a bit of a messy eater.” Jenova hums happily, still in Cloud’s head, “A violent one too. He has wonderful potential.”
Cloud wants to throw up, or scream, or both, but he can’t seem to make his body do what he wants. Even as a large chunk of the planet collapses in on itself with a sound that should have Cloud cowering, he remains still and silent in Jenova’s grasp.
Jenova pats his head with the top of one of her tentacles almost as if she is comforting him.
“You have nothing to fear, little one. You are my son’s chosen mate. In my grasp you will be more than safe from the destruction of what you once needed to live.”
“I-I-”
“Oh, I see, you wish to be with him.”
No, he absolutely does not wish to be with Sephiroth, but he can’t make himself protest. Instead he remains silent as Jenova makes her way over to Sephiroth in order to pass him off.
Reaching Sephiroth, Cloud finds himself unceremoniously dropped in the mans(?) hands. Then Sephiroth lifts him so he’s directly in front of his giant face, all the while smiling like a predator who was never taught not to play with their food.
“Cloud, isn’t this wonderful? I have fulfilled my birthright, and we can now be together forever.”
Using all his willpower, Cloud forces himself to speak.
“Why would I want that?”
Sephiroth’s grin falls at the same time Jenova laughs.
“Pay him no mind my child, he’s merely restless. Once you properly mate him he will settle and be plenty happy.”
Cloud doesn’t need a mirror to know he’s gone white as a sheet.
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Happy happy birthday!! I hope it’s such a lovely one!
Hmm, perhaps some gen of Fingon, Finrod, and Aegnor at Barad Eithel being very cousin-siblings and giving each other a hard time about whatever you will?
What a lovely idea of how to celebrate on here!
Aegnor, Finrod, Fingon, Galdor, seducing the Edain. Rated G, 840 words. Written by @polutrope and @melestasflight and right in time for @arafinwean-week On AO3.
Aegnor looks up from his cup to where Finrod is still interrogating Galdor on some obscure Edain lore regarding fire rituals. From what he has absently gathered, they have existed among the House of Hador since bygone times in the East.
He was eager to meet his eldest brother at Barad Eithel, both of them having come for Fingon’s begetting day feast. They have not seen each other in over a year, and there is so much to catch up on, but for most of the night, Finrod has ignored him utterly. Aegnor is not surprised: he cannot compete for Finrod’s attention in the presence of any mortal person even remotely willing to engage in discussion.
Aegnor pours himself a fourth cup of wild rice wine and has downed half of it when Fingon plops himself on the bench beside him, half sitting on his lap, and throws his arms around his neck.
“My dearest cousin, I am so glad you are here.” He kisses his cheek. “Why are you not dancing?” Fingon is deep into his cups already; his fair face is flushed and he is even louder and more cheerful than usual.
Here at least is one who will take interest in what he has to say, Aegnor thinks, and hooks his arm around Fingon’s waist with a squeeze. “I am happy to see you, too. Sit with me for a while?”
Fingon grins at him and then collects himself a little. “How have you fared? What’s the news in Dorthonion?”
“Nothing much since you last visited, but we completed the watchtowers overlooking the plain,” Aegnor begins. He goes on to talk about his construction projects, the new foals born in his herds, the collection of poetry he’s begun writing.
Fingon nods enthusiastically and asks questions here and there. Before long, however, his gaze strays across the table and he interrupts Aegnor mid-sentence. “Is that Galdor?”
“Yes, the poor lad, my brother has had him trapped for the past two hours.” Aegnor is eager to return to the subject of his poetry, but Fingon is no longer listening. His cousin’s eyes are blown wide and dark, and he rakes them up and down the man’s body.
“Your staring is not subtle at all,” Aegnor teases.
“I have never seen him like this, in his princely attire,” Fingon mutters, seemingly more to himself than in response to Aegnor.
Aegnor follows Fingon’s gaze. Galdor has only recently come to manhood; he is even taller than his father, Hador, but no less blond. Free from the helmet and heavy armor that usually hide most of his face and body, he is resplendent, his hair falling to his shoulders in fine golden waves and a handsome stubble adorning his chin. He is most fine to the eye, Aegnor has to admit.
Galdor is, undoubtedly, Fingon’s type. His cousin has a history of seducing the Men of Dor-lómin: a brief affair with Hador himself before his marriage to Gildis; then, Hador’s cousin Handar; and now, it seems, Hador’s own son.
“You cannot be serious, Findekáno. Again?” Aegnor rolls his eyes and smacks Fingon’s shoulder.
“You are a fine one to talk, Aikanáro,” Fingon hisses. “It's not me who patrols bëorian villages in the moonlight.”
Aegnor glares at him, but Fingon pays him no heed. His cousin stands up, downs the cup of rice wine he has been nursing, straightens his clothes and the circlet upon his head, and resolutely marches to where Galdor and Finrod are conversing, heedless of whatever it is Finrod is now explaining to the man. Fingon grins like a fool as he looks down to where Galdor kneels to kiss his ring finger, then he pulls the man up to his feet and whispers something into his ear that washes Galdor’s cheeks pink.
Fingon turns to wink at Aegnor and then he is gone, leading Galdor by the hand, and disappearing among the crowd of dancing pairs.
Aegnor cannot help but chuckle, easily forgiving his cousin. This is Fingon’s party, after all, and he deserves to have a merry time. He picks up his cup, the bottle of rice wine, and walks over to take the seat recently vacated by Galdor.
“Another failed attempt at learning the lore of the House of Hador, brother?” he jests with Finrod.
“Did you know their people worshipped Arien as their God at first? I was so close to having Galdor reveal the meaning behind their fire rituals,” Finrod blurts out, mildly frustrated. “Damn you, Findekáno,” his brother curses, but he chuckles as he says this; there is no true resentment in his words.
They both watch Galdor and Fingon, now twirling on the dance floor. Fingon’s hands are firmly planted on Galdor’s waist, and the man grins brightly at him, blue eyes all for Fingon.
“The boy looks quite smitten with him,” Aegnor tells Finrod.
“He has no chance against our cousin’s charm,” Finrod snorts.
“Care for a dance, brother?”
“Why not,” says Finrod with a smile, and jumps up, pulling Aegnor from the bench with him.
#aegnor#finrod#fingon#galdor#barad eithel#arafinweanweek2025#arafinweanweek#polu and melesta's birthday bash#silmarillion#tolkien
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relief some stress
bsf!matt sturniolo x reader
warnings: smut, oral f!receiving, fingering, pet names (baby), slight overstimulation
authors note: HIII, this is my first thing written in probably like 5-6 years. hope it’s decent LMFAO ENJOY
english is not my first language!
it was quite unusual, really. everything was quiet besides the wet sounds of his tongue gliding over your clit, savoring the sweet taste of it. you and matt had been really good friends for ages, becoming closer over the years. but never this close. to be honest with yourself, neither you or matt really knew how you guys got here. his fingers held a firm grip on your thighs, keeping your legs spread. his tongue lapping over your clit nice and slow. it had been a stressful week for the both of you. whatever he had going on, filming with his brothers or just personal stress, and whatever you had going on. you had both been tense all day and somehow it ended up here. with you laying on his bed, legs spread while he worked his tongue on you. all you knew right now was the feeling of his small groans sending vibrations trough your ridiculously wet pussy, your eyes never leaving the scene. “fuck…” you breathed out heavily, your brows knitting in pleasure as you looked down at him trough half lidded eyes.his eyes met yours and you swore it only added to your pleasure. his beautiful face between your legs, his blue eyes looking up into yours all while his tongue picked up its pace in response to your mumbled curse. his cock already painfully hard against his pants. “y’ look so perfect, so wet f’me.” he mumbled against you, making you moan, face consorting in pleasure. a small smirk tugged at his lips, seeing how good he was making you feel. he picked up his pace, switching between lapping at your folds and closing his lips around your clit, sucking on it occasionally. “matt, fuck..” breathy moans left your lips, subconsciously bucking your hips into his face, getting closer to your high while he worked his magic on you.
“i know baby, i know.” his tongue ran over your clit flatly, sneaking his middle and ring finger into you, curling them up to hit that oh so incredible spot that only made your moans come out louder. “gonna come f’me?” he panted, moving his fingers at a matching pace to his tongue, making you clench around his digits. “cmon baby, i know you can do it.” he mumbles. your hand finds its way down into his hair, tugging on it while the other one gripped his silk sheets. your legs started to tremble, your breaths came out shaky and a string of moans left your lips as you approached your high. he groaned at your slight tug on his hair, sending those sweet vibrations right trough you again, all while his fingers worked in sync with his merciless tongue. before you knew it, the knot in your stomach snapped, your walls clenching around his fingers. you tried to muffle your moans, clutching your hand over your mouth. matt’s eyes never left your face as you came, studying every detail about it, his aching cock twitching in his pants as he watched your face fill with pure pleasure…
but even as you came down from your orgasm, matt’s tongue never came to a halt. your body twitched and your hips tried their best to pull away from the overwhelming feeling of his tongue assaulting your overstimulated clit. “matt, please- t-too much..” you whined, attempting to push his head away with your hand. he hummed in response, taking a few more minutes to really enjoy himself on the taste of your sweet arousal before pulling away. he panted, looking down at your shaking body laying on his bed, licking over his puffy lips before sitting down next to you. he wiped his chin, studying your face. “you okay..?” he asked softly, swiping the hair the stuck to your sweaty face out of the way. “more than okay.”
still not 100% sure of how you both have even gotten here, it was safe to say that your best friend was insanely good at helping you relief stress.
#matt sturniolo x reader smut#matt sturniolo x reader#matt sturniolo fanfiction#matt sturniolo#matt stuniolo fanfic#sturniolos#sturniolo triplets#chris sturiolo fanfic#chris sturniolo x reader#chris sturniolo#matt sturniolo x you#Spotify
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Enchanted by Starlight ── ( prologue )
SUMMARY - In a world rules by the hierarchy of Alpha's and Beta's, Avaryce is on the run - and run she does, right into the Night Court where a certain pack is in need of an Omega.
Warnings: This is my first ever story on Tumblr. Mentions of runaways and abuse, and this story includes A/B/O. Not gonna be good, so brace yourselves.
Pairings: Inner Circle x OC
---
With each step I took away from my old life, the weight of expectation and abuse suffered at the hands of those who were supposed to be my "pack" fell away, leaving only uncertainty and adrenaline in its wake. The stars blinked down on me like old companions, and I couldn't help but let out a small exhale. I was free.
I had been on the run, I suppose you could say, for the past few days. The journey long and perilous. In truth I had no idea where I was going, only that I needed to get as far away as possible from my old pack, or what was supposed to be a pack.
I sigh, slinging down my backpack ducking behind a tree. If anything this would be a good place to rest for the night. The forest had become a part of me now. It enveloped me like a mother would her child. It felt comfortable, right, in a way that was inexplainable.
I found a rock next to the stump of tree I decided to rest behind and took a seat. I grabbed the bag digging through what little bit I had. I started off with a few protein bars and water, only to now end up with half a bottle of water, and maybe a crumb or two of protein bars that would make a mouse scoff in distaste.
Seems I need to head to a town, tommorow. The thought alone made shivers run up my spine. I had been careful thus far not to run into anyone. After all, I was an Omega. One that was now packless, and alone. There's likely two things Alpha's or Beta's would do to me if spotted: take me back to my original pack, or try to mark me as their own. And we'll, neither option is viable in my opinion, especially if they're as brutal as my previous pack was to Omega's.
Since the beginning of well...forever, Alpha's were known to take an Omega and mark them as territory in packs. And since the pack I was in previously was strictly familial, I wasn't yet marked by any bonded packs as theirs. Which means I am now practically free game to any pack that wants me . . .Yay. Not.
I didn't even know which court I was near anymore. I didn't have a map or a sense of direction. I simply booked it in the middle of the night three days ago. The thought alone makes me groan in annoyance. I should have planned this better, but after a particular beating, I realized I couldn't take it anymore, that I sshouldn't.
I was not some animal to be treated so unfairly. I wouldn't sit and be caged and look pretty only to be sold off to a cruel pack to sit and bare faelings, or pups. And I wouldn't. If there was a pack that could look past me being an Omega and see me for me then I would finally think about a life settling down. But until then, I would remain packless, and alone.
My thoughts are interrupted by the growling of my stomach. "Shit." I mumbled, tiredly. I hadn't realized when I shut my eyes, or when the stars fading into nothingness above me.
---
The next morning I set back off on my journey. The winds bristled past me whipping through my strawberry blonde hair. The void in my stomach only grew, and grew. I would need to eat something soon before Ipassed out. I gulped. That's the last thing I need.
I set a faster pace forward, keeping the negative thoughts down. There wasn't time for that. It wasn't until I caught a wiff of a delectable pumpkin pie that I finally paused. The aroma of the dish made my mouth water, and oh? The scent of whipped cream filled my senses.
I was nearing a clearing, and when I finally pulled back the last bit of brush in my way, I saw it. The Night Court. Or, well, Velaris: the City of Starlight. By legs didn't care as they led me down a steep hill towards that magnificent city. Its been years since they opened the border to outsiders. It won't be a suprise to see a new face, luckily.
I saw people walking, and talking with each other, the people seemed, peaceful. Much unlike what I saw growing up. The city felt alive and refreshing. As I walked past many streets and shops, onlookers seemed to pause and look at me. Not surprising: I probably look like a mad woman looking for this pie. But I couldn't care.
Not as the scent grew nearer and nearer, until there it was. A pie, sitting on the edge of a window sill. Steam wafted off of the pastry, and my mouthed opened slightly at the sight. In front of me was a building to a art studio where I could hear the laughter and voices of children inside. No one would notice a tiny bite being gone, right? I got closer to the pie, already tasting the deliciousness when the door to the studio opens.
My eyes widen as I run to the side of the building which just so happens to be an alleyway. Praying that no one had seen me. My scent was blocked off with scentblockers, so they couldn't tell that an Omega was near. "Huh, I swear I could have heard something." A sweet melodic voice mumbles.
"Probably a stray squirrel, Fey, nothing to fear. " A soft, sweet, voice says. "Oh! I almost forgot! The pie!" I ducked further into the alley before the voice drew to close. "Can't have the kids getting to hungry, right?"
"They'll love it, Elain." The voice, "Fey" states.
"You think?" The Elain girl questions.
"I know it!" Fey exclaims. "It's so sweet that you baked it for them, they must be starving." The sympathy in her voice makes me wanna gag at the thought that I was going to eat these kids' pie. "Come on."
When the door shuts, I lean on the building with a sigh. I need to be more careful. With scentblockers I will be fine for a while, but running up to the studio and acting like a deranged female was not a part of the plan.
And now the pie is gone.
A rack of guilt flowed through me. A pie that was meant for children. A gnawed on my fist and sighed. It didn't matter. I didn't get it, anyway. No harm done, right? Wrong. Suddenly, something sharp pointed at my ribs, and I stiffen. Oh, no. I'd been caught. And now I was going back to my old pack. My face paled. I can't go back. "Turn around." A sturdy male voice said. The voice sent shivers down my spine.
He voice was like a symphony of shadows. Dark and controlled. Alluring and hypnotizing. Deep and tempting. I mentally curse. Now isn't the time to get hormonal. I obliged the mystery man, taking my time to face the man with the blade. And when I do - when I see those delectable dark eyes, and the shadows that erupted from every which way from around him, it is only then that I realize how much shit I'm in. Maybe even more so than I was before I left in the first place.
#a/b/o#acotar x reader#rhysand x reader#feyre x reader#azriel x reader#cassian x reader#morrigan x reader#nesta x reader#amren x reader#a court of thorns and roses#acotar fanfiction
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Today I realised the reason I love Silco so much is because maybe I relate to him in an uncanny way? ( And that I unintentionally have a Silco+Jinx tattoo?)
Some backstory first
I'd gone to college with my childhood best friend/partner and we had a whole plan for our futures and I was a big dreamer. I got us into all the schools/opportunities we wanted to purely by planning a lot. By constantly making sure we had a way out. By keeping us moving. By being the one that put their head down and planned. They had fire initially, which made us bond, but later they sort of showed up and came along for the ride.
Our campus was on the outskirts of a city which coincidentally had a polluted river flowing through it, where dead bodies were found. The water contained so many chemicals, it foamed unnaturally and your skin could feel it.
We would sit on the shores of this river and plan how we'd make it out of here and move to a better place. How we'd break the cycle. How we'd live in a nice house, eat good food and simply live a peaceful life. Away from the violence and chaos of the families we came from.
But things started falling apart, and both of us had vastly different ideologies. We didn't fit like perfect puzzle pieces anymore.
After months of tension, an ongoing fight blew up to the extent they choked me and shoved me down while I clawed at them to get away.
I grew so bitter and felt so betrayed.
This was my best friend. Young, hopeful me considered them my other half in every sense. This was the person I grew up with, we'd gotten each other through so much trauma in our lives and we'd barely survived everything together.
We've both stopped each other from early deaths and yet, there they were, throwing our future away, while I tried my best to acquire it.
I always felt like I didn't resent them for abusing me, I hated them for giving up. On our dream, on our future.
Suddenly I was thrown away.
That dynamic felt eerily similar to Silco/Vander, down to the size difference.
Around that time the only way I knew how to cope was to imagine myself reborn. I became a new person, being betrayed changed me so fundamentally, I had to change.
I viewed everything as pre-incident and after. Pre-betrayal, post-betrayal.
My younger self had no means of understanding why I'd been left behind to rot. While they got a comfortable life. Got to keep our friends. They got the better end of the deal. They got everything.
And I was absolutely alone, isolated. Driven to the point of insanity by everything they'd done to me.
I swore to only trust in myself after that.
I got this tattoo to symbolise my "rebirth" and how to find strength solely in myself.
My younger self had a lot in common with Silco/Jinx and it's a funny coincidence that my tattoo ended up having both their motifs.
Anyways, I didn't understand how much of my own life I saw in Silco's until my brother pointed this out recently. But it helped me process some of the feelings I felt when I began to read more on Silco/Vander's dynamic and why I was drawn to it.
I have always been that dirty little thing, scraping it together and clawing my way out.
No wonder I loved Silco's Rebirth narrative. It truly is the realest arc anyone who experiences trauma/ abuse/betrayal goes through.
And now years later, even though I have a peaceful life, my own apartment, sometimes I get reminded of how I could be hurt and that little part of me that is always on the run comes back in ropes of rage. I need to be in control.I have tried to harden myself and yet, I am still soft. I would often think my caring for others was my biggest weakness, though now I treasure it.
No wonder I love this little rat man. I am what he is. (Down to the black hair and scribbling in journals and leather jackets and cigarettes and being fruity lmfaoo)
No wonder I absolutely love everything about his characterization in season one.
#i am silco fr#just me rambling okay#im being vulnerable guys#drawing parallels to my life#silco arcane#love my man silicone#silco#young silco#arcane#sorry u had to read this#im gonna sleep
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oh it’s a beautiful night,
we’re looking for something dumb to do
hey baby,
i think i wanna marry you.
is it the look in your eyes,
or is it this dancing juice
who cares baby,
i think i wanna marry you.
(just say i dooooo)
-bruno mars, marry you
#ok so i tried and failed to learn to edit#literally just for this.#it’s been sitting in my head for like a year and a half now#because this song is so THEM#but anyway marry you wasn’t able to be overlayed on my edit so i gave up#and made this instead#but if anyone wants to edit it. please please please#trobed#trobed playlist!!!#community#troy barnes#abed nadir#bruno mars#marry you
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RANT
#hey boss#u uh- u said i was working sun n wed- can i have more consistent days so i have days to block out for interviews?#.#uve been forewarned#ok so its four months into my gap year and HOLY SHIT JOB SEARCHING IS SO FRUSTRATING#so im working as a clerk at this law firm mon and wed (only 8 hours total tho)#n i THOT i had my reatil job in the bag but then boss goes “yea im really sorry but i cant give u three days - only sundays and weds”#so i was like great ok i need another job thats cool ill just bliock out sundays and weds for potential employers#THEN on sat boss texts n goes “ahhh i dont need u till next week- also can u switch ur wed to fri”. ??????? MA'AM#so i go#she says sorry kid i dont WHICH IS FINE I APPRICIATE THE COMMUNICATION#so i have an interview the next day at a coffee shop for a time THE MANAGER OFFERED#i show up after having pit my day aside for this noon interview#i walk in employees go “uh ho manager stepped out”#she camnt come back for the rest of the day AND doesnt apologize in her email- just “unfourntallyyyy i didnt have time to check my email”#MAAM YOU SEND THE INVITE#whatever#luckily last friday i was invited to this job fair by like four diff locations in san fran n was immeditaly hired#(first trial shift tmr yay!)#but the commute is gonna be KILLER#however im hopeful n i love coffee so yay#also my pet sitting is taking off ive got two sits booked for october#which is suprising bc im also traveling for half the month#manchester edenbrough st andrews milan lake como babayyyyyyy#also this thursday im heading to chicago and maine for a wedding (yay go love!) and to tenessee for another wedding in jan#so now ive got law firm retail associate barista dog sitter n i just KNOW when the holidays roll around n both retail jobs will be wack ill#be floored#but. ahem anywats good things frustrating thinsg stressful things but GOD am i glad i took this gap year#oh yea and ive been hiking tones! lands end trail#tilden park
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today feels like an excellent day to embarrass myself and make bad desicions that i will definitely regret, so i will text my crush that i haven’t talked to for months, and has also told me that he is not romantically interested in me, and tell him all the ways he is lovely and gorgeous
#crying#crush#shooting my shot#he is so sweet and i’m just a scrawny crusty withered soggy witch#i love him sm💕💕💕💐💐#girlblogging#i can have a little delulu. as a treat#ok but its been like a whole year since he said he doesn’t have a crush on me and last year i also didn’t have a crush on him#and hhere i am now crushing on him. things change ok and im not quite as sad and ugly as i was a year ago#pLUS‼️‼️ i always catch him doing these rlly nervous movements around me like accidentally glancing at me the same moment i glance at him#and we accidentally make eye contanc for 0.00001 seconds and he turns his head in the other direction SO FAST#it’s one of my favorite things about him cuz he gets so shy when we near eachother and starts rapidly looking at anything that isn’t me lol#so what i’m saying is MAYBE I HAVE HALF A CHANCE NOW??!!!?!???!???!!??!?#i guess i will update if it goes well?!?!?!?!?!?!#severely touch starved and desperate for human intimacy posting#but what do i do if he rejects me????? what will i do then???? just live in shame of my delusional confidence???#BUT WHAT IF HE LIKES ME BACK????!!!! WHAT THEN?????!!?? THEN I HAVE TO MAINTAIN A RELATIONSHIP AND FACE THE FACT PEOPLE CAN SEE ME#lgbtq#bi#biromantic#ace#asexual#unrequited love#situationships#i long i yearn i crave yet i don’t dare text or sit near him or look at him for fear of being perceived#bitch got me listening to mistki laufey and pink pantheress
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"Uhhh violence never the answer it's childish to start fights" it's also childish to refuse any and all criticism and expect everyone around you to bend over backwards to accommodate your every fucking whim and never do the same in return. If YOU make YOURSELF impossible to have a mature conversation with, people are going to stop trying.
#also again her and grandma's negligence resulted in my dad getting mauled by HER dog but we don’t get to be mad about that? fuck off#your dog is going to be euthanized. this will happen again with the wrong fucking person and they will press charges and your dog will die.#and I know for a FACT if either of our dogs had done anything even close to what hers did she would have flipped her shit#and now because she can't handle the bare minimum responsibilities of a dog owner our dogs are traumatized.#dad got hurt trying to separate her dog from Ghost(our aussie) bc he has no socialization skills and wouldn't leave Ghost tf alone#and then a day after THAT Ghost attacked Elphie (our corgi) bit her head and flipped her on her back. drew blood.#so because my aunt refuses to train her fucking dog now Ghost is triggered by the dog he has lived with his entire life#and has never EVER had issues with her! he has some excitability issues but he has NEVER been aggressive and has always deffered to Elphie#she's always been the one in charge. he's playful and friendly and has never instigated anything all 3 years of his life prior to this.#I am so fucking mad dog training is not just for the owner's convenience it's so your animal and other animals/people can be SAFE#they have a 2 year old and an 8 year old in that house a dog like this is a hazard. And to be clear I am not blaming the animal.#he is being neglected. they refuse to train him so they obviously can't manage his behavior so he just gets locked in his crate#which sucks for any animal but especially a year and a half old puppy who wants to play so he just sits in there and barks for fucking HOURS#it just sucks! I'm mad! He's a sweet dog but he has no self regulation skills so he's way too reactive! hes gonna bite one of the kids or a#stranger or another dog and then he won't have any chance to improve because he will be euthanized.
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The double-edged sword of enjoying Chicago and knowing basically all the songs by heart, but also can't stop crying every time I watch/listen to any of them bcs I can't stop thinking about how covid robbed me of getting the experience of ever performing it :(
#*in the pit#its literally like the best show ever for the pit#and yet i learned all that music and got it stuck in my head for months(well years now lmao)#and for what.#for nothing.#UGHHHHHHHHH IT MAKES ME SO FUCKING SAD#WE HAD SUCH GRAND PLANS#and covid hit literally the week of the first full practice with the pit and cast combined#so ill literally never know what it would have been like to be on stage#it hurts my heart so badly#bcs i rly love the songs and know them so well but i cant enjoy them bcs i just get really sad#and not only did covid ruin that show. it also ruined any performances for the rest of highschool#bcs social distancing#so irs like. i felt such joy for 1 and half years#like got to do something i really vibed with#AND THEN IT GOT DESTROYED#i generally like the quarantine time bcs it changed me a lot as a person#but this. i cannot ever let it slide. it will haunt me for the rest of my life#bcs thw first musical i did. it was a very typical musical for pit#like wear all black. sit in the pit area. fun fun#but Chicago. the pit is literally part of the cast. its so front and center#but nope!!!! 😭😭#sorry angsting#also it will piss me off forever that in the recording of the other musical +#they cut out so many of the instrumental bits. like wow fuck us i guess!!#i remember buying the dvd and then being soooo disappointed and ive never touched it again#catie.rambling.txt
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