#I got a cool fucking screen tablet it's over for you bitches

[vannahmontannah]

~Your Last Lover

READ THE REST ONE WATTPAD @ vannahmontanah

"Dude! What fuck, man!"

"Bro, chill! It was just one roach!"

This job sometimes more professionals. I don't know how much more of this I can take. How do you get roaches in your game system and don't even let me know? What's going on at home?

"You have to tell me beforehand," I said.

"I'm sorry. But, can you still fix it? I really need it,"

"What else is wrong with it?" I shook my head.

"It's slow! It over heats a lot and I think there's dust stuck inside,"

"Okay. I can hook you up,"

"How much will it be? I got $400,"

"I'll let that roach pass since it's just one, but it's a cool $270,"

"Thanks so much! I can't afford a new one right now, so this is a deal,"

"It should be done in three days,"

"Thank you,"

He handed me the money and rushed out the door. If he can afford to get his game fixed, he can afford cleaning supplies.

"Yo!" Camron greeted.

"Hey..."

Camron (Cam—Ron) is the store manager. We have another employee named Davion. I work at a service shop where we fix electronics. I fix computers, PC's, and game systems while Davion fixes phones and tablets. We're all good at doing each thing, but we have certain ones we're good at doing best. We also fix smart watches but we do not fix TV's and VR systems. So don't come in here it's a 65in TV and that new Apple VR.

"What's wrong with you?"

"We got another roach,"

"Aw nah! Imma have to put up a sign saying we don't do big infested shit. That's a such an inconsiderate thing,"

"Well, I said I'd do it though. I'm finishing up a laptop right now,"

"So, I was at this party last night right?"

"Yeah?"

"I seen this girl. Her name's Barbie,"

"What about her?"

"She fine as hell! That's what's up! Yo! The next party is in two days. I want you and Davion to come,"

"Is this another college party?"

"No! She just so happen to be in college and I met her,"

"Why don't you just meet her there?"

"I would, but I don't think I'm her type,"

"How come?"

"Well, she told me the kinda guys she fuck with and I'm just not in that category. But you may like her,"

"Not you trynna hook me up,"

"I'm not. She wasn't the only girl I met anyway. I just want ya to come with me. Shop close at 7 and the party starts at 8,"

"What school she go too?"

"Thurgood," (this is a made up school)

"She stay on campus?"

"Nah. She off campus,"

"Okay, okay. If I'm not busy bye then—"

"Nigga, you work that day! You'll be here and we get off at the same time!"

"But you know I stay late sometimes to finish,"

"Have some fun! I'm keeping the key this time. You will be getting out the store. You'll never know, she may need something fixed of hers,"

"Well, she's free to come on down when she likes,"

"I'm looking for the hoes...Yeah, yeah! Shake that ass, hoe! Shake that ass, hoe!" Davion sang.

I'm legit looking at this man with pure confusion. Is this nigga singing Sexy Redd? And he knew all the words! This nigga's trippin!

"Bro! Dave! What the hell are you doing!" Camron said.

"I'm Vibing! You fucking it up right now. What you want?"

"I need you to clock out on time! You not slick,"

"It wasn't an accident,"

"Whatever,"

It was 15 minutes til closing time and someone walked in at the last minute. He was dark-skin with a drop fade.

"How ya doing?" He greeted.

"I'm good. How can I help you?"

"My phone is fucked up. I dropped the bitch and the screen is done for. How much to change the screen,"

"Let me see," Davion said. "I can do $75,"

"Okay. Will it be done today?"

"No. We close in 15 minutes. I can have it done by tomorrow afternoon,"

"Damn. I kinda need it. It's whatever, as long as it gets fixed. Here's the money,"

"Thank you. I need you number and your password,"

"Hey, didn't I see you last night?" He asked.

"You probably did," Camron said.

"You was at the college party,"

"Only for a little bit—"

"I saw you talking to my girl,"

"I was not talking to her. I was having a conversation,"

"It doesn't matter. You be easy..."

He mugged Camron and left the shop. What was that about? I didn't see the big deal. Wait! Did he try to get me to talk to a woman that was already taken?

"Is that the girl you was talking to yesterday that you trynna get me to talk too?" I asked.

"I didn't know she had a nigga!"

"How you didn't know?"

"She never said anything and I never asked!"

"Camron, you trynna get Dean hurt?"

"I don't know that man!"

"I'm not going to that party," I said, packing my stuff.

"I'm still going regardless. I was just going because one of my friends wanted me to go with her and I just so happen to meet the girl, Barbie. I'm really going for my friend,"

"Cam, what are you doing at a college party?" Davion asked.

"I just said I was there for my friend. She's 25 by the way,"

"I'm out guys," I said, shaking my head.

"Wait, wait, wait. Can ya please come with me Wednesday night? Just do this one thing?"

I hesitated, but I gave in to it. So, I guess I'm going to this party Wednesday. Fuck...

#agent00 #romance #18+ content #amp

[muzarry]

Lemme turn this into one post, basically character/outfit tweets inspired artwork from Twitter ✨

#jjba #I got a cool fucking screen tablet it's over for you bitches #jjba golden wind #jjba stone ocean #bruno bucciarati #giorno giovanna #guido mista #enrico pucci

[babblydrabbly]

Distracted (Peacemaker x Reader) Smut

Pairing(s): Peacemaker x F!Reader; Brief Javelin x Reader

Characters: Peacemaker/Christopher Smith, Amanda Waller, Javelin

Rating: M

Word Count: 3.5k+

Warning(s): Smut, language, mentions of blood/violence. Choking, cream pie, semi-rough sex.

Summary: Out on a Task Force X mission, Peacemaker notices you're acting... different. He generously offers to help with what's distracting you. Asshole.

A/N: What's this? Baby's first Peacemaker fic? Takes place before The Suicide Squad (2021). Metahuman!Reader has super strength/speed abilities. Also, what kind of vanilla name is Chris Smith.

---

"Again?"

Amanda Waller arched a brow at your perturbed expression.

"My apologies." She droned. "Am I not stimulating you with enough variety, [L/n]?"

You scoffed, folding your arms in deference. It wasn't about that— It was about the deliberately repeated pairings with Christopher Smith. The dynamic that was becoming a pattern. You never would have worked with someone like Peacemaker on the outside. As much as you appreciated the job always getting done with him, you still bumped heads with him too much on the way to the finish line. He was frustratingly serious and flippant at the same time.

You decided to shut your trap before Waller decided she didn't need you anymore.

"You've got one skillset useful to me, [L/n]. I suggest you get used to the prospect of being paired up with Smith on a regular basis— While you're still around."

You nodded when she dismissed you. You had gotten used to it. You were seeing so much of Peacekeeper you were practically partners.

So, you pointedly sat to next the one called Javelin on the helicopter out of Belle Reve, as far away from Smith as possible. You were about to spend over twelve hours with him— It didn't have to start right away. While Colonel Flag gave you all the spiel on the mission, you glanced over and saw Javelin toss you a nod.

"You're Team B," The thrower noted over the whir of the helicopter. "[L/n], yes?"

"Yeah," you said. Your eyes flitted over the muscular squad member. He looked more like a superhero in his light blue and yellow get-up than the rest of you. You personally kept the lower half of your face covered with a black hard shell mask— Your armor from before you were incarcerated (Yes, you've heard the 'Baby Bane' jokes from the others). Even if you had to get used to working with a bunch of weirdos, you could at least conceal your face from them while you did it.

"You move very swiftly." He complimented, and you didn’t know how you were supposed to take that.

"Thanks," You tried, "I like your... weapon of choice?"

Javelin held his namesake in his arms, his legs spread wide to accommodate it as he rested it against his inner thigh. The innuendo normally would have had you rolling your eyes, but today they lingered, and you wondered if he still looked as broad and muscular without the suit on.

You frowned. Without the suit on?

Were you still staring down at his thighs?

You supposed he was a goddamn Olympic athlete at one point. And prison didn't seem to stop him from his regimen. —There it was again. You blinked and looked away, thankful nobody seemed to notice. Javelin seemed content with the brief introduction, so you left it at that.

Okay, so maybe it had been awhile since you...

You reprimanded yourself. These were not recreational outings. As much as you liked feeling free every once in awhile, you were never in a position to consider doing something so stupid. The last few missions were some of the closest calls you had while on the task force, but now that your job today was more about recon, you could at least let your mind wander to the less... imperative things. You crossed your legs at the ankles in front of you and let mind drift for the rest of the trip.

But christ had prison been rough. And a little boring. You didn’t have to think about Javelin moving closer to you for long— Pressing up flush against you— Before you were imagining yourself against a wall— Hell, right here on this bench— hooking your legs around his waist as he thrusted into you. You pictured him going for two, three rounds, that stupid suit lying on the floor with your back on top of it. You pictured him going down on you too, a handful of his wavy blonde hair in your grasp as you pressed your thighs around his ears. You swallowed behind the mask, glad it was there to hide your face.

You get dropped off an isolated point a few klicks outside the target area, the rest of the team traveling further in to handle the bulk of the mission. You lug some extra equipment in a canvas bag— Guns, surveillance tech— already annoyed by the heat.

The heat of the jungle. Definitely not the heat you'd been feeling in the helicopter. You walked a half mile in total silence just trying to focus on the mission again.

"What's got your tactical suit in a twist?" Smith finally uttered as you got to your destination. You almost forgot he had dropped down the rope onto the ground after you. He stood out against the green around you in his obnoxious red shirt and white pants.

"Nothing." You lied, and you could tell from under his helmet that Peacemaker thought you were full of shit today. Great.

You set up inside a small building— An outpost long abandoned. Whatever organization you were taking down for Waller, they clearly had to downsize over the years. You kicked open the metal door, sending it flying off its hinges. Smith entered first, clearing all the rooms before you joined him. Upstairs, you begin setting up the equipment together. Peacemaker started with standing up a rifle by the window, aiming it at the road below.

You fiddled with a tablet; You went downstairs to put a sensor on the door frame and on the rusted gate blocking the road outside. They were supposed to warn you when any vehicles were approaching, but when you came back up, it lost signal. You did this twice; You batted at the little screen, vexed. There were probably signal jammers over at the main compound that could still reach all the way out here. You thought about how Team A was doing— So inevitably, your thoughts drifted back to the damn Javelin guy.

"Jesus!" You snapped. You were grateful when you didn't break the small screen in half with your strength.

"Okay. What the fuck is wrong." Came Peacemaker's voice from across the room. You stood there without turning around. You took a breath, tossed the tablet onto the bag at your feet.

"Nothing is wrong, Smith. Fuck off." You said. You reached up and unclipped your vest. Beneath it, you felt the cool air of the shelter hit your jumpsuit. You tossed the vest on the floor, then turned around. "When are they supposed to get here?"

He quirked a brow, as if proving his point. Since when didn't you remember the mission details? Rather than give him the satisfaction of thinking you were slipping you waved your own question away.

"God, never mind."

He scoffed. You watched him remove his helmet and gloves, setting them down carefully next to his own pack. He'd made his own area across the room from yours, another tablet showing him a view of the road propped up against the wall. Smith took a seat on the floor; The two of you were going to have to play the waiting game now.

In silence. The thought made you pinch the bridge of your nose right above where your mask stopped.

"You know, I've been at Belle Reve for four years now." You finally relented. You leaned back against your wall, folding your arms over your chest.

"Yeah? So?" Smith retorted. You rolled your eyes.

"So," God— You were really confiding in Christopher Smith. That's what it was coming down to. "I haven't had sex in four years. It's... not a big deal— Nothing's wrong. That's just what I was annoyed about earlier, you know? Consider me over it."

"That why you were ogling the Javelin in the copter today?"

Shit. Shit!

You dropped your arms. "You piece of garbage. You saw that?"

"I'm garbage? You're the one sexually harassing our fellow teammates with your eyes."

"I was not sexually— Nope. I'm done. You're ridiculous." You said. You reached down and went back to your tablet, busying yourself with it idly.

Peacemaker did the same. From the corner of your eye, you just knew he was doing it smugly.

"You know," He said after a few minutes, "If that's all you're bitching about, we can just get it over with."

"Excuse me?"

"You and me. Target's not coming in for another six hours, by the way. You don't need that much time do you, 'four-years-dry'?"

You stared at him from across the room. When you didn't reply, Peacemaker set his screen down so damn casually you consider just shooting yourself in the head.

"You're off your game. I'm not going to let you compromise our objective."

You threw your hands up. "There it is. You're like a broken record."

"What? Am I fucking wrong?"

"No, you're fucking crazy."

"Get over here." Smith instructed in a low voice.

The words shot up your spine, sending a very mixed signal to your brain. Directly across from you, Peacemaker was pinning you with an expectant look— One that was clearly a challenge. It pissed you off.

It was the look he used when he said you couldn't rip a guy's spine right out of his back— It dared you. And when you did succeed, you would shoot him an equally smug look in return. Your back and forths were always crass, always a test of who would back down.

You weren't normally so brutal when you worked alone, but something about Peacemaker brought it out of you. Whenever you were paired together, it was like your powers weren't something you had to hold back. They were something he was always prodding you to embrace. The jabs, the snark— It made you want to punch him in the face.

Standing up, you crossed the room. Smith didn't move as you stepped over his legs, as you leaned down to straddle his waiting lap. He simply watched you shift around until you're comfortably seated, your hands resting on his shoulders. He moved to place his own on your thighs but didn't do anything more.

"Well?" You said.

He shrugged, "Your call."

"What am I gonna do? Dry hump you?"

"Hey, if that's what it takes."

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. "Fuck."

Finally, you reached up, unclipping the back of your mask.

"Whoa, wait—" He started, finally reacting to this ridiculous situation, but you already had it off, in your hand.

"I—" He stared at you. You shifted, feeling nervous as you stared back. It occurred to you that you'd never seen him shocked before.

He blinked. "I've never seen your whole face before."

That wasn't true— was it? You tried to think. "What about in Cuba? We camped out for like three days. I had to take it off to eat at least."

"I didn't look."

"You didn't look."

"I don't fucking know! You wear that fucking thing everywhere. When you took it off to eat I assumed you didn't want me looking."

"Wow. How courteous."

"Fuck you."

"Well, isn't that what we're doing here?" You said, putting your hands on your hips stubbornly. Smith's were still resting on your splayed thighs.

"I can't wear this when we— How am I supposed to...?"

He snorted softly, "Don't tell me you're a romantic, [L/n]."

Nothing about this seemed romantic. Least of all with him. Still, if you were going to take the opportunity, you were going to do it your way. You looked him over.

He had a few tufts sticking out from wearing his damn helmet earlier. You reached up and brushed some of it back into place at his temple first. Smith blinked up at you, his brows pinching together.

"This okay?" You heard yourself asking him. He eventually nodded once, watching you as you placed your palm on the side of his face. Finally, you leaned down and caught his lips with yours in a long kiss. You squeezed your eyes shut, not wanting to know his reaction.

But you felt him return it. Slowly at first— Then he was kissing you back. You moaned somewhere in the back of your throat as he ran his large hands up and down your legs, his fingers folding to grip your ass tightly. You were already reacting, already so touched starved. His lips parted, and you felt him swipe his tongue across your bottom lip, over the front of your teeth. You opened for him, your tongue darting out to meet his hungrily.

You tugged at the front of his uniform. Without a word he reached down to pull it up over his head, the fabric dropping off somewhere beside you. You glanced down at his bare chest. You ran your hands over it, dragged your nails down his pecs experimentally. When you looked back up he was still watching you.

Your mouths crashed to meet again, this time with a fervor that threatened to split your bottom lip with every bruising kiss. You felt his hands on you again, pressing into your sides, your waist. He didn't move to take off your clothes, so you drew your hands to your own chest, pulled the zipper of your suit all the way down to your stomach.

He took the invitation, and you gasped when he roughly reaches in and cups a hand around your breast; He kneaded it, brushing his thumb over your nipple. His other hand worked at your shoulder, yanking the rest of your suit off of you. You reached back and tugged the sleeves off, finally exposing your upper body.

You felt the clasp at your back come undone, and Smith was tearing your bra off next. A muscular arm came around to scoop you up by the waist, bringing your chest closer to him. He leaned down, took one of your nipples into his mouth.

"Smith—" He bit you roughly, and it sent a shock of electricity up you. He palmed your other breast again, tweaked at your nipple until your back was arching into his touch. You squeezed your thighs around him.

Then he was back in your face again, bruising a kiss against your lips as you took a breath. Your eyes flew open when you felt the press of his fingers to your mouth. You shot a look at him, but didn't object when he pushed his index and middle fingers past your lips. You sucked them hungrily, your eyes fluttering shut again.

"Fuck," Peacemaker murmured, feeling your tongue swirl around the digits. You slurped sloppily until they were soaked, until he was pulling them back out with a light pop. He brought his hand down to the base of your suit, where the zipper stopped just above your pelvis. A pair of black panties peaked out from the V shape there, the same shade and material as your bra. You gasped when Smith finally pushed down past the layer of cotton, gripped his bare shoulders when you felt his wet fingers dip right into your cunt.

"Fuck," He said again, because you didn't need any help down there. "You're so fucking wet."

You expected to feel humiliation— To hear a joke about how it really had been while. But all you felt were his warm, thick fingers; He ran them up and down your slit, pressed them in small circles around the peak of you a few times. You cursed, your head falling back. Smith leaned up to kiss your throat, teeth dragging across the base of your collarbone. He bit you some more, daring to take your meta-human skin between his teeth. You cried out, your arm reaching to wrap around his head in pleasure.

Smith slid his fingers up into your pussy. He crooked them, scissoring them inside you. Your hips bucked, unable to resist meeting his short thrusts. You felt him grin against your neck. "Damn, baby."

"Shut up." You whispered, letting your hips rolling down to fuck yourself on his fingers some more. When he slipped in a third you moan loudly.

"Fuck! Fuck me." You demanded, yanking the short hair at the back of his head. A groan left Smith's lips, his head jerking back. Quickly, he removed his hand from your suit, pulling the rest of your clothes further down your waist. You lifted yourself off him, but Smith didn't wait. He picked you up and lifted you both off the floor. You grabbed at him as he laid you down on your back, his body between your legs. Then he was ripping off the last of your suit, tearing your boots off.

"Watch it," You snapped— If he fucking ripped anything you—

"Oh please." He huffed, and your thoughts stopped in their tracks as you watched him lean back on his knees above you, undoing his white pants. His cock sprang free from a pair of just as white underwear, his arousal already thick and ready. You stopped yourself from expressing how the sight of him made you even wetter.

He took a moment to drink in your face, a hint of that smug smirk forming. You growled, pulling him down by the neck again before he ruined the moment with speaking. Smith caught your lips again, his hand running down your naked body. He gripped one of your legs and nudges them apart, planting his knees between you.

Despite his earlier preparation, it was nothing compared to the feeling of his cock pushing inside you. You groaned as he entered you, your walls stretching around his length. Your back arched as you took him in, eyes rolling a little into the back of your head.

"Fuck— Chris—" You shuttered. His hands squeezed your thighs at the sound of his name leaving you. You heard his breath shake, his hips remaining utterly still as you got used to the size of him. Opening your eyes, you looked up to see him waiting for you; You nodded once, another moaning already escaping in anticipation.

It was like a brick wall knocking into you. Smith didn't hold back as he began fucking you— Knew you could take it— what with your powers and all. The idea seemed to drive him, and he began hammering into you, his hands moving to bracket your hips so he could fuck you better. Faster. Your legs wrapped around his waist.

Fuck— You couldn't think. You arched up off of the floor as you rolled your hips to meet Smith's. It felt like he could keep up this pace forever the way he wasn't stopping. Your breathing turned to panting, a high whine escaping you when he shifts just right— he picked you up again. You arched up into his arms, holding yourself up from around his neck as he fucked up into your soaking cunt. You bounced on his cock, a sheen of sweat blooming across your skin.

When you opened your eyes, Smith was still watching you intently— witnessing every little expression on your face while he fucked you. You could hardly discern what he was thinking. All you could focus on was him ramming you, the feeling of his cock hitting and stretching you out.

“Choke me.” He said, and you have just enough wherewithal to oblige. You wrapped your hand around his throat, pressing firmly on either side. You felt the tightness of his skin shifting under your touch. His pulse beat a fast rhythm in time with his rough thrusts. The strength of your grip was a little vice tipping Smith over the edge.

The look on his face, his eyes closed as he tried to control his breathing sends a jolt up you. You used your other hand to slip two fingers down between your folds. They found your clit, making quick work of bringing you to close to climaxing. You shuttered as you felt the tight coil of it building. Finally, with a cry you were coming, squeezing your legs around him as your hips rolling through every wave of it. Smith groaned, picking up the pace, fucking you through your orgasm until your walls were fluttering from the unrelenting stimulation.

“Going to—“ He warned, and you squeezed the hand around his throat harder, making his eyes roll up. You whimpered as you feel the hot spurt of him fill you, his hips finally locking as he pumped you with his cum.

You both took a moment to catch your breath, your hand releasing from Smith’s neck so he could take in a long gasp. His skin was reddened along his throat and chest. You saw the beginnings of your handprint bruising around his Adam's apple, your fingers a mark on his skin. You hung onto him like that, your arms back around his shoulders for balance.

“Fuck.” You finally said. Out of habit, you checked your watch to assess where you were on the mission. He took your chin in his hand, drawing your eyes back up to him. You saw that his hair had fallen back into his eyes, his face glistening with sweat.

“I’m not done with you.” He said. It sent a shiver through you. You felt your walls flutter again, some of his cum leaking out with his half-hard cock still firm inside you. You gasped as he pulled you off of him, guiding you down until you were turning around on all fours on the floor. You glanced over your shoulder, already craving the feeling of him filling you up with his cock again.

And fuck it, you two do take the whole six hours.

#peacemaker #peacemaker x reader #peacemaker x you #Christopher smith #dceu smut #dceu fanfiction #I don't know what happened; I had ideas for some dialogue between peacekeeper and reader and it turned into thiS #peacemaker smut #smut #mywords*

[songbirdstyles]

screw my brain (’till it hurts)

summary: you and harry are spies on an assignment to pretend to be a married couple in order to take down a drug trafficking ring. the only problem? you two can’t stand each other.

warnings: smut (18+), hate sex, knifeplay, breathplay (choking), slapping, fingering, phone sex (sort of); enemies to lovers, one bed, fake dating 

song inspo.: death on two legs (dedicated to ...) - queen / back chat - queen / you’re so vain - carly simon

word count: 19.5k 

You can practically feel Harry’s anger simmering beside you, and you’re tired of it.

He’s been acting like a child since you got on the plane, his eyes narrowed and venomous and steam practically blowing out of his ears as though he’s on the verge of throwing a temper tantrum, and you’re sure if looks could kill you’d be dead a million times over again from all the staredowns he’d been trying to initiate. And you’re used to this, for the most part, but it doesn’t make you feel any less annoyed as he huffs beside you, flicking through the file on his lap.

And - look. You don’t like Harry. You can hardly even tolerate him, most of the time, and the only times you manage to be near him without gagging is when you’re on missions. Usually he’s the same way, pushing aside the mutual disdain you’ve shared from day fucking one when there’s goals to be accomplished and targets to take down but he’s just sitting here like an angry log, thumbing noisily through papers as you swipe through your phone.

He’s looking for attention, Mark would tell you - your boss is the epitome of coolness, desperate for you and Harry to get along because of his tendency to force you together on missions - and that is true. You’re just as pissed as he is and you aren’t making a show of it. No, he’s an attention seeking crybaby, and you won’t give him what he craves. Won’t even look at him.

The plane dips a bit, then, and your stomach lurches, grabbing at the armrest in between you two where Harry’s elbow rests, and he jerks it into his side as though you’d burned him. You scoff, then, the pretense of faking casualness abandoned as fast as you’d stuck to it, and you can sense him rolling his eyes at the noise.

“For Fuck’s sake,” you huff, leaning to the side so you can stare at him as you roll your eyes pointedly, and he mimics the movement. “What are you so whiny about?”

“M’not whiny,” Harry insists in a tone that’s strikingly similar to the whine he claims he doesn’t have, and you sigh before reaching over, snatching the file off of his lap. “Hey - I was readin’ that!”

“Really?” you inquire, shifting so your back is to the man next to you and he can’t read the words on the page you’re squinting at. “Could’ve fooled me. Thought you were just sitting there huffing and rolling your eyes like a baby.” After a moment where he doesn’t respond, you risk a glance backwards and are met with the back of his head full of curls as he stares out the window at the passing sunset as you whiz through the sky. “What’s got your knickers in a twist, hmm? Did Mark not put enough into the budget for hair gel and dirty shoes?”

“Oh, shut up,” he says in a wildly mature way of response, and you can hardly resist the urge to smirk at it. “F’the record, m’mad that I have t’do another mission with you.”

You nod, trailing your finger along the line of words detailing aspects about the target you know you’ll have to utilize later - he has four cats. He and his wife are on the brink of divorce. He has two daughters, and he doesn’t speak to either of them. His name is Vincent Carfield, and, boy, does he sound like a real catch - you’re so focused on reading about him that you hardly register that Harry’s started speaking again.

“Wish Mark would realize m’good enough to do shit like this on my own. Don’t need you t’come around an’ pretend to be my - my girlfriend. S’stupid.”

“Well, if you were good enough, I would be at home with cucumbers on my eyes right now instead of reading about the leader of a drug trafficking ring -”

“God, you’re a bitch -”

“And you’re an asshole -”

“Fuck you - m’calling Mark.”

You snort, leaning back in your seat as Harry fumbles in his bag at his feet for his tablet, and he shakily sets it up on his lap, tapping through the screen until he gets to the FaceTime app. “Real mature, Har, going to tattle to Mark.”

“God, not everything’s about you, narcissist - half hour out, need a debrief.”

You crane your neck to lean in front of him and look out the window, and - sure enough - you can already tell that you’re getting closer, plane dipping slowly lower and it wouldn’t be perceptible to you if he hadn’t told you. Harry’s always been a tad bit more observant than you, though you wouldn’t confess that to him if your life depended on it.

Mark answers Harry’s call within mere seconds - he’s always on high alert when you guys call, especially when you’re off on missions together - part of you suspects he’s always waiting for a call that one of you killed the other. “Hello, lovebirds,” he chirps, the pure image of relaxation as he adjusts his tie, shifting in his seat - you and Harry both roll your eyes at his nickname for the pair of you. “Surprised to see you haven’t clawed each other’s eyes out.” “Wish I did,” you mutter beneath your breath, and Harry glares at you out of the corner of his eye.

“Anyway,” Mark says, and you know he heard what you said judging from the ghost of a smile on his pale face, but he brushes past it. “When you land, you’ll have around an hour to get settled into the hotel before dinner. I’ve sent you the address to the restaurant - the target is eating there with his wife, most likely to discuss their divorce, so he’ll be feeling vulnerable and insecure -” “And that’s where I come in,” you finish, trailing your nail across the fine printed page which holds the plans the three had deliberated over for two weeks prior - compared to most of your missions it was an extraordinarily short amount of time to plan but none of you could foresee this one going anything other than disgustingly easy. If you pull through, you could be home by the end of the weekend.

“And that’s where you come in,” Mark affirms, thick rimmed glasses mirroring the image of you and Harry that he’s seeing on his screen. “Find any way to touch him - pretend to trip - and plant the audio tracker on his jacket.” You nod, and Harry drops his head against the seat with a soft sigh that nearly makes you turn and throttle him but you hold back, fingers tensing as though itching for a throat to grab. “Then you guys go back to the hotel, hold back from slaughtering each other, and listen in - he’s staying at the room next to yours.”

If this situation were occurring a year ago in your first few weeks of working as a spy perhaps you’d marvel at the seeming coincidence of Mark just happening to get you a hotel room right next to your target - but your one-year anniversary working has just come up and, as it so happens, you know he can make just about anything happen by pulling the right strings. And staying in the same hotel, on the same floor, is the perfect talking point for dinner - you’re already storing it in the back of your mind to bring up in conversation when you manage to get the tracker on his jacket -

“ - and, look, guys, I know you don’t particularly like each other,” Mark is saying when your attention snaps back to him, and Harry snorts. It’s the understatement of the century - you almost want to laugh with him. “It’s just really important that you sell yourselves as a couple. I don’t care what you have to do - share a drink or hold hands - but he needs to see you as a couple. All of his mistresses have been seemingly happily married - he’ll be more inclined to get closer with ____ if he sees you’re in a good relationship. Then, Harry, of course, can explore his hotel room - snuff out anything suspicious.”

You nod but Harry seems less convinced - his brow arches as his arms cross over his chest, and you glance over at him with confusion written over your features. “M’confused,” he says, and you raise your eyebrows. “She’s gonna fu - have an affair wit’ him, then?”

God, we fucking talked about this, you want to shout at him, to shake his shoulders until he’s dizzy. If you paid attention while we planned instead of sitting there whining that you don’t go on missions by yourself because nobody goes on missions by themselves unless they’ve been here for nearly 10 years and you’ve barely scraped three -

Mark is more patient. He just shrugs, fingers tapping away at the keyboard connecting to his screen. “Maybe - maybe not. Depends how vulnerable she can get him without resorting to sexual means.”

“Don’t think I’ll have a problem with that,” you can’t resist saying, popping the ‘p’ in problem as you smugly smirk, scratching your nails against the smooth paper you’d been reading as Harry glares at you, seemingly affronted. “Only had to resort to getting down and dirty with a target once - that asshole mob boss - everyone else is just dying to tell me their juicy little secrets. Guess it’s a perk at being good at what you do, right, Har?”

“Oh, you’re such a -”

“Children, children,” Mark interrupts the beginning of Harry’s speech about what a cunt you are, holding up his age-worn palms with mock exasperation as he stares the two of you down. “Stay civil. I’ve just booked your reservation at this Italian restaurant called Fucina’s - it’s for 7, under Mr. and Mrs. James Robinson. Vincent Carfield and his wife have a reservation for 7:30 but have a tendency to arrive early. They requested seating in a more private area, as did I, so you should be able to hear their conversations -”

The conversation rolls on for another few minutes until the pilot announces that you’re landing in ten, and that’s Mark’s cue to sign off - with a fleeting inquiry about any questions the pair of you may have he’s gone, wishing you good luck and making you promise to call him after dinner once you’ve set up the tracker and begun listening to your mark. You don’t suspect you’ll forget to - you and Harry generally can’t be in an enclosed environment together for too long without having overwhelming desires to take each other out, and Mark balances you out. Eases the two of you, calms you down, even when you’re so angry at Harry you want nothing more than to stamp your feet on the ground and scream.

It’s how you feel now, a bit, as Harry shuts his tablet and shoves it back into his bag with a dramatic huff after Mark has signed off. He’s angry about something again, surely relating to you and the mission and how he constantly feels snubbed by Mark but, truthfully, as the plane dips lower and lower to the Earth, you find that you really, really, don’t care.

 ~~

 The hotel room is, for all intents and purposes, fairly large. It’s nicer than a significant portion of the ones you two inhabit on missions and you should be grateful, toeing off your boots in the entrance of the suite, that it has a functioning kitchen and a bathroom with a door that closes and an L shaped couch facing the television (based on the description of the suite Mark had sent), but your mood has been entirely soured by Harry’s sore attitude during the drive from the airport to the hotel.

He drops his suitcase against the carpeted ground of the entrance, and it slams onto the ground so close to your sock-covered toes that you jump back, glaring at him as he pointedly ignores you and descends further into the hotel room, peeking his curly head into the kitchen and the bathroom. You watch him as you rest your suitcase against the wall, nudging his closer to the wall with your foot before following him, already tugging your phone out of the back pocket of your jeans to check for any new texts from your boss when -

“You’ve got t’be fucking kidding me.”

You arch your eyebrows, tilting your phone into your chest as you turn the corner into the main living area. And it’s nice, eyes wandering over the couch that Mark had told you about, and the TV mounted to the wall with a Roku connected to it that you’re sure you’ll take advantage of later tonight. The carpet is soft beneath your feet even through your socks, and the bed is nicely made, pillows fluffy and looking soft -

Bed.

Shit.

What a bastard, Mark is - booking a room with only one bed? And not even telling you two about it? God, you could kill him. You really could, and you will, as soon as you get back to headquarters and see his stupid bald head in person - you’ll throttle him. Or shoot him. Hell, you’ll even stab him.

“You’re taking the couch,” you tell Harry, and before he can protest you take a running start to leap onto the bed, plopping onto your back and tucking your arms beneath your scalp. “Looks real comfy, doesn’t it? The bed - not the couch. Couch looks like it’ll kill your back.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Harry practically snarls, voice all venom and teeth, and he sits at the edge of the bed anyway, hands going up to loosen at the black tie wrapped tight around his neck. “So entitled - I’ll take the fucking bed. Been here longer than you, y’know - just ‘cause y’like t’act like you’re so good -”

“And yet,” you interrupt, bringing your foot up to kick at his side, and he turns around and glares at you, “I’m the one getting put on assignments with you, even though I’ve hardly been here a year. Oh, yeah, what’s that Mark told us? I was put on duty the quickest than anyone else after finishing my assignments?” You screw up your eyes as though trying to fact check yourself before nodding, smiling at the positively hateful expression on your partner’s face. “Guess I am good.”

He opens his mouth to reply and perhaps he assumes better of it - he simply rolls his eyes, pulling his tie off of his neck and dropping it on the ground beside him. For a moment you simply stare at him as he peels his jacket off, littering it on the floor in a similar fashion as his tie, until he’s merely donning a white button down and his black dress pants, hair messy and face light red. 

Sometimes you do that - you watch him - because it’s nice to see him look so peaceful and silent when you’re used to spewing hatred back and forth. You could even be into him if he kept his mouth taped shut and promised to never make a single noise, but he would never comply with it - and you’re sure you’d find a reason to get pissed off at him if he didn’t speak.

You hadn’t realized how long you’d been staring at him until he turns around, and your gazes lock, and you lift your eyebrows.

“Don’t stare at me,” Harry demands, backing up on the bed until his head rests on the pillow beside you - you turn your head to stare at him, affronted. “Told you - m’taking the bed. An’ m’gonna take a nap f’a half hour- already set the timer on m’phone - so you can either take the couch or sit here right beside me.”

You push yourself onto your elbows, glaring down at the man beside you who closes his eyes (rather smugly, you’ll add) and mimics your own previous position, arms tucked beside his head. “You dickhead.”

“Mhm.”

“I’m not moving.”

“Fine by me.”

“I’m gonna nap too -”

“Go ahead -”

“And I stretch out a lot when I sleep.”

“How ever will I handle it?”

You’ve seem to run out of responses, furrowing your eyebrows as Harry’s face settles into an expression of slight comfort and you wonder if he really has gone to bed, resting in the button down shirt and dress pants that he’s always itching to get out of at the end of the day. You’ve had to watch him undress with absolutely no shame in front of your far too many times for comfort, shoved into small hotel rooms together but at least they had two beds - you can hardly control your heart rate as you stare down at him.

(Because you’re angry, of course. Whenever he’s acting like a dumbass your heartbeat quickens to match the pace of a fucking freight train, and that’s nearly every time you’ve ever had to talk to him.)

After a moment you rest back on the bed beside him, head dangerously close to the center of the two pillows where you can feel Harry’s curls, spread upon his pillows, brushing against the sides of your temples. With every feel of his hair against your skin you feel your anger rising, and you exhale softly, pressing your palms to the top of your stomach as you listen to his steady breathing beside you.

He sounds too peaceful.

You wait nearly ten minutes before beginning your plan of attack, not nearly as meticulously planned as the ones you and Harry will employ later - you slowly begin to spread your legs out, feeling your calf brush against his foot, and your arms follow in a similar pattern. They stretch outwards, forearm thrown across his neck, and you can feel his Adam’s apple bobbing against your skin but he doesn’t take the bait - doesn’t even move a muscle, and you can feel his even breathing against your arm.

For a second you wonder if he really is asleep. You’d be surprised.

It’s uncomfortable sleeping on your back and that’s your justification for rolling over onto your stomach, body halfway on top of Harry’s, chest pressed against his and face buried into the pillow beside him so your nose presses into his hair, softly inhaling the fruity shampoo he uses. Your arm lazily throws itself across his torso, leg nudging his until they fall off the bed, and he grunts.

“What th’fuck are y’doing?” Harry questions gruffly, voice just raspy enough to make you consider the very real possibility that he truly had fallen asleep, and you don’t respond. “Get off me, dumbass - tryin’ t’sleep.”

You remain silent. You work on steadying your breathing, faking sleep in the way that you’ve mastered over the past year (and a half, if you count the six months of training you’d done before beginning work) - on one of your earliest missions you’d pretended to be passed out in the back of a work party you’d seduced your way into with a tape recorder taped to your underboob and you’d been able to get enough recording of a conversation between two sleazy old men to support your hypothesis that their paper company was a front for a sex trafficking ring. You suspect this case should be likely the same, albeit easier and likely without the work party, and you’ll breeze through it like nobody’s business if it requires fake sleeping like you’re doing now.

“I know you’re not sleeping,” he correctly deduces, lifting his arm to slam it against your back entirely too hard and you nibble on your bottom lip to keep from making any type of noise at the slight pain the motion brings. “Get off me. Go t’the couch - stop being so stubborn.”

You mumble something incoherent under your breath, digging your face further into your pillow just to hear the way he hisses as you (un)intentionally tug at his hair. You feel his hands dig into your sides and before you can pull off of him he pushes you away with as much force as he can muster, and you’re send tossed to the other end of the bed, grappling at the duvet to stop yourself from slipping over the edge of the bed onto the carpet.

“Fuck,” you hiss, pushing yourself to sit out with your legs stuck straight out in front of you. With a glare directed towards the man opposite you you pull your legs back and push them towards him sharply, kicking him directly in his thigh, and his legs tumble off the bed, forcing him to sit up to maintain his balance. “Take that, dipshit.”

“Can’t you do better than that?” Harry questions, tone so mocking and condescending that you push yourself to his knees just as he rises to stand, the top button of his shirt mercifully coming undone, and you resist the urge to glance at it every so often. “C’mon, babe - if you’re gonna be a bitch -”

You push yourself to stand on top of the covers, taking a leap towards Harry where he stands on the other side of the bed, and your legs hook around his torso, effectively catching him by surprise as his hands immediately land on your waist, tugging you off of him and throwing you onto the bed with an ease that shouldn’t surprise you after this long of knowing him but it still knocks the breath out of you. His body hovers above you, pinning your arms above your head but you won’t have that - hook your legs around the back of his thighs and force him onto his back, throwing your legs over his torso as you mimic the position he’d trapped you in.

“1…” you begin counting tauntingly as you stare down at his face, reaching down to grab his wrists and hold them above his head, watching as he wriggles beneath you, his stomach tensing against your core. “2 … not even gonna put up a fight? What an agent you are -”

He practically growls at that, jerking his hands upward until they slip out of your grasp, nearly whacking you in the chin before he pushes himself up. You’re slammed into the headboard before you can even stop to think of your counterattack, back slamming into the wood as you drop your head forward to ensure you don’t knock your head into the wall, and Harry kneels in front of you with an exasperated, smug smirk, reaching up to press his forearm over your throat.

He’s not pressing hard - not enough to constrict your breathing at all, merely to hold your head in place - and after a second he begins counting just as you had - “1 … 2 … 3.”

You struggle uselessly against him until he reaches the final number, and a satisfied smile etches itself across his face before he pulls away, resting back on his knees to watch you huff before him before he begins crawling off the bed. “An’ I think that means that you, m’lady, have t’take the couch -”

You deliver one final swift kick to the back of Harry’s needs, and he tumbles off of the bed onto the ground with a cry, knees dropping onto the carpet and hands instinctively pressing to the wall he’d nearly slammed his head into. His position becomes one similar to a prayer, dropping his head forward against the wall with a dramatic groan.

“I won,” you tell him, flopping onto your back on the bed with a satisfied hum. “Get on the couch - reckon we still have a good 10 minutes left of our nap.”

Harry pushes himself to his feet in the blink of an eye, turning around with a look on his face that’s so serious you nearly want to double over in laughter, and as he plants his knees on the edge of the bed to resume the fight you’d had earlier, a sudden noise from the wall opposite your bed causes you to hold your palm out to him, effectively stopping him in his tracks.

“Shh!” you hiss, pushing yourself onto your elbows as Harry furrows his eyebrows, craning his neck towards the wall as though it’ll help him hear better. “D’you hear that?”

The two of you sit in silence for a moment, pondering the muffled noises coming from the hotel room next door. “Wha’?” Harry questions after a moment, voice hushed and soft, and you wait a moment before responding.

“The shower -” and, sure enough, just as the thought crosses your mind and the words leave your mouth you know that that’s the noise you’re hearing - the sound of water streaming onto the buff body of Vincent Carfield or perhaps his wife - “what time is it?”

“Uh -” Harry scrambles off the bed, digging through his backpack thrown on the ground until he can pull out his tablet, and the light shines on his face as he turns it on. “6:34.”

“Shit,” you hiss, rolling off the bed and practically darting out to the entrance hall where your suitcase rests against the wall, and you knock it to the ground and unzip it quickly. “Vincent’s already getting ready - we need to be at the restaurant soon. How fast can you get ready?”

“Pretty fast -” by the time Harry’s made his way into the entrance hall to dig through the suitcase he’d attempted to hit you with earlier you’ve peeled off your clothes, dropping them in a pile by your feet until you’re clad in only your bra and a pair of lace panties that leave entirely too little to the imagination, holster holding your knife firm against your thigh, and he freezes. “Christ. Can’t y’get a room f’that?”

“Oh, says the one who strips naked in the middle of the room every single night!” You shake your head, digging through your suitcase until you can find the black dress you’d packed specifically for dinner - it’s folded and mercifully wrinkle free, and you unzip the back to begin stepping into it. “Get ready. I’m going to do my makeup.”

“Make sure y’put a lot on - don’t wanna scare him off -”

“Shut up, Harry!”

 ~~

 Fucina’s is dark and fancy, with hosts dressed in all black and waitresses in a similar fashion. You would almost feel out of place, your arm hooked with Harry’s as you’re led through the main dining room towards the back where your table is, but it’s not any more elegant than any of the other expensive restaurants and galas the pair of you have infiltrated together, and with your tight dress and his suit, you look like exactly the couple to eat and afford a restaurant like this.

“The pasta’s $65,” Harry murmurs, trailing his fingertip down the laminated menu that you can hardly see in the dim light of the restaurant. You squint down at the page, bringing your head closer down to confirm that, yes, the fettuccine truly is that fucking expensive, and - not for the first time - you’re immensely grateful for the headquarters-mandated debit cards that you’ll use to pay for this. “Y’see that? The fettuccine?”

“Yeah,” you nod, though you’re not looking at the menu any longer - your eyes scan the restaurant behind Harry’s back, and of the three other tables in the private section Mark had requested for Mr. and Mrs. James Robinson to be in, none of them are occupied except yours. You and Harry had gotten there ten minutes late, much to Mark’s chagrin when you called him in the taxi, and the Carfields still hadn’t arrived. “Think I’m just gonna get a salad - not too hungry, anyway.”

“Me too.”

The conversation drains into a weird sort of silence - not awkward, and not malicious, either, as all of your silences usually are typically the result of one of you purposely ignoring the other. It’s harder to air out your disdain for each other when you’re supposed to be a couple that’s hopelessly in love in a high class restaurant, and you find that you don’t have much else to talk about with your partner besides discussing either the mission or whatever he’s doing that may be pissing you off at the moment -

He actually looks nice right now. Calm, collected - if you didn’t know better you’d say he looks like a pretty stand-up guy. The kind you’d take home to your mom.

“Why are y’lookin’ at me?” Harry questions, then, glancing up at you, and you internally curse at yourself - you always tend to forget how good he is at identifying someone staring at him. 

“Just thinking about how much I prefer you when you aren’t speaking,” you tell him, voice dropping lower as a host clad in black leads an older couple into the area, sitting them at a table towards the window as Harry rolls his eyes. You lift your water glass to your lips, taking a slow sip as you attempt to inconspicuously decipher if the couple is your target -

“You’re being so obvious,” Harry hisses, voice soft like a breath and yet still retaining all the venom his words always tend to hold. “Is it them?”

“No,” you decide, resting your glass back on your coaster as you slide your chair further into the table, foot accidentally kicking his ankle as you do - his face contorts in both annoyance and pain as he repeats the motion to you. “No - Carfield’s wife is young, isn’t she?”

“27.”

“Yeah.” The wife currently settling into her seat, draping her jacket over the back of her chair, is decidedly not 27 - add 50 years, or so. “Not them. They should be here soon, though.” 

“Good.”

In another moment your waitress has come to take your drink orders - you get a bottle of red wine just to hammer in the notion that you’re a young couple on a date night, even if you really prefer white wine, and you’re sure Harry would rather have a beer, but Mark always tells you to go for red when you’re out to dinner on missions. And - well - you’re not necessarily complaining. Wine is wine.

The wine arrives at your table with two tall glasses and Harry takes it to pour with a faux cheerful grin that has the waitress flushing in the dim light of the room - you tell yourself the tinge of jealousy at her clear adoration for the man currently uncorking the bottle to pour for you is simply because of how in character you are in terms of your fake marriage - and if you were someone else, perhaps you’d get angry at her for clearly flirting with Harry, though he doesn’t seem to notice.

Strange. You’d always taken him as the more observant one of the two of you, but he’s paying no mind to the waitress’s blushed face as he pours wine into your glass and she pulls out her notepad, ready to take your order.

“I’ll have the caesar salad, please, without chicken,” you tell her, giving a tight lipped grin as she scribbles it down onto her page. When Harry’s rested the bottle of wine back on the tablecloth-clad table, you reach over and rest your hand overtop of his, feeling his veins jump beneath your touch. “What about you, honey?”

If he’s confused, he doesn’t look it - just gives you a warm smile that feels entirely wrong coming from him, and the waitress looks positively affronted as he orders a large Mediterannean salad, and when she’s tucked her notebook back into the apron tied around her waist and left the private area, he furrows his eyebrows at you.

“Y’jealous?” Harry inquires, leaning his head in with a mocking grin that makes you roll your eyes, though you make no effort to move your hand from his - it looks better for appearances, anyway. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“In your dreams,” you insist, straightening your posture once a different hostess leads a couple into the room. The man is old, bald head shining in the dim light and donning a suit jacket that clearly hasn’t been tailored to his proportions, and his wife is significantly younger, pale face flushed red and wearing a black dress that looks as though she’s attending a funeral - you suppose she is, to some degree, mourning her marriage, so perhaps it’s fitting.

Harry can tell by the way you straighten up that the new couple sitting at the table behind him is the Carfields. Vincent sits with his back to your table, his wife on the opposite side, and immediately they lean their heads together, surely speaking in hushed tones about - prenuptial agreements and custody of their two girls and the like.

You need to be a couple. Mark had insisted on it, that it’s the most important part for you to get closer to Vincent and make him susceptible to your manipulation - he needs to see you as some sort of forbidden fruit - a married woman with a seemingly happy husband. It’s a control thing for him, and one you need to play into if you want to take his drug ring down.

It would sound like an ambitious goal if you weren’t as confident in yourself and Harry - because even if you hate him, he’s a damn good agent.

Your eyes meet Harry’s across the table, and he raises an eyebrow. You nod, jerking your head up and down before wrapping your manicured fingers around the stem of your wine glass, lifting it up and giving your partner a soft smile - one that he’s rarely on the receiving end of, if you’re being truthful - and you nod your chin towards his glass. Harry follows your lead, lifting his glass and raising it to clink against yours.

“Cheers,” he murmurs, and both of you sip from your glasses before resting them back down on your coasters, the rim of your glass decorated with a generous pink stain from your lipstick. “Happy anniversary, honey.”

His voice raises in volume just a bit, and from the table behind him you can see tears fill Mrs. Carfield’s eyes at the sentiment of a happy couple, and Mr. Carfield’s head tilts to the side though you don’t watch him long enough to see if he’d heard Harry - you simply smile - lift your intertwined hands in the air and to anyone else in your private area you’re sure you simply look the perfect part of a happy couple, celebrating their marriage anniversary. Two years together. Mr. and Mrs. James Robinson have been married for longer than you’ve known (and despised) Harry - surely there’s irony hidden in there, deep enough that you can’t see it.

It’s easier than you’d like to admit to fake a meaningful conversation with Harry. Mark generally gives the pair of you a list of things to talk about so people get the impression that you can tolerate each other but you typically don’t even need it - it’s easy enough to talk about your faux plans for the rest of your marriage.

It’s almost fun, even. Not in a way you’d expect - but it’s funny, talking about whatever the pair of you would imagine married couples would discuss - mortgages and trying for babies and politics - keeping your voices loud enough so the couple behind you can hear but quiet enough so it doesn’t seem intentional.

“D’you think we could turn the guest room into a nursery?” Harry inquires, lips quirking upwards as he lifts his wine to his lips, and you nibble on your bottom lip, pretending to contemplate the question.

“Of course,” you respond faux-thoughtfully, leaning forward just a bit, and his eyes flicker downwards for hardly a second before rising to meet your eyes again. “Or perhaps the office.”

“Yes, that’s a bit bigger,” he says seriously, and you nod, reaching for your glass of wine to take another small sip. It’s bitter and leaves a sour taste on your tongue, but you’re determined to drink the entire thing - it’ll soothe the nerves that you’re sure will arrive when it’s time to plant the bug on Mr. Carfield. You still haven’t figured out how you’ll manage to do it smoothly. “Then perhaps we could save the guest room for the second.”

You nod, hardly able to keep the small smile off your lips, and Harry leans forward, reaching for the stem of his glass - perhaps he miscalculates the force needed to pick up a glass, or maybe he’s beginning to feel the effects of the first glass of wine he’d downed - but his hand knocks into the glass, sending it toppling forward onto your arms, sticky red liquid coating your skin. You jerk your arms back as though he’d burned you, watching him hiss as he reaches for the glass before it can spill any further onto you or the white tablecloth now stained with redness.

You swallow the urge to snap at him - that’s counterproductive, and it’ll blow your cover - so you merely inhale, willing the anger down as you reach for your napkin to begin to mop up the mess. “Should watch what you’re doing, honey -”

“My bad, darling - didn’t mean to -”

And the moment of you beginning to like Harry is gone as fast as it had begun, feeling the simmering anger that’s ever-present beneath your skin already beginning to bubble into existence. He’s looking at you with his eyebrows raised as if this is your fault that he can’t control his own glass, like you’re the nuisance, and your desire to retort snarkily is thwarted only as Vincent Carfield’s head turns just slightly to the side, and you can see him and his wife watching the pair of you in what’s clearly an attempt to be subtle.

You rest your palms on the table as Harry sets his glass back on the coaster, and you can feel the similar waves of annoyance rolling off of him that you’re sure you’re mirroring. “I’m going to go clean myself up,” you tell him. “Excuse me for a moment, sweetheart.”

“Take your time, princess.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes as you push your chair back with a tight lipped smile, standing up and resting your napkin on the table before your seat as you push past the table towards the bathroom you’d passed when your host had lead you to the table.

The restrooms are nicely decorated, with large mirrors and sinks and two singular stalls - entirely too fancy for the thoughts racing through your mind as you lean over the sink, turning the faucet on and shoving your sticky arms beneath the flow of warm water. You’d managed to clean most of the wine with your napkin but you still just need - perhaps just a moment to yourself, without Harry’s eyes piercing into you in a way that makes it impossible to feel like he doesn’t want to throttle you.

And you want to throttle him, too. That’s why your relationship works because it doesn’t, because you hate him as much as he hates you - and yet, while you were drinking wine and messing around and pretending to be a couple you didn’t hate him. Not even a bit -

Until he spilled the wine. It’s a forcible reminder of why you want to shave off all of his hair when he sleeps, sometimes.

The water has gone cold on your skin when you finally shut the faucet off, picking up a small stack of paper towels to dry off your arms. When you’ve chucked your trash in the wicker-basket garbage bin you take a moment to simply stare at yourself in the mirror, black dress hugging your body just enough to leave very little to the imagination - you adjust the fabric to hide the bulge where you have your knife holstered to your thigh. The cut of the dress dips low into your cleavage - and then you recall how Harry’s eyes had briefly dipped downwards when you’d been talking earlier -

A smile twitches at your lips. You’ll have to remember to use that one against him later.

Just before you turn to leave you pause - stick your hand down the front of your dress to the small audio device you’d hidden in your bra. The bug is small, barely the size of your pinky nail, one side sticky enough to hold onto Vincent Carfield’s tan suit jacket -

You hadn’t thought too much about how you’d manage to subtly get the device on him, but there’s no time like the present, is there?

You leave the bathroom, then - nearly run into your waitress as she stares down at her notepad, and you’re not sure if you’re imagining the dirty look she shoots you - and climb the two short steps it takes to get to the private area you’d been seated in. Harry’s back faces you, curls looking particularly messy and head dropped forward to surely stare at his phone, and you can see Vincent leaning in to talk to his wife with narrowed eyes and a hushed tone.

You inhale and begin your walk over to the table, heels clicking on the tiled floor, and Harry’s head tilts to the side as he hears you coming. Vincent’s eyes rise to meet yours just as your heel slides a bit on the floor and you slip forward right beside their table, and the plan falls into action just as you’d planned in the thirty second walk it had taken to get from the bathroom to here.

Vincent’s arm sticks out instinctively to catch you, wrapped around your stomach for just a moment too long as his other hand rests on your back, and you use the opportunity to reach up and grab his shoulder as a way to steady yourself. Harry jerks around in his seat to watch you, and the concern in his eyes almost makes you revive your brief moment of liking him but it’s overpowered by the pride you feel - if he can’t immediately snuff out that the fall was a fraud, then it had clearly looked realistic enough that the Carfields wouldn’t be able to tell, your hand with the bug pressing to his shoulder

Boom. Planted. Your grip presses the bug against the back of his shoulder as he helps you to your feet, and you pretend not to notice the way his eyes trail up your body - his poor wife looks affronted at the clear display of attraction.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” you apologize, trailing your finger down his arm as he drops his hands back to the table. “I’m so clumsy sometimes -”

“No worries,” he assures you, and perhaps he would seem like a kind, well-adjusted man if it weren’t for the way his eyes zero in on your chest like a magnet - Harry shifts in his seat, watching the two of you, and his wife picks up her glass of wine and downs it in one sip. “Always glad to help a pretty girl in need.”

A blush works its way up your cheeks and before you can flirt back - it raises bile in the back of your throat to do it - Harry intervenes, leaning forward with a goddamn award winning smile and absolutely stomping on your chance to ensure some sort of relationship with Mr. Carfield as he says, “Did she wrinkle your suit at all? We’ll get the laundry bill, if she did.”

You grind your teeth together through a smile as Vincent shakes his bald head, sending Harry a warm smile which your partner gladly reciprocates. “It’s fine - are the two of you married?”

Didn’t he hear you two loudly celebrating your anniversary? Perhaps he just needs to confirm it - nothing wrong with it - but, God, he’s forward.

“Yes, we are,” you reply, and you step away from Vincent to walk back to your table - Harry reaches for your hand and pulls you to him, and you suspect the motion would look awkward if done by anyone else but it feels entirely too natural for you to be bothered. “It’s our two year marriage anniversary, actually. That’s why we’re here - on vacation.”

“That’s lovely,” Vincent says, and his smile stretches wider until it makes you uncomfortable to look at so you busy yourself gazing down at Harry’s head as though you’re so smitten you can hardly stand to look away. Then he holds out his hand, and you grab it, letting him shake it vigorously before he moves towards Harry. “It’s Vincent Carfield,” he tells you both, and Harry jumps in to introduce yourselves by your false names. “How long are you here?” “Just th’weekend,” Harry responds, nodding as Vincent does. “We’re staying downtown.”

“Really?” Vincent leans forward, and you lean your body back just a bit - not enough for him to notice, thankfully. “What hotel?”

And Harry gives him the name and Vincent acts as though it’s the wildest coincidence in the world that you both happen to be staying at one of the nicest, most popular hotels in London but you’re glad he overreacts, in a way. It’s important to establish some sort of relation between the two of you and maybe this’ll make Vincent feel like he’s destined to start some sort of affair with you - sure, it’s stupid, but he’s insecure and you’re ‘married’ and that should make him feel a bit more in control, knowing there’s a man waiting for you when you’re with him.

The thought could nearly make you gag. You hope beyond hope that it doesn’t have to get to it - that maybe the two of you could just sit and talk while Harry searches his hotel room - but, judging from the way he’s practically salivating as he stares up at you, you don’t think that’ll be the case.

After another moment of chatter your waitress arrives with a large plate of salad in each hand - you let go of Harry’s hand with one last departing wink to Vincent Carfield as you walk around the table to your seat, pushing your seat into the table just as your salad is placed before you.

Vincent’s wife glares at you - you’d feel bad in any other scenario. But - hey - at least they’re getting divorced already.

You pick up your fork, stabbing into a crouton and a few pieces of iceberg lettuce, and you raise it to your mouth, chewing thoughtfully on your food as Harry mirrors your actions. The two of you eat in silence for a minute or two, and you occasionally lift your wine to take a sip - he hadn’t poured himself a new glass, for which you are extremely grateful - before he leans in, curls flopping around his ears in a way that would be adorable if you didn’t have any sort of niggling annoyance for him still lingering.

“Good job, Mrs. Robinson,” murmurs Harry into a forkful of lettuce before shoving it into his mouth, and you scrunch your nose at his sloppiness.

“It’s what I’m best at,” you respond in earnest, and you relish in the way he rolls his eyes.

 ~~

 Harry takes forever in the shower.

It’s an indisputable fact at this point and one you should have gotten used to but it never fails to amaze you as your fingers type away at the headquarters-issued laptop resting on the carpet in front of you. He’s already been in the bathroom for nearly 20 minutes - you can hear his music playing, old hippie music that’s always blaring from his earbuds on plane and car rides, and steam billows out of the crack in the bottom of the door - and you’ve been picking up where he left up setting up the audio transmitter you’d attached to Vincent Carfield so you can hear what he’s saying, wired earbuds plugged into the computer preparation for when you start the audio.

Harry hadn’t done much at all to set it up - you can’t imagine what he was doing in the hotel room while you were showering if he wasn’t working on the mission, but you’d come out after your shower and hardly anything was done.

They should come up with better technology for this, you think as you drum your fingernails against your laptop, watching the small loading bar inch across the computer screen, transmitting the audio from next door to both your laptop and to Mark, back at headquarters. You’d texted him briefly to ask if he still wanted you to call him and he told you to merely connect the audio to him and there would be no issues - well, that’s fine by you, even if you’d largely counted on him coming between you and Harry when you’ll inevitably want to kill him later tonight.

The water shuts off. You roll your eyes for a good few seconds as you hear the shower curtain being shoved open from inside the bathroom, and you lean further into the computer before you, squinting at the loading bar that hasn’t progressed further since the last time you examined it. You sigh - push yourself off of the floor, arms stretched above your head and the sleeves of your t-shirt slide further down your shoulders. You’re simply donning a worn college shirt you’d gotten when you were in high school and still had dreams of attending a typical university - dreams that, evidently, you had squashed in the years to come - and a pair of sleep shorts, their waist just a tad too big on you and you’ve tugged them up further than they should rest.

It’s decidedly chilly in the hotel. The steam dissipating through the room from Harry’s shower serves as the only way to heat you up, humid air warm on your skin, and you hate the way you almost appreciate him for taking such a piping hot shower - but the thought doesn’t have to linger too long before the bathroom door opens with the force of a fucking bullet and Harry walks out, towel tied around his waist and hanging low on his hips, sopping curls brushed and resting on his shoulders, droplets from the strands rolling down his chest.

Your stomach flips. 

“Christ,” you say as a way of hiding the way your skin suddenly feels like there’s a fire lighting it from the inside out, burning your insides with it. “Don’t have any clothes to put on?”

He rolls his eyes - you swallow thickly, perching yourself on the edge of the bed as he takes a moment to stop and glance at the computer on the ground before turning back to you. “Changing in the bathroom is gross,” and - well, yeah, you have to agree with that. “Y’practically stripped naked in front f’me earlier, y’know.”

“You did it first,” you mutter, pulling your legs to cross beneath you as Harry crosses the room to the full length mirror mounted on the wall, fingers running through his wet curls, and you tear your eyes away from the water dripping onto his bare skin with only mild difficulty. “The audio is loading.”

“I saw that, believe it or not.”

Dick. You bite your tongue, though, and resist the urge to retort that he’d clearly not even started to set up the transmitter while you were showering, because the loading bar has moved nearly to the end of the screen while you’d been conversing with Harry. You climb off the bed, kneeling in front of the computer as Harry looks down at you, and you distinctly feel a drop from his hair land on the top of your head.

“S’done?” he inquires, and you glance up at him to reply but he’s already plopping down next to you, leaning over you to squint at the screen so you get a nice whiff of the hotel soap he’d used and his own distinct scent of shampoo - it’s fruity, mixed with something musky you can’t decipher - maybe tobacco? It’s hard to tell - he smells good. You wonder if he’s noticed how still you’ve gotten but then he pulls away, leaning back on his arm while you clear your throat and lean forward, tapping the mousepad on your laptop a few times in quick succession. “You’ve got it hooked to Mark?”

“‘Course,” you say, if only to regain your composure and keep your pretense of light annoyance with him. “Probably why it’s taking so long.”

“Ah.”

Then he stands, crossing to the entrance hall where his suitcase is opened, clothes folded meticulously because he’s nothing if not a freak for his clothes - out of the corner of your eye you see him pull out a pair of pajama pants and only a pair of pajama pants, and when his head turns to glance back at you, you’re quick to avert your gaze back to the computer -

Which has loaded. Hooray!

“It’s done,” you call to him, a decibel too loud and you’re quick to lower your voice with a small glance to the wall separating you and the Carfields. Earlier, you’d heard their door slam when they got home from dinner and you could make out their faint voices arguing if you focused hard enough - you don’t want them to hear you. “Get changed and we can listen.”

You pick up one of the earbuds connected to the laptop and shove it in your ear, fiddling with the volume buttons until it’s loud enough that you can hear their conversations as Harry ducks back into the bathroom. Clearly the coat with the bug has been folded in such a way that it muffles their voices but hell, it’s a strong bug, and you can still manage to hear them fine enough.

You send a text to Mark, and he confirms he can hear it too - you toss your phone to the side, letting it slide across the carpet as you lean in, adjusting the earbud in your ear.

Vincent’s voice is what you hear first - he’s talking fast, as though he’s in a rush, and your brows furrow.

“The new shipment isn’t set to come in until the first,” he says, tone hushed and soft, and you can’t hear his wife’s response after a moment of listening, and then he continues. “Think, you idiot! She’s trying to milk me for everything I’ve got - everything we’ve worked for -”

For a brief moment you wonder who she is, but after another few moments with no response you figure that he isn’t talking to his wife as you’d expected - he’s on the phone with someone, speaking of his divorce. A business partner - of course. The bathroom door opens, and your eyes shift to Harry’s figure as you hold out the available earbud for him.

Fuck. He’s gonna fucking kill you - not with his hands or with his gun but with those fucking pants, so low on his hips you can see the trail of hair leading beneath the plaid fabric, the tie done loose and casual. He’s not wearing a shirt, tattoos on full display for you to ogle if you had the time to, and you don’t, of course, but it doesn’t stop your eyes from roaming over his torso, throat feeling suddenly dry as he pads over to you on the ground, dropping to his knees beside you.

“Are you checking me out?” Harry questions, a soft smirk dancing on his lips and you roll your eyes, dangling the earbud for him to grab and he finally takes it, placing it in his left ear just as Vincent begins to speak again.

“Never,” you murmur, and if that isn’t the furthest from the truth you could get to you’re not quite sure what is. “Listen to him - I’m going to the bathroom.” And, as you push yourself to stand and walk towards the bathroom, you swear you can hear him murmur slacker beneath his breath but - well - you don’t need to respond to everything he says sometimes.

Truthfully, yes. You did have to pee. And when you’re done with that you turn on the faucet to wash your hands and you stare at the bathroom mirror that’s still damp from the steam of his shower, edges still frosted with the humidity, and it makes your reflection fuzzy as you look at yourself.

What the fuck? Seriously - what the fuck?

There’s a pressure in your lower stomach and a neediness between your thighs that you can only assign to Harry’s freshly-showered, no-shirt-low-pants appearance and it has shame bubbling under your skin mixed with some other feeling you don’t care enough to figure out. You’re feeling very strange things for Harry - things you’ve never felt for him, ever, in the entire year of knowing him - and you’re almost completely positive he doesn’t feel the same, doesn’t have the same desire to bend you over this sink -

Almost. But almost is very close to absolutely positive.

You feel embarrassed for yourself as you glance around the sink. His hairbrush sits on the counter, and there are so many assorted beauty products scattered across the surface that you can’t tell which ones are yours or his.

The lotion is his, you decide. You don’t use unscented lotion - but you reach for it anyway, squirting a dollop onto your palms and rubbing it in for a reason you’re not entirely sure of. When your hands are as soft as they’re going to get you glance at yourself in the mirror again, shirt baggy and long, the ends of your shorts peeking beneath the fabric.

You reach up, pulling the waistband of your shorts up until they aren’t visible beneath the ends of your shirt, exposing your legs until it appears you’re wearing no sleep shorts beneath the shirt. It’s more comfortable like that, anyway, you tell yourself, which isn’t quite true, before pushing the bathroom door open and walking back out to where Harry’s perched on the floor.

He turns to look at you, and you don’t miss the way his eyes crawl up your legs but he’s a bit more subtle about it than you’re sure you were - his bottom lip looks a deeper shade of red than the top and you wonder if he’d been biting it.

You decide not to repeat his retort about checking you out, even if you’re almost entirely sure he was.

“How’s it going?” you inquire, picking up your earbud to begin listening again. The wire connecting the two buds is short and you shift closer to him until the tip of your kneecap brushes his - you’d expected him to jerk away like you’d fucking stepped on him but he doesn’t, surprisingly. “Got anything juicy?”

“Jus’ vague references t’shipments and goods - they’re trying t’trace his call, see who he’s talking to.” You nod, resting your chin on your palm as Vincent drones on about exactly what Harry had said - the only substantial piece of evidence you have pointing to his business being a coverup for a drug trafficking scheme is references to obscene amounts of money he fears losing to his ex-wife that he would’ve never been able to obtain working at a privately-owned tailory. 

For ten minutes Vincent’s phone call remains as a bit of a drag and, truthfully, a rather large waste of time in your opinion - this is stuff you’d already known, including the shipment coming in a week’s time that you know headquarters will be able to intercept - and you’ve just begun to pull out your earbud to retreat to the bathroom once more to brush your teeth when Harry’s arm jerks towards you, fingers wrapping around your wrist and effectively preventing you from rising.

“Jesus hell,” you hiss, dropping back down onto the ground as you shove your earbud back in, “what -?”

But then Vincent is speaking again.

“ - look, buddy,” he says, voice suddenly dropped lower so that Harry reaches out, tapping the volume button a few times until you can hear him properly, “met this girl at dinner tonight, out with Bonnie. Real cute - body like a fuckin’ goddess.”

Your cheeks flush as a small smirk spreads across Harry’s face.

Vincent pauses, clearly awaiting his business partner’s response to this shocking bit of news, and when he speaks again he sounds more annoyed. “Fuckin’ done with Bonnie - I’m a free agent, Jules.”

You snap at Harry, but he’s already fishing for his phone, pulling up the notes app and jotting down the name Jules in a fresh page.

“Can fuck whoever I want to, now, and I swear, you’d die if you saw her.” You can practically picture the scumbag’s face as he says it, all smug and arrogant - as though you’d ever give him the time of a day if you weren’t being fucking paid for it. “Staying at the same hotel too, with her husband.”

Another pause. “Jules, do you think I give a shit about husbands? Remember Mia, in LA? The one married to that big fella? She was all over me.”

Your lips quirk up into a smile even as your stomach continues to churn in disgust, and Harry exhales softly, resting his phone on top of his knee. Clearly, Vincent’s conversation with Jules has turned from fighting for nearly fifteen minutes about shipments and payments to you and it’s entirely less important but it still piques your interest more. The gritty details of their shipping is for Mark to handle back at headquarters - you need to make sure you can distract Vincent long enough for Harry to search his room.

“ - and, man, you should’ve seen the eyes this girl was giving me - and her husband was all over her, too, checkin’ her out but she was still looking at me -”

You nearly choke at that, head whipping to the side to look at Harry, and he’s doing a sufficient job of furrowing his eyebrows and looking entirely confused at Vincent’s words but you don’t believe him for a moment. Checking you out - God, and you had the nerve to feel embarrassed for your desire for him. A month ago you may have been truly annoyed at Vincent’s observation but it only fuels the fire igniting in your core as Harry puts on his pretense of adjusting his earbuds, tips of his ears bright red as he pointedly avoids your gaze, and you bite your bottom lip to stop yourself from grinning.

“I’ll let you go. God, don’t sound so pretentious - didn’t you hook up with that French chick who was married to the boxer? - Yeah, that’s what I thought -”

You’re much less interested in Vincent’s conversations now, pulling your earbud out and standing up, arms stretched high above your head as Harry stays, leaning against the ground with one arm. After a moment, though, Vincent must have ended his phone call - Harry shuts the laptop and pulls his earbud out, standing up, and your gazes meet for a moment.

“Vincent’s an idiot,” he tells you, flush creeping up his neck, and you nod.

“Is he?’

“Y’know he was just saying that so he seemed cool, right?”

“Said what?”

Harry rolls his eyes, then, and you can’t stop the smirk from gracing your lips once more as he crosses across the hotel room, collapsing onto his back onto the bed, and you furrow your eyebrows as you watch him. “Didn’t check you out.”

“I didn’t say you did.” He doesn’t respond, and you sit yourself on the edge of the bed, glaring down at his slumped figure. “You’re not getting the bed.”

“‘Course I am. We fought it out, remember?”

“And we didn’t finish.”

“We absolutely did,” and then he pushes himself to sit up, leaning against the headboard, and it takes more willpower than you possess to keep your eyes from roaming his body but you resist with everything in you - you’ll just about die if he calls you out for checking him out. “I beat you. I had y’against the headboard.”

“That was inconclusive.”

“Get on the couch.”

You narrow your eyes at him and he narrows his right back, staring into his fucking soul because you’ll be damned if you sleep on the couch, even if it makes logistical sense because he is taller than you - but, no. You’re the one who could possibly have to fuck Vincent Carfield in all his glory. You deserve the bed, size be damned.

In the end, you blink first, and come bedtime, you’re nestled on the couch with blankets you’d found in the hotel wardrobe.

You hate Harry.

 ~~

 The couch is extremely uncomfortable. It’s what you’d expected but your back still aches in pain when you wake up at 3 in the fucking morning, blankets dangling off the edge of the cushions you’re bundled on top of, and the pillow your head was resting on has slipped off onto the ground.

The room is pitch black as you groan, the noise purposefully loud, reaching down until your fingers graze the edge of the pillow - but your grip is slow, tired, and as you pick up the pillow to throw it back behind your head it slips from your grasp, dropping onto the ground and bouncing against the carpet until it’s resting a solid six feet from the couch.

Do you really need a pillow? You’re not sure, but you desperately don’t want to have to get up and get it because you know your sleepiness will melt away before you can even think about it, and, more than anything, you desire going back to sleep in order to try and be well rested for tomorrow. 

You reach down and pull your clump of blankets back up over yourself, pulling your knees further against your chest so the entire area of the blankets coats your body. Your head rests against the flat cushion, pillow be damned, and you shift again until your back is rested flat against the cushion as well, legs sticking straight out in front of you, the couch creaking at the movement.

The blankets don’t cover your legs - you push one of them down until they’re situated onto your feet, collectively covering your entire body even if it isn’t necessarily warm. At least they’re blanketed to some degree.

After ten minutes of trying to go back to bed, you pointedly decide that yes, you really do need a pillow, and immediately. Your neck already aches with the uncomfortable position and your ears feel chilly without being pressed into the soft pillow you’d snatched from the bed Harry is currently sleeping on - the bastard. He’d practically suffocated you with his smug gazes before he fell asleep, curled on top of the bed that he’d (rightfully) claimed as his after an arm wrestle, rock paper scissors game, and a half-hearted second attempt at a wrestling match - you’d lost all three.

Whatever. You’d been determined not to sulk at your losses before returning to the couch, trying not to let Harry see you mope but now you wish you’d made a bigger show of your disappointment - perhaps he’d have caved and taken the couch, but you’re sure he’d have stayed firm no matter what.

You slowly push yourself off of the couch, creeping across the room towards where your pillow rests on the ground, and you pick it up, clutching it tight to your chest before returning to the couch. You press it against the cushion, punching it a few times to attempt to soften it before huffing softly, lying yourself back down and tugging your blankets tight back up against you.

The next ten minutes goes by much as the night had previously - you can’t find a good position, turning onto your side and your back and your stomach until you’re hardly sure which way you’re facing, at this point, face buried tight against your pillow. You long for not much more than a soft bed for your back to rest into and you’re sure you’ll be a sore, tired disaster tomorrow when you manage to find Vincent Carfield in the hotel.

You turn to your side, the couch squeaking beneath the shift in your weight, and your body tenses when you hear a soft groan from the lump wrapped in covers on top of the bed, his silhouette illuminated only by the moonlight streaming through the window into the hotel room.

“How much longer are y’gonna move?” Harry grunts, voice low and raspy and you swallow when you hear it - if you close your eyes and listen to him speak, you could almost imagine him sounding like that in a very different scenario - “Keepin’ me up.”

“I’m terribly sorry,” you retort, voice soft and crackling with your yearning to sleep. “If you’d like to take the couch so I stop tossing and turning, I’d much appreciate it.”

He exhales softly, the noise sounding so deep and pornographic it makes your stomach flip. “In your dreams.”

You narrow your eyes as you stare at him, duvet pulled up to his chest and head turned to the side towards you - in the dark you can’t tell if his eyes are shut or if he’s looking at you. For a moment you decide not to say anything, hands crossed over your stomach, and then you shift loudly onto your back, couch creaking, and Harry sighs just as you’d anticipated.

“Please,” he begins, tone low and pleading, and you cut him off before he can continue.

“Not my fault the couch is loud, Har.”

“You’re doin’ it on purpose.”

“Of course I’m not,” you tell him, shifting again so another noise permeates the air of the hotel room. “The couch is just noisy - and uncomfortable.”

There’s a rather pregnant pause after that and you keep your eyes on Harry, watching the way he shifts onto his back, opening up a rather small sliver of space beside him and your heart practically leaps at the sight but you don’t say anything else - simply roll back onto your side, the couch creaking as you do, and he sighs again.

It seems like he sighs a lot.

“If I invite you into my bed,” Harry begins, and a small smile begins tugging your lips upwards even if you want to groan at his usage of the word my, “you’ll promise t’be quiet an’ go t’sleep?”

God, he sounds like your mother. “Yes,” you tell him, clutching the blankets wrapped around your torso. “I promise.”

Another pause. “Then - then y’can come. We can share.”

You try not to look too eager. Masking your emotions is, perhaps, the most important aspect of your job and yet you’re sure you look just as excited as you feel, pushing yourself to your feet with your blankets wrapped around your body, pillow stowed beneath your arm. Your feet pad across the carpet, toes sinking into the plushness of the floor before you make it to the bed, and Harry’s staring up at you, face contorted in a mixture of emotions you can’t decipher.

“Not gonna scooch over, then?” you question, resting your pillow against the bed and hitting it a few times. 

“Y’have room, don’t you?”

And the answer is that you don’t, of course. When you lie yourself down on the bed your legs knock into Harry’s, head so close to his you can feel his curls grazing your face, and the duvet you pull up your chin smells like him, distinctly. His elbow juts into your side - your cold foot rests against his warm one - you don’t think you’ve ever touched him this much outside of a mission.

You drape your clump of blankets over your body, partially resting on top of Harry, smoothing your palms over the fabric with a contented sigh. Your back is thanking you for the switch in sleeping spots and your neck sinks into the pillow and mattress, aches already beginning to alleviate themselves.

“Still need me t’move?” Harry asks, and you shut your eyes, nearly missing the way his eyes lingered on you for just a moment longer than necessary before he rests himself back against the bed.

“No,” you murmur, and there’s another moment of silence before he mumbles his affirmation. Tomorrow you’re sure you’ll regret this - sleeping beside him, even if that’s all you do - feeling him pressed against parts of your body you’d never expected to feel his touch on.

Well, you’d rather deal with the tinge of embarrassment (and pride) than an achy back and lack of sleep - you smile slightly.

 ~~

 The next morning comes entirely too soon for your liking - sunlight peeking through the windows permeates your eyelids until you’re groaning awake, palm pressed against your eyes to block the light and face burying itself back into your pillow.

Your alarm hasn’t gone off yet. If your alarm doesn’t go off, then it’s not morning. Surely you have a few more hours of rest before you need to get up - even a couple more minutes will do -

Just as the thought crosses your mind your phone blares its alarm, the loud noise jolting you up like a bucket of ice water, and, from behind you, Harry grunts into his pillow.

Behind you.

You’re quick to silence your alarm - another nine full minutes of peaceful resting, if you’re lucky, before you’re disturbed again, though you’re sure you won’t get back to bed now that you’ve remembered the events of last night. 

Harry’s arm is heavy, draped over your midsection, the soft surface of his cheek buried intently into the crevice between your neck and shoulder - you can feel his soft breathing against your skin, the air a warm and gentle sensation. One of his legs has wedged itself between yours, thigh pressed entirely too high in the crevice between your thighs, and with every moment that passes you can feel the rise and fall of his bare chest as he snores behind you.

What a fucking sight, you think, sitting up slightly to look down at him. God, if he were awake, you’d tease him until he cries about what a position the pair of you had worked yourselves into but you have the foresight to see how that would backfire on you - technically, you’re just as to blame as he is, even if he’s the bigger spoon right now.

But you’re most decidedly not to blame for the hardness pressing into your lower back, tearing a sleepy groan from Harry’s throat when you shift in your position.

The bastard. He’s hard as a fucking rock from pressing against you while you slept, and a sleepy smirk spreads across your face as you glance down at him. In any other circumstance you think you’d poke him awake just to make him aware of it but there’s a certain air of desire you’re feeling as well that makes you feel - well, not as though you’re in the appropriate position to make fun of him for his boner.

Slowly, you disentangle yourself from his body. His leg drops to the mattress when you swing your own off the edge of the bed, his arm falling until it’s resting in your lap, palm pressed against a certain area that makes your breath hitch, furrowing your eyebrows as you glance down at his hand. There are still fading, pink indents from the rings he takes off every night and before every mission, save for the fake wedding band the two of you often have to don on missions, and you scrunch your nose as you admire it.

Married. You don’t think so. The only time you think of him with anything other than hatred is when he’s asleep, like this - or shirtless.

You stand up, shaking your head to wipe those thoughts from your mind. Harry’s hand drops onto the mattress and you can tell it’s the push he needed into consciousness - you glance back at him to see his eyes cracked open, and they shut when your gazes meet.

“‘Morning,” you tell him, voice louder than you’d intended, and he winces at the noise, shifting onto his back - it’s as though you can see the exact moment he realizes his little problem mixed with the realization that you would also know about it, pressed up against him during the night - his eyes widen ever so slightly, and he pushes himself to lean against the headboard, bundling his duvet onto his lap. 

“Um - g’morning,” Harry replies, voice raspy like it had been the night prior and your stomach turns - you shift on your feet. “Y’goin’ t’the bathroom?”

“You can go first,” you say, and he nods, bringing fists up to rub at his eyes. And then - because you just can’t help pissing him off when you have such a golden opportunity - you add, “Think you might need it a bit more than I do.”

His face reddens.

 ~~

 Earpiece. Knife. Boobs.

You go through the things you need on a mental checklist as you pick up your forkful of scrambled eggs, chewing thoughtfully on the bite. The hotel restaurant is nearly completely full, couples and families packed into the small tables as they feast on their complimentary breakfasts, chatter filling the section. You’ve been sitting eating (truthfully, delicious) breakfast for the better half of an hour, bringing your plate up to the buffet to refill your platter of eggs, fruit, and toast.

Realistically, you would have eaten and left had you not been waiting for a very specific somebody to walk in and catch your eye. You and Harry had plugged back into the bug in Vincent’s room to hear him planning to go down for complimentary breakfast - the only clue you had as to how he wanted to spend his day - and it was the only opportunity you had to find him. Get him out of his room - talking, if possible - so Harry can search it.

It’s such an easy plan, you could practically do it in your sleep.

“Is he there yet?” inquires a crackling voice from your earpiece, disguised as an earring dangling from your lobes.

“No,” you murmur, voice soft as a whisper, and you’re sure he can’t hear your response until he sighs.

“Takin’ his time, isn’t he?”

“Mhm.”

You pick up your glass of orange juice, raising the cup to rouge-stained lips as you take a sip. When you rest it back down on the table, there’s a light red stain on the glass - you wipe it away with a manicured thumb, leaning back in your seat, legs crossed. Your eyes scan the restaurant again, lingering on any newcomers leaning against the wall in case you can pinpoint the man you’re searching for - wide frame, untailored suits, bald head that shines in the artificial light.

(Complimentary breakfast ends at 10, and it’s 9:48. It’s safe to say that you’re getting nervous.)

Your nerves, however, are soothed just a bit when a familiar figure makes his way into the dining hall - tall and haughty, phone pressed to his sweaty head, Vincent Carfield is the image of a stressed businessman, recently divorced and searching for a young, married woman who’d given him eyes last night. His suit is baggy, buttons of the jacket undone and his white button up has sweat stains spreading from the armpits, visible with his arm lifted up to his ear. Instinctively your back straightens, tugging down the top of your lace top so that the top of your cleavage shows - it seems to be your greatest weapon, dealing with a man like Carfield.

You lower your gaze to your phone clutched in your hand but you can still sense exactly the moment his eyes land on you. In your peripheral vision you watch him straighten up, lips moving quickly before his phone is shoved into his pocket, weaving his way between circular tables until he’s standing beside you, and you pretend not to notice the way his eyes never meet yours - his gaze stays on a point eerily similar to your chest.

“Is he there?” Harry questions, and you clear your throat - it’s the symbol you’d decided on to mean yes if you can’t speak.

“Vincent,” you begin, faux smile spreading across your face, and a similar one lands on his features. He reaches for your hand and you give it to him, watching him press chapped, dry lips to the back of your palm, and the urge to scrunch your nose at the feeling is almost overwhelming. “It’s so good to see you.”

“And you,” he says, and you drop your hand back to the tablecloth resting on your table. “Can I sit?”

“Of course,” you reply, and he pulls out the empty seat across from you, resting with a soft grunt. “Breakfast ends in a few minutes, though - you’re welcome to have some of mine, if you’re hungry.”

He obliges, reaching to pull your plate to him, and you watch as he picks up your buttered toast, taking a large bite and smacking his lips as he chews. “I was hoping I’d run into you.”

You raise your eyebrows, leaning forward ever so slightly. “And why is that?”

“Couldn’t stop thinking about you,” Vincent tells you, and in your earpiece, Harry snorts at his words - you hope you didn’t jump too hard at his sudden noises in your ear. “I hoped I wasn’t getting the wrong idea at dinner, last night -”

“What idea were you getting?”

“That you were interested in me,” and you tilt your head to the side, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth - if Harry could see the act you’re playing right now, you’d be humiliated. At least he can only hear it. “I saw the eyes you were giving me - not even worried ‘bout your husband seeing?”

“He’s too dense to notice,” you say, a smile tilting your lips up as Harry groans - from his side of the earpiece you can hear bustling mixed with the sound of a door opening, and you assume he’s just entered Vincent’s apartment. He needs at least a half hour, Mark had told you - breakfast ends in nearly five minutes, and you need somewhere else to take Carfield. “You know, Vince - is it okay if I call you Vince?”

“I don’t think he cares what you call him,” mumbles Harry, so quiet you’re sure he’s hardly even intending for you to hear it, “as long as you have your hand down his pants in the next ten minutes.”

Your cheeks flush as Vincent smiles, leaning back in his seat as he finishes off your toast. “Call me whatever you want to,” he tells you, and you can practically hear Harry rolling his eyes through your earpiece.

“Alright, Vince - breakfast is ending in a few minutes, and I desperately hope we can keep talking.” He nods along with your words, leaning in as he pushes his plate to the center of the table - all that’s left is the fruit and the remnants of your eggs. “Do you think we could go up to my room? My husband is off visiting some family members across London - he won’t be home for hours.”

“Hours?”

“Hours,” you confirm, nodding as you take another sip of your orange juice - this time you don’t wipe the lipstick stain off of your glass, and you watch his eyes follow the mark as you lower the glass back to the table. “Can we go, Vince?”

Clearly he isn’t thinking clearly enough to question how curious it is that you’d had similar feelings for him without much trouble at all - instead, he smiles like a boy on Christmas morning. He practically knocks the table in his rush to stand up - you watch a red blush creep up his neck to his ears as he grabs it, steadying the wobbling surface, and you pretend you hadn’t noticed when he holds his hand out for you. You allow him to take your hand in his and he pulls you to your feet, wrapping a secure arm around your waist, palm stretched across your hips so his fingertips creep up the hem of your lace shirt.

“Are you going to our room?” questions Harry in your ear, and there’s a few scuffling noises on the other end that makes you internally cringe as Vincent begins weaving the pair of you between tables that are now emptying as complimentary breakfast reaches its end. “____? ‘Y’goin’ t’our room?”

You clear your throat once, and Vincent glances over at you with an amused glance on his face as the two of you make your way out of the restaurant. “Are you okay, darling?”

The pet name makes you cringe internally and you give him a soft smile as you approach the hallway full of elevators, available to take you to any of the available thirteen residential floors of the hotel - Vincent presses the button to go up, and you wait for the doors to open. “I’m great.”

“Make sure he doesn’t want to stop in his room,” Harry mutters, and you swallow, your smile not faltering. You want to tell Harry to make sure he’s completely quiet in his endeavors in Vincent’s room but you’re sure he already knows - you can’t risk Vincent hearing a strange noise while you’re attempting to distract him.

The elevator doors open, and Vincent pulls you inside with a grip on your waist like a vise. He glances at the array of buttons available to press, and looks at you with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s floor 13,” you tell him, and he smiles, pressing the button until it glows.

“Floor 13? That’s where I’m staying, too,” he says, and you nod in mock-surprise -

“What a surprise,” Harry snorts in your ear, and you can’t stop the smirk from spreading across your face.

 ~~

 There’s a thick thigh pressed between both of yours, sweaty palms slid beneath your lace top, and you don’t think you’ve ever found a man’s touch less desirable in your  life - and, for whoever may be keeping a record, this job has required you to get up close and personal with more skeevy men that you’d expected when you’d applied.

The only thing keeping a blissed out look on your face is your focus on the soft noises coming from the other end of your earpiece as Vincent lands wet, open-mouthed kisses to your throat, tongue laving over your skin - hearing Harry’s occasional quiet breathing and muffled noises as he searches the hotel room next to yours makes this entirely worth it.

Against your throat, Vincent moans, and the noise is throaty and loud - you can hear Harry stifling a laugh directly into your ear, and the noise sends a chill rolling up your spine. Clearly, Vincent thinks your involuntary movement was for him - his hands grasp on your tits entirely too hard to be pleasurable and you bite back the urge to tell him so. “Such a dirty girl,” he tells you.

You rest your head back against the wall he has you pressed against with a moan that sounds entirely fake from your throat. You can almost imagine how Harry’s going to make fun of this when he sees you next, and your stomach turns when you think about it for a reason you can’t quite decipher. “Fuck,” you say, forcing your voice to a near whine, and you swear you can hear Harry’s voice hitch through your piece but you’re not sure. “Feels - so good.”

The lie sounds natural off of your lips as Vincent’s knee jabs into your clit - the pressure is a pain rather than a pleasure and your breath hitches as you try not to cry out. He chuckles against your skin, clearly taking your soft sign of pain as an emblem of pleasure, and you shut your eyes as his teeth graze the veins in your neck.

“No way,” breathes Harry, and your ears perk up - had he found something in Vincent’s room? “S’he actually good at that?”

You want to snort at that. Of course he isn’t good but the thought of Harry listening spurs you on more than it should - you roll your hips against Vincent’s thigh with a soft moan, higher pitched than your last one, and the man on the other end of your earpiece exhales.

“That sounded fake,” Harry says, voice soft and light, and you want to slam your head into the wall so he knows that he’s starting to piss you off from next door. “So he’s not makin’ y’feel good?”

You practically freeze. If Vincent wasn’t tugging your shirt up to expose your tits to the cold air of your hotel room, you’re sure you would have forgotten where you were completely. Those words from Harry’s mouth mixed with an edge of venom isn’t what you’d expected him to say at all - on the contrary, you’d think he was fucking with you, trying to work you up to embarrass you if you couldn’t hear his little moans that he’s clearly trying to silence.

Is he worked up? Because you can work with that.

You drop your head back to whack against the wall with a loud moan as Vincent’s clammy lips press to the fabric of your bra. Your hand goes up to press to the back of his bald head, fingernails scratching against his sweaty scalp and you wish - not for the first time - that you were feeling thick, chocolate-toned curls beneath your fingers instead, tugging on them as his tongue lavished you. Though, in your mind, it’s more teeth and grit and anger because you’re sure you’d find a way to be angry with Harry even if his mouth were on your tits - it’s one of your special skills - in every fantasy you’ve had of your partner it’s violent and harsh.

“Fuck,” grunts a voice from your earpiece, and hardly a moment later Vincent groans a similar noise as you rock your hips against his thigh. Thankfully he seems to be getting a decent amount of pleasure just making out with your boobs like a teenage boy and - maybe, if Harry is quick enough in his search of his hotel room - you won’t have to fuck him at all. It’ll be a Christmas miracle (a month early, but a miracle nonetheless.) “Are y’fuckin’ him?”

You whimper, Harry’s voice shooting from your ear directly down to your cunt and your clit and you feel wetness soaking your knickers, pressed against Vincent’s thigh though it may as well be the arm of a couch for how it affects you - the only pleasure you get from Vincent’s hard body against yours is the urge to close your eyes and imagine it’s Harry.

“No, you’re not,” says Harry, and there’s a soft clatter in your earpiece - surely he’s dropped something from the room next door and you tense. Surely Vincent hadn’t heard it, teeth still gnashing against your bra, and he seems too distracted to pay attention to it. “M’hard as a fuckin’ rock, ____ - thinkin’ of you, gettin’ off on my voice, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you exhale, and Vincent glances up at you, thick brows furrowed in confusion. You swallow, focusing on giving yourself a satisfied expression, and he turns back to your chest, seemingly convinced of your pleasure. “Yes - making me feel so good.”

Harry groans in your ear, and you wonder, suddenly, if he’s jerking off - if he’s leaning against Vincent Carfield’s bed, hand pumping up and down his cock as he listens to you. Maybe he’s in the bathroom, or leaning against the wall like you are, his breathing picking up as sweat drips down his forehead - 

“Gonna fuck you,” Vincent mumbles against your boobs, and you scrunch your nose. “Want me to fuck you?”

“Just -” you swallow, and Harry snickers in your ear, the soft laugh breathy and groaning. “Just wait, feels so good -”

“Don’t fuck him,” says Harry, and there’s a few more jostling noises on the other end mixed with another soft moan - you have a sudden image of him, digging through Vincent Carfield’s possessions with a firm hand around his cock and you feel the result of that imagery stricken straight down to your clit like a fucking lightning bolt until you’re crying out, and your orgasm is on you so embarrassingly fast you could sob in embarrassment. “I’m almost there -”

You’re not sure if he means he’s almost about to cum or if he’s almost found something to convict Vincent - you’re not entirely sure which interpretation you’d prefer. 

“I’m gonna cum,” you breathe, the words sour on your tongue as Vincent glances up at you with a wicked smile, jolting his thigh further up into your clit, and you furrow your eyebrows at the pain the motion brings. “Fuck, H - Vincent.”

“Y’were gonna say m’name,” Harry hisses, and you squeeze your eyes shut, embarrassment coursing through your veins. You almost fucked everything up. “Cum. Let Vincent think he made y’cum - go ahead - do it.”

And - fuck. Who are you to disobey? You grind your core down on Vincent’s thigh with a throaty cry, and your orgasm rushes over you with an embarrassing waterfall of pleasure and shame. Never have you cum so easily and it wasn’t even Harry’s touch - simply his voice, his groans as he listens to you come undone - and, in the end, the only thing to pull you from your high is Vincent’s eyes boring into yours, eyebrows raised and lips parted as he pulls his face from your chest with a most satisfied expression on his face.

You want to smack it off of him - if you hadn’t already cum, that look would’ve stopped you in your tracks. As it is, it slows the aftershocks of your release into dull nothingness while Harry moans in your earpiece, his noises a mere backdrop to the sudden growing sounds of scuffling and jostling, and his sharp gasp is loud enough for Vincent’s head to snap up.

“Did you hear that?” Vincent questions - Harry curses into your earpiece.

“I found something,” Harry tells you, voice dropped to a low whisper. “I found - s’under his mattress - m’calling Mark!”

A small smile spreads across your face at his words. It’s done. He’s found something worthy enough to convict Vincent Carfield, and that’s enough for you to press your palms to his chest, pushing him away from you so forcefully that he stumbles over the carpet, back slamming into the edge of your bed as he falls to the ground. His expression is so confuddled as he stares up at you that, for a moment, you marvel at his lack of self awareness - in an instant you’re reaching up the hem of your skirt to the knife in its holder strapped to your thigh, and you pull the blade out to point at Vincent Carfield, in your ear a myriad of Harry’s delighted cheers of, “I’ve found it!”

 ~~

 Wrapping up a mission isn’t nearly as speedy as you’d like - there’s debriefs and paperwork to complete once Vincent is done and arrested, phone confiscated along with the drugs found in his hotel room by your partner, and physical evaluations to determine whether you’d been hurt, and a long phone call with Mark where he congratulated the pair of you.

Not only for taking down Vincent Carfield, your boss had said, his voice booming and cheerful, but for making it out without killing each other.

If only he knew.

Your plane is set to leave tomorrow morning at the crack of dawn, and if you were more reasonable perhaps you’d heade Mark’s advice to go straight to sleep and set an alarm for 3 AM but you’ve never been too bright in that regard. You finish your last debrief in the hotel restaurant, Harry working diligently beside you, and it’s at nearly 9 PM that the pair of you pack up your work and begin to head upstairs.

The elevator ride is silent when Harry reaches to press the button for your floor. Your room had been closed for you to visit for the better part of the afternoon until Vincent’s had been properly searched, though Harry had gladly given the authorities everything he’d found without a moment of hesitation. Tiredness creaks at your bones but here - standing beside Harry, feeling his gaze boring into the side of your face - you desire nothing less than to go to sleep.

“Good work, Mr. Robinson,” you tell him, and he raises his eyebrows when you turn your head to look at him. “Fairly easy mission, wasn’t it?”

“For you,” he says, and you arch your eyebrow, frown tugging your lips downwards as the elevator begins to move up. “Gettin’ off on Vincent’s thigh was the hardest part - I had t’search the room.”

For a moment you wonder if he’s kidding and certainly he’s only teasing you but you still roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest as heat creeps up your cheeks. “Didn’t seem too difficult, moaning and crying ‘bout how hard you were. I bet I could’ve found the drugs in half the time it took you -”

“You couldn’t have,” Harry says, and you exhale sharply. 

“‘Course I could -”

“Wasn’t hidden in plain sight like everything you find.”

“So where were they?”

He pauses, and you smile down at your shoes - surely you’ve got him now. “Hidden in his computer,” Harry says, then, and your smile is wiped away in an instant. Shit, you wouldn’t have found them. “Not so smart now, are you?”

“Oh, you dick -”

The elevator doors open to your floor and Harry pushes himself off the wall, stalking out of the elevator and you jump to follow him, picking up the pace to walk beside him as he begins down the hall towards your hotel room. It’s entirely too easy, falling back into an arrangement of bickering with him as though nothing had happened - as though you hadn’t cum with his voice alone, and you’re nearly positive that he had, too.

He stops in front of your hotel door, digging in the pockets of his pants for the room key, and you cross your arms over your chest. “I don’t know why you’re actin’ so high and mighty,” he tells you, voice biting as he shoves the key card into the door’s slot - it beeps red, and he tries again. “As f’you didn’t cream your fucking pants jus’ listenin’ t’my voice.”

“I’m not acting high and mighty,” you retort, praying the burning sensation in your face isn’t visible to him but you doubt you’re that lucky. “You don’t have to be such a douche all the time - and, by the way, you came in your pants, too, didn’t you.”

It’s not a question, and Harry flings the door open, letting you walk in before he follows. In an instant, before you can march into the bedroom area to huff at how pissed he’s getting you - it is what he’s best at - there’s a tight grip on your wrist, turning you around so fast your head spins, and before you can object, Harry has you pressed against the door, hands caging you in on either side of your head.

His face is so close to yours you can smell the alcohol on his breath that he’d had while you two worked, mixed with the scent of his mint toothpaste and his shampoo, curls dropping into your face as he wedges his leg between both of yours, thigh pressed against your cunt. It’s just as Vincent had done but so different, so much better, and it tears a whine out of your throat right off the bat.

Your urge is to lean in, clash your lips together in a fury of tongue and teeth but you don’t want to make the first move - Harry can take the lead and you’ll follow, and that’s more than enough for you. So you simply drop your head back, breathing heavy as you stare into his eyes, nearly cross-eyed to meet his gaze. 

“Fuck you,” you tell him, and the words lack the venom you’d yearned for. It’s filled with more desperation and neediness than you’d anticipated, and you feel your stomach flip-flop at the smirk that spreads across Harry’s face. “Fuck you.”

His hands drop from against your head and for a moment you fear he’s going to pull away, that he’s doing this just to fuck with you but then his hands are on your legs, fingertips dancing up and down your outer thighs, fingering the hem of your skirt, and you jolt under him. “You’re so responsive,” he tells you, and you roll your eyes, dropping your head back against the door. “I love getting y’worked up.”

“Shut up,” you groan, feeling his fingers working your skirt up your legs, and the fabric brushes over the edge of your knife, still fastened to your thigh. 

“Like makin’ y’angry.”

“Shut up,” and finally Harry leans in, mouth slamming against yours until your teeth grind against his and your lips part with a shocked gasp. His tongue slips between your lips, your hands reaching up to bury in his curls and hold his face to yours. His palm slides up your thighs, pushing your skirt up around your waist and your cheeks burn as the cold hotel room air assaults your skin, goosebumps popping up in their wake. You whimper into Harry’s lips and he pulls away, palms smoothing up and down your thighs before you feel his fingers hook against the top of your knife, and he tugs the blade out of your holster.

You watch with wary eyes as Harry brings the blade up to his eyes, examining it with narrowed eyes, his other hand still resting on your thigh, fingertips rubbing circles into your skin harsh enough that you’re sure you’ll find bruises tomorrow in the shape of his hands. Your breath hitches in your throat as you watch him and his eyes turn to yours, smile tugging his lip up.

“Y’look a bit excited, there,” Harry says - an acute observation, because you’re practically creaming your fucking panties. “Like seein’ me with your knife?”

“Yes,” you breathe, and Harry flips the knife in his hands until the blade is just an inch from the spot between both of your eyes, your orbs crossing to see it. “What are you -”

Before you can finish the question Harry presses the knife forward, the sharp edge of the plate pressed to your cheek, and you inhale sharply, swallowing thickly as he increases pressure against your skin. Fuck, this shouldn’t excite you - he’s not half as good as you are with blades - and you’re sure if he keeps going he’s going to slice you either by accident or on purpose, and it disturbs you how much that thought turns you on.

The blade drags down your skin, tracing along your jawline with pressure light enough to feel like a breath and hard enough to catch yours in your throat - Harry’s watching it with darkened eyes, watching as he lowers it down your throat, tracing it along your neck and the veins.

You drop your head back against the door with a thud, feeling the cool metal on your skin, sweaty from being pressed against him and the heat that encompasses your body until it’s all you can feel, and Harry’s just watching, watching the knife run across your skin.

Your eyes, fluttered shut, shoot open when a sudden burning sensation overtakes the top of your chest - you glance down to see Harry pulling the knife away from you, the tip decorated with just a smudge of dark, red liquid that’s mirrored on your collarbone.

“Did you -?”

“Oops,” Harry says as you bring your fingers to the small nick he’d given you, wiping away the drops of blood that spread on your chest. You raise your narrowed eyes to glare at him and you’re trying - trying so hard - to be furious with him, to get angry, to push him away and yell at him - but, fuck, feeling his thumb rub across the cut on your chest only increases the ball of pressure in your lower abdnomen as you look at him.

Your lips clash once more, more intense than before as you whine into his mouth - Harry’s free hand hoists your thigh around his waist, and when his lips move down to bite at your throat, the hand still clutching your knife pulls back before he slams the blade into the door next to you, surely taking a few of your stray hairs. You yelp, jolting your head back as you whip your head to the side to stare at the knife stuck in the door barely an inch from the side of your head, and Harry lifts his head with a smirk.

“You assho -”

Before you can finish Harry’s hand is wrapped around your throat, cutting off your ability to speak and you can’t help but moan at the pressure even if the noise is choked and gasping - Harry grins, moving his other hand down to your hips until he’s helping you to roll against his thigh, clit rubbing against the fabric of his pants. You tighten your thigh’s hold around his waist, pressing his torso closer to yours, and he, in turn, tightens his grasp on your neck.

“Y’like m’hand on your throat, hmm?” Harry questions, voice low and raspy like how it had been in the middle of the night except more, better and intense, and you whimper in affirmation. “Can’t even talk - can’t even say anything.”

When he finally loosens his hold on you, you gasp for air and bring your arm up to wrap around his neck again, fingers scraping through his scalp to tug his lips back to yours. Your other hand drops to the front of his pants, palm smoothing over his bulging erection before your shaky fingers begin tugging his zipper down.

“Can I tell you something?” says Harry, then, as you fumble to undo the button of his pants until you can shove your hand into the fabric, fingernails dragging along his cock through his boxers - his hips jolt into your hands.

“Yes,” you murmur in response, hand jerking up and down his dick and, even through a layer of fabric, he grunts into your lips.

“I didn’t cum,” he says, and you move your head from his, furrowing your eyebrows. “Didn’t cum, even when I heard y’with Vincent -”

“You -?”

“Didn’t wanna cum when I wasn’t buried in your cunt,” and you gasp sharply as his hand on your throat slides down your body until it’s shoved into your panties, cold fingertips dragging along your soaking folds that drip your ambrosia into his grasp. “Even f’you sounded so good, moanin’ for me - almost pathetic -”

You tighten your grip on his hair until he’s crying out, fingertips pinching your clit in your panties and you jerk your hips into his grasp at the sharp punishment. “Don’t call me that -” you moan, trembling hand pulling his boxers down over his cock while he smirks.

“Pathetic -”

“Fuck you, Harry -”

“Whimperin’ like a baby -”

You move your hand from his hair to his face, grip bruising as you grab his chin in your palm. Your fingertips squeeze his cheek as you force his head to stare at you - the lazy, cocky smile that adorns his features makes you want to throttle him, and your fingers flex against his face.

“What?” Harry questions, tone mocking and it fuels the anger in every crevice of your body as you glare at him. “Gonna hit me?”

Yes, you want to say - before you can even open your mouth, though, Harry leans in, teeth nibbling on your earlobe as he exhales, his words low and breathy, “Do it.”

Who are you to disobey him?

You bring your hand back and smack it down on his cheek with a satisfying slap that reverberates through your hotel room. His head is slapped to the side, exposing his side profile to you, and you smooth your palm over the red mark already blooming on his cheek in the shape of your handprint.

“You like to be hit, do you?” you inquire - for a moment, just a second, you feel some semblance of control over the situation, wrapping your fist around his cock once you’ve pulled his boxers down over his length. He hisses, dropping his head back, lips parted in a silent cry when your thumb sweeps over the weeping tip of his cock, precum dripping down his member. “Never would’ve guessed.”

And you do it again, bringing your hand up to slap his face and it tugs a louder grunt from his mouth, pressing his body further into yours until all you can feel is him, chests pressed together and cock rubbing against your cunt through the fabric of your lace panties. You bring your hand back to give him another slap but then his fingers are pulling your drenched knickers to the side, bulbous tip of his cock nudging through your folds for only a split second before he pushes himself inside of you, sheathing the entirety of his length until he bottoms out, balls pressed tight against your skin.

You can’t help but sob out. It’s, really, not your fault - you can tell how it spurs him on, but before he can keep fucking you like how you’ve dreamt of he’s pulling out completely, taking a half a step away from you, cock tall and leaking. The emptiness you feel is overwhelming, even if you’d only had him in you for a few seconds at best, and objections immediately rise in your throat.

“What the fu -?”

Then he’s grabbing your throat, using his grip as leverage to force you around, cheek smushed against the wooden door frame and back pressed to his chest. His palms smooth up and down the globes of your ass, pulling the cheeks apart until the pressure burns and you throw your head back with a cry. Then he pulls his hand back - lands it back against your ass with a cracking slap that makes you jump against him - and he doesn’t give you a second to beg him to fucking do it again before he’s sliding his cock back into your folds.

“Fuck,” he practically shouts, the noise crackling and broken with arousal practically dripping from the syllable, and you drop your forehead against the door with a cry. “Fuck, so tight - knew y’would be -”

“Move, please,” you beg, tone sobbing and desperate, and Harry obliges without another second to spare - pulls out and thrusts back in, pace brutal and desperate right off the bat until you’re quivering, legs trembling when he’s only been going for a half a minute.

Oh my god. Holy fuck, it feels so good, better than you could’ve ever pictured it, his hand smoothing over your ass before landing periodic slaps to the plump skin - his hand landing on you hardly overpowers the sound of his hips smacking against your ass, filling you until you’re crying for it before leaving you empty and diving back in. You can’t do much else other than stand there on quivering legs that feel incapable of handling your weight and take it, pushing your hips back into his with every thrust until you’ve worked yourselves into a rhythm that makes your fucking head spin.

“Harry -” you gasp as he grabs hold of your hips, pulling them upwards until his cock is slamming into the sweet spot buried inside of your walls that makes you sob out, cheek slamming into the door over and over with the force of his pounding. “Harry - God -”

“What?” he practically hisses, the word full of desire and contempt in the most delicious way possible, and your knees would give out if not for his bruising grip on your hips, keeping you flush against him. 

“Har - choke me, please, want you to - to choke me -”

He stutters a groan at that, moving one of his hands from your hips - he delivers one hard smack to your ass before he’s trailing his hand up your back and around to the front of your throat, squeezing your neck once experimentally just to hear the way you moan at it before he tightens his grasp. Your resulting whimper is caught in your throat, pressing your palms to the door you’re leant up against as Harry just fucking laughs from behind you, thrusting himself into you like he was fucking born for it.

“You’re fuckin’ filthy,” Harry says, then, and he almost sounds in awe as he squeezes your throat tighter, tight enough that your vision goes fuzzy and your head feels light. “So filthy - knew y’would be - an’ so - so - fuckin’ - tight -”

With every word he punctuates his meaning with a particularly hard thrust into your cunt, and the hand on your hip slithers around your body until he’s pressing two fingertips to your clit, rubbing shaking, hard circles against the sensitive nub that has you jolting, arms shaking as you attempt to keep yourself up. “Oh my god,” you practically cry, and the voice sounds far away as he briefly releases his hold on your throat - a firm slap is delivered to the side of your face as you’d given him, the motion forcing your head to the side, and you sob out harder. “Fuck - do it again, please -”

He obeys you, bringing his palm back to slap your cheek again before he wraps his hand back around your throat. “M’gonna cum,” he tells you, words throaty and laced with neediness - you push your hips back against his, a loud, long whine bursting from your throat as his fingers never give up on their assault to your clit. “M’gonna fill y’up - y’want that?”

“Yes!”

“Want me t’fill you up?”

“Yes, Harry, please -!” You come undone around his cock just as his hips stutter to a close - there’s a ball of pleasure that bursts in your core, spreading warmth and euphoria through your body like a wildfire attacks a forest. Your forehead slams against the door with a moan that borders on a scream, nails scratching against the wood as though searching for something to hold onto, to ground yourself, because surely you’re far away - in fucking space - because there’s no way on Earth you could feel this good.

Behind you, Harry’s hand on your clit wraps around your waist, holding your body taut to his as you feel him spurt ribbons of cum inside of you, his release filling you up and it only prolongs yours, aftershocks rolling through you mixed with his warmth spreading through your body. His head drops against the back of yours, breath ruffling the hairs at the back of your neck, and when you finally regain the ability to breathe you’re fucking heaving, gasping for air, the once-simple process labored and desperate.

“Fuck,” Harry groans, and then he pulls out of you - you can feel his cum beginning to trickle down your inner thighs, and that mixed with the sudden emptiness in your cunt makes you exhale a low whine. Your pussy flutters around the sudden air invading it, the loss of a certain appendage filling you up glaringly obvious, and you slump against the door. “Fuck.”

“Yeah,” you mumble, and your knees are shaking when Harry unwraps his arm from around your waist, leaving you to fend for yourself as you try and steady your body. “Fuck.”

You hear, then, Harry walking away - surely stalking deeper into your room, perhaps lying on the bed, kicking off his shoes and beginning to tug off his shirt. You feel sudden embarrassment and heat coursing through your body as you tug the bottom of your skirt down over your ass and the tops of your thighs, walking on shaking legs into the bedroom area of your hotel room -

(Your knife can stay in the door until morning. It is, for all intents and purposes, the least of your priorities when you can’t even think straight.)

Harry’s eyes are on you when you make your way into the bedroom section, leaning up against the doorframe to hide the quivering in your legs, and you hope it looks decently natural but you’re sure it doesn’t, judging by the way his lips tremble upwards as he glances down at the shoe he’s focused on untying.

“I’m gonna shower first,” you tell him. Your throat burns with the energy of speaking after screaming your lungs out and your voice is crackling and raspy - you cough into your elbow, hoping it makes your voice sound a bit less fucked-out than it is, but you’re sure you’re not that lucky.

“Fine by me,” Harry says, kicking his sneakers off onto the ground, and he collapses onto his back onto the bed with a sigh. His pants are still undone and are pushed down his thighs, boxers pulled up over his cock, and you feel - decidedly strange, watching him post-coital, at the way his eyes shut, limbs spreading out over the mattress with a grunt. “M’takin’ the bed, though.”

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest. “What -?”

“Y’can hardly walk from how hard I fucked you. I think I deserve it.”

And - well - you can’t quite argue with that logic.

~~

TAGLIST (crossed out urls meant they didn’t show up)

@nineteenfiftyone​ @harryslilkat​ @galacticferns​ @ficrecrry​ @morethanamelodyy​ @hoeeforstyles​ @bunny-munchkin-luvs-music​ @mintchipstyles​ @sstarkme​ @thecitiesintheseas @harry-styles-l​

#harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles drabble #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #one direction smut #one direction writing #spyrry #holy shit #i can not believe how long this took to write i'm so glad to finally post it

[oh-for-fic-sake]

If They Get Married I'd Be Your Uncle

Masterlist

Warnings: swearing, mentions of sex, flirting, Bruce is frustrated

A/n:So been in a dc mood today and couldn’t get this out of my head i really hope you enjoy it xx

Bruce meets you when you both get called into the school and instantly wants you to himself.

If They Get Married I'd Be Your Uncle.

You grumbled as you walked up to the pretentious school pissed that it wasn't near any bus routes, cos these type of people don't use that sort of thing. The walk was long and arduous especially after the 10 hour shift you just finished cos some stupid little twat decided he didn't feel like coming in today and called in 'sick' at the last minute even tho you heard his giggling girlfriend in the back ground. Sighing you pulled out your hair tie slapping it up into a neater messy bun as you made your way into the school reception stopping ,you raised an eyebrow at the receptionist as she gave you a side glance pretending not to notice you. You looked up to the ceiling praying for some restraint because you'd had just about as much as you could take today and didn't need the snobby attitude of these people. After a few moments you looked at her.

"Excuse me I'm here to see Mr Koleman I'm running a bit late so could you sign me in?" you said as calm as possible she rolled her eyes.

"Mr Kolman doesnt take personal meetings on the school grounds" she said snidely dismissing you , you growled at the implication.

"I'm Jack Cookes sister you phoned me earlier?"

"oh? you have an appointment?" she said. you grit your teeth.

"Trust me if I didnt I wouldnt be here" she gave you the once over then reached a perfectly manicured hand beside her screen lifiting a clip board

" and your Mrs?" you shook your head

"Miss Cooke with an e" a chuckle and whispers rippled through the office as she checked you in and handing you a visitors pass. You snatched it and made your way down to the hall to a mini reception outside the principles office. As you opened the door you spotted your little brother supporting a bloody nose ,cut cheek and eyebrow. Ignoring everyone you ran across the room stopping before him and his best friend.

"Oh for fuck sake Jack, here let me look" you said tilting his face this way and that you looked beside him swivling on your feet pulling the boys face up.

"Damien are you ok- seriously you to?" you cut yourself off seeing a dark bruise on the boys jaw you tutted rummaging through your bag pulling out a pack of ibuprofen and small bottle of water passing it to them both.

"here take these" stopping as the principles secretary snapped at you.

"Miss! you cannot give medication to other student's god knows what they are!!" you rolled your eyes giving the sleeve of tablets to Jack who then popped out two and gave them to Damien before taking his own.

"Happy?" you quipped at her with an innocent smile then turned to Jack

"Jack please please tell me you still have all your teeth" he smiled showing a full set then looked at Damien who copied. You sighed in relief smoothing both boys hairs then placed a kiss on each of their heads. You continued coddling them unaware of the man behind you watching shocked as damien sat still letting you fuss over him. Bruce didnt know you from adam but damien apparently did

"Was it them again? I told you if your gonna retaliate keep it off campus!" you said kneeling in front of them hand on either boys knee.

"We didn't start it." your brother stated and you believed him , he and Damien get themselves into trouble I mean there a couple of teenage boys there bound to act up but he doesn't just 'verbally disrespect people and attack other students' as the teacher on the phone had put it.

"Ok what happened?" you asked they both looked down Damien spoke up first

"They started calling us names again, kyle tripped and blamed Jack for it getting him told off so i called Kyle out on it then they started calling us names again we told Mrs Hatt and she laughed saying sticks and stones" . Jack continued

"So I called her a drunk fat bitch who was at best a fucking baby sitter, kyle slammed my head into the desk for it cos he's a little ass lick." you sighed as Damien took over

"SoIi punched kyle in the face knocking him on his ass and Clarence hit me and Jack headbutted him then we were pulled apart"

"yeah were did you learn to punch like that? he went down like a sack of shit" Jack asked laughing damien joined him laughing you deadpanned as they high five'd one another.

"Ok guys thats neither here nor there the point is your teacher sat back and watched?" they nodded there teacher seemed to have a problem with your brother due to your social class, he'd been accepted as part of a new law that all private schools must accept a certain number of full scholarship students to give everyone 'an equal opportunity' you'd been complaining to the school about the bullying and the teachers attitude but nothing has been one it seems.

"So you didn't hit them first?" you asked Damien shook his head at you. you believed them they were good kids.

"Good but you know fighting isn't the answer right?" they shook their heads you stood up fully taking a seat beside them.

"Damien thank you for helping him and Jack fuck sake don't you know headbutting hurts you more than the other guy. I'm sorry this is still happening guys but I'm gonna take care of it ok? trust me?" they both nodded at you still looking a little sorry for themselves you swung around in your seat only now seeing Bruce sitting opposite you.

"Bruce Wayne, you must be Jacks sister Y/n was it?" you nodded as his hand devoured your in a hand shake.

"Yep that's me. sorry your boy got dragged into this" he chuckled waving it off

"He will always find trouble at least this time its for sticking up for his friend, im glad to finally have a face to put to the name they talk about you alot" you nodded at that couldn't help your breathing hitch slightly at his smile his eyes seemed to burn into you analyzing you. You flushed slightly under his gaze

"Good things i hope" he nodded at you licking his bottom lip damien sighed you loked away before smirking at Jack.

"You really called her a drunk fat bitch?" he laughed proud of himself

"Yeah, sticks and stone and all that thought id test it" you laughed out loud

"To quick for them huh? I see where your going with it tho smart ass" he smiled sheepishly

"Well it worked for you, had to give you a leg to stand on" you laughed high fiving him . Bruce flinched as the display made you look your age. your relationship with your brother was a strange one. One moment you had to be the 'politically correct parent' the next you could return to being his 'cool older sister', there was 12 years between you but it didn't bother either of you , it wasn't that long ago that you were in school so you understood him. You struck up a conversation with the two boys, Damien had been the only one in the school to get along with Jack and you were thankful that they found each other two peas in a pod and he seemed to be coming round constantly it hadn't taken long before you started mothering him to. They were always together at your house or the manor but youd never met bruce jntill today sure damien had spoke about him, convinced that the two of you would hit it off, you just laughed him off saying it was wishfull thinking, but you couldnt help but wonder as you sat across from the handsom man well aware of his eyes watching your every move. Bruce watched fascinated as you seemed to be on the same level as the boys , if he was honest he was happy to see Damien relaxed around someone. Damien constaly gushed about you to him and he could see why as his eye scanned you up and down taking everything in , you was certainly beautiful petite and slightly heavy set you had a young carefree air about you that still held a nurturing aspect , probably what drew damien to you the boy had never had a motherly type of women around him, hell even he felt drawn to you in more ways then one, he noted as he felt,his blood rush south. It had been a while since any woman had coaxed such a strong reaction from him. He'd never been one for the young domestic type but there was something in him that wanted you. He tried reasoning that it was because of the way you had coddled his son, or maybe it was that he missed that motherly affection himself, but no there was something more then that a deep atraction pulling at him.He could see why Damien had taken a shine to you he'd be lying if he said he hasn't already been thinking of a reason to meet up with you outside of school. It was rare that someone caught him by surprise and you had defiantly caught him by surprise. Clearing his throat he re-position himself on his seat as his boxers became tighter embarrassed and admittedly a bit confused as watching you mother the two teens had begun to arouse him. You looked over to him with concern.

"Are you ok Mr Wayne?" he inwardly groaned at the name and way you looked at him so innocently ,no idea what you were doing .fuck. He forced a charming smile

"Yes just wish they'd hurry up." you sighed pouting slightly

"It seems a bit stupid calling this an emergency then making us wait this long. twats." you snipped crossing your arms across your chest huffing he chuckled hearing the barely held back irritation, imagining just how bratty you could be, and exactly how he could deal with said bratty behaviour a shiver ran down his spine, he sucked through his teeth as his cock twitched at the thought his mind racing to other tempting scenarios of you and him, shaking his head he had to snap himself out of it. The door opened and you were both called in. He watched wide eyed as you rose your demeanor changed completely, gone was a fun loving motherly young woman and there stood a less than impressed mama bear under 5ft tall but walked like a giant. He blinked and staggered in behind you thankful that he opted for a longer blazer that helped cover his 'situation' once in the office you set down in front of Mr Koleman the principle a stout balding man that was king of his own little castle and like to let everyone know it.

Mr Koleman looked at you with distaste then smiled shaking hands with Bruce.

"Ah Mr Wayne good to see you again tho I hoped it was on better terms. Miss Cooke I'm glad you could come down today I wasn't sure you'd make it this time." he said condescendingly you smirked putting on your polite 'adult' voice.

"well I've been trying to get an appointment with you about these issues that I'm sure your fully aware of, however you seem fully booked so I'm glad I finally have the opportunity to straighten a few thing out" he grimaced as he took a seat behind the desk.

" Yes well I am a very busy man." he said

"Yes I noticed that when the receptionist mistook me for a personal visitor." you hear Bruce cough covering a laugh as the principle opened and closed his mouth speechless.

"Any way what was it you wanted to discuss Mr Koleman?" he scowled not used to being shut down by a young women. He leaned forward shuffling papers

"yes well we've been having problems with Jack for a few months as your aware-"

"Yes I'm aware that he is being targeted by his teacher and bullied by other students in the class which is being over looked and in some instances encouraged by the staff at this school. but go on." you interupted him staring at him unblinkingly Bruce gapped before collecting himself sitting back to watch the show the distinct feeling that you were going to rip this man a new arsehole.

"Uh-oh i was not aware of that"

"do not lie to me" you growled 'and here we go' Bruce thought he'd been with enough women to know that all hell was going to break loose as the quiet sweetheart form out side became a little spitfire in the office and couldn't help the a quick fantasy of you being this fiesty for him in his office. You pulled out a small red diary from your bag turning to dates in it.

"On the 4th of March I phoned the school and spoke to a Mrs Hatt to discuss cases of bullying she said that it was being taken care of and that I had no reason to worry. March the 12th Jack came home with bruises on his back caused by the same students they had tied knots in there ties and whiped him with them while getting changed for p.e, I had raised concerns about it nothing was done. I phoned again and once again was fobbed off by Mrs Hatt that there was nothing happening, then Jack comemhome with a sprained wrist, then it was bruised stomach, then a cut forhead and a brokennfinger from them smashing it in a door etcetera these incidents continued and I continued to report them and it was always the same names that popped up, the same three boys. I'd had enough on May 21st I phoned and asked to speak to you instead I got through to a Mrs Hamsten? the vice principle?" you watched as his face became paler and paler as you spoke he nodded. Bruced leant back eyes blown finding himself getting hotter as he watched you tear down the man infront of you.

"Yes and she said that the boys had been put into detention for it which turned out to be a lie another student confirmed that nothing had been done. I then put my issue in writing, I wrote a letter sent by recorded post to you about the issue and received a reply, sighed by you, that you have a no tolorence policy and would look into it, nothing has been done and now you have the audacity to call me up and have me come in here because he finally had enough and stuck up for himself because this little shit split his face open on a desk whilst the teacher watched? tell me Mr Koleman do you still want to pretend you dont know what I'm talking about because I've recored all the calls I've made about this." you tore into him as he shrunk further and further into his seat not prepared for you to come at him so direct. Bruce didnt know what the fuck happened to the sweet little thing he saw outside but what he did know was that was one of the sexist things he'd seen as you asserted yourself beautifully not giving the man time to respond. If it wasn't for Mr Koleman sitting behind the desk he'd already have you spread out on it underneath him. 'Another time'he thought to himself he licked his lips tugging at his trousers again trying to ease the ache in his cock as it strained against its confines.

"Ah yes well, now that I think about it I do remeber a letter" he stumbled over his words you nodded your head

"Yes I'm sure you do. Today was the inevitale blow up." He collected himself looking at Bruce for some sort of back up instead the billionaire scowled at him.

"Be that as it may there is no excuse for calling a teacher a drunk fat bitch." you nodded

"I agree how ever it was for science. Your member of staff who has neglected her duty to keeping my brother safe on school grounds ,has brushed off his bullying useing 'stick and stones' so he decied to test that theory by calling her a drunk fat bitch, turns out names do hurt and caused her to become agitated that she allowed him to have his face smashed into a desk by another student cutting open his eyebrow, cheek and bloody his nose. I dont think she should be able to teach if she cant practice what she preaches and certainly shouldnt be left incharge of children if she is that unstable that she would allow an attack to happen because her feeling were hurt."

"yes well he dragged Mr Waynes son into this-"

"Damien and Jack are friends Damien saw Kyle attack Jack and defended him which is more I can say for the staff at this school. I'm warning you Mr Koleman sort it out before I go to the press. How do you think that would look? when your school board find out that Mr Wanyes son was injured defending his friend when the teacher didn't lift a fucking finger. You wanna go there? cos I fucking will I've had enough." he sat up straighter alarmed, Bruce moaned deep in his chest but watching you was really doing it for him he didnt know why or care in all honesty he just wanted more of you.

"No, no theres no need for that. We can sort this out between us no need for the governors or press. Mr Wayne is there anything you'd like to add." he said trying hard to wrap up this meeting. You looked at Bruce who frankly you forgot was even there he shook his head looking strange, shifting in his chair uncomfortably.

"I think Miss Cooke summed everything up wounderfully, and she has my full support sort out these kids, I know that they have been causing Damien problems name calling getting him in trouble such and he has said the teacher dosn't do anything about it. I wont stand for it any more , if its not sorted out by the end of the week I will bring Miss Cooke with me and we will speak to the school bored in person." You let out a breath you didnt know you was holding relief flooded you as he said this slightly worried that he'd throw you under the bus. He locked eyes with you his pupils were blown wide and he was breathing heavy he winked subtly, you flushed looking back to the man behind the desk as he cleared his throat.

"Right well I will see to it personally and it will be sorted by the end of the week, you both seem to have concerns with Jack and Damien's teacher so as of tomorrow I will have them moved into another class whilst I investigate. I will phone you both up to check in with the boys I'm terribly sorry that it has been left this long." he stood motioning for you both to do the same ending with.

"The boys can leave early today while I deal with this." Bruce opened the door letting you through growling as the principle made a point to oogle your ass as you left, quickly standing between you blocking his veiw of you he glared at the fat prick his message was clear. That hot little spitfire is mine so back off. He stared down at him chest puffed out standing taller and broarder intimidating the little weasel until he looked away. Bruce smirked then left the office slamming the door behind him finding you explaining to the boys what was happening, joining you as they stood up getting there bags .

"you boys go out and wait by the car while we sign out at the front." Bruce instructed they nodded running ahead to the school enterance.

"The car?" you asked looked up at him shyly

"Yes i will give you both a lift" he said leaving no room for argument. You thanked him then spoke quietly looking down trying not to freak out as he stood closer then you thought was neccasary.

"Thank you for sticking up for me in there, I dont usually get like that but you know I get a bit protective." he chuckled at you showing off a brilliant smile

"Its no problem, to be honest I found the whole mama bear thing very sexy your lucky we we'rnt alone" he said winking you blushed

"Wh-what? sh-shut up" you squeeked out he shook his head at you as he put an arm out over you holding the doors to main reception you thanked him queitly skipping through feeling small catching yourself breathing deeper to smell more of his fresh scented cologne.

"No I'm serious any where else and well" he wiggled his brows at you making you giggle

"and the way you are with damien?ive never seen him like that" he asked trailing off

"Yes well he is a sweet kid, he comes over quiet a bit as you know Alfred drops him off and the boys go off doing their thing, just sort of started to mother him a bit sorry" he smirked at you

"Well if I'd known how stunning you were it'd be me dropping him off. And dont apologize I'm not mad just a bit jealous. Tho not for long" he said handing his pass to the snooty receptionist who gave him bedroom eyes before glaring at you for keeping his attention.

"J-jealous? of Damien why?" you stuttered then bit your lip blushing. He groaned the site of it as he throbbed agin nearly cumming as his cock rubbed harshly agains the soft cotton of his boxers, he just couldnt control it. oh he was definatly gonna have you for himself, somehow you turned him into a horny teenager all over again.

"Well he got to have all your attention earlier, hurts a mans pride when his son can capture a beautiful woman's attention and he cant." you looked away from him giving your pass to the secatary who snatched it with a snarl.

"Im hoping you'd show some mercy and come out for lunch with me?" you gasped snapping your gaze at him.

"Wh-what you mean to talk about the school?"

"No as in a date" he explained you froze feeling butterflies in your tummy looking at the gorgeous man.

"Date? now? like right now?" he nodded smirking thoroughly enjoying you being so flustered.

"yes now I dont have anything else planned for today." you gulped when he gave you a heated look you felt like a meal taking a step back

" I'd love to but I have to clean up Jack and-." you began your excuse only for him to cut you short.

"Nonsense he can come to the manor and spend the day with Damien, Alfred is a good nurse he will patch them up." you blinked trying to think of another reason as he stood staring you down at you waiting to for to decide feeling like a deer in the head lights you realized this alpha of a man wasn't going to give you much of a choice.

"O-ok if your sure alfred wouldn't mind watching him." you nodded shyly Bruce gave a triumphant smirk and threw an arm across your shoulders tucking you against him walking to the main doors.

"Alfred wont mind watching the boys." you both walked outside to the boys Damien sighed at his dad before Jack spoke up.

"Told you he was looking at her ass"

"JACK! He was not!" you screeched at him damien laughed and bruce unlocked the range rover

"I thought I was being subtle about it" you gaped at him speechless as he opened the passenger door the boys gagged getting in the back. You got in the car pouting to yourselfand Bruce climbed in.

"Fucking hell I've never seen her speechless, how'd you do that?" Jack said Damien scoffed

"Dad just keep your boner in your pants until were out of the way."

"Yer shes my sister dont need to see her sucking face." You blushed trying to shush the boys

"DAMIEN! He does not have a boner!"

"Uh yer he does look."You tired not to look you really did but it just sort of happend you squeeked covering your mouth faceing forward and jumped as bruce leant over buckling your seat belt whispering in your ear.

"I did tell you the mama bear was sexy" puljng away he spoke to the boys

"Dont worry boys, we will behave until your out of ear shot" You gapped as they cringed with cries of 'ew dad no' and 'come on thats my sister' he laughed at them patting your thigh before pulling out of the school

"So you asked her on a date yet Dad?" Bruce raised and eye brom looking at him in the rear view mirror pulling out onto the main road.

"Well we are dropping you both off at the manor does that answer your question?"

Jack groaned not sure if he likes the idea of his sister dating his best friends dad.

"dont you hurt her Mr Wayne I know where you live" you smiled at that finding it cute him trying to be the protective little man. The drive was quiet for a while before jack piped up.

"Holy shit if they get married I'd be your uncle" you groaned holding you face in your hands bruce only laughed

"Jack its one lunch date jesus"

".....Can I walk you down the isle?"

"JACK?!"

"What she means is well cross that bridge when we come to it" you stared at Bruce as he smirked enjoying teasing you the boys snickered in the back. You sat back wondering just what you'd gotten youself into.

#batman x y/n #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne imagine #batmom imagines #bruce wayned fic

[moeyy-writes]

Here and Now - Part 6

Zak Bagans x Reader

Warnings: Playful teasing/pranking, fluff, brief hint at sexual acts (if you squint).

Word Count: 1,897

Series Master List || My Full Master List

Rage boiled through your veins as your stared at the flashy pink glitter on the floor. Your eyes moved along the shiny nuisance, following it to the river of red and pink heart-shaped confetti that led into the rest of your home. More hearts littered the walls, poorly-cut pieces of paper with love quotes, and red and pink streamers criss-crossed overhead. As you took a step in, you heard music playing from a back room, most likely from your television.

“It’s like… Valentine’s Day threw up in here,” you mumbled as you slowly stepped towards the living room. The confetti faded into another substance, deeper red. “Rose petals? Really Goodwin?”

You phone buzzed in your pocket, jolting you from your rage-filled cloud. It was Jay.

(9:45pm) Jay: I’m just glad you had fun.

You stared down at the text. There was no doubt this was Aaron’s work, no one else would go this far out. But, how did he get in? The only person other than you who had a key to your place was…

Jay.

You closed your eyes and let out a long sigh. Sure, betrayal stung, but karma was a bitch.

(9:47pm) Y/N: I want my key back, and I hate you.

(9:48pm) Jay: ????

(9:48pm) Y/N: You know.

You snapped a picture of the carnage and sent it to Jay with several angry face emojis. For several minutes, he didn’t answer. Figures. He knew what he did, or at least what he allowed to happen.

You let out another long sigh. This was going to be a bitch to clean up. But, you thought Zak might get a kick out of it. So, you sent him several photos, hoping to at least get a laugh out of this catastrophe.

“Hey, I can’t lie, he did go all out,” Zak admitted as he laughed. You stood your tablet up in front you as you munched on your breakfast. You were happy to have a surprise breakfast with Zak, even if it was virtually. He was gradually getting ready to spend his day with his mom, which made you smile inside.

“Yeah, he did, but now I have to buy a new vacuum. That glitter ruined my brand new one! One hundred dollars down the freaking drain,” you whined. You took a bite of your oatmeal, then leaned back in your chair. “And I don’t know how that asshole passed kindergarten. I’ve never seen more lop-sided hearts in my life!”

Zak’s nose scrunched as he laughed. “Yeah, paper art isn’t exactly his thing. Or, he did it on purpose knowing you would notice and it would piss you off that much more.” You rolled your eyes. Knowing Aaron’s actual incredible artistic talent, Zak was probably right.

“Well, I’m out a vacuum. And, I’ll probably have to disclose that there is a never-ending glitter infestation when I sell this place.” Zak’s face froze at your words.

“Wait, you’re selling the place?” You cocked an eyebrow.

“Uh, not right now, but I’m sure I won’t live here forever. Or, maybe I will. I don’t know.” The air around you felt heavy for a moment, but Zak’s laughter broke the silence.

“I still can’t believe Aaron trashed your place like that. I mean, I have to give it to him, it’s pretty well done. Although, the glitter is pretty fucking cruel.” Zak grinned, making your heart skip. God, he was handsome, and funny, and just, well, everything you were looking for.

And, now, everything was really sinking in. The man on the screen was the man you were dating, Zak Bagans, the man you never thought you’d have a chance with until a few days ago. You were still pinching yourself.

“Yeah, glitter is the bane of me existence—” your phone buzzed beside you, cutting you off. You rolled your eyes at the name on the screen. “Speak of the devil. I never texted him last night, so he’s probably wondering if his ‘brilliant’ plan worked.”

Zak chuckled again, slipping his glasses on. “Well, I’ll leave it to you to rip him a new one. I’ve got to get over to my mom’s pretty soon.” You nodded and shook your phone.

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m already planning my payback.”

Zak leaned his head back as he cackled. “Well, if you need an accomplice, let me know.” You raised your brow. “It would only be fair. You know, since Jay was obviously in on it.”

“Oh? Have you chosen a side?” You giggled, taking a sip of coffee.

“I may have picked a side. Or, maybe I’m a double agent.” He winked, but you just narrowed your gaze.

“Traitor.” You laughed with Zak, admiring his gravelly laugh.

“Alright, well, I’ll text you later, okay? Have a great day, beautiful.” Your heart nearly burst out of your chest. But, you held it together with a smile, and nodded.

“Have fun, handsome. Say ‘hi’ to you mom for me.” Zak nodded, then blew you a kiss before signing off.

You sat in your chair for a second, allowing your mind to settle. Then, you picked up for phone, ready to rip Aaron a new asshole.

You glanced down at your phone. 1 New Text Message: Aar Bear

(10:03am) Aaron: How was your date, Lovebird? Did you make it home? ;)

(10:08am) Y/N: Oh, yeah. I made it home just fine. I had a blast yesterday. :) Oh, by the way, I fucking hate you.

(10:10am) Aaron: What? Why would you say something like that? I’m one of your best friends!

(10:11am) Y/N: Well, first of all, you owe me a new vacuum. That glitter completely fucking ruined it. Oh, and you aren’t allowed at my place ever again. Oh, and I know you had help. All threats will be neutralized.

(10:13am) Aaron: Uh, oh. We’ve been had. xD

(10:14am) Y/N: Karma’s a bitch, Goodwin. Watch your back.

*Two days later*

Packing for an investigation was something that took you days to finish. Sure, it was only three or four nights from home, but it wasn’t anything like packing for a vacation. You obviously needed clothes and toiletries. But, you also needed your gear.

You slipped your laptop into its case and stood it next to your open suitcase. Then, you grabbed your still camera, an extra memory card, several rechargeable batteries, and your share of video cameras. The fact that your equipment suitcase was twice as big as your clothing suitcase never failed to make you laugh.

It was important to make sure every piece was properly charged and working properly. So, you followed the routine that Jay had taught you when you first started. You took a couple of shots with your still camera, which worked perfectly, then placed it into the protective pouch in your suitcase. Next, you tried out your video camera, testing a good minute of video, then placing it in its spot.

A knock at the door spooked you, nearly making you drop one of you night-vision cameras. Ah, they were early. You launched from the floor and shuffled over to the front door.

The crew all decided that it would be a good idea to meet the day before you left, as usual, to make sure there was a game plan for departure and for the first day of the investigation. So, Billy, Aaron, Jay, and Zak were all going to meet at your place to go over what needed to happen. Of course, that meant actually letting Aaron and Jay back into your home, which you promised you wouldn’t do until you got then back for their stunt. But, if you played it cool, you could get them back when they least expected it.

However, the timing worked perfectly, because your date with Zak would start after everyone left.

You opened the door, where you greeted Zak. He lived the closest to you, so you weren’t surprised he got there first, and twenty minutes early.

“Hey, you,” you greeted with a smile. Zak stepped inside, lugging two small suitcases of equipment. They obviously weren’t his clothing suitcases, yes plural. He had two, and each were twice the size of yours.

“Good morning, or I guess afternoon—” He stared down at his fancy watch. It was ten minutes passed noon, and your stomach was telling you it was almost lunch time.

“Just chuck those into my office. That’s where the rest of my equipment is right now. Do you want anything to drink? I was thinking about ordering lunch for everyone in a few minutes. I don’t have a lot of food around since we’re leaving tomorrow.” Something about having Zak in your home felt so natural. Sure, the guys liked to meet at your place and drop off the equipment with you the day before leaving. You were, after all, they main AV tech now, and all of the equipment should be in one spot where you can triple check it all before you left.

“Nah, I’m good gorgeous. When are the guys gonna be here?” Zak asked. You tilted your head.

“I told everyone, including you, to be here at twelve thirty, but I’m sure Aaron will be here closer to one. You know him.” You rolled your eyes and laughed.

“Well, my mom always taught me to be early,” he teased, shooting you a wink. “So, what’s the plan for tomorrow?”

You shrugged, leading Zak to your office. “I don’t know yet. Billy is going to tell us when he gets here. He always has the master plan.” Zak nodded, approaching you.

Zak placed his stuff beside your equipment bags, then turned to you. He reached out, curling your hair behind your ear, before allowing his hand to rest on your face. His thumb gently stroked your cheekbone.

“You excited for tonight? It’s not going to be as thrilling as our first date, but it will be fun.” You nodded, offering a blushing smile. “Good, me too.”

Zak leaned in and brushed his nose against yours. It was you who closed the distance, gently planting your lips on his. The moment you made contact, Zak hummed and smiled against you. His other arm slipped around your waist, pulling you closer against him. Your hands smoothed up his shoulders, then your arms found their place hooked around his neck.

His lips danced with yours, slow and soft. His hot breath tickled your cheeks as he pushed you backwards, stopping when your ass gently met with the edge of your desk. He wasn’t forceful or aggressive, but firm as his fingers curled around the fabric along your back.

“Ah-hem,” you heard a higher pitched voice clear their throat. You and Zak launched from each other and turned toward your office door, where you met the gaze of Billy and Jay. You really needed to get your key back from Jay.

“Uh, hey guys, you’re early.” Zak stared down at his watch again.

“Yeah, sorry if we’re interrupting anything,” Billy teased.

“Good thing we got here before they got too far,” Jay poked. You rolled your eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. You caught Zak and me making out. Good for you. Can we just get started please?” You snapped playfully. The guys laughed, including Zak. Then, Billy and Jay tossed their gear onto the floor and plopped down on the floor beside it.

Thanks for reading. Feedback is appreciated! <3

#zak bagans #zak bagans x reader #zak x reader #zak bagans x reader series #zak bagans x y/n #zak bagans and reader #zak bagans reader insert #aaron goodwin #jay wasley #billy tolley #ghost adventures

[lockefanfic]

Business Trip: Pt 17 - Interrogation

The fact that there was an actual interrogation going on in the next-door interrogation room was probably the hottest thing about the whole situation.

You notice that the police officer in the cold, sterile room is questioning a heavily tattooed, scary looking dude, but that’s pretty much all the attention you give the scene, given that Park Jihyo was doing her best to distract you.

She distracted you partially with her cute, pretty face, her large, round eyes that seemed like they were always shining with some inner light, making the room brighter just with their presence. Then there was her cute button nose, her wide, blinding smile, and her short haircut that only added to the alluring cute sexiness that she exuded with every movement.

But she mostly distracted you with her breasts.

“Bae Irene is still on the loose, and finding her is our top priority.”

Your statement draws looks and nods of agreement from the women in the room, each of them determined in their own way to finding the mastermind behind the recent attacks on your company. The fact that two of Red Velvet’s members were now currently behind bars did little to dull their desire to bring its leader to justice, especially now that they had escalated things beyond mere corporate espionage and into the realm of physical assault.

Three days have passed since your successful plan to capture Wendy and Joy. You are joined in the large boardroom of JYP’s Seoul office by Momo, Choa, Seolhyun,and Jeongyeon; on a video conference monitor on the wall is Mina, joining into the meeting from back home. Her legal expertise was likely to be important in the days to come.

“Jeongyeon,” you continue, addressing the young IT specialist who had played a key role in trapping Wendy and Joy, “were you able to find anything in Red Velvet’s data that might lead us to her?”

“No,” she replies with a disturbed look on her small face, “it’s kind of crazy - there’s nothing on Red Velvet’s servers that is related to her at all. There are obvious gaps of missing data, especially in data that has a chronological sequence… but some entire files are missing.”

“What do you mean, missing? Is her data on a separate server?” Seolhyun asks. She was the head of JYP’s Seoul office now, following the retirement of her superior; she was just as determined as anyone to find Irene given Red Velvet was operating literally in her own backyard.

“I don’t know where it is. My theory is that when we established the connection to Red Velvet’s servers, it automatically triggered a program or subroutine that deleted everything related to Irene. She must have been prepared for something like this to happen and she had contingency plans in place in case her underlings got caught.”

“That bitch didn’t even give a damn about deleting her other members’ data,” Momo points out with a sneer, “some leader she is.”

“Keep digging, Jeongyeon,” you say as you give her an encouraging look, “maybe you’ll find something in one of the other members’ files that can help us out.”

Jeongyeon manages a smile, and you are surprised for a split second by how cute her determined look was; you rarely saw or had a chance to work with her, buried deep in JYP HQ’s IT floor as she usually was. But now that you had a chance to really spend some time with her, you found yourself attracted to her geeky, tomboy appeal.

“We should interrogate Wendy and Joy,” Momo says, eager as any of you for any chance to strike back at Red Velvet, “if we tell them their boss didn’t do anything to save their asses they might be more willing to sell her out.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Mina adds through the video conference feed, “not legally possible, anyway. We’re not law enforcement officers, and now that they’re under the Seoul Metropolitan Police Agency’s custody, we can’t touch them. Any interrogation of those two will have to come from the SMPA. Considering the number of crimes Red Velvet has been involved in, it’s likely we’ll be waiting awhile before any interrogation relating to JYP even begins.”

Momo seems disappointed at Mina’s answer - she was really chomping at the bit to get at those two, and a small part of you takes comfort in the fact that perhaps it was because they had hurt you.

“I’ll speak to Detective Park at the SMPA today. Maybe she can give us a few minutes with them if we’re lucky,” you suggest. You were eager to meet with Park Jihyo again, if for no other reason than to thank her for her part in rescuing you three days ago.

“Then what about Sana and Tzuyu?” Momo says, “they received their orders directly from Irene when they pulled their little Taiwan stunt. Maybe they might know something that can help us.”

Momo’s tone is neutral, although you knew that she still harboured some resentment towards Tzuyu and especially towards Sana for what they did in Taiwan with Seolhyun’s company data. As much as you appreciated her eagerness in finding Irene and making her pay for what she did to you, you knew anyone that questioned Sana and Tzuyu would need a clear head. Her history with Sana would clearly compromise any questioning she did to the other Japanese girl.

“I’ll take care of that,” Mina offers, saving you from having to tell Momo that she couldn’t question the two ex-SM employees, “They’re still back here at home anyway. I’ll get some questions ready and question them in the next day or two.”

“Good, do that and report back when you’ve spoken to them,” you say, “maybe they’ll still have some contact information or something like that… A phone number, an email address, anything. Momo, you, Seolhyun, and Choa can help Jeongyeon comb through all the Red Velvet data and try to find anything that might lead to Irene. I’m sure Jeongyeon can use the help.”

“There’s terabytes of stuff to go through,” Jeongyeon adds with a sigh, “those girls were busy. There are records of at least a few dozen instances of extortion and blackmail, each with hours of recordings and video.”

“Great, let’s get to work. Let’s meet up back here tonight at 10 and we can get some drinks. It’s been a rough few days. Maybe it’ll help us cool off.”

Your team nods, and each of you head off with determined looks on your faces.

---

The other women have left to start their respective tasks, and Momo is the last to leave the room. As she steps out of the boardroom you grab her lightly by her arm.

“Momo, I was hoping we could talk.”

She had stayed by your hospital bedside for every single minute you were there, refusing to go home or even eat until Choa reminded her to do so. Thankfully whatever drug Joy had knocked you out with had no permanent effects, and you were discharged after three days of observation by hospital staff.

The whole time the two of you didn’t really speak about your relationship; she was too busy taking care of you despite your insistence that you were fine, helping you eat, fluffing your pillows or finding magazines or books for you to pass the time with. Every moment she spent with you only increased your affection for her, and your desire to talk to her about what had happened with Sana.

The two of you hadn’t slept together since the ordeal, not for lack of effort on your part. Momo refused your advances, however, as difficult as it was for her to not give in. She said it was so that you could concentrate on recovering, although you knew it was partially because she was teasing you, and partially because she wanted to punish you.

Momo responds to your request to talk with a sigh, although you could tell it wasn’t because she was dreading the prospect.

“Can we… wait until all this is over? I want to talk to you too, but I can’t relax until that bitch is behind bars,” she responds, her voice soft.

You nod slowly, happy to give her the time and space she needed.

“I… I’m happy you’re here, Momo,” you tell her, eager to tell her something, anything, that conveyed how you felt about her, “...And I’m happy you’re in my life,” you add, not quite knowing where the words were coming from - they were out of your mouth before you knew it. It was your heart speaking, you guessed.

Momo smiles softly, her large, round eyes boring into your very soul, rendering you speechless as they so often did.

“After drinks with the girls tonight I want to fuck so hard we have to call in sick tomorrow,” she says with a smile, eliciting giggles from the both of you, “I bet you’re really backed up, what with an entire three days without sex.”

Classic Momo, interrupting an emotional moment with the topic of sex. You reach for her hand and are thankful for her presence in your life. Your fingers intertwine with hers.

You spend a long minute there in silence, the two of your sharing soft smiles with each other, happy for a moment of quiet following the recent storm that the two of you had weathered together. Eventually Momo steps close and gives you a peck on the lips before turning and rejoining the rest of your team.

You watch her leave, the smile still on your lips.

---

You had expected the Seoul Metropolitan Police Agency’s Cybercrime Division to be hidden away in some corner of the large central Seoul precinct, but you were surprised by what you found when Detective Park led you through the glass sliding doors into her department; a hyper modern, super advanced open concept office that seemed to have more screens and monitors in once place than you had ever seen in your entire life.

“Korea is one of the most connected countries in the world,” Jihyo states as she leads you through the busy department, “and as such cybercrime is a huge deal for us, especially here in the capital.”

All around you officers are glued to monitors or busy typing away on their phones. Everywhere tablets, smartphones, and laptops have taken the place of charts, notebooks and notepads. Truly this was the police department of the future.

“Please,” Jihyo says as she invites you into her office that is tucked into a corner of the floor. She closes the door behind you as you step in, and she motions for you to sit in the seat in front of her desk with an exaggerated servant’s flourish. The young detective had a cheerful, bright charisma about her that made her easy to get along with.

“I wanted to thank you personally, detective,” you start, “for your role in what happened earlier this week. We weren’t expecting them to drug me, so it was good that you and your men have such impeccable timing.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Jihyo responds, “as you know Red Velvet has been a thorn in our sides for years. I’m glad they’ve finally been put to justice.”

“Most of them, anyway.”

“Most of them, anyway,” Jihyo echoes, catching on to what you are saying.

“My team is hard at work combing through what we’ve found on their servers. We’re hoping we’ll be able to find some trace of data that might lead us to Irene.”

Jihyo gives you a small, sly smile.

“You do realize,” she begins, “that Red Velvet’s data is official evidence. You’re not supposed to have any of it.”

“It would have been foolish of us to not make a copy before we handed it over to you,” you answer truthfully.

Jihyo gives you an exaggerated sigh as though she was disappointed in you, but you could tell she was being sarcastic.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just tell me that,” she says, her bright smile still on her round, cute face. When you first met her you were still technically drugged, but now that you had the chance to have a conversation under less stressful circumstances you were surprised to see how attractive she really was. She had a bright, cheerful aura about her that was somewhat at odds with the gravity of her position.

“Anyway, i was hoping you could help us with something.”

“What might that be?”

“We’d like to question Wendy and Joy. We believe if we tell them that Irene cut her losses and left them behind, they’d be willing to co-operate with us and perhaps provide us with information regarding her whereabouts.”

Jihyo’s smile widens, surprised that you had the audacity to ask for such a thing.

“That’s kind of illegal,” she answers, “they’re suspects for a crime that is being actively investigated. Their interrogation is under SMPA jurisdiction. My jurisdiction.”

“Then maybe we don’t have to question them. Maybe you’ll just happen to accidentally leave them in a room after hours and with any recording devices turned off…”

“...a room where you and your staff might be waiting?”

“You can’t stop what you don’t know is happening, Detective Park,” you finish.

Jihyo leans forward on her desk, bringing her hands together beneath her chin and interlacing her fingers.

“I understand your eagerness to find Irene,” she says, “but you know I can’t leave you alone with Wendy and Joy after what they did to you. I’m sure you’re a fine gentleman that wouldn’t hurt a woman, but I wish I could say the same for your girlfriend. She looked like she wanted to tear Wendy’s head off.”

“Momo is… passionate,” you admit.

“Dammit,” Jihyo hisses under her breath, her volume obviously loud enough for you to hear.

“Excuse me?”

“So she is your girlfriend. I was kinda hoping she was just a friend or especially concerned co-worker or something.”

You smile as you realize what Jihyo was implying. You decide to tease her a little, saying, “Detective Park, are you attracted to me? Are you disappointed that I have a girlfriend?”

“Noooo,” Jihyo answers, leaning back into her chair. Her cheeks turn a deep shade of pink. You smile smugly, liking where this was going.

“Well, I’ll have you know that Momo and I have… a relaxed relationship. Especially when it comes to other women.”

“I’ll have you know I’m not some easy girl that’s going to sleep with you just because your girlfriend lets you bang other women.”

“Who said anything about sleeping? There must be an interrogation room around here somewhere we can use…”

Jihyo grabs a pencil off her desk and throws it at you with a laugh, and you are happy to find that she has taken your joke for what it was. She maintains eye contact with you after you successfully deflect the projectile, a sly, alluring look on her features.

“Can you shoot?” she asks, out of the blue.

“Shoot… like, a gun?”

“No, shoot a damn basketball. We’re in a police station. Of course I mean guns.”

“Um, I can’t say ever shot a gun, although I’m pretty good with Widowmaker’s sniper rifle, if that’s the kind of gun you mean…”

Jihyo giggles before rising from her desk and tapping you on the shoulder on her way out of the office.

“Follow me,” she says, and you follow her eagerly.

---

Park Jihyo, it appeared, was quite the shot.

The pistol - a Daewoo K5, as Jihyo informed you - bucked violently in her hands that seemed so tiny by comparison, but she did an admirable job of handling the recoil of the weapon. More than admirable, it appeared, as she proudly showed you the close up shot of the target that was displayed on the tablet embedded into the wall of the firing range. Her smile was even brighter, it seemed, than it was earlier in her office.

“Cops rarely carry their sidearms on duty here in Korea,” she says as she makes her weapon safe, “and when we have to go on a raid in the field it’s usually only the SWAT guys that are carrying. But every now and then I like to sneak down here and let off a few mags to blow off steam.”

“You’ve clearly had a lot of practice. I dunno if I stand a chance here.”

“C’mon, give it a shot. All that Overwatch experience must mean something.”

You smile at her jab as you approach the firing booth and pick up the pistol, your first time handling any sort of firearm.

“Now take the long rectangular thing with the bullets in it - that’s called the magazine - and then put it in-”

You smile as you grasp the magazine and load the pistol, racking the slide back with your free hand as the pistol chambers a round.

“I’ve watched enough movies and fired enough virtual guns, thanks,” you retort, and Jihyo snorts in reply. She approaches you and you feel your senses tingle as she brings her arms around your torso. You are even more aroused by the feel of her chest pressing ever so slightly against your back. Her hands lift your forearms into the correct position.

“Shooting a real gun isn’t like clicking your mouse button,” she says matter-of-factly, “just breathe and pull the trigger back softly. You should feel a wall in the trigger. After that, the trigger will break and the gun will go off. Line up the rear and front sight, breathe out, pull the trigger…”

The pistol barks, and you both glance at the tablet that is relaying a live shot of the target downrange, looking for a bullet hole… that is totally absent.

“Did you… did you just miss the entire target? Damn, you suuuuuuck,” Jihyo teases.

“Just you wait,” you retort, “I just need some practice.”

The next fourteen rounds do little to back up your claim, but at least three of them manage to hit the paper, even if only one of those three actually lands in one of the target circles; the furthest one, at that.

“Apparently shooting a real gun isn’t like clicking my mouse button,” you say, echoing Jihyo’s earlier words and being rewarded with a throaty laugh from the detective. She steps into the booth with you to begin to fill another empty magazine with more rounds, and you tense suddenly at her close proximity.

“Maybe you just need motivation,” Jihyo says with a suddenly sultry tone.

“Maybe I do,” you agree.

“Maybe if you hit the three point circle with this next magazine, we find an interrogation room around here somewhere we can use.”

New motivation fills your veins, and you grasp the pistol in both hands as you load the newly filled magazine. Jihyo steps out of the booth, you line up your shot, and pull the trigger fifteen times.

You miss with every shot. Five miss the target altogether, eight hit the paper outside of the target circles. Two hit the five point circle, although you’re sure they were mostly fluky shots.

You eject the magazine and lay down the still smoking pistol. Jihyo retrieves it, the remaining ammunition, and your eye and ear protection and returns the equipment to the weapons storage room, replacing the lock and shutting down the range, a sly smile on her features all the while.

“Good thing there are consolation prizes,” she says with a tempting, alluring tone, taking you by the wrist and leading you out of the firing range.

---

The fact that there was an actual interrogation going on in the next-door interrogation room was probably the hottest thing about the whole situation.

You notice that the police officer in the cold, sterile room is questioning a heavily tattooed, scary looking dude, but that’s pretty much all the attention you give the scene, given that Park Jihyo was doing her best to distract you.

She distracted you partially with her cute, pretty face, her large, round eyes that seemed like they were always shining with some inner light, making the room brighter just with their presence. Then there was her cute button nose, her wide, blinding smile, and her short haircut that only added to the alluring cute sexiness that she exuded with every movement.

But she mostly distracted you with her breasts.

She was well endowed, it went without saying, easily the largest of the women you’d slept recently. And you were practically drooling with anticipation, as at the moment they were still annoyingly encased in her strapless, white cotton bra, her blue and red checkered cardigan teasingly opened up to reveal her assets to your eager eyes.

Your lips are pressed to her neck, planting soft kisses on her smooth skin that elicit soft gasps from the young detective, and you find yourself happy, not for the first time, that the listening room was completely soundproof to the interrogation room. You move lower with your kisses, bending somewhat awkwardly at the waist now to bring your mouth closer and closer to the prize. You bring your hands up her sides, treasuring the feel of her warm skin beneath your palms as you eventually bring them to her chest and cup her bra-clad breasts.

Jihyo accommodates you by pressing her back up against the soundproof glass. The audacity of the action surprised you - there you were, devouring a young woman just a few feet away from a scary looking interrogation, the occupants of that room completely in the dark as to what was happening in the very next room.

Her back pressed against the glass, you are free to bend your neck further. Jihyo finally lets you have your consolation prize, if indeed this is what it was - she reaches behind her and undoes the latch to her strapless bra, letting the garment fall to the ground, her round, full breasts falling free as they finally escape their cotton prison.

You want to dive in, so to speak, but Jihyo pushes you back by your shoulders until you fall into the chair in the listening room. She straddles you quickly, and wasting no time, brings her chest to your face.

“Taste me,” she says, the words almost a hiss as they escape her lips.

You do just that, burying yourself quite literally in her breasts, taking her left breast first in your mouth, your tongue swirling over her already hardened nipple. Your left hand captures her right breast in its palm, squeezing the soft flesh gleefully, delighting in the feel of the large mound, happy to experience such a well endowed woman after months of smaller (but no less appealing) chests.

Jihyo leans her head back and lets out a long, low moan that gradually increases in volume as you explore more of her chest and as you deepen the sucking on her nipples. You switch after awhile, your mouth descending on her other breast, leaving her other saliva soaked nipple to be squeezed and fondled by your palm.

Momo was probably the next well endowed woman you’d been with, her breasts round and in perfect scale with the rest of her fit, slim body - but Jihyo was in another league entirely, her breasts large without being comically so, her nipples absolutely delicious, your tongue delighting in their pebbly hardness with each suck and stroke against the sensitive buds. You wanted to bury your face in her warm flesh, and you do just that, tearing your mouth from her nipple to press your face in her cleavage, delighting in the feel of her warm flesh on either cheek.

“You like my tits?” Jihyo says, although you both knew the answer.

“Fuck yes,” you answer, your voice muffled, rather pleasantly, by warm breasts.

“I’ll make you love them,” she answers, and you tingle with anticipation as Jihyo takes control, lifting herself from her straddling position until she is kneeling between your knees. Even as she looks up at you with those large, innocent looking eyes of hers, she is unbuckling your belt and hooking her fingers into your waistband, pulling your jeans and the boxers you are wearing underneath them down your hips, until they are down past your knees.

She immediately takes you into her mouth; without warning, without teasing. Other girls relished that few minutes of teasing, taking things slowly, working you with their hands and the tips of their tongues, making you squirm, making you wait, painfully, for them to take you into their mouth.

But Jihyo is not one of those girls, and as she continues to take you in and out of her wet, warm mouth, you thank god that she wasn’t, because you don’t think you could have waited a moment longer for her to begin. She is not as skilled as Seolhyun or Momo, but she makes up for it with sheer enthusiasm, swirling her tongue around your sensitive head and pumping your shaft with her closed fist.

You lean your head back in pleasure. In the interrogation room, things are getting heated, the cop appearing angered by something the gangster has said; little knowing one of his colleagues was in the listening room giving you a blowjob. You would have laughed, if you weren’t sighing out of pleasure.

Jihyo slowly winds down from her blowjob, and as it had only been a minute or so since she began you find yourself disappointed, especially since the pleasure was just beginning to build. But when she straightens her back, you realize why her blowjob was so short.

You know what she is about to do, but it does little to dim the anticipation of what is about to happen, nor does it lessen the pleasure when Jihyo leans forward and, taking each of her breasts in her hands, traps your erect shaft between her large mounds. Slowly, she grinds her chest against your pelvis, your slick shaft pumping in and out between her breasts, the saliva from her blowjob providing the perfect amount of lubrication, the head and upper half appearing and disappearing from between mounds of soft, warm flesh.

You are awestruck by the pleasure this brings, if for no other reason than because of the novelty of it - you’d never been with a woman endowed enough to even try this, and while you’d emptied yourself on plenty of womens’ chests after fucking, you’d yet to experience a titjob.

Jihyo tries, mostly in vain, to lick your head as it appears from between her breasts, only succeeding a little bit of the time, but each time her tongue makes contact with your head it sends shocks of pleasure shooting up and down your spine. The novelty, the pleasure, the fact that you were getting a titjob from a beautiful young detective while an interrogation was happening just a few feet away from you, it was a lot to take in, and it quickly became too much.

For long, pleasureable minutes, Jihyo continues to push your rock hard shaft in and out between her warm, slick breasts, her hands squeezing her flesh tightly around your cock, her fingers interlacing at her front to keep your cock from escaping the lovely embrace of her tits. She continues to try to lick the head of your cock sometimes, sometimes letting her head fall back and making eye contact with you through half-lidded, heavy, seductive eyes. It was all too much to handle.

“Fuck, Jihyo, that feels amazing.”

“Mmmmm?” she manages to reply, so absorbed she is in trying to lick your shaft as it appears between her breasts.

“Fuck… you’re gonna make me cum.”

“Then fucking cum,” Jihyo replies, returning her full attention to your pleasure, increasing her pace, squeezing her breasts even tighter around your thrusting shaft as it sinks and reappears from between her soft flesh mounds. She pumps her chest up and down faster, grinding her chest against you fast and faster, until you quickly see that edge, that edge from which there is no return.

“Fuck… Jihyo… I’m cumming!”

“Do it! Give me all your cum… give it to me… cum on my face… Cum on me! Cum all over me!”

Your orgasm strikes with the force of a thunderbolt, and you feel every single burst of semen as it erupts from your shaft, the first shot happening while your head was still covered by Jihyo’s breasts, sending hot, warm cum into her cleavage and further lubricating each subsequent thrust. You wonder if she is going to open her mouth to take the rest of your cum, but Jihyo instead leans her face back, letting the rest of your semen splash against her chin and face, the thick liquid spraying all over her cute, innocent features.

You weren’t usually one for giving girls facials, but there was something radically different about Jihyo. Maybe it was the environment, the fact that Jihyo was a law enforcement officer; maybe it was the gravity of the week’s earlier events; maybe it was the novelty, it being your first time receiving a titjob.

Whatever it was, you found yourself staring, awestruck, at Jihyo’s cum stained face as you finish sending your last few small streams of semen onto her chin and her upper chest, her grinding gradually slowing as your orgasm finally subsides.

Jihyo finally lets your shaft escape from her warm, wet cleavage, and she bends low to run her tongue along your shaft from its base to its tip, drawing shivers of sheer pleasure from your post-orgasm cock. She straightens her back, allowing you a perfect view of the semen splayed all over her large breasts, the smooth, perfect skin of her upper chest, and finally, the beautiful, innocent features of her cute face.

Jihyo brings her hands to her wet chest and begins rubbing the cum into her skin, lending it a shiny, slick appearance in the dim light of the listening room.

“It’s a shame you didn’t do better on the range,” she says with a sexiness you didn’t think the innocent young detective capable of.

“Oh yeah?” you manage to ask, “and what would’ve happen if I had done better?”

Jihyo smiles slyly as she captures a stream of dripping semen from her cheek and brings it to her mouth, tasting it as if it were some expensive delicacy at a five star restaurant.

“...All this cum would be in my pussy.”

---

You smile as you watch Jihyo join the other girls in the busy, swanky looking Seoul bar. Choa greets her with a warm hug, the two having worked closely together as they planned the capture of Wendy and Joy. With a warm smile the older girl introduces her to Seolhyun and Jeongyeon, who welcome the young detective warmly with smiles and a tall glass of beer.

A poke on your arm alerts you to Momo’s presence, two drinks in her hands as she offers one to you with a warm smile. You accept, and with a toast of your glasses together, you share your first sip of the evening, relishing the cold, crisp alcohol as it slides down your throats.

“Rough week,” you say, eliciting a smile from Momo.

“I’ll say,” she agrees, “Sooo… did you hit that?”

“Jihyo? No… just boob stuff.”

Momo blushes and almost chokes on her next sip of beer as she gives you a playful punch on the shoulder.

“That’s no fair, I can’t do boob stuff. She’s got an unfair advantage. Was it… a natural advantage?”

“Oh yes, I think so.”

“Dammit. I wish I could do boob stuff,” she says with an exaggerated sad face as she looks down at her own chest.

You smile widely as you wrap your arm around her and kiss her forehead.

“She’s got nothing on you,” you reassure her, leaning down to give her a small peck on the lips. Momo returns your kiss, and the kiss deepens slightly, before Momo breaks it off.

“I’m still, like, super fucking mad at you,” she says, her playful, sarcastic tone betraying the weight of her words, “and one day soon I’m gonna tear you a new one.”

“The Future Me can handle that.”

Momo lets out a snort before composing herself for what she is about to tell you.

“Before things get all drunk and alcohol-y tonight, you should know what the girls and I found while we were sifting through Red Velvet’s data.”

“What’s that?” you ask, taking another sip as you prepare yourself for what Momo is about to tell you.

“We pieced together communication between Wendy and Joy, and apparently their entire plan to trap you and get access to the JYP servers through your login was solely Wendy’s idea, and Irene had no idea it was happening. I guess she wanted to impress Irene with it.”

“So Wendy was a damn snake,” you quip, “no surprise there.”

“That’s not all. We found a message that was sent to Irene minutes before we caught Wendy and Joy. The message must have been what warned Irene in time to manually activate the program that deleted all her data from the server.”

“So it wasn’t automatically triggered when we gained access, like Jeongyeon said?”

“No. Irene actively deleted her data when she got the warning. Someone knew it was happening, and someone let her escape before we caught Wendy.”

“Fuck,” you hiss as you weigh the complications of this revelation, “who could it have been? Did you find out where the message came from?”

“No. Jeongyeon says it could have come from anyone.”

“Even one of us?”

“Even one of us,” Momo echoes, taking a deep sip of her beer in an attempt, perhaps in vain, to ease the implications of what she was saying.

“No. We’ve already been betrayed once. I refuse to believe we have another traitor in our ranks.”

“I don’t want to believe it either. And to be fair, it could be anyone who knew what was happening, not even necessarily one of us. For all we know, it could be someone we aren’t even aware of, someone we don’t even know.”

“That’s scarier,” you admit, and Momo nods in agreement.

You sigh - you had hoped this evening would lend you a small reprieve from the gravity of the past few days, but now you found another weight being added to your worries.

“Hey,” Momo says as she catches on to what you were feeling, “let’s worry about this tomorrow. Future Us can find whoever did this to us, and we’ll catch them just like we caught Wendy and Joy. Then Irene after that.”

You smile, and you find some solace in Momo’s bright smile, finding yourself thankful once more that this wonderful woman was in your life.

“Cheers to that,” you say, sharing a toast with Momo as you both rejoin your colleagues at their table, eager to forget about your worries if even for a single evening.

---

In a dark, mostly empty cafe in downtown Seoul, Bae Irene is meeting with two females.

“Wendy and Joy fucked up and got themselves caught. It’s time for you two to step up.”

The first female lets out a haughty laugh.

“Don’t talk to us like we’re your fucking employees. We’re done with that life,” one of the women answers, “we’ve had our fun. We’ve retired.”

“You’ll come back to it once you realize how much I’ll pay you.”

“What’s wrong with your other members? Seulgi and… what was the other’s name? Yubin? Yerin? Yeri?” says the second female.

“I don’t need them,” Irene hisses, “they’re dead to me now, after what they did to me.”

“This will cost you,” the first woman says.

“SM has deep pockets,” Irene answers.

“What do you want us to do?”

“I want to break JYP,” Irene answers, every syllable cold as steel, “I want to break him.”

#kpop fanfiction #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #Smut #pov smut #male reader #twice #twice jihyo #park jihyo

[nodesiretogrowup]

alrighty, let’s recap this bitch!

LAUNCHPAD! I’VE MISSED YOU SO MUCH! PLEASE COME BACK!

I looked up when National S’mores Day is (because I’m a nerd) and it is August 10. So either the photo later was mislabeled or, more likely, Launchpad got the wrong info

Huey with the little baby scouts is TOO CUTE!!

I wonder if Violet’s there. Probably not because she would have been hanging out with Huey if she was. Or this episode was meant to come before Challenge

It’s a baby beagle boy! I wonder if he’s there of his own will or if it is part of some plan

He scared away most of the kids! Now they won’t get to enjoy s’more-y goodness

His s’more sounds DOPE AF, though it probably would give you INSTANT DIABETES

“Aw, not even a modern robot.” MY SWEET SON!

I know it was the bully saying it, but Huey should chill a bit when it comes to doing things EXACTLY and PERFECTLY. It’s just gonna cause stress

 BOYD IS BABY AND I LOVE HIM

“Would you like to be friends?” “Sure. Wow, that was easy.” If only it was always that easy

I don’t know if Huey has the JWG as memorized as he thinks, going by Challenge and Quack Pack

“We’re just kids.” “Definitely!” *uses laser eyes to light fire*

This episode does a good job showing what a trigger word/phrase is like, though I’m not sure if that was the intention

I like that a squirrel with a burnt tail scurries out of one of the trees. It’s the attention to detail that helps elevate this show

Instead of jumping out of the way or hiding Huey jumps straight onto Boyd to try and help him. Huey already sees Boyd as someone worth protecting

The kid that just runs across the screen while his hat is on fire is great

Not sure why they took the time to change before going to Gyro but whatever

BOYD IS ADORABLE AND I LOVE HIM

“I’m more than an intern, I’m a scientist.” I feel like this might be hinting at Fenton’s arc for the season, possibly wanting to be seen more as a scientist than a superhero

I’m gonna pretend that using sunglasses on someone who is shooting lasers out of their eyes is a Cyclops reference. And they look pretty dope too

At least Fenton knows when he is in over his head...this time

Gyro trying to climb up on the table to avoid Boyd was kind of funny. And then him protecting himself with Lil Bulb

“Which one?” Manny is DONE with this shit

“Boyd? What idiot called it that?” Even when he’s not there, Gyro can still burn Mark lol

I figured 2-BO was a reference to something but wasn’t sure what. Apparently it’s a bit of a play on the name of Astro Boy’s in-universe creator’s son. Neat

 Huey stays in between Gyro and Boyd to protect Boyd

Fenton’s face cracks me up. There are NO THOUGHTS in this man’s head lol

“You were an intern like me?” “Nothing like you.” Damn Gyro, why so salty?

I don’t know why Fenton is so surprised that Gyro was an intern. I feel like that’s a pretty standard thing

LOVE IS STORED IN THE BOYD

It make me sad when Gyro mentions how many times Boyd’s core programing was altered. Poor baby doesn’t really get a say in what happens to him

“ROAD TRIP!” Huey, you do these kinds of things ALL THE TIME. I feel like he should be used to this by now

“YOU’RE not going. GIZMODUCK is.” Does Gyro see Fenton and Gizmoduck as separate entities or is this just a no, but yes type of joke?

Huey standing up for Boyd is so sweet. They barely know each other but Huey trusts him

When the episode doesn’t have the theme song you KNOW shit’s ‘bout to go down

I wonder who’s flying the plane. My guess is Launchpad because Della would have been cooing over Huey making a new friend and go into embarrassing mom mode. He probably went of on his own adventure or did tourist things like buying collectables. Or maybe Gyro flew them there. Who knows

As many people have said, the art direction and animation for this episode are BEAUTIFUL. I love the pink tint the lighting has in most of the episode

SAILOR MOON CONFIRMED CANON

I bet Mark Beaks is a Sailor Moon fan

I like that the in-universe Sailor Moon is a bunny because Usagi is Japanese for rabbit

I love that going incognito nowadays means you wear a hat, a hoodie, and sunglasses. Boyd looks good in red (though red is my favorite color so I might be biased)

Gyro-takes one step and the fuzz shows up. NOICE

I like detective lady. She has a cool design

Huey and Fenton are awful at acting casual

“Crimes?” Oh my sweet Hubert. I’m pretty sure most if not all of Scrooge’s employees have had run ins w/ The Law

Gyro is like, move I’m gay

“I’m here on a very important...field trip.” ALL THE KIDS NEED A GYRO FIELD TRIP LIKE HOW THE GAANG GOT ZUKO FIELD TRIPS

Lil Bulb said FUCK THE POLICE

I wonder what it actually says

Fenton just watches as the inspector chases Lil Bulb

Seriously though, Fenton does a bunch of silly stuff in the background and this episode warrants a rewatch SOLELY for him

How did Lil Bulb know where to find them? And how did he shake off the inspector? I want to see his little adventure

FOR SCIENCE!

“Blah!” *arm armor attaches* I want this joke to come back

Fenton and Huey INSTANTLY nerd out. I love them

Fenton being a Gyro fanboy is ADORABLE

“AH, DUST IN MY EYE! The dust of GENIUS!” What a dweeb lol

I like that Fenton keeps the arm on for the whole scene

Poor Boyd, he looks so scared

Huey going into protective big brother mode

Doofus continues to be equal parts hilarious and disturbing

Where are their parents? Like, someone should be looking after these kids! ESPECIALLY DOOFUS!

“Do you need a hug?” I SURE FUCKING DO

Mark is such a prick lol

“NO WAY, A ROBOT BOY! DREAMS DO COME TRUE!” YOU DON’T DESERVE THAT DREAM YOU COCKWAFFLE

SOMEONE HUG THIS CHILD! BECAUSE I CANNOT!

“Seems like the little guy’s had it tough.” MY POOR BABY

Lil Bulb gets SO PISSED he blew a fuse

You really shouldn’t have left them alone, Gyro

Why does Fenton automatically jump to superhero for Boyd? I mean the theme of the episode is letting Boyd choose who he wants to be so of course Fenton would have his own idea of what Boyd should be, but why go straight to superhero? Do you want superbros, Fenton?

Huey already realises this might be a bad idea, because he’s more concerned about Boyd as a person rather than Boyd as a machine

“IN RETROSPECT WE PROBABLY SHOULD HAVE USED THE FIRST HOLE” Fenton, you dumbass genius

Dr. Akita’s setup made me laugh. I DIED when he “enhanced” the image

I recognized the character on the chips though I don’t know their name. I’m more of a western animation fan, so many of the references probably flew pass me

BOOP

I also have a key on my laptop that flies off (it’s the u key)

I LOVE BABY GYRO! It’s so cool they went with his og look (minus the red hair) to show him younger

I LOVE THE OUTLAW COUPLE! SO COOL! SO HOT!

Huey is so DONE with Fenton

I love the stupid G pose he does. PLEASE HAVE HIM DO IT AGAIN. PREFERABLY WHEN DW IS NEARBY

Such a polite boy

“My bones are metal!” This line and Boyd’s catchphrase of “Hi, I’m Boyd/2-BO, a definitely real boy!” reminded me of Olaf. The end of the episode gives Boyd even MORE Olaf parallels

Gizmoduck sliding by those boxes was cool

How did Gizmoduck get himself unstuck from that alley?

I loved the double take the female outlaw does

Huey is TRAUMATIZED

I legit thought Boyd was gonna light the oil on fire the first time I watched and I was like that won’t help

“So, what do we do now?” “I...don’t know.” This is why you don’t leave babies alone to fight criminals

Boyd reminded me of Calculester from Monster Prom when he asked the lady to return the money

STOP LEAVING THE CHILDREN ALONE! THEY ARE BABIES! THEY AREN’T EVEN TEENS!

“Why do we always fight when we’re on vacation?” Because this is Ducktales and there is no such thing as a normal vacation

Lil Bulb just kicking his lil feet

The “lab” safety poster made me chuckle. Then I remembered Akita is also a dog and I laughed more

LITTLE BABY GYRO GRADUATING! My guess is his professor/dean/principal influenced him on a personal level and is partially the reason Boyd is a parrot

Lil Helper blueprints. Nice reference to the og series

Has anyone talked about the poster with the cogs and the dogman in old-timey clothes that says GIZMOS on it? I think it’s a Dr. Who reference

IDEALISTIC GYRO AND BOYD IS TOO CUTE!

How did he NOT notice the second hole in the wall?

That is a surplus of handcuffs. Do you think she uses them for...fun times?

“I’m just a guy! With very bruisable skin!”

Poor misunderstood Gyro inventions

Boyd just politely waves at everyone

Huey is WAY calmer than I would be if I got lost in an unfamiliar city

Boyd says FUCK WORK

 I love Huey stimming. Really hope Disney will let them confirm in words that Huey is autistic

Is it more common for two kids to wonder around by themselves in Tokyo? Because as an American I find it super stressful and would want to find their parents so they could be safer

THE BUNNY! AND THEN THE KITTIES!

Do cats just take buses on their own in Tokyo?

CHERRY BLOSSOM TIME BITCHES

“And I know what you’re thinking, what about ninjas?” I am ALWAYS wondering about ninjas

I like that Huey finally has a friend who shares the same interests and doesn’t mind info dumps

“Boyd, I don’t think you’re a killer robot. You’re just a kid.” “Aw, that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.” T_T

I CAN SHOW YOU THE WORLD

I like Boyd’s motief

Akita is us after the quarantine

When he complained about being stiff I was like mood

I like his Green Goblin disc thingy

The other people don’t give a shit about Boyd just FLYING DOWN WITH HIS ROCKET FEET!

Gyro shows up *dramatic wind*

His tablet has a duckie on it. I wounder if they have a Mac/PC thing going on with Waddle and what brand the duckie represents

When the adults argue and Boyd gets all sad and scared I FELT THAT

Huey doing his best to keep Boyd calm and defend him SO PURE

OH GOD HELP THIS POOR CHILD!

HUEY IS A GOOD BOY AND A GOOD FRIEND

“Because of you I’ve become an outcast.” I feel like you did that to yourself

ANIME HAIR POOF

ngl, that shit was TERRIFYING

“You don’t have to do what Akita tells you. Do what I tell you.” So close

“INTERN! FIGHT BETTER!”

Huey must weigh NOTHING if Gyro can pick him up

Akita’s tail looks like a cinnamon roll

Huey always finding that hidden info

The gibberish Gyro says is great

BOYD SAYS IT BECAUSE GYRO TOLD HIM THAT!

THAT HUG!!!

HOW DARE AKITA HURT BABY GYRO AND SWEET BABY BOYD?!

PROTECTIVE PAPA GYRO

NEEEEERRRRRRRD FIIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT

“You’ll never invent anything worthwhile.” LIL BULB HAS ENTERED THE FIGHT

Are doggos recyclable?

HUUUUUUUUUUUUUGS

Blue eyes=good robot

ANOTHER HUG

Be Only Yourself, Dude

I like that basically Gyro admitted that he was like Fenton if Fenton hadn’t had support

“That’s not technically how doctorites work, BUT I DON’T CARE!” Do you think Gyro doesn’t have his doctorate or do you think he assumed Fenton already had one?

“The hugging is a ‘just for today’ thing.” YOU CANNOT STOP THE HUG TRAIN!

“Leave. Now.”

Are they gonna go to the plane?

This season has been consistently knocking it out of the park! I’m a SLUT for backstory episodes, so I enjoyed this one a lot. I loved seeing Gyro when he had hope and faith in the world. It SUCKS that Akita took that away from him. Hopefully Gyro will see things slightly less cynical now. Fenton was a dweeb the whole episode and I love him for it. Boyd is SO SWEET AND PRECIOUS and in NO WAY deserved the treatment he got. I have a feeling there is more to Boyd’s creation/Dr.Akita that we’ll get later on. Huey was ADORABLE this episode. It’s really sweet to see him hangout with someone who gets him. Everyone deserves to have at least one friend like that. The fight scene was GORGEOUS! SO FLUID! I really loved this one and I hope we get more Team Science episodes because these characters play really well off each other. 

#ducktales #dt spoilers #a bit later than normal but oh well

[blackrosesfanfic]

Chapter 230

Dee

I originally decided that I was going to give MiMi hell about dragging me into a fucking group therapy session that was supposed to be about fucking Trey and his suicide shit. Now I'm like fuck it. Why do that? Even more I'm sitting here thinking about how fucking happy my wife is with me.

"Aye, Bae?"

"Mommy, I want purple!" JJ says. "Grape!"

She puts all of the freeze pops in front of him. "Quit yelling. You pick out purple then."

"Purple." JJ says then smiles. "And Blue."

"I said one."

JJ puts it down. "Please, Mommy. Please I get two?" He whispers. "Please."

She rolls her eyes leaving a blue. "Get it and go outside to April."

"My grandma?"

"Yes, JJ." She smiles. "What?"

JJ does a complete 180 in the air. "Huh, Mommy?"

"Talking to your daddy."

I look away from him at her. I love the hell out of MiMi. I know she loves me. I don't know if she like... Damn I'm being like Chris and Trey. Why wouldn't she love me? Why wouldn't she be happy?

"You don't seem happy about this wedding." I say.

"What do I supposed to be happy about? I liked the dress. What other details I know?"

"You not wanting to be a part of it."

She smiles touching my face. "Cause I don't want to make any demands for something we really don't need. It's not gonna make me love you more."

"Money is the..."

"Root of all evil." She says pushing me. "You in your feelings?"

I shrug. "I been in my feelings then you come making me be a part of that therapy shit. What you wanted to make me cry or something?"

She nods. "That would be cute."

"It wouldn't man." I shake my head. She laughs shaking her head. "See you know it wouldn't be cute. My black ass crying. Fucking tar baby crying."

"You are not that black."

I rub on her ass. "Mookie."

"Excuse me."

"Yes baby." MiMi says pushing me off her.

It's Jamaal's little girl. "Do you have any more freeze pops?"

"Yes, there's lots of different ones."

"Pink?" She smiles.

She was a pretty little girl with long ponytails and a proper demeanor. Looks like she would do a curtsy bow any minute. She thanks MiMi after she hands her two pink pops. I chuckle.

"You think we could ever get our daughter to be that sweet and proper?"

"Dee, not if she ever copies anything I do."

I chuckle. "Aye, Bae, what was going on with those girls? Why they leave breakfast?"

She sucks her teeth. "Don't ask me they business, Damn."

"Cause we keeping secrets?" I snap.

"That's not fair. Don't ask me."

I get close to her. "Why not, Miya? Aye, I been thinking with us staying in Cali, how much will you be making?"

"You still looking for a way out?"

"Are you happy with this marriage?"

She stares at me. "Are we going in circles? I love you. Marriage is stupid cause there aren't any sex benefits."

"We couldn't afford the sex package."

"No wonder."

I stand at the window looking out at the kids on the playground. They don't give a damn how hot it is out there.

"Aye, Miya?" I say turning around. She wasn't even in the kitchen anymore.

"Damn, I got lost twice in this bitch." Marco says looking around the kitchen.

"Must be nice." I say.

Marco opens a water bottle. "Naw, man this shit don't mean nothing."

"Yea? First time experiencing it?"

"Naw. You know what $5000 US dollars in Honduras is worth?" He chuckles when I don't answer. "Over 100,000 Pisto. Go there with 50,000 US dollars and you a fucking millionaire."

I shrug. "But who has 50000 laying around?"

He chuckles. "You a fucking drug dealer, man."

"Naw, I got out of that. Never kept no damn 50000 that was mine. Small time dealer. That's what I was."

"Oh. Wanna do jobs that get you 50000 laying around?"

"I just told you I'm not dealing." I say pissed.

He chuckles. "Just checking. I ain't that cool."

I laugh. Dumbest nigga. He sips on his water then he laughs all late at his little joke. He opens the fridge again like he wasn't just in it.

"Chris Brown, huh?" He says.

"Uh, I guess."

He closes the fridge. "I didn't want to get caught up in this dumbass American dream celebrity lifestyle. Neva wanted to know these people. My baby won't stop talking about them so I figured why not. Seem like regular fucking people."

"They are. Regular rich people."

"With ordinary shit. Stupid expensive stuff that they don't need."

"What kinda life you trying to live? In Honduras?"

He opens a cabinet. "You seen my house in Atlanta?"

"Naw."

"Oh." Is all he says.

This nigga weird. Like what the fuck are we talking about? I just blankly walk out of the room. Don't even know him like that. Don't think I want to know him. Is he fucking hating or is he admiring shit? I don't even fucking know. He could fucking steal.

"Hidia husband steal?" I ask going into my borrowed bedroom.

"I don't know her husband like that."

"He weird as shit."

She giggles. "He an antisocial army brat. She complains all the time about... well you wouldn't know what she complains about. Anyway every time she around I've heard her complain about how many times he calls her and text when she not with him."

"But she never with him."

"He doesn't fucking like people, period. He crazy." She snaps. "He keeps it that way on purpose. You know their son is 5 but won't talk?"

I stand in front of her while she hooks up the breast pump. "That must be frustrating."

"She says she used to it. The therapist, he has a therapist, says that it's elective. He can laugh and cry just fine. He makes little sounds when he frustrated or desperate. That's scary. Like my child never talking."

"Why isn't Minnie feeding?"

MiMi rolls her eyes. "April came in here talking about hair bows and she wasn't interested anymore. I told you she doesn't care to breastfeed. She sassy."

"I have had it with these fake babies." April says walking in fast. "Thought she was sleep. She popped them eyes opened, stared at me, then screamed 'bitch where my mama'. Like she didn't ask me to get her when I was minding my own business."

MiMi laughs really hard turning the pump off. "Devin, move."

"Oh." I say walking to the other side of the bed and laying down. "Women."

 Trey

Caden stares at me with his face frowned. I had him laying on his back on the floor. I was hovering over him staring at him. He seemed truly deep in thought. Probably wondering why I'm so damn aggravating. I kiss him when he starts to close his eyes. He jumps staring at me with his evil eyes again.

"Why is he looking at you like that?"

"I told him that he staying up with me."

Cammie takes her dress off. "Chris wants to go parasailing."

"So we just jump and fucking go?"

"You don't have to go." She says taking her bra off.

I look at Caden. Damn, I stared at Cammie too long and he sleep. Little fucker was supposed to stay up with me. He fucking promised me. Maybe not. I pick him up and lie him down in his bassinet. He wasn't trying to even open his eyes. He done with making me feel like I'm important enough to stay up for. I walk over to Cammie's sexy ass.

"Baby Mama, baby mama."

"Tremaine." She says touching my chest.

I pull her body into mine. "Baby mama."

She fixes her tank top. "How are you feeling?"

"Not like parasailing." I say.

"I think it's gonna be fun."

"You never done it?" I say letting her go.

She puts another tank top on. "No."

"Oh Caden is sleeping." Cammie's mother says. "He is sleeping."

"Tremaine, are you going out in the water?" April says walking in the room.

"What yall doing following each other around?" I ask.

April giggles. "Fighting over Caden."

Debra, Cammie's ma, chuckles. "You won because he does not have time for me after a nap."

"That's when he is the cutest." April says walking out. "Oh turn that tablet on. I'll go find the monitor. I know Lane has it. He calls it his walkie talkie."

"He is bad." Cammie says moving away from me.

"Not compared to you as a toddler. When you got with your grandmother you would bounce around for hours unstoppable. Nobody could say nothing to you."

Cammie rolls her eyes. "Grandma used to spank my ass more than anyone."

"Yes, for running your mouth. Not bouncing or breaking things outside of those figurines."

"Well..." Cammie starts then stares at the tablet. "What did Lane just say?"

I go over and look at the screen. Lane must have had it in his pocket. You could see a bit of the room and nothing else.

"I not doing it." Lane says.

"Why?"

Lane sucks his teeth. "I playing my car."

"Please."

"Who the fuck is that?" Cammie snaps running out of the room.

I look at her mother then I start walking out of the room. April was standing in the hallway on the phone. She lowers it from her ear.

"What is up her ass?"

"Not me." I shrug.

April sucks her teeth making a stank face. "Mom, I'm back. They gonna make me wrinkled and gray. Cammie and Trey. Oh breakfast was good this morning."

"You told grandma?" I snap.

"Tell Forrest that he should have came. His baby mama? I forgot that boy having a baby. Lord. Mmh. Exactly."

I'm just standing here being nosey. I haven't done much thinking about Forrest baby mama either. I always mean to ask him about everything. My shit is so crazy that it's hard to remember to keep up with him when he is being so private about everything. Should invite her to dinner or something. Hell she family now. Minus well meet her if I haven't already.

[bisexualdaemon]

Eleanor: Nine Years

a/n: Hello! I decided that with my time off from my series I’d write something I’d been thinking about for a really long time. An update of sorts but one that’s not ever really requested. I quite love Dad!Shawn and I hope you like this one too. 

Previous parts linked in my masterlist!

warnings: just a whole lot of fucking softness and dad!Shawn feelings

“We need some help!”

Shawn crashed through the emergency room doors, cradling his half-conscious daughter in his arms. Her braided hair was matted with blood that ran down her cheek and mixed with the dirt still covering her face. He rushed to the registration counter, eyes wild, and met the doleful gaze of the ER triage nurse.

“Sir, what’s your emergency?” She asked in a flat, bored tone, like he wasn’t holding his nine-year-old daughter, who went limp a few minutes ago. He stared at her unblinkingly, barely straddling the line between calm crisis and blind rage. The bundle in his arms, more child-like than she’d felt in years, moaned in pain. Pleading with the nurse, he tried to summarize what happened the quickest way possible.

“M-my daughter, Eleanor,” he spewed out impatiently, “she was playing softball and collided with another girl. Her head has been bleeding for the last hour and I think her arm is broken.” He leaned over and showed the nurse the arm couched against his chest, bruised and at an unnatural angle. Her eyes widened and she picked up the nearest phone.

“Yes, I’m going to need an ortho consult in the ER, please. Yeah, neuro too.” She hung up and ushered him behind the automatic doors and into the ER bay. People seem to move with efficiency once the emergency one claims to have is deemed an actual emergency. The nurse led them into a private room and he deposited Eleanor onto the gurney.

“Okay, sir,” a different nurse came in with a rolling computer cart and stopped dead when she saw him, “I-I need to take some b-basic information from you so we can get things going with...her paperwork.” She looked at her shoes and then back to him three times over the course of her short statement. He knew she recognized him, but he was too laser-focused on the nine-year-old in the bed to notice her fierce blush. He shook his head to clear the anxiety, taking a few slow breaths. The nurse still hadn’t asked him anything so he stood up and started to pace.

“Are they going to bring her anything for the pain?” He ripped his fingers through his already disheveled and dust-caked hair. His eyes turned to her. She was still staring and blushing with her mouth open, unable to make anything come out. He closed his eyes and focused on the calm light blue color of the room. Deep breaths.

“Yes, I’m Shawn Mendes,” he says, tightening his jaw at the unprofessionalism, but maintaining the cool candor he’d always used with fans, “what information do you need from me to start caring for my daughter?”

That seemed to snap her out of it.

“Oh! Uhm, I just have a few forms for you to sign. I’ll send in the doctor right away.” She handed him a tablet and he started filling out information while she headed to the nurses’ station to page a doctor. He heard various acronyms like “VIP” and “ASAP” that made things move a little faster than normal.

Twenty minutes later, Eleanor had an IV pumping her full of pain meds and was happily humming one of Shawn’s old songs when they came and got her for x-ray. She swung her head around, lagging like her neck was devoid of bones, and looked at the radiology tech with glassy, drug-fogged eyes.

“He wrote that one for me,” she whispered, bringing her index finger on her good arm to her lips like it was a secret. Never mind the fact that the song was titled, “Eleanor.” He smiled wide as they wheeled her out, sliding his phone out of his back pocket. You picked up on the first ring.

“How is she?!” The panic was evident in your voice. You were at a conference across the country and had been eating lunch with an old graduate school friend when he’d called to tell you he was taking Elly to the hospital.

“She’s...” he chuckled, “well, she’s high as fuck right now. They just wheeled her into x-ray.”

“Oh good,” you exhaled the breath that had been festering in your chest since this afternoon. “What did they say about her head?”

“They’re keeping her overnight for observation, but she hasn’t shown any signs of concussion. She needed some stitches on her forehead though. I’m sure she’ll love showing that to her friends.” Shawn rolled his eyes at his tomboy daughter. Elly kept a detailed history of her scrapes and bruises like they were trophies. These stitches and the cast she was likely to get were going to go down in the hall of fame. He’d have to get Josiah to take a picture of her and immortalize it forever.

“Okay, baby, keep me updated,” you picked up your bag to leave your hotel room, “I have a networking drinks thing tonight...should I skip it?” He smiled against his phone pressed up against his face while he paced to diffuse his nervous energy, his dad hat sitting backward on his head.

“Honey, there’s nothing you can do three thousand miles away,” he looked up when he heard a bed rolling down the hallway toward the room, “go get drinks. Network. Be a badass. It’s what Elly would want you to do.” He heard your audible sigh.

“I’ll go...but I swear to God, Mendes,” you stood up and made sure your hotel key was in your pocket, “if anything happens you call me. She’s our baby girl.” The emotion in your voice was evident as you dropped a hand to your growing belly. You worried all the time what it would be like with the two of them so far apart.

“Loud and clear, Mendes,” he made a mock salute even though she couldn’t see him, “and hey?”

“What?”

“She’ll always be our baby girl.” You grinned at the way he always knew exactly how to put you at ease, exactly what to say when the anxiety started to build, “we’ll just have a baby boy to look after too.”

Hours later, Eleanor was fast asleep, her new sky blue cast reaching above her elbow and immobilized against her chest. Shawn couldn’t sleep with her little hand sitting limp in his. He needed her to be out of this hospital bed, awake and laughing at his dad jokes. The stillness scared him, even though he knew she was going to be fine. She hadn’t show any signs of concussion, just a few bumps and bruises on top of the arm and stitches.

He pulled out his phone to snap a photo to send you as an update, knowing you’d be just as sleepless as he was. Forgetting to turn off the flash, the room lit up momentarily and he cursed when she stirred.

“Daddy?”

His head shot up. She rarely called him that anymore, usually opting for the older and more distant “Dad,” which he kind of hated but would never tell her. Her face was scrunched and a light sheen covered her forehead. He knew she’d rather die than admit that she was hurting, so he took the liberty of calling the nurse in to administer some more pain medication. He was her dad after all, and dad’s really did know best. When the nurse left, she settled back into the pillows, waiting for it to pull her under again.

“Did you tell Mom?” she asked, a little bit of panic in her voice.

“Shhh, yes, sweetie. She knows everything,” he cooed, running his fingers through her hair. Eleanor hummed in quiet contentment, the meds making their way to her brain. Her eyes were already starting to close and he could tell she was struggling to stay with him.

“Daaaaaddy?” she stretched out the first syllable, her tongue slow to catch up.

“Yes, honey?”

“Turn off your flash.”

It was the last thing she said before a soft snore left her lips. He grinned, turning off his flash and taking another photo of her. Opening up his text with you, he sent it, an ellipses popping up almost immediately.

You looked at Elly in the photo, fast asleep with all the machines and her new cast and what seemed like half a world away from you. It was the most acute pain you’d felt since childbirth. The only thing keeping you from rushing to the airport was that Shawn was with her, keeping her safe.

The reply dinged just as he was closing his eyes. He peeked at the screen to read her message, his cheek pressed against Eleanor’s warm hand.

You: Our baby girl 💙

Love you guys!

permanent tag list: @justanotherfangurl272  @siennarossi @trustfundshawn @alone-in-madness @rodneywaber @harryandmolly @thatindiannerdygirl @the-claire-bitch-project @mendesromano @fromthicctosticc @esoltis280

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes fanfic #dad!shawn #shawn peter raul mendes #my writing #eleanor

[willow-salix]

Random bit of fun because it's been the kind of day where I needed to make myself laugh.

Everyone knew that Selene had a love of classic horror films, the ones that Alan said were boring and not in the least scary. The same ones that John always turned his nose up at because the special effects were non existent. Virgil liked them because they always had great music to them and Scott and Gordon just found them hilariously funny. 

But this one was different, while her favourites were made in the 1960s, she had stumbled across one that was positively modern in comparison from the 2010s. She'd put it off over and over again but if there was one thing that hanging out in a floating space station gave you an opportunity to watch all the movies you had previously never had time for. She had quickly run through almost all the movies on her watch list and was down to two, it was scary or the prank show Gordon had insisted she watch, so it was time to watch the scary even if that time was 3am and she couldn't sleep (not that she expected the movie to help). So there she was, camped out on one of the couches in the sunken lounge of the villa, blanket over her legs, tablet balanced on her knees, watching the movie. 

It started with three young girls happily playing tea parties in their attic play room when all of a sudden they dropped their dolls and little tea cups and as one, moved to the windows, opened them, and jumped the fuck out. 

Selene jumped in shock. "Da fuq was that about?" she yelped, eyes glued to the action which had cut to a young single father having one last chance to impress his bosses at the solicitors where he worked. He was a widow, his wife having died in childbirth and he was fast running out of money,  debts mounting, he needed this job.  

The owner of a big old house had died and the young father was the one sent to go through all her papers and check the house over,  looking for her most recent will, before they could sell. Seemed simple enough, but this was a spooky movie so obviously that wasn't going to go well.

He said goodbye to his son, planning on being done by the weekend when his son and the nanny would join in for a weekend in the country, all very pleasant... Selene was now quite bored after the dramatics at the start. She reached for her cup of cocoa and sipped as she watched the young father, Arthur Kipps,  board the train and promptly fall asleep. Cue a dream of his late wife which shocked him enough to wake with a start. A helpful man by the name of Sam offered him a ride from the station to the guest house. 

At the guest house Arthur (whom she could see as non other than Harry Potter no matter how hard she tried) was told he didn't in fact have a room booked and must go away. Strange. But the wife of the landlord took pity on him and let him stay in the attic... The same creepy ass attic the girls had jumped from.

"No Harry! Don't sleep there!" Selene warned but of course the twat didn't listen. Though he appeared to get through the night unscathed and proceed to make his way to the creepy ass house he was looking through. 

Selene jumped and squeaked her way through his first visit when the bitch in black decided to pop her ugly ass face up now and then and waft around in the background when she shouldn't be. 

She got a major case of the sads when a kiddie died due to the black bitch and got rather indignant on Harry/Arthurs behalf when the villagers all seemed to blame him. But by the time he went back again and began to uncover some clues as to the woman in blacks identity and why she might be creeping around like a dick and scaring the shit out of people, Selene was on the edge of her seat and not in a good way. The ghost popped up, eyeballs being all weird and dodgy and it all got a bit much for Selene, though she would blame sleep deprivation from back to back rescues. 

"Expelliarmus! " she yelled, waving her wandless hand at the screen in an attempt to make the spook go away.

She might be a super tough witchy but even she wasn't good with jump scares, it was the dodgy plinky plonky music they used to fuck with your head that always got to her and after she had shrieked and almost dropped the tablet for the fourth time she paused the film and, grabbing laptop and blanket, decided her spaceman would so appreciate a late night visit from his witch. 

She padded her way down the hallway from the lounge on a hunt for her elusive man. She checked Scott's office where he was known to sometimes hang out but found it empty. The kitchen was just as deserted so she let herself outside, taking a deep breath of the cooler night air. Ahh, target spotted and locked on! He was stretched out on one of the loungers arranged around the pool, which to some would seem strange in the middle of the night, but she knew he enjoyed the quiet. Such a shame she was there to fuck that up for him. Sucked to be him right now. 

She tugged his book out of his hands without asking - he didn't need it now- put down the tablet and scooped up the cat that was curled up on his lap, dropping him unceremoniously on the floor.

"My space man." Armstrong gave an outraged meow but she nudged him aside with her foot. "Go find Alan and sleep on his face."

There went his peace and quiet. Much as he loved her she had the subtlety of a cyclone sometimes, even at half past three in the morning. How was it even possible that she was still this bouncy? He tried to catch his book as it was whipped out of his hands but missed.

"I was reading that."

The cat went next and, although he had actually been enjoying the warm weight of the purring creature on his lap, he would never admit it and therefore didn't raise a protest. 

Selene pushed his legs apart, ignoring his questioning eyebrow and settled between them. He let his feet fall to the floor, making room, allowing her to wrap his arms around her middle and lean back against his chest. 

She picked up her tablet and propped it up on her knees. This wasn't going to be pleasant, he had very little faith in her viewing choices. 

"Selene, " he sighed. 

There was that tone that they all heard at least once a day, the one that said he was already done with your shit. Good job she was immune to such things. 

She wiggled to get comfy and smiled to herself. This was much better, her man would protect her from evil jumping ghost ladies that desperately needed to cleanse, tone and moisturise once in a while, he was awesome and could like…shoot it with a laser or some shit, what more could she want in a movie buddy? 

"You know I have no interest in watching this, " he protested weakly as he caught sight of the screen. 

She ignored that too, he'd like it once it got going, she was sure of it, and hit play. 

The dumbass formerly known as Harry had balls, she'd give him that, he hadn't given up and was yet again back in the house of oogie boogies with nothing but a dog for company. The story was unfolding and Selene was actually beginning to feel kind of sorry for the emo ghost, but she still didn't trust her and said as much, very vocally and frequently. 

"Don't go in there…. Shit shit shit creepy rocking chair… ahhh I fucking hate those little wind up monkeys, this, this is why kids were disturbed in the victorian times, look at the fucking toys they give them, what's wrong with the parents…" she paused her mini rant by yelping and hiding her face in John's neck when the ghost popped up again, "not cool, so not cool dude. " 

John but his lip, refusing to laugh at her comments, it would just encourage her and honestly, she was bad enough as it was. She was so animated in everything she did, so open, honest and just full on. 

He much preferred to sit and watch in silence, but Selene was never quiet for long and with four brothers he was used to never getting his own way.  It had been a busy few days and while the others had passed out early, they were both too keyed up to rest. He'd chosen the sensible option of quiet relaxation, obviously she'd had other ideas.

He made an attempt to watch the film but it was almost impossible, having missed the start and with her near constant distractions. He gave up all pretence of paying attention and simply enjoyed having her so close, tightening his arms around her middle.

Once she deemed it safe she looked up again,  uncurling a little from the protective shelter of his arms and managed to sit through another five minutes without freaking out, that was until there was a massive ass house fire and Harry/Arthur's friend Sam told him a bit more about his own story, that's when she started to get defensive and head more into pissed off territory.  

"Why do you keep calling him Harry?" he asked but received no answer as she launched into another tirade. 

"What is wrong with you? Oi, ghost bitch, stop that shit! Don't make me come down there! You might be able to mess with the now non wizard but try a real witch for size."

She cheered and got a little excited when the heroes tried to help the ghost, though the bitch wasn't very appreciative and just did her banshee impression, which lead to Selene screaming back at her, as if that would actually help, making John jump in shock. How was she so loud? 

She relaxed when she thought it was all over, only to bounce back up in the last few seconds in complete outrage. "They should have called me, I'd have kicked that bitches arse in less than a day and been home in time for dinner, now look! Look at that! What the fuck was that? Fucking vengeful ghost, what's wrong with you!"  She pushed the tablet aside in a huff, crossing her arms, sulk mode activated.

The chest she was leaning against was vibrating against her back as he shook in silent laughter. She turned to glare at him, which just made things worse as he lost control. 

John was laughing at her, this was unacceptable.  She nipped his chin in retaliation, trying to hold in a laugh and not admit that she had been a massive wimp. 

He continued to laugh, the lines of stress and worry that had formed over the past few days vanishing smoothing out as he relaxed and let go. She smiled, glad to have helped. Even if her way had been unconventional, it had done the job. 

John hugged her tighter, his amusement fading away to leave him with quiet contentment as she placed the tablet on the ground and rested her head back onto his shoulder. High above them, a bright spot in the dark sky he could just make out his beloved craft, awaiting him, but, as was becoming more and more frequent, he didn't feel the immediate urge to return. They lay in silence for a while, watching the stars, relaxed and at peace. 

"Want to take your witchy to bed so we can get some sleep?"

He smiled, turning his head for a quick kiss. "That's an offer I would be a fool to refuse."

They gathered their things, turned off the lights and returned to the silent villa, bed calling. 

#John Tracy #Selene is the worst person to watch a movie with #it's 3am #There goes his peace and quiet #Thunderbirds #thunderbirds 2015 #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds are go #Fan fic #fan fiction #fan fic update #fan fic stuff #fun stuff

[fauveshumankaiju]

uncle Ni...

He told Ni first.

Actually, he didn’t tell anyone at first. He threw up in the bathroom of the family practice clinic, then sat on the bench in front of the parking lot for an hour before driving to CVS to get mouthwash and splash some water on his face at the drinking fountain outside. After a little bit of vacillating he also grabbed some prenatal vitamins on the way out. If all else failed, he could always take them while not pregnant, after all. Baby vitamins probably wouldn’t hurt adult Rodan.

Then he sat at the beach for another hour, watching the water lap at the sand. It was fall and chilly and overcast, even in Monsuta, which was rarely properly cold.

He thought, for the first time in a while, about his own family. Wondered how they were doing, wherever they were. They didn’t seem to want to have a lot to do with him – he wondered if they would if they knew that he was involved with a foreign billionaire. He wondered if they knew how much he’d changed since he saw them last. Not that he particularly cared to find out.

One hand resting on his stomach, he stared up at the white sky and thought about what kind of a parent he’d make, if he ended up being one. It’d been a month, apparently; he couldn’t remember what he’d done in that past month, but he was a chemist. He handled all kinds of weird teratogens, he’d had a few glasses of wine, he definitely hadn’t taken his prenatal folate supplements. His brain was helpfully providing him with all the weird mutations he’d learned about in his undergrad intro to biochem courses, which really was NOT helping the anxiety. Of course he’d fuck this up before it even started.  How was he supposed to know he should be looking out for getting knocked up? He was a man, for god’s sakes, his anatomy was different from most, sure, but he dutifully stuck himself in the ass with a syringe once a month to claim the right to shave, sweat like a stuck hog and, oh, yeah, not get pregnant.  Turns out the last purported effect of hormones was false advertising.

After some more staring and shivering in misery, he went home.  Home being the Ghidorah’s apartment downtown – at least one of the brothers was bound to be there at any point in time and Rodan had a spare key if they weren’t. Ichi was usually flying around the world or in a conference call; Ni was in and out of town doing his own inscrutable work, but at least San might be there.

I can’t face San, he thought sickly as he locked his bike in the underground garage and keyed in to the elevator. He thought of San’s sharp, gentle face, the boyish joy on it when he found something new and interesting to play with. He would say whatever Rodan wanted him to say - even now that Rodan didn’t know what that would be. He’d bend over backwards to make Rodan happy even if it wasn’t what the Ghidorahs wanted. Rodan would say – “I wanna do this, high speed low drag, let’s have this baby and raise it and be domestic and shit, congrats on your new heir, I guess, I promise I didn’t do this intentionally to trap you and your rich powerful brothers into a relationship with me or something like that,” and San would be game. He could also say “I’m telling you this just to let you know, but there’s no way in hell that I’m gonna let this thing live rent-free in the body I spent my life trying to get, so it’s eviction time.” And San would be game for that, too.

San would be a pretty good dad, Rodan thought. Masochistic tendencies aside he was gentle and attentive to the things he wanted to keep safe.  He thought of the Dane bobbing a toddler on his knee while he watched cadaver dissection films and huffed in amusement.

The elevator up to the penthouse apartment had bizarre club-like lighting, low and purple-blue. It stuck out to him right now for some reason. Rodan studied himself in the elevator mirror as it dinged upwards. Small, lean, dressing nicer than he used to in black jeans and a bright button-down but still sporting his old red leather jacket and combat boots. He leaned in closer, staring himself in the eyes, evaluating. The face in the mirror looked back at him, brazen and daring.

30 and still sporting a mohawk. Bitching.  Didn’t look like much of a father, though.

Daddy, his mind (un)helpfully supplied.

The elevator opened and he let himself into the one door on the other side of the anteroom. Theirs was the only place on the top floor of the building; it had the best view of the city, the Monsuta bay arcing out into the distance through the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room, the glinting buildings on view in Ichi’s rarely-used bedroom. Rodan liked the view, but the building itself was always a little cold for his taste.

He kicked off his boots into the hall closet when he got in, jangling his keys as advance warning.

“I’m home!” he called. He’d been out for the past few days and staying overnight at his own apartment, since it was closer to work. San had been bothering him about moving in with them for weeks but Rodan liked to try to preserve this last vestige of independence while he still could – the Ghidorahs were overgenerous with him, but life had always taught Rodan that other people’s kindness came with strings attached.

“On the couch,” Niels called from the long, flat couch in the living room.

Rodan dropped his shopping bag on the counter and joined the middle brother on the couch.  Ni was dressed in a devastatingly fashion-forward flightsuit, the top zipped down and tied about his waist over a sleeveless turtleneck. His eyes flicked upwards as Rodan collapsed onto the couch next to him – he didn’t respond, as usual.

“How’s it going?” Rodan ventured. It was hard to tell, with Ni, whether he was in a conversational mood, but it seemed rude not to greet him. Not that the middle Ghidorah ever had any compunction about that.

Ni was on his desk-sized tablet, surrounded by fabric swatches and upholstery books like a king holding a very strange patchwork court.  Peeking at the screen on his lap Rodan saw a collage of floor plans and schematics, probably for the Xilien apartment complex that was nearing completion on the south side of Monsuta. Once the building was done, Ni and San would get to work decorating while Ichi took care of the business side of the development business. Ichi didn’t talk about work at home, though, so Rodan’s familiarity with the corporation came mostly from watching Ni fling inspiration images across his tablet screen and fume over comically large paper architecture diagrams.

“Fine,” Ni tapped his pencil against his lips. “We are getting somewhere, finally.”

“Yeah?”

“M-hm. The issue with the climate control – it has all been sorted out. I’m going to start finishing the walls next week.”

“Wow, that’s a quick turnaround time for contracting.”

“Ech, there are only so many painting companies in this town, and they can only refuse so many of our generous offers.  Principles, money. No contest.” He sounded satisfied, which explained his unusually effusive mood.  After a second, he remembered politeness. “How are you?”

“Pregnant.”

“H-what?”

Rodan tapped himself on the stomach and smiled thinly.

Ni’s eyebrows shot up to his fringe. A moment. He cocked his head owlishly.  Rodan pursed his lips and nodded.

“How?”

“Are you asking about the mechanics? Because it’s like-“ Rodan made a circle with one thumb and forefinger and stuck the other pointer finger inside. “-you know..”

“Jesus kristus, stop that!”

“You do know something about sex, right? They had sex ed back in Denmark?”

Ni set his tablet briskly on the coffee table and collected himself for a second. Rodan almost had the good sense to be scared. Ni was normally restrained, cool and aloof, but this wasn’t a normal situation. This was a very Ni-will-lose-his-cool-and-get-real-scary situation.

“They don’t know about it yet,” Rodan supplied quickly. “I don’t know how to tell them. If. I tell them. I don’t need to, I could just take care of it on my own and it won’t be a problem. I thought that one of you should know about it, at least, so you can weigh in on it, since on a molecular level it’s technically genetically your kid too, so you have a say in what happens, and if you’re angry then at least I know Ichi definitely will be to so I can just figure out what to do based on what you do-“

Ni cut him off with a single finger and an icy stare. He’d pushed his sunglasses up to the top of his head after rubbing his face.

“... You talk so much.”

“Yeah, bastard, I’m nervous.”

“You think that we’re going to be unhappy about it.”

Rodan exhaled and settled back into the couch. Damn uncomfortable piece of furniture. “Well, yeah. I’m not exactly-“ he gestured at himself “prime 1-percent relationship material.”

Ni didn’t respond, staring at him.

“Not that I think I’m less than you guys, obviously, it’s just – if you had the choice, you probably would have wanted to be tied down to someone else. Someone you could be seen out with and not worry about what some gossip site would say about you slumming with your trashy American boyfriend. Someone Ichi could take to dinner parties in Europe, someone who could take San out every night when he gets into his weird moods, someone you could trust.  And this whole thing is just going to tie you down to me, and then I’m going to…” let you down, he thought lamely.

Ni was still staring at him. Rodan swallowed and looked away with weak finality.

In one swift movement the Dane swung over to the far side of the couch, slamming one leg down over Rodan’s lap to straddle him and planting his hands on his shoulders, pushing him into the couch. Rodan cursed and tried to grab his arms to push him off but he got batted away. Fuck, he forgot how strong Ni was. All that construction and jiu jitsu. Well, if he had to die, this wasn’t the worst way to go, strangled by his lovers’ twin brother.

But Ni wasn’t trying to kill him, at least not right now. In fact, it felt almost like he was trying to be gentle, which felt as unnatural as his attempts at speaking Spanish sounded.  His grip was soft as he raised a hand, reaching out to touch Rodan’s face, before deciding against it and resting it on his shoulder again. Rodan let out the breath he was holding.

“If they find out, they are going to do everything in their power to convince you to keep them.”

“Why would they do that?” Rodan breathed. Ichi, he meant. San, he couldn’t imagine having a strong opinion on his potential fatherhood.

“Because they’re our blood,” Ni said slowly, looking down at Rodan’s chest. “The thing that separates us from the rest of the world, those crass dumb creatures that we have to deal with outside, is our blood. It ties us together. It makes us who we are.  It’s inescapable and irrefutable. And now you share that blood, too. You and the children you’d have are part of our family no matter what. You understand that, Rodan, yes? You are part of our family now. You are Ghidorah.”  He clapped Rodan’s cheeks in his hands, part slap and part affectionate tap, like he always did to San. “If you talk about yourself like you did I’ll get very angry with you. You are Ghidorah. Nobody insults Ghidorah, even a Ghidorah.”

“You’re not… mad?”

Ni shrugged, then made a circle with the fingers of one hand and stuck his other hand’s pointer finger in. “I don’t know what else I expected when this started happening.”

“Yeah, well, my bad. I didn’t do my research.”

“Neither did we.”

“Don’t blame yourself, Ni, you’re, like, 99% not the father.”

“Genetically, you said, I might as well be.”

“Well – yeah, you got me there.” Rodan sighed, feeling himself relax. Then, a little more seriously - “So what do you think I should do?”

Ni looked down at him, arms crossed, his face arranged into a carefully neutral mask. “Do whatever you like. Don’t worry about Ichi and San, though. Your children will want for nothing with us as their fathers.  Just don’t tell them about your having them right now unless you’re completely sure you want to have the children.”

“Children?” Rodan scoffed. “Plural? No way in hell I’m doing this again. If I’m doing this at all.”

“Oh, of course,” Ni said casually. “They’re going to be twins, at least.”

“Oh! Are they.”

“Yes. They’re Ghidorah.”

“That’s a pretty bold declaration, Doctor Niels.”

“And mark my words, it’s true. We always come in multiples.”  Ni swung off of Rodan’s lap and pushed himself back into his couch corner where he stretched himself over the armrest like a cat.  Rodan suddenly missed his weight and the spicy smell of his aftershave and he had to mentally slap himself down when he had the split-second urge to go crawl into Ni’s lap. He might be surprisingly cool with being an uncle, but that didn’t mean that Rodan could push the tenuous peace that he’d been trying to build since they’d met.

He rested his head on the couch and stared up at the ceiling. Uncle Niels. He’d probably give the best presents.  Ni was up all night most nights anyway, he could feed the kid if they woke up. Probably not with the rest of the messy childcare business, but Rodan and San could probably take care of that, and Ni might even end up liking the kid once they were old enough to hold a conversation.

Oh, god, here he was thinking like he’d already made some kind of decision. What would Mothra do in this situation? She was the most has-her-shit-together person that he knew. She’d probably make a list of pros and cons, and then Goji would encourage her to stop thinking so hard about it and go with her gut, and then – yeah, not helpful.

Who was he kidding?  He was Rodan Rodan. He lived his life on the razor’s edge. He burned down a building and got himself tied up in a relationship with the violent-minded billionaires who owned it. Equations were for the lab, and even then, Rodan did his best work when he forgot about measurements and mathematics and went with his gut.  That’s what got him here, a priceless apartment in a beachside city with a job he loved and a life that never stopped being interesting and terrifying and beautiful. With three interesting and terrifying and beautiful partners who might consider staying with him here for a little while.

How do you feel, right now? He asked himself. Ni’s stylus tapped; the heating had turned on. Outside the clouds were boiling but the two of them were safe together, peaceful.

He didn’t know where he’d be in eight months, how he’d feel then, but right now? He smiled. He’d go with his gut.

#pregnancy ment #next time: Ichi has a wholeass breakdown #RODAD! #fauve writes #i just wanted to write some damm daophin backstory #Ni is not the MOST in character but i just drew this out and wanted to get through it! nd on to the good development! #rodorah #ni #writing

[winterisakillerwrites]

Love & Great Buildings - Chapter Four

Chapter: 4/19

Character/Relationship: Tom Hiddleston/Rosemary Mathews (OFC)

Genre: Romance/Angst

Summary: Three years have passed and a chance encounter brings Tom and Rosie together again. Can time make any difference or are they doomed to repeat their mistakes.

Rating: M

Author’s Notes/Warnings:  This is part nine of Last Minutes & Lost Evenings. Many thanks to @redfoxwritesstuff​ for listening to me ramble incessantly about  this story and being a sounding board when I needed it. You are a lifesaver, even if your stories break my heart.

Previous

CHAPTER FOUR

  Rosemary cracked her eyes open, squinting in the bright sunlight that had flooded the room. It took several minutes for her to shake the disorientation of sleep off enough to recognize the familiar cluttered mess of Jules’ living room. She sat up and immediately regretted such hasty action. Her vision swam and it felt as though someone had taken a sledgehammer to her temples. Repeatedly. “Oh God,” she croaked and winced at the grating sound of her own voice. “Kill me now.”

 A pained groan sounded from somewhere near the couch. Jules. Rosemary took a perverse sort of pleasure knowing that she wasn’t the only one feeling much like death warmed over. God, they had sorely overdone it.

 “Only if you kill me first.” Jules’ voice was muffled by several layers of blanket that, in any other circumstance, would have been utterly hysterical.

 “Not quite how that works.”

 She fumbled feebly for her purse, seeking the blessed paracetamol she kept stored there. And water. God, she needed water. But water was in the kitchen. Going to the kitchen involved standing. Standing was something she knew she absolutely did not want to do. She silently cheered as her fingers clutched around the small, plastic bottle and pulled it from her bag. Step one, complete. Now came the hard part.

 Gritting her teeth, Rosemary struggled to pull herself first onto her knees and then slowly, so so slowly, to her feet. The world only faded in and out of focus for a few moments and once it settled, she steeled herself for the harrowing journey towards the kitchen. I am never drinking again.

 One cautious step and then another. Slowly, she stumbled into the kitchen, blatantly ignoring the switch for the overhead light. She very much doubted she could handle the bright flickering of fluorescent lighting at this point. The kitchen was dim, the lighting from the hall providing enough illumination for Rosemary to locate and grab a glass from the cabinet above the sink. She hesitated for a moment before grabbing another and shutting the cabinet door. If she was in desperate need of water than no doubt so was Jules.

 Two glasses full of cool tap water, Rosemary made her way back into the living room. She paused at the lump of blankets on the couch. “Water,” She intoned before setting the glass onto the wooden top of the coffee table. A pale arm poked its way out from beneath the covers and the voice underneath mumbled thanks.

 Rosemary laughed, wincing at the pain it caused. Right. Paracetamol. She needed paracetamol and now. She grabbed the pill bottle she’d placed on the table and deftly popped its lid, pouring two tablets into her hand. She washed them down with water and walked back towards Jules’ prone form.

 “Here,” she stated, dropping the bottle on top of the blankets.

 Jules pulled the covers off her head, grimacing at the brightness. “Please tell me you threw paracetamol at me. Because if you tossed a packet of gum on me I will kill you.” She attempted to glare at Rosemary but the effect was diminished by her overall look of pained confusion.

 “You’d have to catch me first, sunshine, and in such a state I think I can outrun you, hangover or no.” Rosemary smirked, taking pity on her pathetic friend, grabbed the bottle and thrust it into Jules’ outstretched hand.

 “Bless you.”

 “I’m not doing this out of the goodness of my heart,” Rosemary quipped, “You are a bloody bitch when you’re hungover and I can only deal with one of those at a time.”

 Jules only response was a raised middle finger.

 Rosemary cocked an eyebrow, laughed, and then grimaced as another stab of pain flooded her temples.  She slowly lowered herself back onto her makeshift bed on the floor and grabbed the glass she’d left on the edge of the table. She quickly downed the rest of her water and closed her eyes, praying that the medication would kick in soon. It would be nice to not feel like her head was going to explode at any moment.

                                                         ___

  She awoke again several hours later feeling marginally more human. Pushing herself up she made a quick dash to the bathroom and then back into the kitchen for more water. She found Jules there, sitting on one of the bar stools, sipping a still steaming mug of coffee.

 “Is there any more of that?” Jules nodded at the French press on the counter and Rosemary wasted no time grabbing her own mug. “I know I should stick with water right now, but fuck me if I actually care at the moment.”

 Jules snorted into her mug. “Same.”

 Blessed caffeine flooded her system and she felt almost human again. She cocked her head at her friend. “What time is it?”

 “Time for you to invest in a watch.”

 Rosemary rolled her eyes, “Ha, very funny. Your wit astounds me.”

 Jules smirked, “I do my best.” She took another sip of coffee. “Half one I think.”

 Had she not placed her mug on the counter it would have fallen from her hands and clattered to the floor. “What?” she breathed.

 Fucking hell. Fucking, fucking, FUCKING hell!

 She dashed back into the living room. She heard Jules splutter after her, but paid it little mind. Dropping to her knees, she grabbed her bag from the floor and tore through it searching desperately for her phone. She had to call the store, had to make sure everything was alright. Max and Hanna were there by themselves. Yes, she had trained them and she knew they knew what they were doing; but fucking hell she was supposed to be at the shop until things got firmly settled.

 But the damned thing wasn’t there. She cursed aloud, dumping the contents onto the floor and shifting through them. Maybe she’d missed it.

 No, it wasn’t there. She let out a groan of frustration. Come on, Mathews, think! Had she used her phone after she’d left the shop that evening? She had a half hazy memory of holding her phone…By the couch!

 Rosemary jumped up and darted for the couch. She finally found it hidden underneath one of the couch cushions. How it had gotten there she didn’t know. But she’d found it.  She made quick work of unlocking the screen. She opened the dial screen then the ‘recent calls’ log; half fearing she’d missed their call. She let her eyes fall to the screen and nearly dropped her phone. rly seen and understood the toll it had taken on him. All thought of the store and of Max and Hanna flew from her mind.

 Oh no! No. No. No.  Please, god, no.

 She stared at the ‘recent calls’ log in abject horror. Tom’s name was there. Why the fuck was his name there? And at two in the morning? The log listed the call as lasting nearly fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes? Oh dear god in heaven…

 A cold dread settled in her stomach. What the fuck had she done?

 “Please god, Jules, tell me you didn’t let me call Tom last night…” Her voice shook with both fear and humiliation. Of all the stupid fucking things…

 Jules stood in the doorway of the kitchen with her arms crossed at her chest, momentary confusion clouded her features. “What?”

 Rosemary paced the living room, hands clenched at her sides, mind racing. “Tom. I called Tom last night…Or well this morning. Why did I do that?” She groaned and covered her face with her hands.

 “Because he’s a tit,” Jules retorted, matter of fact.

 Rosemary flushed in anger, “But that doesn’t mean I need to call him pissed out of my mind and tell him that now do I?”

 Jules shrugged her shoulders and chuckled. “To be fair, I didn’t think you’d actually do that. You know that anything I say after a bottle and a half of wine is not to be trusted…”

 “SOBER me knows that!” Rosemary hissed back, cutting Jules off. “But drunk me apparently can’t be fucking trusted.”

 Snippets of conversation flashed in her mind. Her own angry voice slinging accusations and Tom’s confused and hurt replies. She felt her chest tighten as she fought to breathe. If she’d said half the things she thought she had…She shut her eyes tightly, trying to quell the panic that was roiling inside her.

 Not good. Very, very not good.

  “You okay?”

 “No.” She shook her head and slumped onto the couch, cradling her head in her hands. She heard Jules’s light footsteps and then felt the couch dip under her weight as Jules settled beside her.

“It’ll be alright,” Jules reassured as she wrapped an arm around Rosemary’s shoulders, squeezing them gently. “So you told him off, it’s not like he didn’t deserve it.”

 Rosemary snapped her head up. “You don’t get it, Jules. What I said…Or think I said, I can’t remember for sure…Jules, I had no right. None!”

 She took a deep, trying to calm herself. It was little use. Her brain refused to be silent; fragments of her words, hazy and disjointed echoed loudly.

 ‘Arrogant, self-righteous bastard…’

 ‘…No wonder you can’t get your shit together.’

 ‘What I ever saw in you…’

 Rosemary shook her head, trying to clear the words and the rising sense of shame they brought. She’d been callous and cruel and the worst part was she couldn’t remember half of it. She was certain she was about to be sick. Head between your legs, the belated thought skittered across her mind. Put your head between your legs and breathe.

 So she did.

 And slowly the panic began to recede and she could breathe without gasping. Belatedly, she felt Jules stand and heard her steps as she shuffled from the room. And then she was alone.

 She found herself staring at the phone she’d dropped onto the coffee table. It sat there, inert and seemingly harmless. Without conscious thought she bent and picked it up, turning the screen on with a few taps of her fingers. Her hands shook as she stared at his name in her contacts list.

 All of the anger and uncertainty of the day before had faded. She hadn’t forgotten what he had done and how it had hurt her but it didn’t seem nearly as important. All she wanted was to fix this. To fix the shaky truce they had at least been trying to build. To heal the hurt she caused. But actually reaching out and doing so terrified her beyond words.

 But if I don’t try…

 Rosemary took a steadying breath and with shaking hands hit dial.  

 The phone rang once, then twice. And then a click and the line disconnected. Her heart sunk like a stone in her chest as she realized what had happened with a sick and certain dread. He’d hung up on her. She couldn’t blame him; not in the slightest. Hell, she would have hung up on her too. Guilt gnawed in the pit of her stomach. She didn’t know what to do. She could feel the desperate panic of uncertainty roaring its ugly head.

 Just try again, her brain urged. You need to try.

 With determination Rosemary redialed and held her breath. Three rings this time. Her mind whirled. She had no idea what she should say, or even could say, but knowing she had to say something regardless. Knowing that she had to try to apologize, to fix the mess she’d unleashed. There was a pause and then his voicemail kicked in.

 “Tom...it…it’s Rosie. I know you probably…” She halted and tried to gather her thoughts. “There is so much I need to…I’m sorry. Please, just call me back. Please.” She hung up quickly, and let out a shuddering breath. This was not the sort of conversation she could have with his voicemail. Doing so would lead to more confusion and the real, and terrifying, risk of further pain and misunderstanding. She needed to talk to him and he wouldn’t talk to her. She didn’t know what to do.

 Rosemary closed her eyes and tried to think. Panic and indecision whirled within her. What could she do? How could she get him to answer the phone and let her explain; let her apologize? She didn’t have the first idea but she couldn’t sit back and do nothing.

 Without a word, she shoved her scattered belongings back into her purse and grabbed her coat from where she had tossed it the night before. She needed to think and she couldn’t do that here. She called a farewell to Jules and shivered as she stepped into the weak sunlight of the late winter afternoon.

 The wind was brisk as she sped her way towards the Underground station a few blocks from Jules’ door. She pulled her coat tightly against her and joined the queue down the escalator and into the station. She boarded the next train, still lost in her thoughts and it wasn’t until she looked up and realized that her change point was two stops back that she fully came back to herself.

 “Shit,” she muttered under her breath. Nothing for it but to get off at the next station and switch trains there. But the next stop came and went and she remained on the train. She didn’t think about what she was doing until she saw a familiar station come into sight.

 Rosemary stood and exited the carriage with cautious determination. If he wouldn’t answer when she called then she would go to him.

                                                        ___

  Rosemary pressed the buzzer on the black metal gate before shoving her hands back into the pockets of her coat. It was absolutely freezing and she resisted the urge to hop from foot to foot to keep warm. As she stood, her mind flashed back to the last time she’d stood here and the uncertainty and dread she’d felt then. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

 She jumped as Tom’s garbled voice came over the speaker above the buzzer. “What?”

 “I know I’m probably the last person you want to see, but please I need to talk to you. Just give me ten minutes of your time. Please.” Her voice shook at the very real possibility that he wouldn’t open the door. She put on a brave face, if he didn’t then it would be nothing less than she deserved.

 Several minutes of silence passed. Rosemary blinked back tears and prepared herself to walk away. The clink of the gate unlocking stunned her into immobility momentarily. She blinked for several seconds before pulling it open and walking towards the front door, heart pounding in her chest.

 Tom stood in the doorway, blue eyes cold and sharp as steel, his arms crossed defensively across his chest. This was such a far cry from the warm and caring man she’d known. He stepped aside without a word and she made her way into the warmth of the entry way. Her eyes darted around the hallway, taking in the familiar simplicity of his home. She was heartened to see that despite the years, nothing much had changed. Tom still hadn’t spoken and she fought to maintain a steady grip on her emotions. He’d let her in. That was something.

 Without a word, she made her way quickly into the living room. Again, she was heartened to see the familiar walls of books and simple but comfortable furniture. She felt rather than saw Tom follow behind her. His silent presence was unnerving and she fought the urge to turn tail and run. She refused to be a coward.

 They settled; her on the chair near the window and him on the sofa several feet away. Neither spoke. The silence in the room was near deafening and Rosemary wanted nothing more than for it to break. But Tom wasn’t talking and she feared that if left to his own devices, he wouldn’t say another word to her.

 Rosemary could feel his eyes boring into her and she fought to keep herself from flinching. She took a deep breath and braced her hands on her knees, trying desperately to think of where to start, what she could possibly say. The truth, her mind screamed. Tell him the truth. You owe him that at the very least.

 “Tom, I just…I don’t…” She stumbled over her thoughts and had to stop to gather herself before trying again. “God, Tom,” she whispered, dropping her head into her hands. She could feel his eyes on her and the words nearly stuck in her throat. Still she pushed onward, needing to apologize even though she knew there was little chance she could. “I am so so sorry for last night. I was completely out of my head. I shouldn’t have said that. I had no right to…”

 “Which part?” He asked cutting her off. His voice was level but she could detect the hint of underlying tension as he seemed to struggle in vain to contain himself. “The part where you called me ‘an arrogant, self-centered, selfish, prick of a bastard’ or when you said that I only date blonde, dimwitted pop stars and Hollywood starlets because they are the only ones who can put up with my ‘massive ego’ and ‘desperate need to be a media whore’? I’m paraphrasing here, mind you, but I think I got the gist of it.”

 Rosemary squeezed her eyes shut. That summer had always been a sore spot for Tom and she’d known it. He rarely, if ever, talked of it but when he had she had clearly seen and understood the toll it had taken on him. Throwing that in his face had been nothing short of cruel.

 She’d never felt so wretched in her entire life. He’d hurt her, yes. God had he hurt her. But he’d never done so intentionally. He’d been misguided and selfish, but he’d never set out with the intent to cause her pain. She had. She’d wanted him to hurt like she’d hurt so she used the one thing she knew without a doubt would leave him bleeding.

 “All if it.” The words were barely a whisper and with great effort she raised her head and met his gaze. “I know it’s too little too late but I am so, so sorry. I had no right to throw any of that at you. It’s not true and I had absolutely no right to say it. I wish I could take it back. I wish I’d never said it in the first place.” Tears were flowing freely down her cheeks and she wiped them away as quickly as she could. She didn’t have the right to be upset. Not at this. She wasn’t the injured party in this and she damn well knew it.

 Tom sat in stony silence, his eyes burning with hurt and fury as he stared first at her and then at the table before him. She tried to ignore the shiver of unease his gaze sent up her spine. She wished he would speak, would say something, anything.

 “Well you did say it and you can’t take it back. That’s the funny thing about words, whether your intent is to help or harm, once they’re out there, you can’t take them back.”

 Rosemary drew a shuddering breath and fought to regain her composure. He was right, of course. She’d known it from the second she’d realized just what she had done. And she couldn’t change it. “I know that, I do. But that doesn’t mean I don’t wish it weren’t the case.” She paused, taking another deep breath and gathering herself once more. “I was drunk and angry and I wanted to hurt you. It’s not an excuse, I don’t have any excuse for lashing out at you. But I did and it was wrong. So very wrong of me. I know that that doesn’t fix or solve anything, but I am so dreadfully sorry.”

 It was Tom’s turn to breathe deeply. His eyes drifted closed for a moment and his face clenched then relaxed. “I know you’re sorry, Rosemary, but right now that is simply not enough.” He paused again, resting his hands on his knees. “I get that I hurt you and that I’ve been a selfish, cowardly prick but you took it too far and I can’t deal with that. Not now.” He scrubbed his jaw with his left hand. “I think I’d like you to go now.”

 She flinched as if struck but quickly gathered herself and nodded silently. Fair enough, she thought. That is bloody fair enough. Without another word she grabbed her purse from the floor beside her chair and walked quietly out of the house.

Next

#Tom Hiddleston #Tom Hiddleston RPF #Tom Hiddleston x oc #Tom Hiddleston x ofc #Tom Hiddleston x original character #tom hiddleston x original female character #Tom & Roise #Love & Great Buildings

[finderskeepersff]

42. Part 2

Why do I have to be in this situation, I don’t want this for either of them. Staring at Myles “tell me this Kyle, am I going to be a single mother? Does my child have to go through what I went through, to know his dad is around but not know him” Sofia’ voice broke “Sofia, don’t cry” Myles placed his hand on her shoulder “I’m hurting for my child, not me” she wiped her tears “hope you’re both happy, I cried on my birthday. Anyways, I’m going to bed and when you do see him tell him thanks for nothing” Myles eyeballed me “I will talk to you” I said turning around as she waddled off, she is waddling and it’s kind of cute “Sofia, are you ok?” Her friend asked “Kyle are you upsetting Sofia on her birthday?” Amira’ eyes bulged out at me “nah, I’m not. I just need to speak to her in private, come Myles. We will talk to you in private” I don’t want this for her, I can only tell her the truth “I’m not crying, it’s ok. I’m just pregnant and highly emotional” Sofia lied, hitting Myles shoulder for him to come with me. Amira keeps eyeballing me but I am not making Sofia upset on purpose, that is not me. I am sad for her, I’m also reluctant in getting Cassius to come back if he isn’t ready “you going upstairs?” Seeing Sofia on the step “yes, you can walk around me if you like. I’m slow” putting my head down “you go first, it’s cool” I’m not for this at all, why make women cry “she is taking her sweet time” Myles said in a whisper, looking up and seeing Sofia barely move “you think this baby going to be big?” I asked “it’s big on kicking me, I think so or it could be me gaining” I don’t think she has, it looks like it’s all baby.

Looking behind me, Myles closed the bedroom door “what hurts me the most is that, I have accepted that I will be a single mother but deep down I haven’t accepted that he would ditch me like this. If I knew I was going to be alone then I wouldn’t have had a baby with him, he promised me he would be here for the baby. He isn’t and you both know where he is and you are protecting him, you both are to blame” she pointed at us “I was all for telling you, I was all for bringing you to the place” Myles bitch ass defending himself “it wasn’t like that!” I spat glaring at Myles “so the deal is, and I don’t think it’s true. Cassius thinks you have had other men or you’re looking to move on. He called, well Celine called Leyton and another man was looking after him, that really played on his mind” Sofia’ mouth fell open “another man, you mean Jasmine’ fucking ex! I haven’t even done that, I never cheated or looked at another man. Cassius should know this, that is dumb on his end! Men scare me because of the way they see me and he knows this” taking in a deep breath, I am stressed “that is how he felt, he admitted that it was never about the money. He didn’t care for it but it was you he wanted. Cassius, is a user. He does take drugs occasionally” I don’t know how to explain “just for fun? Who fucking does that?” Sofia half shouted “he’s built like a machine to do that shit, I know. But he’s used before, he would be at Celine’ place getting high as shit. He is bad, we accept it for what it is. He got locked up, he came out clean, he met you. Life is good. Then it’s happened again and I couldn’t have him be near you Sofia because if he did something stupid then he would regret that. He openly asked to leave and for help so he is, but now he’s at peace, he’s happy I guess. He’s now fucking around not wanting to leave and purposely trying to use again, he’s saying because he has nothing to do. Here nobody will kill him. Cassius should have said but I don’t know” I am stressed too “he said he never wanted to scare me away” Sofia mumbled “but he’s so normal and ok?” She don’t get it “I mean he is when he has had a bit, Carnell fucked that boy up and we can’t do anything. He’s seen shit at a young age, his dad made sure he saw the worst to build him up to be this and I guess he does it to forget but I know my nigga loves you. He was telling me it’s your birthday, the baby is due and he will be thirty, he ain’t lost his mind but I feel he wants too. He is so gifted, I am sorry Sofia but I thought he would be back but it’s taking longer” I can only tell the truth.

Sofia walked off slowly towards the balcony, mysef and Myles just looked at each other not knowing what to say “you did this yourself? The crib looks good” I am changing the subject I feel bad, I didn’t want to tell her because it’s stressful for her too “thanks, so he was taking while with me?” She asked, Sofia looks like she is thinking hard on something and I won’t even front she looks so tired “more than likely, he does though. He does it occasionally” Sofia grabbed the tablet from the side and started doing something “occasionally, right” she spoke as she continued to do something on the tablet and then walked off “I have done nothing but love that man” staring at Sofia as she walked towards this wall and it beeped, frowning at what she is doing and the wall came apart “that is Cassius safe?” I asked as Sofia pulled back the wall as it came apart “you’re right” she said as I walked towards her seeing the wall filled with money upon money, a row of drugs and two guns “I never knew” Sofia said as she pushed the wall back as it locked and she walked off “I didn’t” her voice broke and she shut the door to the bathroom.

I didn’t want to be in between this at all, I didn’t but I am now and I’m doing it because I feel for her “what you doing?” Turning to Myles “here, I’m calling him and you’re speaking” Myles can’t do shit for himself but then asks me, then again he will irritate Cassius “yo” Cassius answered “speak to Sofia” I said lowly “no, I’m ok with that. She’s ok without me, I’m ok without her. I can’t speak to her” what planet is he on “then why send flowers Cassius? What fucking game are you playing here, seriously” Sofia came out of the bathroom “I’m going to sleep now, thanks anyways” Sofia said, her eyes red as ever “she’s been crying, you made her cry” Cassius said down the phone “nah nigga you did, don’t blame me for anything” he is cheeky as fuck “let me speak to her” I don’t trust Cassius now, he may be an asshole to her “he wants to speak to you, Cassius that is” holding the phone out to her, Sofia sniffeled walking over to me “put it on speakerphone” she said, tapping my phone screen and pressing speakerphone “Cassius?” I said “I’m still here” he said as Sofia disconnected the call “I can’t, please just go” Sofia said through her sobs “I’m sorry” I apologised “please go” I feel so bad.

Myles held out the phone to me, Cassius rang back “why you put the phone down?” Cassius questioned, walking down the steps “she didn’t want to speak to you, from the sound of your voice she just cried. Why can’t you just come back? I am not pushing you or anything” I feel I am between these two now, it is not fair on me either “I just need time” Cassius simply said “time isn’t on your side brother, she is missing you. Anyways just be good, speak soon” disconnecting the call “so what we need to do is tell mama Warren, she needs to be here for Sofia. She looks like she is ready to have the baby and then it will be fine. I am not going to have that on my mind so we can do that. Cassius, he can be on the back burner until he is ready” turning to Myles “his dad would beat his ass for this this, Carnell don’t put up with that weak shit” Myles shook his head “this is what got him in there, so stop with the jokes” I pointed at Myles “we don’t do that pussy shit Kyle, we know that” sighing out “clearly what has happened, Sofia has bought that out of him. He has a heart my nigga and he always has, his dad was a fucking pill that made him just lose sight. I get it, we was scared of Carnell, you cried my nigga” I laughed “I remember you cried, and then Cassius got his ass beat. He saw his dad beat crackheads up, he saw him beat women up. He told us this, come on Myles” Myles put his head down “true” Myles is a whole dummy.

Kicking my bed covers away from me, I am so hot. Breathing out wiping my forehead, I know Cartier is awake because he is having a party in my stomach right now. Placing my hand on my stomach “calm down in there” stroking my stomach, I think he is ready to come out of the oven and I am ready for him to leave my body alone. Feeling a kick to my hand “you are so damn feisty” I guess I am awake and baby is awake too, slowly getting up out of bed. My tits are sore, my pussy is contracting so life is great for me. I feel so much more better than I did last night, I needed that rest even though it was my birthday I needed to just rest. It didn’t help hearing about Cassius, now I feel like I failed him because I didn’t see the signs. I am so upset for him in a way that I didn’t know, how did I know that Cassius was this, I know he had issues but drugs, I didn’t know. I just want him to see me, I want him to be here for our son and what is hurting me is that I am not getting that help from him. Forget me but what about Cartier, he deserves a father. He doesn’t want to see me then fine, but I know in my heart that I love him and he will be the only guy that I will ever love or let come near me, I just want my son with a father.

“Morning birthday girl” Olivia said, smiling at her “morning and my birthday is over, don’t mind me I am just comfortable like this” I laid out on the corner couch watching TV “you do you girl, whatever makes you comfy” Olivia touched my stomach, looking up at her “that is weird, a baby is in there. It is weird to see you pregnant but also you look so beautiful my friend” smiling at her “thank you, all I can say is that I am very sore and my boobs are aching me. Don’t do it” holding Olivia’ hand “I won’t, you do it for us and we can play with your baby” I chuckled “auntie better pay up too” Olivia walked off “girl, we going to Target and that is it, he better be coming New York though. We can babysit and you and Cassius can go and fuck yourselves crazy. You want some breakfast. I am making” I sighed out “why not, do it” she did offer to make some.

I have such anxiety, that anxiety is from the fact I don’t want my son to not have a dad. Screw the relationship, if it doesn’t happen then so be it but he promised me he would be here for this baby “you in deep thought, speak out loud them thoughts” dragging my eyes away from my daydream “just thinking, I am scared about giving birth you know how it is. I am just like what the fuck is going to happen, I am just wanting everything to go ok for my baby you know” Mia smiled at me “we are here for you if you need it” smiling back at her “you know what, I am not going to go around the subject but Cassius and I are taking a break. It is something we both decided that we needed for a while, he is around still so that is why” Mia’ mouth fell open and just pointed at me without saying a word “yes?” I know she got something to say “you both love each other so much? Are you being real right now?” nodding my head “it’s just something we both needed” I just wanted to get that out there, I am sick of them thinking something. I think I just need to focus on this baby, I need too because if he isn’t going to be here then I can’t be just worrying about him “and I can see in your eyes how sad you are Sofia, we are here for you” Mia said, looking down at my plate.

I laugh at this guy, he thinks I am high or I’m not with it but I am “you come back for more stories?” Henry sat down on the chair across from me “I never said they are just stories Cassius, I believe you. It’s good to talk about it. You continue to keep it inside of you it eats you inside and then you’re here with us, that is something you don’t want right? We have known each other for a while now” putting my cigarette out “people want me dead Henry, they could come here and shoot you and then me and we both dead” Henry put his hand up “I know who you are, we have police records and we can see it. I am being truthful with you so be truthful to yourself, there is always good in people” I am surprised he ain’t snitched on me “oh god” I sighed out stuffing my hands in my jacket pockets “it’s nice here, I enjoy the scene. It’s quiet, you hear boss so much it gets boring. But yeah I got pimped out by own dad” looking back at Henry “you mentioned this slightly last time, is this what triggers you to take?” I shrugged “I always take, look. I like you, you good people but I have a death sentence waiting out there for me and then you know” I talk in riddles all of the time with him “why don’t we speak on Sofia, how did you meet her? What happened?” Rubbing the side of my face “she gave me a heart bro” I need another cigarette now.

Walking with Henry, he is determined I talk “she was my first girlfriend, I never had a girlfriend. I just fucked with these women. I didn’t have the drive, the mindset for a woman to be with me like that. I can’t be loved but I ended up falling hard for Sofia, you see her and she is amazing. Everything is perfect, her mind, body, soul it’s perfect. But then I fell hard, and I realised I wanted to be this normal guy, I don’t want to die, I don’t have a death wish anymore. I have a son on the way and I am here. I can’t bring myself to leave” Shaking my head feeling the disappointment in my heart “have you spoken to her? Before coming here” I chuckled lightly “I scared her, I scared her. The person that I said would protect her, I protect her from everyone else but I couldn’t protect her from the person I became. They try and call me Jordan, he was slapping bitches around because my dad did, I had to put up with him. I had to hear my dad bully everyone in my house every day! I had to beat my own dad up and then people ask why I don’t have a heart, because what I don’t need is a heart. Then I have Sofia and I fucked up, I get these nightmares and I get these thoughts. I still see my dad beating these people up for drugs, I was so young. That woman, she begged me for help and I was just a kid. I just want to beat him so bad. I want to kill my own dad Henry, he taunts me every time and then says that’s my boy when I get angry. He hates Sofia because she has changed me, it’s a mess” I can’t even explain because it’s a mess “are you pushing Sofia away so you don’t have to choose?” Glaring at Henry “what do you mean?” What is he on “you speak on your dad a lot, you seem to obey your dad a lot, now with your dad not liking Sofia. Is this you choosing or is your usage of drugs going up is because you are stuck?” Staring at Henry licking my lips saying this, I don’t know how to answer this “it does seem to me your dad nurtured you into being this and he sounds like a proud man of you, but he always wants more from you because he knows you give, you need to maybe break those chains.”

#Chrianna #Chrianna FF #Fanfiction

[winterisakiller]

Love & Great Buildings: Chapter Four

Chapter: 4/19

Character/Relationship: Tom Hiddleston/Rosemary Mathews (OFC)

Genre: Romance/Angst

Summary: Three years have passed and a chance encounter brings Tom and Rosie together again. Can time make any difference or are they doomed to repeat their mistakes.

Rating: T (for now)

Author’s Notes/Warnings: This is part nine of Last Minutes and Lost Evenings. Many thanks to @redfoxwritesstuff​ for listening to me ramble incessantly about  this story and being a sounding board when I needed it. You are a lifesaver, even if your stories break my heart.

This story and its preceding one-shots can be also be found on AO3 under the username: winterisakiller (sparkinside)

Tag List: @tinchentitri @noplacelikehome77

Previous Chapter

CHAPTER FOUR

  Rosemary cracked her eyes open, squinting in the bright sunlight that had flooded the room. It took several minutes for her to shake the disorientation of sleep off enough to recognize the familiar cluttered mess of Jules’ living room. She sat up and immediately regretted such hasty action. Her vision swam and it felt as though someone had taken a sledgehammer to her temples. Repeatedly. “Oh God,” she croaked and winced at the grating sound of her own voice. “Kill me now.” 

A pained groan sounded from somewhere near the couch. Jules. Rosemary took a perverse sort of pleasure knowing that she wasn’t the only one feeling much like death warmed over. God, they had sorely overdone it. 

“Only if you kill me first.” Jules’ voice was muffled by several layers of blanket that, in any other circumstance, would have been utterly hysterical. 

“Not quite how that works.” 

She fumbled feebly for her purse, seeking the blessed paracetamol she kept stored there. And water. God, she needed water. But water was in the kitchen. Going to the kitchen involved standing. Standing was something she knew she absolutely did not want to do. She silently cheered as her fingers clutched around the small, plastic bottle and pulled it from her bag. Step one, complete. Now came the hard part. 

Gritting her teeth, Rosemary struggled to pull herself first onto her knees and then slowly, so so slowly, to her feet. The world only faded in and out of focus for a few moments and once it settled, she steeled herself for the harrowing journey towards the kitchen. I am never drinking again. 

One cautious step and then another. Slowly, she stumbled into the kitchen, blatantly ignoring the switch for the overhead light. She very much doubted she could handle the bright flickering of fluorescent lighting at this point. The kitchen was dim, the lighting from the hall providing enough illumination for Rosemary to locate and grab a glass from the cabinet above the sink. She hesitated for a moment before grabbing another and shutting the cabinet door. If she was in desperate need of water than no doubt so was Jules. 

Two glasses full of cool tap water, Rosemary made her way back into the living room. She paused at the lump of blankets on the couch. “Water,” She intoned before setting the glass onto the wooden top of the coffee table. A pale arm poked its way out from beneath the covers and the voice underneath mumbled thanks. 

Rosemary laughed, wincing at the pain it caused. Right. Paracetamol. She needed paracetamol and now. She grabbed the pill bottle she’d placed on the table and deftly popped its lid, pouring two tablets into her hand. She washed them down with water and walked back towards Jules’ prone form. 

“Here,” she stated, dropping the bottle on top of the blankets. 

Jules pulled the covers off her head, grimacing at the brightness. “Please tell me you threw paracetamol at me. Because if you tossed a packet of gum on me I will kill you.” She attempted to glare at Rosemary but the effect was diminished by her overall look of pained confusion. 

“You’d have to catch me first, sunshine, and in such a state I think I can outrun you, hangover or no.” Rosemary smirked, taking pity on her pathetic friend, grabbed the bottle and thrust it into Jules’ outstretched hand. 

“Bless you.” 

“I’m not doing this out of the goodness of my heart,” Rosemary quipped, “You are a bloody bitch when you’re hungover and I can only deal with one of those at a time.” 

Jules only response was a raised middle finger. 

Rosemary cocked an eyebrow, laughed, and then grimaced as another stab of pain flooded her temples.  She slowly lowered herself back onto her makeshift bed on the floor and grabbed the glass she’d left on the edge of the table. She quickly downed the rest of her water and closed her eyes, praying that the medication would kick in soon. It would be nice to not feel like her head was going to explode at any moment. 

                                                          ___

She awoke again several hours later feeling marginally more human. Pushing herself up she made a quick dash to the bathroom and then back into the kitchen for more water. She found Jules there, sitting on one of the bar stools, sipping a still steaming mug of coffee. 

“Is there any more of that?” Jules nodded at the French press on the counter and Rosemary wasted no time grabbing her own mug. “I know I should stick with water right now, but fuck me if I actually care at the moment.” 

Jules snorted into her mug. “Same.” 

Blessed caffeine flooded her system and she felt almost human again. She cocked her head at her friend. “What time is it?” 

“Time for you to invest in a watch.” 

Rosemary rolled her eyes, “Ha, very funny. Your wit astounds me.” 

Jules smirked, “I do my best.” She took another sip of coffee. “Half one I think.” 

Had she not placed her mug on the counter it would have fallen from her hands and clattered to the floor. “What?” she breathed. 

Fucking hell. Fucking, fucking, FUCKING hell! 

She dashed back into the living room. She heard Jules splutter after her, but paid it little mind. Dropping to her knees, she grabbed her bag from the floor and tore through it searching desperately for her phone. She had to call the store, had to make sure everything was alright. Max and Hanna were there by themselves. Yes, she had trained them and she knew they knew what they were doing; but fucking hell she was supposed to be at the shop until things got firmly settled. 

But the damned thing wasn’t there. She cursed aloud, dumping the contents onto the floor and shifting through them. Maybe she’d missed it. 

No, it wasn’t there. She let out a groan of frustration. Come on, Mathews, think! Had she used her phone after she’d left the shop that evening? She had a half hazy memory of holding her phone…By the couch! 

Rosemary jumped up and darted for the couch. She finally found it hidden underneath one of the couch cushions. How it had gotten there she didn’t know. But she’d found it.  She made quick work of unlocking the screen. She opened the dial screen then the ‘recent calls’ log; half fearing she’d missed their call. She let her eyes fall to the screen and nearly dropped her phone. All thought of the store and of Max and Hanna flew from her mind.

 Oh no! No. No. No.  Please, god, no. 

She stared at the ‘recent calls’ log in abject horror. Tom’s name was there. Why the fuck was his name there? And at two in the morning? The log listed the call as lasting nearly fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes? Oh dear god in heaven… 

A cold dread settled in her stomach. What the fuck had she done? 

“Please god, Jules, tell me you didn’t let me call Tom last night…” Her voice shook with both fear and humiliation. Of all the stupid fucking things… 

Jules stood in the doorway of the kitchen with her arms crossed at her chest, momentary confusion clouded her features. “What?” 

Rosemary paced the living room, hands clenched at her sides, mind racing. “Tom. I called Tom last night…Or well this morning. Why did I do that?” She groaned and covered her face with her hands. 

“Because he’s a tit,” Jules retorted, matter of fact. 

Rosemary flushed in anger, “But that doesn’t mean I need to call him pissed out of my mind and tell him that now do I?” 

Jules shrugged her shoulders and chuckled. “To be fair, I didn’t think you’d actually do that. You know that anything I say after a bottle and a half of wine is not to be trusted…” 

“SOBER me knows that!” Rosemary hissed back, cutting Jules off. “But drunk me apparently can’t be fucking trusted.” 

Snippets of conversation flashed in her mind. Her own angry voice slinging accusations and Tom’s confused and hurt replies. She felt her chest tighten as she fought to breathe. If she’d said half the things she thought she had…She shut her eyes tightly, trying to quell the panic that was roiling inside her. 

Not good. Very, very not good. 

“You okay?” 

“No.” She shook her head and slumped onto the couch, cradling her head in her hands. She heard Jules’s light footsteps and then felt the couch dip under her weight as Jules settled beside her.

“It’ll be alright,” Jules reassured as she wrapped an arm around Rosemary’s shoulders, squeezing them gently. “So you told him off, it’s not like he didn’t deserve it.” 

Rosemary snapped her head up. “You don’t get it, Jules. What I said…Or think I said, I can’t remember for sure…Jules, I had no right. None!” 

She took a deep, trying to calm herself. It was little use. Her brain refused to be silent; fragments of her words, hazy and disjointed echoed loudly. 

‘Arrogant, self-righteous bastard…’ 

‘…No wonder you can’t get your shit together.’ 

‘What I ever saw in you…’

Rosemary shook her head, trying to clear the words and the rising sense of shame they brought. She’d been callous and cruel and the worst part was she couldn’t remember half of it. She was certain she was about to be sick. Head between your legs, the belated thought skittered across her mind. Put your head between your legs and breathe. 

So she did. 

And slowly the panic began to recede and she could breathe without gasping. Belatedly, she felt Jules stand and heard her steps as she shuffled from the room. And then she was alone. 

She found herself staring at the phone she’d dropped onto the coffee table. It sat there, inert and seemingly harmless. Without conscious thought she bent and picked it up, turning the screen on with a few taps of her fingers. Her hands shook as she stared at his name in her contacts list. 

All of the anger and uncertainty of the day before had faded. She hadn’t forgotten what he had done and how it had hurt her but it didn’t seem nearly as important. All she wanted was to fix this. To fix the shaky truce they had at least been trying to build. To heal the hurt she caused. But actually reaching out and doing so terrified her beyond words. 

But if I don’t try… 

Rosemary took a steadying breath and with shaking hands hit dial.   

The phone rang once, then twice. And then a click and the line disconnected. Her heart sunk like a stone in her chest as she realized what had happened with a sick and certain dread. He’d hung up on her. She couldn’t blame him; not in the slightest. Hell, she would have hung up on her too. Guilt gnawed in the pit of her stomach. She didn’t know what to do. She could feel the desperate panic of uncertainty roaring its ugly head. 

Just try again, her brain urged. You need to try. 

With determination Rosemary redialed and held her breath. Three rings this time. Her mind whirled. She had no idea what she should say, or even could say, but knowing she had to say something regardless. Knowing that she had to try to apologize, to fix the mess she’d unleashed. There was a pause and then his voicemail kicked in.

“Tom...it…it’s Rosie. I know you probably…” She halted and tried to gather her thoughts. “There is so much I need to…I’m sorry. Please, just call me back. Please.” She hung up quickly, and let out a shuddering breath. This was not the sort of conversation she could have with his voicemail. Doing so would lead to more confusion and the real, and terrifying, risk of further pain and misunderstanding. She needed to talk to him and he wouldn’t talk to her. She didn’t know what to do. 

Rosemary closed her eyes and tried to think. Panic and indecision whirled within her. What could she do? How could she get him to answer the phone and let her explain; let her apologize? She didn’t have the first idea but she couldn’t sit back and do nothing. 

Without a word, she shoved her scattered belongings back into her purse and grabbed her coat from where she had tossed it the night before. She needed to think and she couldn’t do that here. She called a farewell to Jules and shivered as she stepped into the weak sunlight of the late winter afternoon. 

The wind was brisk as she sped her way towards the Underground station a few blocks from Jules’ door. She pulled her coat tightly against her and joined the queue down the escalator and into the station. She boarded the next train, still lost in her thoughts and it wasn’t until she looked up and realized that her change point was two stops back that she fully came back to herself. 

“Shit,” she muttered under her breath. Nothing for it but to get off at the next station and switch trains there. But the next stop came and went and she remained on the train. She didn’t think about what she was doing until she saw a familiar station come into sight. 

Rosemary stood and exited the carriage with cautious determination. If he wouldn’t answer when she called then she would go to him. 

                                                         ___

Rosemary pressed the buzzer on the black metal gate before shoving her hands back into the pockets of her coat. It was absolutely freezing and she resisted the urge to hop from foot to foot to keep warm. As she stood, her mind flashed back to the last time she’d stood here and the uncertainty and dread she’d felt then. The more things change, the more they stay the same. 

She jumped as Tom’s garbled voice came over the speaker above the buzzer. “What?”

“I know I’m probably the last person you want to see, but please I need to talk to you. Just give me ten minutes of your time. Please.” Her voice shook at the very real possibility that he wouldn’t open the door. She put on a brave face, if he didn’t then it would be nothing less than she deserved. 

Several minutes of silence passed. Rosemary blinked back tears and prepared herself to walk away. The clink of the gate unlocking stunned her into immobility momentarily. She blinked for several seconds before pulling it open and walking towards the front door, heart pounding in her chest. 

Tom stood in the doorway, blue eyes cold and sharp as steel, his arms crossed defensively across his chest. This was such a far cry from the warm and caring man she’d known. He stepped aside without a word and she made her way into the warmth of the entry way. Her eyes darted around the hallway, taking in the familiar simplicity of his home. She was heartened to see that despite the years, nothing much had changed. Tom still hadn’t spoken and she fought to maintain a steady grip on her emotions. He’d let her in. That was something. 

Without a word, she made her way quickly into the living room. Again, she was heartened to see the familiar walls of books and simple but comfortable furniture. She felt rather than saw Tom follow behind her. His silent presence was unnerving and she fought the urge to turn tail and run. She refused to be a coward. 

They settled; her on the chair near the window and him on the sofa several feet away. Neither spoke. The silence in the room was near deafening and Rosemary wanted nothing more than for it to break. But Tom wasn’t talking and she feared that if left to his own devices, he wouldn’t say another word to her. 

Rosemary could feel his eyes boring into her and she fought to keep herself from flinching. She took a deep breath and braced her hands on her knees, trying desperately to think of where to start, what she could possibly say. The truth, her mind screamed. Tell him the truth. You owe him that at the very least. 

“Tom, I just…I don’t…” She stumbled over her thoughts and had to stop to gather herself before trying again. “God, Tom,” she whispered, dropping her head into her hands. She could feel his eyes on her and the words nearly stuck in her throat. Still she pushed onward, needing to apologize even though she knew there was little chance she could. “I am so so sorry for last night. I was completely out of my head. I shouldn’t have said that. I had no right to…” 

“Which part?” He asked cutting her off. His voice was level but she could detect the hint of underlying tension as he seemed to struggle in vain to contain himself. “The part where you called me ‘an arrogant, self-centered, selfish, prick of a bastard’ or when you said that I only date blonde, dimwitted pop stars and Hollywood starlets because they are the only ones who can put up with my ‘massive ego’ and ‘desperate need to be a media whore’? I’m paraphrasing here, mind you, but I think I got the gist of it.” 

Rosemary squeezed her eyes shut. That summer had always been a sore spot for Tom and she’d known it. He rarely, if ever, talked of it but when he had she had clearly seen and understood the toll it had taken on him. Throwing that in his face had been nothing short of cruel. 

She’d never felt so wretched in her entire life. He’d hurt her, yes. God had he hurt her. But he’d never done so intentionally. He’d been misguided and selfish, but he’d never set out with the intent to cause her pain. She had. She’d wanted him to hurt like she’d hurt so she used the one thing she knew without a doubt would leave him bleeding. 

“All if it.” The words were barely a whisper and with great effort she raised her head and met his gaze. “I know it’s too little too late but I am so, so sorry. I had no right to throw any of that at you. It’s not true and I had absolutely no right to say it. I wish I could take it back. I wish I’d never said it in the first place.” Tears were flowing freely down her cheeks and she wiped them away as quickly as she could. She didn’t have the right to be upset. Not at this. She wasn’t the injured party in this and she damn well knew it. 

Tom sat in stony silence, his eyes burning with hurt and fury as he stared first at her and then at the table before him. She tried to ignore the shiver of unease his gaze sent up her spine. She wished he would speak, would say something, anything. 

“Well you did say it and you can’t take it back. That’s the funny thing about words, whether your intent is to help or harm, once they’re out there, you can’t take them back.” 

Rosemary drew a shuddering breath and fought to regain her composure. He was right, of course. She’d known it from the second she’d realized just what she had done. And she couldn’t change it. “I know that, I do. But that doesn’t mean I don’t wish it weren’t the case.” She paused, taking another deep breath and gathering herself once more. “I was drunk and angry and I wanted to hurt you. It’s not an excuse, I don’t have any excuse for lashing out at you. But I did and it was wrong. So very wrong of me. I know that that doesn’t fix or solve anything, but I am so dreadfully sorry.” 

It was Tom’s turn to breathe deeply. His eyes drifted closed for a moment and his face clenched then relaxed. “I know you’re sorry, Rosemary, but right now that is simply not enough.” He paused again, resting his hands on his knees. “I get that I hurt you and that I’ve been a selfish, cowardly prick but you took it too far and I can’t deal with that. Not now.” He scrubbed his jaw with his left hand. “I think I’d like you to go now.” 

She flinched as if struck but quickly gathered herself and nodded silently. Fair enough, she thought. That is bloody fair enough. Without another word she grabbed her purse from the floor beside her chair and walked quietly out of the house.

Next Chapter

#Tom and Rosie #tom hiddleston #Love & Great Buildings #tom hiddleston x ofc

[jeffersonhairpie]

batjokes regular au where joker makes a webcomic and maybe batman is there but mostly i wanna hear about joker's webcomic tbh

u really went and asked for it!

wow Batman is so cool! XD great work, cant wait 2 read more

This is my fav page yet omg

hnnnngggg your art!!!!! I love it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Bats’s expression in that last panel is just woah, I feel so bad for him. Poor misunderstood baby 

neat

awww yeah update day

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This comic is just so well thought out. The stuff they sell in Forbidden Planet really can’t compare. I’m eternally gobsmacked at how clever your writing is, the way you’ve woven the theme of duality through this story from the begining has me on the edge of my seat waiting to see what the state of our protagonist’s soul is going to be when all is said and done. Personally, I think he’s going to have to realise that Batman isn’t a sustainable identity and decide to give it up but you’ve surprised me so many times in the past that I just can’t be sure. I’m still reeling over the reveal that Harvey Dent was Two Face the entire time. I would like to pick you brain sometime...[Open to read more]

Cool story, needs more tits

hehe me and my friends always get together to read your updates. Batman is our religion hehehehehe

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-

The tension headache that had been threatening to eat Joey alive for the best part of the day finally won the battle. He grimaced as he scrolled through the pages and pages of comments that the update had gathered since the previous evening, trying to find the motivation too block the porn bots that were taking a fancy to his site. It didn’t seem worth it when the vast majority of the people who wiled away the hours in this cesspool didn’t understand his art. 

But hey, he had three new Patrons, so that was something. Soon enough he’d be able to kick Eddie off the sofa and live on his own like a big boy. 

“Will you shut up?” Eddie drawled. From the sofa. For fuck’s sake. 

“I am shut up.”

“You’ve been making a high pitched beeping noise for the past ten minutes. I think you’re frustrated.”

“See, I thought you and I had a little deal.” Joey let his chair swivel round to face Eddie from his desk on the far side of the living room and valiantly resisted the urge to just keep spinning. “I pay seventy five percent of the rent and bills, and in return you don’t whine like a little bitch and stay out of the room while I’m working.”

Eddie spared a glance towards Joey’s laptop screen. “That doesn’t look like work. Look’s like flagrant narcissism.”

“Moderating the comments section is an important part of managing the site!” 

“Please, you’d sooner die than enforce a rule.”

It’s true, but he shouldn’t say it. 

Joey turned back to his screen and his tablet and flipped back to the next page of Batman that he was working on. Next up: Batman confronts Jim Gordon on the bridge out of Gotham and the two of them wax lyrical on the nature of man. Hysterical. Real people don’t talk like that and police commissioners don’t go having casual conversations with masked vigilantes. 

“If you can’t stop laughing, can I please go lie down on your bed? I’ve got a bit of a headache.” Eddie groaned. 

“If you’ve got a headache, you should read my comic. Cleans headaches right up. One hundred percent guaranteed by all doctors. Why, I had a headache just an hour ago but working on this has fixed that up, no problem.”

“You’re a genius.” Eddie replies in an unflattering and frankly sarcastic tone. 

There’s only one thing for it, time to stick noses in the air, both literally and figuratively, and then to imply that there is a chance to might be willing to let someone join you on the mountain. “You know, I am a genius. But not for the reasons most of my fans think. My fans are fucking idiots. You though, you’d probably get it, you’re smart like that.”

It’s shocking how easy it is to win Eddie over. The change is instantaneous, one little compliment for his intellect and he goes from miserable sack of potatoes in a lime green Hawaiian shirt with far too much red hair to a sleek, sharp little thing that desperately wants to feed. He’s like a shark with an off button. “Yeah?”

“Oh yeah, these fools all think it’s a tragedy.”

“How? You literally never stop laughing about it.”

“I know! It’s a work of fine comedy, but the joke is lost on so many people. I guess I’ve got to laugh for us all.”

Eddie sits up and manages to only wince a little at the pain in his head as he does so. He says hangover, but Joey used to hang with Crane as well and he knows that nights out with the Scarecrow usually end with something much more exciting than booze. 

“Have I piqued your interest?” Joey raises a questioning eyebrow. 

Eddie shakes his head. “Not so fast. Run me through the plot first.”

“But the plot is the point!”

“Well you have to give me a summary. If it sounds interesting I’ll give it a read.”

Muttering what he hopes are just audible curses on flatmates who don’t even engage with the thing that pays most of their bills, Joey rummages around for the press release he keeps on hand for occasions such as this. Or any occasion when he has to explain himself. One time he tried to explain Batman without it and he got over excited and accidentally revealed a plot point two chapters down the line. 

He finds the piece of paper and holds it up in front of him with all the grace and poise of a town crier. “Ahem! Batman is a webcomic made by Seattle based artist Joey-”

“Skip the details, I know who you are.” 

Joey flashes Eddie a scowl that bounces off him entirely. “Bruce Wayne is the son of Gotham’s most elite power couple, Thomas and Martha Wayne. A life of luxury seemed certain for the boy till his parents were gunned down by a petty thief in an alleyway. Now a grown man, Bruce wrestles with his lasting mental scars from that day and with his deep seated revulsion for all things criminal by donning the mask of the Batman every night and taking justice into his own hands. Listed by many bloggers as the best story outside of traditional comics publishing, Batman has taken the internet by storm, and-”

“And I definitely don’t need you reading out your own reviews to stroke your ego.”

“How are the stroking my ego?” Joey throws up his hands. “How? When they don’t even understand how funny I am.”

Eddie’s mouth twists into a neat little pout. “I can’t say that that sounds like a particularly good set up for a comedy. I’m intrigued, if you can pull it off that sounds like exactly my kind of humour but I know the kind of jokes you make on a daily basis and they are not the sort of jokes I want to read against a grimdark background.”

First of all, Joey has never told a bad joke in his life. When he tells you about the chicken crossing the road, he takes you on a proper journey. Second, Eddie is also an idiot. “The joke is the setup, bozo!”

“How?”

“Grown man dresses up as a bat too fight crime whilst pretending being extremely wealthy doesn’t grant him the best shot at happiness someone with two dead parents could possibly wish for. How is that not funny?”

“In every conceivable way.”

“You know what? I was wrong about you. You’re just as small minded as the rest of them.” Joey drops the press release with a huff. When he looks at the panel he had been working on just a few minutes ago, the joke has left his fingers and he knows he’s going to be in the wrong mood to finish for the rest of the day. 

When Joey looks back over his shoulder, Eddie has already collapsed back down on the sofa, shark button safely off. 

The rest of the afternoon is dedicated to getting irritated by and laughing at the idiot fans of his comic. He really is very popular. He could include a whole new super special level on patreon and offer up the chance to message him once a month and people would pay. It’s a powerful position to be in, but he’d have to actually remember to check his messages or risk sending them running and his bank account just can’t take that risk quite yet. 

A new comment appears right before Joey’s eyes, popping up underneath the shiny new page that shows Batman decisively leaving Two Face without apprehending him, like someone incredibly stupid, which is the joke here, that no one so far has gotten. 

lmao the people in these comments are incredibly lame

Joey’s sides practically split laughing. That’s too perfect. It takes him three tries to log in to his own account to respond, triggering the little green ‘joker is online’ notification to come up on the screen of whoever else is trawling the boards. Whatever he posts, it’s going to get dogpiled by people wishing he would pay them the slightest shred of attention in minutes. 

There’s no fun in that. Instead Joey backtracks to the guy who thinks he’s too cool to be here. 

what does that make you then? >:)

And now all he has to do is sit back and wait. If he’s played his cards right, Joey’s just set off a full on troll war, and that should keep him entertained for hours. 

#riddlejokes #kinda #joker fic #dc fic #batman fic #request #shitty text post #rixy writes fic #anon #ask