#yes i will continue on this agenda even if no one cares

[samijey]

Wrestling promos that live rent-free in my brain: ↳ Spike Trivet at PROGRESS Chapter 131 (25.03.2022) 

[not-neverland06]

broken promises

pt two

bodyguard!logan howlett x congressman's daughter!reader

a/n: the fact that he was canonically a bodyguard makes me absolutely insane someone congratulate me, I finally figured out how to make my own dividers Summary: He's learned from past mistakes that no matter how tempting the girl is, it's better not to get involved. He just needs some cash, he doesn't give a fuck how pretty you are. He doesn't care about you. He makes it clear he wants nothing to do with you besides seeing you sign his check. But, is that really all he wants? You're not blind to the way he looks at you. 18+ MDNI Shameless smut at the end, I'm not sorry about it at all.

Logan had gotten used to this. The long drawn-out wait to meet with the man who wanted to hire him. He always arrived right on time, not a moment earlier. They all had the same game they liked to play. 

The secretary would greet him, a pretty girl in her 20s that the men were screwing or trying to screw. Then they would make him sit in the lobby for half an hour. They’d apologize by pushing the blame on someone else, saying a meeting had gone on too long. But there wasn’t a meeting. There never was. 

They liked to make themselves seem more important than they were. It was a power game, an intimidation tactic that he had always scoffed at. He didn’t give a fuck what government ties they had or otherwise. He just wanted his paycheck. 

This one was no different. A congressman who had only recently begun to make waves when he started up an anti-mutant agenda. Ironic that he had specifically requested Logan for the very thing he was trying to eradicate. 

There was a buzz and then the secretary was picking up her phone. She spared Logan a fleeting glance before whispering something into the receiver. She looked over at him and he already knew what she was going to say.  “He’s ready for you now.” 

“Thanks, sweetheart,” she gave him a coquettish smile as he made his way towards the large office at the end of the hall. The door was closed when he reached it, three quick knocks and then a quiet Come in. 

The man didn’t even look up to greet him. He continued signing something on his desk. Logan took a seat in one of the chairs, waiting for another few minutes before he was deemed important enough to address. He received a tight smile and narrowed eyes as the man took in the way he was dressed. 

He never dressed up for these things. He’d learned a while ago that a suit wasn’t going to get him any further than his leather jacket was. Might as well be comfortable while talking to these pricks. 

“Had a phone call with an associate of mine. Ran on longer than I meant it to.” Always an excuse, never an apology. 

Logan scoffed and shrugged. “I was fine.”

The man sniffed, “I’m sure. Look, I’ll cut straight to the chase. You come highly recommended by my peers and I need help fast.” Logan nodded, motioning for him to continue. The man’s eyes lingered on his fists for a long while before he finished. “It’s my daughter. Things have been a little rough for her at school, for lack of a better word. Especially since this new campaign started. I just need someone to keep a closer eye on her.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed, “She a party girl or something?” He wasn’t sure he could handle another bratty daddy’s girl again. The last one had nearly made him blow his brains out. They always think flipping their skirts up will let them get away with more and he can’t stand it. 

The man’s face blanched and he shook his head so vigorously that his jowls moved with him. “Oh, no, not at all. But she’s,” he paused and lowered his voice. He leaned in closer to Logan and waited for Logan to do the same. He rolled his eyes but did it anyway. “She’s like you, you know.”

Logan shot him a grin, “You mean a mutant.”

“Lower your voice,” he hissed, face tightening up in anger. “But, yes, a mutant. And I need one to guard her.” Ironic, this man was driving a campaign to make mutants second-class citizens, and his daughter was one. But Logan needed a check, he didn’t give a fuck about the morals of it all. 

“Sounds good to me.”

“Perfect, you can pick her up from school for me.”

You had your earbuds in, head lowered while you made the trek across campus when you noticed him. He was difficult to miss, tall and buff. Very buff, you’re surprised that tank top of his hasn’t ripped every time he flexes. 

Your dad’s newest campaign has you hyper-aware of your surroundings. You can’t afford to let your guard down. Not after the last attack. 

There’s something about this man that tells you he isn’t someone looking to jump you, though. You’re not sure what it is. Every part of him screams danger, but not the type you’re looking out for. The cigar perched between his lips, the glistening muscles you want to bite, he’s trouble. 

When you spot him outside your lecture hall for the third time that day, you finally figure out what’s happening. Your dad had told you he’d hired someone new to watch over you at school. You hadn’t voiced just how against it you were, but you didn’t like the idea. 

You didn’t mind this guy, though. He wasn’t busting into your classes and embarrassing the shit out of you by making everyone empty their pockets like the last guy. He just lingered. You could deal with lingering. 

What you couldn’t deal with was the way he was leaning against his motorcycle, smirking as you slowly approached him. 

“Did my dad hire you?” You call out, tugging your earbuds out. “Who are you?”

He speaks around the cigar like it's second nature. “Your new bodyguard, sweetheart.” You suck in a deep breath when you hear his voice. He’s extremely attractive, you're surprised your dad would risk this. 

One of the other ones had kind of gotten a little obsessed, stalking you even in his off hours. You didn’t think your dad would want another pretty boy around you. Though, you suppose this one isn’t pretty. He’s extremely handsome, ruggedly so, very manly. Jesus, you might end up being the stalker this time. 

His lips curl up like he knows what you’re thinking about. You clear your throat, shifting your backpack higher up your arm. “You planning on taking me home on that?” You ask, pointing at his bike. 

He straightens up and shrugs. “Got a problem with the bike?”

You grin, “Not really,” but your dad will. “No, not at all.”

You walk towards him and he reaches out, grabbing your backpack straps and tugging you towards him. You stumble, hands bracing against his chest so you don’t land flat on your face. “Sorry, kid,” but he doesn’t sound sorry at all. He buckles the straps of your backpack together and tightens them, puffing smoke in your face while he does. “Don’t want this flying off.”

“Mhm,” you hum. You’re not paying attention at all. The only thing you care about right now is just how ripped he is under your hands. You’re not sure how long you gawk at him but he seems to be ridiculously amused by it. 

“Ready to go home, or what?” You jump back from him, brushing your hands off on your leggings and clearing your throat. 

“Yes, yeah.” You rip your eyes off his body and instead focus on the bike. “No helmets?” You ask.

“You heal, don’t you?” You nod and he shrugs. “Don’t need them then, do we?”

You can’t help the giddy grin on your face at that. It’s gotten tiring being treated like glass. You’re about to get on the bike when you finally process what he said. “Wait, how do you know I heal?”

He doesn’t respond verbally. Instead, his gaze darts down to his fists. Your eyes widen when you see the metal poking through the skin. Of course, your father would only tell another mutant about his abomination of a daughter. You scoff and roll your eyes. He’s such a fucking hypocrite. 

Logan climbs on the bike and you follow after him. You're hesitant to wrap your arms around his waist but he just reaches behind himself and jerks you forward. 

You suck in a sharp breath, pelvis tight against his ass while he squeezes your hands. “You want to go flying?” You shake your head and he chuckles, starting the bike and driving off without another word. 

Part of you loves the ride home, the other part detests it. For once you get to experience a little freedom. You’re not trapped in a steel box staring at the back of a car seat while the man beside you pretends he doesn’t exist. 

You can feel the wind in your hair, get a taste of real speed, and enjoy a moment uninterrupted by someone’s expectations of you. On the other hand, Logan does not respect speeding laws. And healing abilities or not, you don’t actually want to experience road rash. 

He manages to get you home in one piece, parking the motorcycle in the driveway and waiting for you to get off. But you can’t, your thighs have been clenching the seat so tight you think they might need to scrape you off. 

“Kid?” He mutters. You shake your head against his back, arms still strangling his waist. It was actually kind of fucking terrifying being on one of these things. You can’t tell if you loved or hated it. 

He lets out a rough sigh, forcibly moving your arms and then tugging you off the seat. Your legs are like jello while you try and straighten out. “Wasn’t so bad, was it?” He asks. You can’t manage much more than a strangled hum and he laughs. 

You turn to your front door and spot a leering face peering out the window. “Shit,” you huff. Your stepmother sees you spot her and disappears from view. You feel your hopes of ever getting back on that bike go with her. 

“You took her home on your bike!”

“Well-”

You flinch at the volume of your father’s voice. “I don’t give a fuck what your excuse is! I will not have my daughter seen riding that monstrosity! You are not to do this again, do you understand me?”

You don’t know what Logan says, but you’re certain it’s not the submissive Yes, sir your father is looking for. He continues shouting at him for another ten minutes. When you hear the door to his office open you scramble to look like you hadn’t been listening in. 

But you’re a bad actress and if his huff of laughter is anything to go by, Logan knows what you were doing. “Did you know that was going to happen?” He asks, pointing back to your father’s, now closed, study. 

You nod, pursing your lips with an apologetic smile. “If it helps, I was really hoping he wouldn’t do that.”

He shrugs, “I don’t really give a fuck how much he wants to scream at me.” It’s refreshing, to finally have someone in the house who doesn’t kiss your father’s ass. It makes you smile, a real genuine smile for the first time in a while. 

You stand from the chair you’d been sitting in, gesturing further into your home. “Are you hungry? I haven’t eaten all day so I was thinking about making something.”

The smirk drops from his face, expression suddenly serious. It makes you tense up. “Look, I appreciate the offer, but I’m here to get paid. I don’t want to be your friend, kid.”

You suck in a sharp breath, trying not to let the rejection sting. He’s a professional, it should be a relief after the last one. “Right, yeah, I’m sorry I didn’t mean it like that.”

He nods, “Right,” tone stiff. You stare at him for another awkwardly long moment before you finally turn on your heel and walk toward the kitchen. You rush there, speedwalking so you don’t have to look at him any longer. 

You open up your fridge, keeping your back to him for as long as humanly possible. You can hear him take a seat at the island, can feel the way his eyes bore into you. It’s a physical thing, his gaze, makes chills scrape their way down your spine. 

You make yourself a sandwich and finally force yourself to turn around. Like you’d expected, he’s already looking at you. Lips ticking up just slightly when you finally get the courage to look up at him. 

Logan feels a little guilty. You weren’t coming onto him earlier, you were being genuine with your kindness. He knows there were no ulterior motives to it and there’s a very slight part of him that feels bad for making you so quiet. “Why’s your dad so pissy about the bike?”

You’re a little startled by the question, after the comment he made you’d thought he wouldn’t want anything to do with you. You swallow down the rest of your bite and cough a little when the bread gets stuck on the roof of your mouth. 

“He doesn’t want me to crash.”

“But you heal,” he points out bluntly and you can’t help but laugh a little. 

“Yeah, that’s the problem. He doesn’t want me to crash and for someone to see that I miraculously healed. Having a freak for a daughter wouldn’t exactly help his campaign, would it?” You can’t even attempt to hide the bitterness in your voice. And you know Logan picks up on it because he doesn’t ask any more questions. 

Your gaze drops to your plate and you finish the rest of your meal in silence. Or, you try to. “Got any plans tonight?”

You chuckle and give him an odd look. “No,” you respond sardonically. “None at all, prepare yourself for a very boring job. I don’t even know why he hired you, I never leave the house unless it's for school.”

“Yeah?” he muses, but he doesn’t seem particularly interested. More like he’s talking just to pass the time. “I heard you’ve been having a hard time at school.”

You suck in a sharp breath, a sudden wave of anger roiling through your gut. The cabinets behind you begin to shake and you wince in embarrassment, tamping down on your powers before you accidentally blow up the kitchen. 

Logan watches the moment with subdued interest like he’s not all that surprised or impressed with the display. “Unless they were a PoliSci nerd, I was a nobody up until last year.” There’s no concealing the hate lurking within your words, “And then my dad took up this whole anti-mutant regime. Well, you can imagine how much the activists love me. I’ve just had a few incidents with some particularly passionate protestors.”

“Do you believe in it?”

Your eyes widen in surprise, you hadn’t expected him to actually continue the conversation. “What do you mean?”

He leans back, arms crossed across his chest in a way that makes his biceps bulge. He shrugs, “The anti-mutant regime, do you agree with it?”

You open your mouth, the perfected script almost rolling off your tongue. But this isn’t some politician's son you’re wooing. You’re not the perfect daughter, you’re in your own home, finally talking to someone else like you. 

“No.” You answer, voice strong in its conviction. “And every time I see one of his PAs running around with their little signs I want to ram the stick up their ass.”

He barks out a laugh, eyes crinkling up in amusement. “I think we might get along, kid.”

You try to ignore the way your cheeks warm at his words. You don’t want to be this affected by him, you’ve barely spoken to him. But this is the first person in a long time that you know with absolute certainty you can be honest with. He doesn’t care about protecting your political image or bowing to your father’s every whim. 

It’s a relief, like a constricting weight being taken off your chest. You give him an easy smile and get up to wash your dishes. His eyes are on you again but they feel less oppressive this time. You’ve already forgotten the rule he’s set in place, you’re not supposed to be friends. 

It’s going to be hard to remember that. 

Your father tightens his grip around your waist until you feel like you might squeal. “Smile, now.” You raise your hand, taking the stairs up the stage and waving out at the crowd that’s formed. It’s hot today, your makeup would be melting off if it weren’t for the artists who put it on for you. 

Always have to look good in front of the camera. All of you. Seeing Logan in a suit was certainly a surprise. You’re almost completely sure that your father had to give him a bonus to even consider wearing it today. 

He looks good, but you honestly prefer him in the normal beater and leather jacket. It’s something so uniquely him. This is just a reminder of your reality, that nothing around you is real. It’s all pretty lies wrapped up in expensive clothes. 

You have to bite your tongue and hold back a grimace when your father begins his speech. “First, we had to let them into our jobs. Now they’re in our schools! Our children aren’t safe, not when they’ve got loaded weapons sitting beside them! Because that’s exactly what they are, weapons of mass destruction that will take apart-”

“Fuck me,” you hiss under your breath. Your cheeks hurt from keeping this smile on your face. You’re struggling not to flinch every time the crowd surges up to agree with him, bigoted shouts making your ears bleed. 

Logan’s brows raise and he gives you a brief glance over his shoulder. Your face pinches in confusion only for a moment before you quickly correct it. Still, you keep your lips nearly completely motionless as you whisper, “Can you hear me?”

You dart your gaze back down to him and catch the barest of nods. Your smile softens, becoming something real if only for a moment. You don’t say anything else, you don’t need to. It’s just a comfort to know someone else is there with you, seeing through the painted faces and plastic smiles. 

There’s movement in the crowd. It cuts your father off midsentence. He peers over the podium, trying to get a better look at what’s happening. You hear someone scream and then the entire crowd is getting knocked to the ground. 

You jump back in shock, everyone on stage still. The security, however, is rushing to get to you and your family. It’s too late, though, there’s a mutant in the crowd and his eyes are set on you. “Fuck you,” he screams out your father's name and lugs something at the stage. 

You hear someone shout your name but it’s too late. Glass shatters against the side of your face. It takes less than a second for the pain to start. You can feel holes being burned through your skin, like living fire melting through your bones and gums. A scream rips out of your throat, your hands coming up to block your face too late. 

“Get her out of here!”

As agonizing as it is, you can already feel your skin working to mend itself. You can practically hear the flesh bonding back together. But the acid is dripping down you. It keeps moving steadily through your clothes and skin, your abilities on overdrive trying to repair the damage. 

You can’t focus on anything except the sensation of being burned alive. Suddenly, there’s an arm being thrown around your shoulder and you’re being lifted off your feet. Your skin scrapes against the rough material of someone’s blazer and it makes you grit your teeth and scream again. 

“I know, hold on kid, it’ll be over in a minute.” Logan rushes you behind the stage, where there are no cameras to watch you heal. You don’t know how your father’s PR team is going to spin this. Everyone saw it, saw the way your flesh bubbled and boiled. There’s no hiding the fact that half your face should be melted off. 

“Car,” you grunt out when he puts you on your feet again. 

His hands are clamped firmly around your shoulders, inspecting you for any further damage. “What?”

“We gotta get to the car,” the words are a struggle to get out. Your lungs constrict painfully in your chest while you force the rest out. “Can’t let them see.”

He looks pissed off that that's what you're worried about and not the fact that you were just attacked. Finally, after a minute of just staring at you, he nods. He wraps an arm around your shoulder and runs with you back to the limo. He throws the door open, pushing you inside and sliding in beside you. 

You take in a deep breath the second you’re no longer in view of the TV cameras. “Fuck,” you gasp out. Your dress is in tatters on your left side and you quickly cover your chest. You pray that you didn’t accidentally flash anything while you were still on stage. Your father would never forgive you for that. 

It’s silent in the car for a moment. You feel something being draped over your shoulder and look over to see Logan passing you his jacket. When he catches your gaze he gently grabs your jaw and titls your face towards his. 

His eyes rove over the left side of your face and he gives you a tight smile. “You’re fine, kid.”

You pull your chin out of his grip and pull his jacket closed around you. “See why my father wanted you around? How would he have ever explained his daughter surviving an acid attack?”

There’s something pinched in his gaze. A deep-seated irritation and something else you’re too tired to identify. He’s looking at you oddly and you wish he wouldn’t. You press your forehead to the cool glass of the window and slump against the car door. 

You don’t know when you fall asleep but by the time you wake up, Logan’s already carrying you up to your room. He sees you shift awake and places you on your feet. You steady yourself against the stair banister and walk the rest of the way to your room, trying to shake off the pain of the day. 

You look back just in time to see Logan at the front door. “Goodnight,” you call down to him. You know he can hear you, but he walks through the door without another word. You bite your lip, ignoring the sinking feeling of your gut. 

You toss your destroyed dress to the floor and turn your TV on. You surf through the channels for a bit before finding a clip of today’s incident. “-apparently part of a protest for mutants against the government. I don’t know Bill, they seem to just be proving everybody’s point. They are unsafe.”

“I agree, my thoughts and prayers go out to…”

You roll your eyes as they say your name. They’re saying it wasn’t acid, instead it’s some sort of chemical compound that causes extreme pain. Even you don’t believe that bullshit. You have a feeling your father is going to be looking for a new PR team tomorrow. 

Your attention is snagged by the replay of the accident. You don’t focus on the acid, you don’t want to. Instead, you see how quickly Logan rushed to your side. He seemed to be right there even as the acid was being thrown. 

Your brows pinch together and you glance at the jacket beside you. He’d forgotten to take it back before he left. You pick it up, eyes skating over the fabric before you find what you’re looking for. There’s a large hole in the right sleeve, acid having burned through it. 

You hadn’t even realized he was in pain. You know he can heal, but it doesn’t get rid of the fluttering feeling in your stomach. You’ve never had someone look after you like that. 

You grin to yourself, tucking the jacket in the back of your closet. You’re sure he wouldn’t want it back and you’re not planning on parting with it anytime soon. 

You’re on house arrest for a week after the acid incident. Which includes no school. Your father has to play into the idea that you’re recovering from the trauma and healing. You don’t know how much longer he’s planning on keeping you locked up but you’re going stir crazy. 

Not only do you not get to go to classes, but Logan isn’t around either. He doesn’t need to be, not when the only place you’re in is your room. He’s not a friend, he’s made that clear, but he’s something. And you are desperately craving that specific something. 

“It was a sickening attack against my daughter that my wife and I are still trying to recover from.” You roll your eyes as you listen to your father spew his bullshit to the interviewer in the next room. 

You’re not allowed to be out and about, of course. You can’t risk someone seeing you. But that doesn’t stop you from lurking. 

“It was an incredibly traumatic experience for her, I’m sure.” You grin to yourself, picking at your nails. You like this one, whoever the reporter is interviewing him. She hasn’t let him catch a break. Especially not when he tries to capitalize on your trauma. Even though he hasn’t checked in once with you. 

“Well,” he splutters for a moment. “Yes, of course,” he tries to sound humble but anyone can tell he’s just covering his ass. “And it just further proves what I’ve always said about mutants. They are animals, they’re not like us.”

You’d think at a certain point you’d go numb to it. You’ve been raised hearing this rhetoric from him all your life. But the sting never eases. That cloying ache in your chest never quite leaves you. Not when you know the only reason he publicly accepts you is for political gains. So everyone can see what a wonderful father he is and vote for him.

You feel sick to your stomach and you don’t think you can listen to much more of this. But right as you’re about to tap out a hand clamps down on your shoulder. You nearly scream but you catch a whiff of the man’s aftershave and your mouth snaps shut. 

You leap out of your chair and whip around, a grin plastered on your face. “Logan, what are you doing here?” You can’t disguise the giddiness in your voice. He might constantly be reminding you that you hold nothing more than a professional relationship, but you don’t give a shit. He’s a constant in your life and that’s rare for you, so you’ll latch onto whatever comfort you can find. 

His gaze briefly darts to the connecting wall to your father’s study and you flush. He’d probably heard all of that. You’ve never had someone see the side of your father that you do. There’s something shamefully embarrassing about it. 

He looks back at you and gives you a sly smirk. “Wanna get out of here?” You’d have to be an idiot to say no.

“Uh,” you can hear the music from where you stand across the street. You shuffle uncertainly on your feet beside Logan, glancing up and down the sidewalk like your father’s going to pop out of an alleyway. “I don’t know if this is such a good idea.”

Logan tugs his cigar out of his mouth. He’s leaned up against a lamppost and he’s watched you struggle for the past ten minutes. “Live a little kid, would ya?”

You look back at the dingy bar and grimace. “Okay, there’s a difference between living a little and having my face blasted on the news. How’s it going to look if I’m photographed at a bar while I’m meant to be healing?”

Logan points with his cigar to the entrance of the bar. “I can promise you, no one in there gives a fuck about who your daddy is.” Comforting, and a little humbling. 

You take in a deep breath and Logan must sense the change in your demeanor. He flicks the cigar to the ground, crushing it with the heel of his boot. He holds his arm out, “Ready, kid?”

You nod, hurrying to his side and slipping under his grasp. He lets his arm hang heavily around your shoulder, hand squeezing your bicep gently to try and quell your nerves. You’d be swooning at the touch if you weren’t about to throw up from anxiety. 

You used to have a life. Until your father had blown it up. You haven’t been around this many people in ages. Well, you haven’t been around people who are just having fun and not sucking up to every politician’s kid they meet. 

The music gets louder as you step over through the threshold of the bar. The soles of your shoes stick to the floor. People laugh loudly all around you, some of them shouting up at TV screens for whatever sport is currently playing. You’re sure half of them don’t even normally watch the game. They just need an excuse to get their wives off their backs. 

The thought brings a small smile to your lips. Logan glances down at you and frowns, “You are old enough to drink, aren’t you?”

You roll your eyes and move out from under his hold. “Yes, Logan. I’m going into a master’s program, my frontal lobe is fully formed.”

He huffs a little at the attitude, cheeks twitching with a suppressed smile. He nods towards the back of the bar, “Find a seat, I’ll get us drinks.” He walks towards the bar without another word and you resent him a little for it. 

Without him beside you, it’s like everything comes crashing down all at once. The songs playing grate on your ears. Every laugh feels like they’re screaming in your face. You’ve never been more in tune with your sense of smell and you hate it. 

Your hands tremble by your sides and you nearly miss the man in front of you spilling his beer down his shirt. It looks completely unnatural, the way it just flips out of his hand. And you know it’s your doing. 

You shove through him and his friends, running to the back and sliding into the first booth you see. You dig your nails into your palms, taking a few deep breaths to try and calm your heart rate down a bit. 

Logan slides into the seat across from you, placing a beer in front of you. It’s barely touched the grimy wood of the table before you tip your head back and drain it. You’ve never been a particular fan of beer or any alcohol for that matter. 

But right now you need a buzz before you accidentally level the whole bar. You slam the bottle back on the table, taking in a deep breath, and sitting back. Logan gives you a hard stare, glancing between you and the empty bottle. 

He clicks his tongue and stands up, “I’ll go get another one.”

You bite your lip and give him a sheepish, “Thank you.”

It doesn’t take long for the buzz to settle in. There’s a slight tingling in your legs and the tips of your fingers. It almost feels like how you get when you’re starting to get aroused. But you don’t know if that’s from the alcohol or the way Logan looks in his slutty little t-shirt. 

Definitely tipsy, you think to yourself, nudging your third beer to the side. 

“Always been a lightweight?” He teases, watching you with amusement in his gaze while he works on what must be his fifth whiskey. 

You shake your head with a soft smile. “No, I used to go out with my friends all the time.” You laugh a little at the memories and lean in a little closer like you’re sharing some horrible secret. Logan rolls his eyes but acquiesces, leaning in to listen to you speak. “We made up alter egos for our drunk selves. Wanna know mine?” You ask, wiggling your eyebrows at him with a stupid grin.

His brows pinch together and he frowns, “I don’t think so.”

You laugh and lean back in your seat. “You’re the worst!” He places his glass down on the table and fixes you with an odd look. You shift around uncomfortably, “What is it?”

“What happened to your friends? Why are you hanging out with me and not them?”

“Oh,” your gaze drops to the table and you suddenly find the stains on it very interesting. It’s practically abstract art. You swallow harshly around the lump in your throat and shrug. “Um, just all the stuff with my dad happened, and,” you shrug, “I don’t know. My life kind of fell apart.”

You try and shake off the funk, bring back the happy-go-lucky feeling you were in only minutes ago. “I had to move out of the dorms and head back home. My friends stopped talking to me. My boyfriend dumped me. It all just kind of blew up.”

Logan frowns and you swear he seems angry on your behalf. It’s a nice feeling, having someone care enough to hold a grudge for you. “You ever tell him how it was all affecting you?”

You snort, “Of course I did. He was overjoyed. He never liked my friends, especially not my boyfriend, they encouraged me to be too independent. He thought I was losing the values he raised me with. He just never cared to learn that I never agreed with them in the first place.”

Logan doesn’t say anything for a while and you let your gaze drift to the karaoke stage. Two women are singing a bad redemption of Led Zeppelin and it makes you smile. You don’t see the way Logan’s eyes linger on the curve of your lips and then drop to your chest. 

You never seem to notice how you make him squirm. There is something so interesting about you. Something so different from the families he worked with before. He doesn’t know if it's the whole mutant thing, if you two are somehow kindred spirits in that regard. He doubts it, he’s never really cared much about that. 

But he knows that there is something magnetic about you. It draws him in and makes him hate his own rules. He promised not to get involved with another client. It always ends messy, most times bloody. 

You turn back to him and smile. Your voice is a low purr as you ask, “You wanna get out of here?”

Of course, he’s never been one to follow the rules. 

“I am so sorry about this. Really.” 

Logan glares down at you while you straighten out his tie. You duck your head so you don’t have to meet his gaze and he lets out a long-suffering sigh. 

“Forget it, kid.” He says it with a smirk but it doesn’t make you feel any less guilty. 

This will be your first public appearance since the incident. It’s a gala, of course, because your father hates you. He’d demanded you find a date, someone to look pretty on your arm because he doesn’t want you talking while you’re there. You’re meant for pictures and nothing more. 

Considering the fact that no one wants to talk to you on campus, the acid incident not helping at all, you had no luck finding a date. You’d had to beg on hands and knees for days to get Logan to agree. 

You don’t know what it is that finally made him cave but you’re grateful for it. You think your father was expecting you to fail. To come crawling to him and be forced to go with who he wanted you to go with. 

You were not going to spend the whole night listening to some political major try and explain your own father’s campaign to you. You’d rather swallow acid than go through that for another night. Your father, of course, doesn’t know that Logan is taking you. 

You’re planning on ambushing him with it. He can’t do anything about it now. He wants you to have a date for some reason and there’s no way for him to find a backup now. You take a step back from him and turn to look in the mirror. 

Side by side, you do make an incredibly attractive couple. He looks amazing in his suit, his muscles just slightly pushing against the fabric. And as much as he hates the tie and constricting material, he makes it work. 

And you feel pretty for the first time in a long time. You actually got to do your own hair and makeup for once. You’re a lot less heavy-handed than the assistants your father hires. You feel comfortable in your own skin, finally, wearing the deep red dress your stepmother had gotten for you. 

“We look good,” you muse. 

Logan looks down at you and smiles slightly, “You do.”

You give him a confused grin, “I said we.”

He leans down, lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he whispers, “I know what you said, sweetheart.” Your heart nearly beats out of your chest at the proximity. Gooseflesh raises on your arms where he’s touching you and your knee buckles ever so slightly. 

You can perfectly imagine his husky voice whispering something much, much dirtier to you. He pulls back with a slight chuckle and forcefully turns you around. “Come on, kid, we’re gonna be late.”

He nudges you towards your bedroom door and you nod your head mutely. He keeps doing that to you. These little things that could be so easily dismissed as you reading into his actions. But you know, deep down, you’re not reading into anything. 

But you don’t know what to do with this information that he might possibly be into you. Or at the very least, attracted to you. He made it clear early on that he wants nothing but professionalism between the two of you, yet he continually breaks his own rule. 

Your father and stepmother are waiting at the bottom of the stairs for you both. Your stepmother smiles when she sees you but your father’s face screws up in anger. “Are you fucking kidding me? The goddamn bodyguard?”

You shrug and slip past him, already walking to the front door. “A date’s a date.” You pause and grin over at him, “What are you going to do about it?” It’s a taunt, one you don’t give him a chance to respond to. 

You’re already slipping outside and heading to the town car. Something about Logan being with you emboldens you to act in ways you never would. Even when he’s not there, when you’re just having family dinner and your father says something off-putting. You fight back, you don’t let him steamroll you and your opinions. 

You feel better than you have in ages with Logan beside you. Still, the ride there is incredibly awkward. 

The hotel is grand and luxurious. But they all are. You feel guilty complaining about your life when this is your weekend. What do you have to be upset about when you regularly stay in five-star motels and wear designer dresses without glancing at the price tag?

Sometimes you feel guilty around Logan. You wonder if he ever resents you for your privilege. You might be a mutant like him, sure, but you’ve never had to struggle to make ends meet. Or try and scrap together enough money to get your next meal. You’ve never had to worry about where you’re going to sleep next or if you’ll have a roof over your head. 

Your struggles have been so different that you worry if something ever did happen between the two of you, you might not work together. 

But those are spiraling thoughts for another time. Right now, you’re just trying to get through the front door without someone bombarding your father with questions on his stance about whatever. 

When it’s clear that he’s going to be there for a while, he sends you and Logan off to the ballroom on your own. You feel bad for your stepmother, having to stay behind and pretend she’s interested as they bore her with stories that have no real meaning. 

“Poor woman,” you mutter, watching her struggle to keep the smile on her face. 

“You don’t call her mom,” Logan muses. You turn to look at him and he just shrugs. “Just a little weird.”

“Well, she’s not my mom.” His head tilts in confusion and you elaborate. “My bio mom left the second she figured out she gave birth to a mutant. We lie to the public, stepmom’s interfere with the perfect nuclear family ideal my dad’s pushing for.”

“If he cares so much about family then why don’t you have your dad’s last name?” A good question, one you had to field a lot when you first started school. 

You give him a sly grin, “Took my mom's maiden name the second I was eighteen, just to piss him off.” There’s no true reason behind it other than being vindictive and petty. “He’s been trying to get me to change it for years but he can’t force me to. Besides, I like having my name separate from theirs. Lets me pretend I’m not a part of the family. Don’t get me wrong, she’s nice and all, we just never really had the chance to bond.”

Someone passes by you. A couple you know you’re supposed to recognize but you can’t place their names. The man calls out your name, coming toward you with his arms open wide. You can see Logan tense up slightly beside you, bodyguard instincts coming out for a moment. 

You squeeze his hand briefly before stepping forward to hug the man. “So nice to see you, again.” You tell him. He grins and squeezes you a little closer to his chest than necessary. 

Logan clears his throat, glaring at the man’s drifting hands. Before either of you can react, Logan is pulling you back, hand resting lightly over the small of your back. He holds his hand out, forcing the man to shake his hand and take his attention off of you.

You can’t hold back the smile on your lips when you see how much smaller the man is under Logan’s intense stare. You’ve gotten used to the men at these events treating you however they want. They don’t see you as a human, you are your father’s accessory and their toy. You envy Logan for how easily he can dismiss these men, take away their larger-than-life personalities, and reduce them to the sniveling rats they truly are. 

He doesn’t even speak, simply tugs you towards the ballroom and away from the man’s wandering hands. You can’t help the stupid smile on your face while you look at him. He glances out the side of his eye and huffs, “What?” He snaps, tone impatient. 

You shrug and shake your head. “Nothing, you’re just…” You trail off, unsure how to continue. You don’t want to make him uncomfortable by telling him how you really feel about him. How deeply you appreciate him, how horribly you desire him. You’re afraid it will all just blow up in your face. That you’ll have truly been reading into everything and gotten his intentions all wrong. After all, he’s made it abundantly clear that there’s meant to be nothing between the two of you except a paycheck. 

You take in a deep breath, smile faltering, “Nothing.” You finally spit out, slipping out of his grasp and walking quicker towards the doors. His hand lingers on your back, fingers trailing slowly down your spine until you’re completely out of his reach. 

The chatter inside gets louder the closer you get to the entrance. You listen to the indiscernible voices, the quartet playing in the corner, and the clink of metal on the glass as they all eat. You straighten out your shoulders and put on your best smile, mentally preparing yourself to keep it stiff on your cheeks for the rest of the night. 

Logan catches up to you, the both of you stopping the second you see the inside of the ballroom. 

People Against Mutants

Evolution or Monstrosities

Parents for the Removal of Mutant Children

Your eyes widen as you take in the banners and signs hanging off the walls. More and more uncreative rhetoric all for the annihilation of mutants. Of people like you and Logan. Your smile drops immediately and you know you should have expected something like this from your father. He’d been refusing to tell you what this gala was for, saying offhandly he was just raising some money. 

You thought it was another charity. Not this. Not people, quite literally, calling for your head. For Logan’s head. You suck in a sharp breath and glance towards the silent man beside you. His jaw is clenched as he takes in all the finely dressed people around you. They’re all laughing and chatting like they’re not actively campaigning for the destruction of children. 

“Bar?” You ask, already walking towards it. 

“Sounds good to me.” His hand is on your back again and you’re grateful for it. The glower on his face, the attitude that screams I don’t belong here keeps people away from you. He shoulders through the men huddling around the bar, forcefully clearing space for the two of you. 

And when they turn around, posturing like they’re going to say something, he only has to look at them for them to retreat with their tails tucked. It’s ridiculously attractive seeing someone command these men so easily. 

“Whiskey,” Logan grumbles, he looks back at you and you slide beside him, leaning your elbows against the cool counter. 

“Just champagne, please,” you tell the bartender. He nods, quickly making your drinks and handing them to you. You turn with the flute in your hand, surveying the room. It feels less like a gala and more like a production of false niceties that will never end and never be genuine. 

“Don’t know how you deal with these fuckers all the time,” Logan mutters, glaring as a man slams into him and keeps walking without apologizing. 

You let out a short huff of laughter, “Honestly,” he glances over at you and you shrug. “I’ve got no fucking clue either.” He scoffs and takes a swig from his glass. But you can’t take your eyes off of him. You feel the words on the tip of your tongue, weighing you down until you feel like you have no choice but to spit them out. 

“You,” his brows quirk up and he glances over at you. You take in a deep breath and start over, nerves making your palms sweaty around the glass. “You make it bearable.”

Logan’s face falls and he sucks in a deep breath. You see the expression on his face, you know what he’s going to tell you. And you hate how apologetic he looks. You especially despise the way he’s making you feel pitied. He’s never done that before and you don’t want him to start now. 

“Don’t,” you tell him before he can say anything. You let out a self-deprecating laugh and place the champagne flute on the bar so you don’t have to look at him. “I know what you’re going to say, alright. So, just, don’t.”

Logan purses his lips and grabs your jaw. You try and jerk your face out of his grasp but he doesn’t let you, he forces you to look at him. He only lets go once you reluctantly make eye contact. You’re surprised by the look on his face. There’s no pity in his gaze like you’d expected. 

This is something else, something darker and more twisted. You can’t put your finger on what exactly you’re seeing but you know it makes your heart race and your thighs clench. “Listen, sweetheart, I-”

“What the hell are you doing?” You jump away from him but Logan just clenches his eyes shut with a short huff of irritated breath. You clear your throat and turn to face your father. He’s glaring between you and Logan, but smiles warmly anytime someone looks your way. “I didn’t bring you here so my contributors could see what a fucking whore you are for the help.”

“Dad!” You exclaim, eyes widening in horror. But Logan doesn’t seem bothered by your father’s words. If anything it seems to incense him, his hand drifting from your jaw to drape itself over the nape of your neck. You try not to show just how much the possessive grip is affecting you but you know they can both tell. 

Your father’s face pinches and he nearly stomps his foot as he looks between you and Logan. He looks like he wants to say something else but your stepmother, thankfully, calls his name. She waves him over towards her and you hold your breath, waiting to see what he’s going to do. 

He takes in short puffs of air, straightening out his suit jacket and glaring at you. “You’re not going to be a fucking wallflower all night, got it?” He doesn’t give you a chance to respond before he’s stomping off. He calls out a warm greeting to someone across the room and you feel like you can finally breathe again. 

You give Logan a tired smile and nod towards the rest of the party. “Time to mingle.”

He laughs, loudly, enough to make people’s heads turn. You can feel your skin heating up from embarrassment and flinch away from the sound. “Sorry, kid, mingling ain’t part of my contract.”

Your jaw drops as you glare at him. “Are you serious?”

He turns back to the bar, flagging down the bartender for a refill. “Deadly,” he tells you firmly, barely looking at you. You roll your eyes and walk away from him, glaring at his back the whole time you do so. 

He thought coming to one of these things, being stuffed in a scratchy suit, would be his worst nightmare. He was proven wrong when he heard them talking to each other. Bitching about golf and their mistresses wanting more attention. Their kids nagging them and their wives being bitches. 

All of it made him want to down a whole bottle of whiskey and then blow his brains out. His worst nightmare turned into ever having to hold a conversation with one of these pricks. 

Then, he turns around, surveying the room for wherever you were lurking. He expects you to be by your father’s side or hiding somewhere in a corner. Instead, you’re standing close -extremely close - to some pretty boy. 

His hand is on your waist and you’re laughing at whatever boring fucking story he’s telling you. Logan tries to pick up on your conversation but there are too many things happening at once already. His senses are on overdrive and he’s already struggling against a migraine. 

He feels something brewing in his gut, something he’s been trying to just shove down for months. He doesn’t know what it is he hates about this picture but it makes him sick to his stomach. He hears something crack and looks down to find the glass of whiskey split on one side. 

“Shit,” he hisses, slamming the glass on the bar behind him. He shakes his hand out and tries to unclench his fists but it’s hard. He couldn’t have possibly been standing here long enough for you to suddenly find the love of your life. Why the fuck are the two of you so close?

This was so unlike you. Rarely did you ever have something good to say about the men you would encounter at these things. He’d heard you bitch about it enough times. Something about this isn’t adding up and he doesn’t know if it’s his own jealousy or intuition. 

Still, he finds himself pushing away from the bar and stalking towards you both. Closer, he can finally see what the problem is. Your hands are on the guy's chest but you aren’t leaning against him, you’re actively trying to push him away. 

It makes Logan’s blood boil, jaw clenching as he tries to keep himself at bay. He didn’t want to cave some kid’s head in in the middle of the gala. But the closer he got the clearer he could hear your hissed warnings to take his hands off of you. 

Logan finally reaches you and the look of sheer relief on your face makes him want to bring the claws out. He’d love to see that smug smirk ripped off his face, but he holds back. If only so he doesn’t traumatize you. 

“Alright, bub, hands off,” he warns. 

“Why don’t you just leave us alone?” He had to give it to the kid, he’s got balls. Rarely did anyone ever buck up to him like this. Normally, he might entertain him a bit, drag this on longer than necessary to get a kick out of it. 

But he still hasn’t taken his hands off of you and Logan’s not interested in fucking around tonight. Without a word, he grabs the kid by the collar of his jacket and tosses him away from you. 

He lands roughly on the floor with a loud gasp and people turn to look. Logan pays no mind to the onlookers. He places his hand on your back and leads you out of the ballroom, unwilling to have eyes on you for the rest of this conversation. 

“Logan,” you start, tone nervous. 

“Don’t,” he snaps. He regrets it immediately from the way you jump in surprise. He lets out a rough sigh, running his hand down his face, and walks through the first door he finds. “I’m sorry, kid, I just-”

“Logan,” you cut him off. The tone of your voice is enough to get him to finally look at you. Your arms are crossed and you’re glaring at him. “Why the fuck did you drag us into a closet?”

His brows furrow in confusion and he glances around, finally realizing what he walked into, “Fuck,” he hisses. He gropes blindly around the room for a light switch. There’s a small click and then an unflattering fluorescent light is shining down on you both. He’s managed to drag you both into a small, incredibly cramped, cleaning closet.  

You’re grimacing as you push a few mops away from your head. You look over at him and something about the look on his face must be funny because you start to laugh. “What were you thinking?”

Your smile makes one curl up on his own lips. He can’t help it, something about you eases a bit of the tightness constantly lurking inside him. “Thought it was one of those stuffy conference rooms.”

You scoff and reach for the handle, “Just a stuffy closest, good going, Logan.” You roll your eyes and tug on the knob. Your brows furrow together as you jiggle the handle every which way, desperately pulling on it. 

“Move over,” Logan mutters, nudging you to the side. He wraps his hand around the handle and yanks on it, expecting the door to swing open. When it doesn’t his face falls. 

“Did you miraculously unlock it, genius?” You demand sarcastically. Logan feels his shoulders tense up, frustration levels steadily rising. He’s already got a shit temper, he doesn’t need you adding to this. 

“No,” he snipes, “but I don’t see you coming up with any wonderful solutions.”

You throw your hands up in the air, wincing when your elbow collides with the shelving unit behind you. “I didn’t drag us into this mess! Why did you even come in here?” You demand and he can see how angry you are. 

It shows in the way you tapped your heeled feet against the floor and glower at him like he’s the bane of your existence. He doesn’t know what happens, what comes over him, or why this is the moment he chooses to break his rule. 

Your back slams into the shelves behind you and you gasp as he surges towards you. His hands come up to cup your cheeks and before you get a chance to question him, his mouth is covering your own. Logan buries his hand in your hair, ruining the perfectly styled curls. You don’t seem to mind much if the way you arch into him is anything to go by. 

His tongue runs across the seam of your lips, tasting the cherry-flavored gloss you’d applied earlier. He wants to devour you. Consume you body and soul, take everything you have to give, and then keep going. He doesn’t want to stop, but he’s not sure he wants the first place you have sex to be in a janitor’s closet. 

He pulls back, tugging you back when you try to chase his lips with your own. “Shouldn’t do this here,” he mutters. He’s struggling to hold back. And when you look up at him, lips swollen from his kiss, and you mutter why, how is he meant to resist?

He tugs you away from the shelves, pushing you against the door so he doesn’t have to see your face twist up in pain every time the corner digs into your lower back. Your hands drop down to his belt, lips desperately carving a path down his neck. 

He’d laugh at your eagerness if he wasn’t just as desperate for you. He reaches for the hem of your dress but it’s one of those floor-length gowns with no slits. He struggled for a minute before getting too impatient and just muttering, “Fuck it.”

You gasp when you feel the metal of his claw against your leg, eyes dropping down to watch as he makes himself a slit. He slices the fabric along your thigh and then just rips it. “Logan,” you hiss as he hikes the silk over your hips. 

“Something wrong, sweetheart?” You glare at him, eyes darting between him and his pants before you finally shake your head. He laughs slightly, hand drifting under your dress and reveling in the way you shiver under his touch. “Yeah,” he whispers, “that’s what I thought.”

His fingers move gently along your thighs, easing you into his touch. You let out breathy whimpers, tucking your face in his neck the closer he gets to your core. He lets his hand drift lower, searching out the band of your underwear. 

He’s pleasantly surprised when he’s met with nothing but you dripping for him. “Shit, you’re not wearing any underwear?”

You freeze and keep your face stubbornly buried in his neck. Logan laughs slightly, tugging you back and forcing you to look up at him. You mumble something under your breath. It’s said so quickly he can barely understand you. “What was that?”

“Ugh, god, Logan.” You groan and let your eyes drop down to his shirt, fiddling with the end of his tie. “I was hoping this would happen.”

When he doesn’t say anything your face shifts, worry gnawing away at you. You glance up at him and are surprised by the intensity of his gaze. He’s staring down at you like he wants to eat you whole. His pupils have consumed all the color of his eyes, there’s nothing but want on his face. 

“You wanna know why I agreed to come with you, kid?”

Your mind is completely dulled just by being this close to him. It takes you a moment to process what he’s saying before you nod your head. “Why?”

The look on his face reminds you of a wolf guarding its territory. It’s predatorial, animalistic, it makes you want him even more. “I didn’t want any of these little boys getting a chance to have their hands on you.” His gaze drops down to your lips and he leans in until your breaths are mingling together. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you.” He dips his head down and his kiss isn’t as intense as it was the first time. His lips move lazily over your own, tongue stroking against yours like he’s savoring the taste. 

You can taste the whiskey he’d drank earlier, can still smell cigars on his breath. It should be revolting, you’ve never liked kissing smokers. But there is something so intoxicating about him. Everything he does is enchanting to you. 

It’s a naive train of thought but you trust him wholly. He could do whatever he wanted to you and you’d let him willingly. His hands continue their exploration down your body and you can’t help but arch into his touch. His fingers stroke languidly over your center and you moan into his mouth. 

Your lips part with little gasps and your head thunks loudly against the door. Neither of you notice or care, you’ve all but forgotten the gala outside. The government employees and rich socialites that you’re supposed to be entertaining. 

And when he slips a finger inside you, you don’t care who hears you call out his name. The rough pad of his finger creates a feeling you’ve never been able to produce on your own. There’s something so exhilarating about this whole situation. 

Stuck in this tiny closet, no air to breathe but each other’s. No room for anything other than your bodies pressed as closely together as possible. You're completely surrounded by him and you never want to leave. 

“Logan,” you gasp out his name and shove at his shoulders. He momentarily stops his ministrations, giving you a worried look. “Please, I just want you.” You tug at his wrist, hissing when his fingers leave you with a lewd pop. 

He looks hesitant, but you can see the way he’s straining against his boxers. You let your hand trail down his stomach, palming him through the thin fabric. His hips buck into your hands and he lets out the most attractive noise you’ve ever heard. You’ve always liked guys who aren’t afraid to be vocal. 

“Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he whispers. He swats your hands to the sides, tugging his boxers down and squeezing your hips hard enough to bruise. “Come on, up.”

You jump and he slings your legs around his waist, lining himself up with your entrance. He drags you slowly down his cock, resting your back against the door and giving a hesitant thrust inside you. 

You can’t help the low groan that leaves your parted lips. It’s like you’re full of nothing but him. You’d been mentally prepared for the stretch he would present, but you probably should have given him more time to warn you up. 

You don’t care though, this is all you’ve been craving for months. To feel nothing, taste nothing but him. You’ve been praying that he feels the same way you do, and if the look on his face is anything to go by, he does. 

He looks completely wrecked, head resting on your shoulder while you both take a breath. It’s overwhelming, this feeling of finally having what you’ve always wanted. Someone you can give yourself to completely and still feel safe with them. 

You drag your hand up his back, burying it in his hair and reveling in how soft it is. You tug him back by the roots, tilting his neck until he’s forced to look at you. Your gaze drops to his reddened lips and you smile at the gloss you’ve smeared across his chin. 

“Come on, Logan, don’t tell me you’re all talk.”

His eyes narrow but you can see the amusement swimming within them. “You’re gonna regret that.”

“Oh, yeah?” You goad, grinding your hips down against his and biting your lip hard enough to draw blood. You’re trying not to make a noise, trying to make sure he doesn’t see just how much he’s affecting you. But you can already feel your orgasm forming, it’s a low tingle in the tips of your toes, a burning hot desire rushing through your thighs as you clench around him. 

“Yeah,” he promises, thrusting sharply into you. This time the moan is forced out of you, your lips parting unbidden as you slump over him, burying your face in his neck. He doesn’t waste any time, using your hips as handles to pump you over his cock like you’re nothing more than a toy. 

The door rattles behind you, each thrust of his hips makes it shake in its frame. His hands fist the back of your dress, grip so tight you think it might tear. You don’t care. He could rip it off of you and you’d walk outside naked right now. 

You don’t care what happens, not when he’s beside you. There’s a feeling of security that comes from being around Logan and you can feel it in this moment. You trust him to take care of you in every way. 

Maybe you shouldn’t. After all, you two haven’t known each other long. But there’s not much you’re worried about when he’s moving steadily inside you. You can taste the desperation you share for each other in each pump of his hips. 

He whispers it into your ear while you claw at his back. The shelves around you shake and you worry you might bring them down if you can’t rope yourself in. But you can feel the wave building in the back of your throat, your vision blurring as you tighten your legs around his waist and begin to match his rhythm. 

“There you go,” he mutters, pinning you to the door and keeping your hips still while he moves inside you. “Come on, I can feel you clenching around me, sweetheart.” He manages to hold you up with one hand, the other diving between your legs to rub tight circles around your bundle of nerves. 

It doesn’t take much longer for your muscles to seize up, back bowing as you clench desperately around him. “Oh, fuck, Logan,” you shout his name, and his hand quickly comes up to smother your cries. He squeezes your cheeks until your eyes snap open and he drags you down to meet his gaze. 

“Don’t want to lose my job, need you to be quiet for me,” he grunts out, his tone breathy and strained. He loses his rhythm, movements speeding up erratically while he lets out low groans and whispers of your name. You almost cum again when he finally finishes inside you. 

Your limbs are twitching in overstimulation by the time his hips still. You feel completely boneless, body slumped lazily in his arms. He wraps both arms around you, squeezing you a little before slowly lifting you off of him. 

It’s a relief of pressure when he pulls out. His cum leaks out of you, dribbling down your thighs and dripping onto the floor of the closest. Your face screws up at the feeling and you internally cringe. No condom was probably a stupid call.

But you don’t really want to think about the repercussions right now. Not when he’s stroking your hair and rubbing a soothing hand down your back, waiting until you can form a coherent sentence before he lets you go. “Alright?” He asks, voice bordering on something smug. 

“Mhm,” you push away from him, legs shaky as you try and straighten out your dress. It’s a loss cause, trying to hide what happened in here at all. You’ve got a tear going up to your hip and you’re pretty sure there are holes in the back. Logan’s tie is gone and you don’t even remember taking that off. His shirt is completely wrinkled and your lip gloss has stained his face. 

You’ve both got horrific sex hair and the room reeks of it. You don’t know how you're going to sneak out of here. You still try and relax your hair, patting down the flyaways while Logan retucks his shirt. 

It’s silent between the two of you, heavy but not awkward. You don’t think either of you knows what to say now that you’ve physically acted on what you want. A sudden thought hits you, makes your heart clench painfully and your tongue ties up in your mouth. 

He’d confirmed that he wanted your body. That he desired you sexually. But you don’t think he actually said anything about a real relationship. There would be problems, of course, your father for one would have a lot to say about it. But you don’t care about that. You don’t care about any of the consequences, you just want to be with him. 

You open your mouth to ask him what he wants when the door swings open. Both you and Logan whip towards it. But where you look like a deer caught in the headlights he looks like the epitome of male pride. 

Especially when he realizes it's your father on the other side. “Dad-” You start, but you have no idea what you could even say. Your dress is in tatters and both you and Logan are still mussed up. There’s no hiding what happened here. 

He doesn’t let you finish, holding up his hand. His voice is eerily calm as he says, “I thought I heard something banging around in here.”

“You did,” Logan scoffs, crossing his arms and glaring at your father. You feel your heart jump to your throat, staring over at him with a horrified look on your face. How could he think that was okay to say? It was so dismissive of what you believed had happened. 

This was more than just a quickie in the dark to you. This meant something, but you’re seriously starting to doubt that it was the same for him as it was for you. And that just makes you feel like the stupid little girl everyone seems to believe you are. 

Your father says your name but you can’t bring yourself to meet his eye. “You’re feeling sick,” he tells you, no room for argument. “Your date had to take you home. It was just too much too soon after the incident at the rally.” When you don’t say anything he shouts out, “Understood?” That makes you jump. 

“Yes,” you clear your throat and face him. “Yes, understood.”

Your father has made his stance on mutants clear. He hates them, despises them to their very being, and wishes he could kill every last one. And as much as you were raised with those ideas, they were never truly turned on you.

But he’s looking at you right now like he wishes you were never born. You feel like shit on his shoe. Something to be hidden away and buried. It makes your shoulders slump like a hundred pounds was just tossed onto your back. 

You try to run past him but he jerks you back, fingers so tight around your bicep you feel the skin tear. You gasp in pain but don’t say anything, too afraid to argue. “Put his jacket on, I won’t have you looking like a whore.” He releases you with a rough shove and storms off. 

You can feel something burning at the back of your eyes. A moment later Logan drops his jacket over your shoulders, pulling you back into his chest and running his hands over your arms. “Come on, kid,” he mutters. There’s something resigned in his voice that makes your heart drop, “Let’s get you home.”

The walk through the lobby feels like you’re walking through a dream. You’re not completely present for it, or the ride home. Your mind and your heart are warring and you feel like you’re going to be torn apart if you keep lingering on what just happened. 

You just can’t understand how you could go from having everything you wanted to feeling like the scum of the earth in less than two minutes. Logan doesn’t speak as he drives you home. His knuckles are turning white around the steering wheel and you’re afraid to even try and start a conversation. 

You don’t want to hear him tell you that he didn’t desire you past your body. You don’t want to discover that you’re just another notch on his belt. He seems to do this a lot, sleep with the girls he guards. The idea of just being another job, another fun night, makes you absolutely disgusted with yourself. 

When he pulls into the driveway of your house you both just sit in the car. Neither of you knows what to say. And the air between you is so thick with tension you feel like you could choke on it. You stare down at your hands, fingers fiddling with the ripped seams of your dress. 

You pick at the threads and feel his stare on you. You can’t do this. You can’t deal with the possibility of rejection. Not after what happened between you and certainly not after what your father said. 

You undo your seat belt and Logan watches as you go through the movements of getting up. His eyes never leave you and it’s like a physical caress, his stare. Normally it would make you warm inside, comforted by his presence. But right now all you can feel is the chill of where his cum has dried between your legs and the icy-hot stab of nausea in your gut. 

You throw the door open and you’re nearly out when he calls out a quiet, “Goodnight.”

You don’t look at him, you can’t. You slam the door shut and walk silently to the front door of your house. You don’t look back, don’t respond, you just slip inside your house and finally let the weight of the night come crashing down on you. 

You don’t cry until you hear him pull out of the driveway. 

Your father and stepmother usually stay at the hotel the night of a gala. Most nights you come home and enjoy the house to yourself for once. Tonight, you’re woken up by the front door slamming so hard your walls shake. 

You can faintly hear your stepmother’s voice trying to console your father. She’s muttering something to him you can’t make out. You shoot out of bed, running to pull some sweatpants on. After you’d cried yourself out you’d taken a shower. 

You’ve scrubbed your skin raw but you swear you can still smell him on you. You rush to your bedroom door, turning the knob quietly and slowly peeking your head outside. Your father’s at the bottom of the stairs, the second he spots your open door he’s screaming your name. 

Your stomach twists painfully and you can feel panic starting to overwhelm you. Your hands shake and your legs are stiff as you slowly step into the hallway. You’re a grown woman. You shouldn’t feel like this because your dad is going to yell at you. 

But he’s been so good at forcing you to rely on him. At forcing you to bend and break to fit his beliefs and mold. You don’t know what to do if you’re not striving for his approval. And right now it’s very clear that he’s never been more disgusted by you. 

If the look on his face isn’t enough to twist the knife deeper, his words are. “I have never,” he screams at you. You take a step back, keeping the stairs between you, refusing to meet him in the middle. “Been more embarrassed to call you my daughter. Do you have any idea how humiliating that was for me? Do you know how many people saw you being dragged outside like a fucking whore off the corner?”

You clench your eyes shut, turning your face away from him as the shame becomes a physical thing inside you. You can feel it making its way up your throat. Because he’s right. Tonight you were nothing more than a slut without any self-respect. 

But you’re also pissed off. You’re fucking enraged at yourself for being so stupid as to ever believe Logan wanted you for anything more than your body. You're mad at Logan for knowing how you feel about him and taking advantage of it. And you’re so fucking tired of doing everything you can to make your father proud and it never being enough. 

“Have you ever once asked me what I want?” You raise your voice, screaming down at him with a ferocity that surprises even you. His eyes widen, frame trembling with unreleased rage. You plow through, not stopping because you know if you do, you’ll never get this out. “No, you haven’t. Not once. Because you don’t fucking love me! And it has taken me years to accept that, to finally realize that you’re incapable of loving anyone but yourself.”

You gasp, the noise wet and painful as something warm trickles down your cheek. You stare down at him with your eyes wide in realization. “It’s so clear to me now, I feel like an idiot for missing it for so long. You never loved me. You’re incapable of it!” 

You’re embarrassed at the way your voice cracks. As much as you want to pretend you’re stronger than him, not afraid of him. There’s still a little girl inside you who wonders why Daddy doesn’t love you. 

“I don’t give a flying fuck what you want, Dad. I don’t care what you want my life to look like or if I embarrassed you. I’m glad I did, glad someone finally saw a sliver of the truth you try so desperately to hide-”

“Enough!” He shouts and it startles you so bad that you jump back, your abilities reacting and a vase behind you flying off the shelf. You duck as glass shatters across the stairs and floor. You glance at the scene with shocked eyes, looking down at your father to see that he’s not even a little bit surprised. 

Instead, he just looks so deeply disappointed that it makes you shrink into yourself. The anger within you is extinguished in a second. He rubs his face, shaking his head and turning his back on you. “Dad?” You call out, voice trembling. 

“Go to your room,” he tells you quietly. “I don’t want to look at you anymore.” You hover by the top of the stairs for a moment, not quite believing him yet. And when he realizes you're still there, that you’re not taking him seriously, he finally looks at you again. 

“I wish every goddamn day that those doctors had just put you down. I’d rather have a dead daughter than one like you.”

You stand there, stunned, even after the rest of the house has gone to bed. You clean up the pieces of glass while you try and swallow down your tears. Let the sharp edges dig into your skin and tear until you can feel any type of pain besides the one inside you. 

A week of solitary confinement. You’re surprised that you haven’t just been kicked out of college. You’re sure that your father’s many donations to the university are the only thing stopping your professors from dropping you from the class. 

You don’t care if they do or not, though. You never actually care about what you studied. You’d just always hoped that it would be a way for you to escape the tight grip around your neck your dad has on you. 

You’ve figured out that no matter how hard you fight, you’ll never escape him. He hates you and yet, he can’t let you go. You’d laugh if you weren’t busy wallowing in your depression. 

Someone keeps leaving food by your door but you can’t find it in yourself to be hungry. You’ll nibble on something, but you feel like you’re going to throw up when you so much as breathe the wrong way. 

You haven’t heard from Logan since that night. You knew your father would fire him the second he woke up. But you’d held out hope - foolishly - that he might still try and reach out to you. You have this childish image in your head of the prince coming to rescue the princess from the dragon. 

But you’ve been naive your whole life, you don’t want to keep going down this road. You don’t want to keep expecting the best of people and live your life in perpetual disappointment. 

You haven’t seen or spoken to your father since that night. Wordlessly, he’d banned you to your room. No one’s said it, but you know you’re not allowed to come out. You don’t know when he’s going to deem you useful again and drag you back out into the public eye. 

Contrary to his belief, no one had seen you leave that night with Logan. You hadn’t been in any tabloids or shitty news articles. Besides emotional estrangement from your father and losing the only guy you’ve ever really liked, there were no consequences to your whorish behavior - as your father so lovingly puts it. 

You roll over in your bed and picture yourself taking a shower. It feels like such a workout but you can’t stand lying in your sweat and tears for much longer. With a long drawn-out groan, you throw yourself out of bed and enter the bathroom connected to your room. 

You know you’ll feel better afterward, but everything besides sleep sounds like too much work. Still, you force yourself inside and finally clean the grime of laying on your ass for a week off. 

You walk naked through your room, making a beeline for your dresser. You feel a little better after washing yourself off and moisturizing. But not much. Physical health can only do so much for how you feel inside. 

You hope this will blow over soon, you’re not sure how much longer you can take feeling so awful. You hate pitying yourself, and that’s exactly what you’re doing right now. You huff irritatedly, digging around your drawers for your favorite shirt. 

A hand clamps around your mouth, rough and big, yanking you back into a muscled chest and keeping you quiet. You still try and scream, hands clawing at the skin of their hand until you feel blood. 

“Fuck, quit that, would ya?”

Your erratic movements slowly come to a halt. You still feel your heart pounding against your chest, adrenaline warming your blood and making you feel like you're on fire from the inside out. But, you recognize the voice, recognize there’s no danger to the situation. 

That doesn’t make you any less pissed off. When Logan is sure you won’t keep attacking him, he lets you go slowly. You immediately whirl around on him, uncaring that you’re still naked. Energy moves quickly through you, becoming a physical thing under your skin. 

He smiles at you and you push the energy out, throwing him across your room. He flies into your bookshelf, crashing to the ground with a loud slam. “What the fuck are you doing?” You scream at him. 

There’s no one home right now, luckily, or else you both would be screwed. He shakes his head off, brushing pieces of wood out of his hair and slowly getting to his feet. “Well, I was coming to say hi-”

“You say hi by ambushing naked girls?” You interrupt, grabbing the clothes closest to you and pulling them on quickly. 

Logan rolls his neck out and shrugs. “No, that was just a plus,” he gives you that insufferable smirk and you want to scream. 

This is the first time you see him in a week since you had sex together and your father officially disowned you. And this is what he’s leading with? Seriously? “You’re a real fucking prince, Logan.” You shake your head with a scoff and glare at him.

He narrows his eyes, looking to be in disbelief at your attitude. “What happened?” You expect to hear irritation in his tone. Anger that you’re being such a bitch right now. Instead, he sounds concerned, like he can see right through you. 

You hate that. You used to love having someone who could see past all the pretenses and walls, but it just hurts now. “Nothing,” you tell him, unable to hold eye contact any longer. “Look,” you take in a deep breath, and your brows furrow in confusion. “How the hell did you even get in here?”

Logan doesn’t look like he wants to drop the topic just yet but he relents. He nods towards your window and you fix him with an astonished look. “I climbed, I didn’t want your dad to risk seeing me on the security cameras out front.”

You feel suspicion brewing inside you, tone turning defensive. “Look, if you came here because you want to fuck again, I suggest you go find another girl. I’m not interested anymore.”

“Well,” he scoffs, “I find that hard to believe.” How easily he just dismisses your words. Like they hold no real importance. It makes you want to scream. Instead, you just flick your wrist, throwing him into another wall. You don’t know how you’re going to explain these holes in the wall to your father but you don’t really care. 

“Enough,” he snaps, brushing himself off and glaring at you. Your lips curl up in amusement, the first thing you’ve felt besides anger and depression for the last week. “Look, I was coming here to get you the hell out, kid. Clearly, I’m not wanted.”

He walks towards your window, intent on climbing back down the side of your house and leaving. You almost let him, if only to see him scurrying down the wall. Instead, you take a step forward and stop him with a small, “Get me out?”

He sighs, running an aggrieved hand over his face and propping the other on his hip. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Look, I can’t stand the thought of you cooped up in here, isolated from the rest of the world. It’s not fair, I was gonna see if you…” He trails off and roughly swallows. 

Your interest piques. Whatever is this hard for him to get out has to be interesting. “Logan,” you call his name softly. “See if I what?”

He huffs out a rough breath, turning around and staring you down. There’s something in his eyes, something reflected in yours. He’s looking at you the same way you always look at him. “You wanna come with me, kid?”

Well, you’d have to be an idiot to say no. 

You don’t leave a note. You don’t give them any clues or hints as to where you might have gone. They can draw their own conclusions about what happened to you. They can tell the news whatever twisted lies they want. 

You don’t care, that’s not your life anymore. Your life is packed away in a backpack in the back of Logan’s trailer. Your new life is in the passenger seat beside him. You’re equal parts terrified and excited to figure out what you’re going to do with the rest of it. 

a/n: can you tell I know fuck all about politics?

Also, smut, wow, this was hard and rough to write. I don’t know why it’s such a struggle. I just feel guilty writing such dirty words, it’s absolutely diabolical that I have no problem being crazy over a guy whose age gap with me is the same age as my parents, but I can’t write smut.

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

General Taglist: @evasmlp

Logan Taglist:  @nonamevenus @smexy-bucky-waifu @wh1sp♡

[thirteenducks]

feverish

(wriothesley x wife!reader) [sfw]

༻❁༺ content: fem!reader (reader is referred to by ‘wife’ and "she/her"), established relationship, marriage, reader has hair long enough to reach neck

༻❁༺ word count: ~1.5k

༻❁༺ tags: sickfic, banter while sick, this is just wrio taking care of you and being a butt while doing it, feat. sigewinne who does not get paid enough for this, if you are sick and reading this rn im so sorry and i hope you get well soon, coldsink wrio x heatsource wife agenda

༻❁༺ author’s note: my friend @mmmairon is sick and i am in another country and cannot help so i'm sending wrio on my behalf. pls enjoy especially if you don't feel well right now :(

After a restless night, Wriothesley is thrilled to hear that you're awake now. He wastes no time in rushing to your side.

Wriothesley’s pen scratches unpleasantly against a disciplinary notice, its point threatening to carve into the wood of the desk beneath. The owner mutters darkly under his breath as he completes a signature on the offending paper and slides it to his left. Immediately, another takes its place from the stack on his right.

For two hours, nothing else has broken the quiet of the Duke’s office. Two hours too long, by Wriothesley’s measure. He glances at the clock, hand continuing to sign his name by sheer muscle memory.

Are you getting any rest? Did the chamomile from your tea an hour ago help at all, or are the throes of fever keeping you awake? Does he have the right ingredients to make you beef stew? Preoccupied, he writes “soup” on the signature line of a prisoner release form by mistake.

He sighs, pinching the crooked bridge of his nose between his fingers. They’re as cold as ever. He misses the warmth of yours unspeakably.

The next thirty minutes pass like an eternity. Surely, Sigewinne would be at his side in an instant if you were awake. His presence there now would only serve to wake you from much-needed rest and defer his backlog of paperwork even more. Neither of these points keeps him from staring the clock down like he’s in the ring again.

Suddenly, there’s a quiet knock on his door and Wriothesley snaps to attention, nearly knocking over an inkwell in his haste. Sigewinne enters without his bidding, an unreadable expression on her kind face. She doesn’t wait for his question before she answers it.

“Yes, the tea put her to sleep, and yes, she’s awake now.”

His features relax in a moment, the furrow in his brow smoothing.

“I’m afraid she’s not any better than she was this morning, however. I would have really liked to see her fever come down by now...” The Melusine trails off, her small hand on her chin and a pout on her face. “The chill probably isn’t doing her much good, either.”

Her boss, however, is already halfway downstairs, pulling his coat on as he takes the steps two at a time. Sigewinne sighs as she turns to follow him at a much slower pace. So predictable when his wife is involved.

In contrast to the speed at which he crosses the fortress to your shared living quarters, Wriothesley’s steps are soft as he nears your bedroom door.

“Sweetheart? Are you up?”

A weak cough answers him. He’s by the bedside in a moment, kneeling and pushing aside the curtain that hides you from him. Your eyes squint a bit as the sickly light of the fortress filters in, and his hand moves up to shield your face as he appears in your field of vision.

Despite the red ringing your eyes and nose and the congestion in your breathing, you smile up at him and his heart almost jumps out of his chest.

“Hi, darling.”

The side of his mouth quirks up. “Hi. Feeling any better?”

You shake your head slightly, your hair fanning out on the pillow beneath you. He silently gathers it in one hand and moves it away from your neck as he waits for you to continue. The brush of his cool hand against your flushed skin feels incredible and you bring your hand to rest on his, a silent entreaty to keep it there.

“Sigewinne says I’m in the worst of it now and that from here-” you stop to cough, Wriothesley’s eyes raking over your frame as it shakes with the effort. “-from here it should be uphill. As long as I can rest up today.”

He pushes the hair back from your forehead with his other hand, stroking it absentmindedly. “Well, we’ll have to stick it out until tomorrow then, huh?” The grin he shoots you, all teeth, does more for you than you think any of the medicine on your bedside table has.

That’s why you’re as surprised as he is when the tears start to roll down your cheeks. You hadn’t even known they were there until now, but suddenly it’s so much harder to breathe than it was and Wriothesley is a swimming blur in front of you. The shooting pain in your head, dulled to an ache until now, comes back in full force as your body curls in on itself and your temple meets your husband’s shoulder.

You don’t know if you’re crying from the headache, from exhaustion, or from something else, and your mind is too foggy to care. All you can do is be held as his arms come to rest firmly around you and he pulls you to him, murmuring words of comfort.

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry... I wish I could do more.” Your hands grip his collar a little tighter as you sob into the juncture of his neck and shoulder. “I know, love. You’ll feel better soon, I promise. Sigewinne and I are gonna take care of everything, okay?”

There’s an edge of concern to his voice that you can hear even through the haze of sickness. You hate it. It’s likely just the seasonal flu; half the Fortress has had it at some point this winter. The thought of how much you were making him worry over something so small as this...

“I know what you’re thinking. Stop it,” Wriothesley gently reprimands, his cool fingers stroking your forehead again. You can feel the cold metal of his wedding ring against the heated skin. “You’re not being a baby about anything. You hear me?”

Your silence speaks volumes. He laughs a little, the sound loud in the silence of your bedroom. “I know you well, don’t I?”

It takes a while for your tears to completely subside. When you’re finished sniffling against his collar, he props you up against the headboard with pillows behind your back. You’re more congested than ever, something your husband has the nerve to laugh at as he hands you tissues, but there’s no unkindness in his tone.

He disappears into the kitchen for a few minutes as you doze, exhausted from the effort of crying for so long. When he eases the door open again, he’s carrying a tray with a teacup and pot (of course) and a bowl of something that smells warm and comforting.

“Hmm. Excellent room service this place has. The waiter is a little scruffy, though,” you say as Wriothesley places it on your lap, tucking in the covers around you.

He gives you a fake look of injury. “How dare you, ma’am. I’ll have you know I’m too worried about my wife to shave, who I’m afraid is deathly ill,” he sighs, stroking the stubble on his jaw. He spoons soup into your mouth before you can retort, stifling a smile.

Once you’ve drained half the soup, Wriothesley seems satisfied. He removes the tray from your lap and takes your hand, bringing it to his own forehead.

“Oh, no. How awful.” He shoots you a glance. “It appears the Duke of the Fortress has come down with something.”

You raise an eyebrow. His forehead is as cool as the rest of him is. “Really.”

“Oh, yes,” he says, flopping onto your lap. “It looks like he’ll be out of the office for the rest of the day.”

You laugh, wincing when it makes your head throb. “The Duke sounds like a slacker, if you ask me.”

“Well, everyone knows that,” Wriothesley murmurs, burying his face into your thigh. “They’ll have to tell my boss about it.” You feel him grin against your leg.

You sigh, feigning exasperation. “What a shame. I was just about to ask him to dinner, too.”

Wriothesley has migrated to his side of the bed by now and is nestling into your side with the stubbornness of a dog. “Don’t worry, I hear he’s a messy eater. Absolute carnivore.”

Your hands come to rest on his head, the soft grey strands tickling your palms. “You know you’re going to get sick, right? I’m highly contagious.”

No answer.

“You’re the head of the Fortress, Wrio. If you get laid up, Sigewinne might put a bounty out on you. She seems like the type.”

Your husband murmurs into your side, already half-asleep. “She’ll have to catch me first.”

Despite your many blankets and the body next to you, a sudden chill runs through you and you stiffen. He feels it, arms tightening around your waist.

“Fever pills are on the bedside in the white bottle. Water is next to it.”

You smile. “Thank you, darling.” He hums in response.

A few days later, you’re well enough to leave your room again. Sigewinne would be thrilled, if not for your husband, who looks more smug than any sick man has a right to be.

He sniffles, burrowing into your sheets again as the Melusine glares daggers at him. “I’ll be fine. My wife loves me and I have leftover soup in the fridge. What else does a man need?”

[k-zuzu]

에이티즈

jongho 𖹭 afab!reader

first time loving you.

smut. mdni.

you had never been with anyone in such an intimate way, and it surprised you that jongho was very dominant on your first time, it kind of scared you, to be frank, but you knew he wouldn't hurt you. it was new and it was a bit overwhelming but what topped it all off was that it was exciting; the way his hands gripped at your thighs, keeping them in place as he lapped at your pussy that dripped wet for his animalistic behavior, the way his thick fingers reached deeper in your cunt than yours ever would, sticking three inside and pumping them, watching as they stretched your tiny virgin hole, preparing you for the overwhelming large size of his dick which you only ever sucked.

for jongho, he only had three agendas for the night and they were pretty much the same: to make you cum on his tongue, on his fingers, and around his cock. so far, he was so close to accomplishing the second one, observing carefully as your thighs jittered, the way your walls squeezed around his fingers, and your expression was so fucked out, blubbering small mewls and unintelligible begs as he went unforgivably faster, wanting you to reach your high more than you did.

finally, his other hand began to rub at your clit as his other continued its pace. jongho was quiet the entire time, he was nervous although he was more experienced than you, he wanted you to enjoy your first time — only ever taking in, appreciating your whines and moans that filled the room and they urged him on to do a better job. while he was pleasing you, he also studied you. through trial and error, he did his best learning what you liked and didn't just on the first night and it was all working so well.

you came around his fingers the second time that night, pussy convulsing around his digits as your cum continuously poured out. you watched as he slowly deprived you the pleasure of being filled up by him, only to be gifted the sight of watching him suck your cum from his fingers. "jongho—" you moaned out, trying to sit up, your hole a little sore.

"no, baby, sit back down..." jongho pushed you back, making sure you were comfortable. "what's wrong? do you wanna stop?"

"no... i... i just wanted to say," you paused, biting your lip nervously as you looked into his eyes. "i really love you..." you watched as his expression changed, you expected that he would be shocked or his mood would change because it was your first time ever saying it to him. you didn't even expect or care if he would say it back because you felt it in his actions — to your surprise, he was visibly more relaxed than he had been the entire evening. he crawled over to you and cradled you in his arms, placing a soft kiss on your lips, a surprising contrast to how aggressive he had been in the past hour.

"baby, you know i love you more than anything..." he whispered, your eyes have never shone any more brightly to him than in this moment.

"then fuck me like it." you whispered.

and he did.

he spared no second in giving you what you asked for. slowly, he discarded his underwear, pumped his cock a few times before lining it with your entrance. "are you ready?" he asked, and you eagerly nodded.

"yes, i'm ready. for anything." you paused as he pushed his tip inside. "as long as it's you." you whispered, you closed your eyes and focused on the sensation of your walls clenching around his thick, fat cock, only for them to flutter back open when he placed a soft kiss on your lips, his head rested in the crook of your neck as he slowly began pumping inside you. his fingers intertwined with yours at the side. this time it wasn't just your pathetic moans and jongho's tongue against your creamy wet cunt that filled the room, now it was also jongho's small groans and intense, controlled breathing, it was skin slapping against skin, cock against pussy, you and jongho.

it was just you and jongho in your own, love-filled world.

"i love you," jongho moaned as he picked up his pace and fucked his large cock into your tight pussy like tomorrow never existed. everything only existed in this moment and this moment alone. "i love you, i love you, i fucking love you." he continued, whining into your neck before biting it tightly and filling you with his seed, you were able to reach your climax just as he did, letting out a soft moan as you felt your cum mixing together inside of you and seeping out onto the mattress covers.

slowly, he pushed himself up to look at your poor, fucked out expression as you whined and blubbered about. with one hand, he pushed your hair away from your face and wiped a bit of your sweat, his hand resting on your cheek. "i love you, y/n." his thumb gently carressed you. your eyes slowly fluttered open and you mustered a smile as you stared at him, your hand reaching for his and kissing his palm.

"i love you, jongho."

zuzu's note: main masterlist.

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for @definitelynotaminion; Clark panic-adopts his teenage clones (yes, including the supervillain one). (( chrono || non-chrono ))

Maybe he just doesn’t care. Maybe he’s just taking the long way around about dumping Match in a cell somewhere until the Agenda gets around to collecting him out of custody. Maybe– 

There’s a sudden blur of speed and a goddamn almighty howl, and something crashes into Superman. 

“The fuck?” Thirteen says. 

Match . . . tilts his head. 

It’s–a dog. That hit Superman, he means. A large white one, that’s currently trying to lick the man’s face off. 

Also it’s flying and wearing a red cape with an S-shield on the back of it. 

So that’s a thing. 

“I seriously did not realize the dog was not, like, a freaky Hypertime thing,” Thirteen says, sounding incredulous. “How is the dog not a freaky Hypertime thing?” 

Match has absolutely no idea why Thirteen is saying that like he expect him to answer or even have an answer, since very obviously he is not the person in this situation who’s been to Hypertime or has any idea what the hell the idiot’s talking about, but it’s Thirteen, so it’s not like he’s surprised to be asked stupid questions. Thirteen, as ever, continues to operate under the delusion that Match has any reason to talk to him at all, much less give him any intel that isn’t a lie or a distraction or some kind of misdirection. 

But seriously, why is it wearing a cape? 

Unfortunately, Superman’s stopped to pet the dog, so they catch up fairly quickly. Match eyes the thing suspiciously. So does Thirteen, so at least he’s being less stupid than usual.

“Um,” Thirteen says warily, glancing at Superman. “So like, if I ask if his name’s ‘Krypto’, are you gonna–AGH.” 

The dog perks up immediately at hearing “Krypto” and then effectively slams into Thirteen and knocks him back a good fifty feet in the air, barking excitedly and trying to climb him. Match wonders what he did to deserve such a useless gene donor. He follows orders, doesn’t he? He performs to expectation. Performs above expectation, except for when those expectations are objectively ridiculous ones set by delusional idiots. 

“Krypto!” Superman calls, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Down, boy!” 

The alleged “Krypto” does not follow orders, apparently. Thirteen yelps, trying to fly out of the dog’s reach. The dog, apparently, is much faster than him, and seems to think they’re playing “chase” now. It tackles Thirteen another three times before Superman zips over and catches it by the collar to tug back. Thirteen flees. 

Specifically, Thirteen flees behind Match, and eyes the dog sourly from over his shoulder. 

Match really does not deserve this useless a gene donor. 

“What, worried you’ll get fleas?” he asks dryly, eyeing the other. Thirteen scowls back at him indignantly. 

“I’m not a dog person, okay?” he snaps defensively. “Or an animal person. I’m not even a Super-Cycle person, it likes Rob and Imp way better.” 

“It likes you fine,” Match says, unimpressed. 

“It literally won’t let me use my TTK on it and bucks me out of it all the time, actually, but thanks for your clueless assessment,” Thirteen snipes at him. Match eyes him oddly, but–doesn’t comment. The Super-Cycle never did anything like that to him, though. 

Well, Thirteen probably provoked it. He’s stupid enough to manage that.

[kwanisms]

Kinkuary 12 Seungcheol — daddy kink // sex tape/photos

➥ daddy dom!Cheol × little girl!Reader summary: Seungcheol loves falling into his caregiver role as Y/N's daddy but he loves it even more when his baby lets him take pictures of her for him to use when he's alone on tour. wc: 2.4k warnings: afab reader, adult dialogue, sexual content (minors dni!): dom!Cheol, sub!Reader, dd/lg themes, daddy kink, oral (f receiving), fingering, finger sucking, spanking as punishment, use of pet names (baby girl, little one, angel, etc), unprotected sex (pls use protection!), lowkey love-making, sex tape/photos, Cheol has a big d!ck (sorry, we on the monster cock idol agenda), please let me know if I missed any! Permanent taglist: @yoonguurt @candidupped @dejavernon Kinkuary full taglist: @baldi-2 @wonderfulshinee @lacie220900 @sup-dallyboy @drunk-on-dk @violagoth @mixling-blog @dilfjohnny @fairylixie_0915 Seventeen taglist: @aikisbbq @95cheols @niktwazny303 @indigo35 @moonlightsora @witherednotes @cixrosie Strikethrough means I cannot tag you. MINORS WILL BE BLACKLISTED & BLOCKED. Join the taglist!

a/n: apologies that this is late. I’m working on getting back on track! I will never get tired of big d!ck, daddy dom Cheol. Ever. I love those themes with him and I can't associate him with anything else. I also love writing for Cheol so much. Thank you for reading and I hope you like it! As always, this is a work of fiction and all characters are not reflective of their respective irl counterparts. for entertainment purposes only. banner made by me. I do not allow reposts or translations of my works. All my works are ©️ kwanisms.

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It was a very well known fact that Seungcheol loved to take pictures. He loved capturing bits of his life and memorializing them forever. None of that changed, even after you started dating. He just had a new subject to photograph. A new muse.

Despite finding his need to constantly photograph you silly, you were happy to oblige him when he wanted to snap a picture of you in the kitchen or when you were out on a date. He just loved to take photos of you so he could look at you even when you weren’t around.

Early on in your relationship, Seungcheol made it obvious that he was in charge in the bedroom and when you finally opened up about your kinks, he was totally on board. Most of the time he was Seungcheol, leader of Seventeen, S.Coups and you were his girlfriend Y/N.

But there were times, especially when you needed to be taken care of, where you were his baby and he fell into the role of caregiver as your daddy and nothing filled him with a strong sense of pride quite like you putting your trust in him entirely.

“You taste so good,” Seungcheol groaned, licking his lips. Your fingers tightened in his hair, a whimper escaping you as you felt his tongue drag against you. He’d always been vocal about how much he enjoyed going down on you. Even if he didn’t get his dick wet, he could eat you out for hours and he’d done it before.

“Cheol,” you moaned as the tip of his tongue swirled your clit before his lips wrapped around it and he sucked softly. “Yes baby?” He asked, pulling away for only a moment. “Nothing,” you breathed, waving your hand. “Don’t stop.” Seungcheol’s lips pulled into a smile briefly before he continued, licking and teasing your clit.

One of his hands held your hip, your thighs over his shoulders, while the other moved to push your thigh back, opening you up to him more. His tongue disappeared sliding into your hole while his nose bumped against your swollen clit. He groaned against you, the vibrations making your body shudder.

Your stomach muscles tightened as you felt your impending orgasm approach only for Seungcheol to pull away, letting it fall flat, making you whine in protest as he sat up, wiping his mouth and chin with his shirt before moving to lean over you, lips finding yours as one of his hands snuck down your stomach, fingers skimming your skin until he was pushing two fingers inside your wet cunt, making you moan against his lips.

“God I can’t wait to fill you up,” he mumbled, his fingers moving slowly in and out of you, scissoring them to make sure you were more than prepared to take him. No matter how many times you had sex, he always had to take his time to properly prepare you before he could get his cock inside you.

One of the many things you loved about him. His laugh, his eyes, his dimples, his morning voice, and his massive—

“Hey,” he said softly, drawing your attention back to him. “Where did you go?” He asked, an amused smile forming on his face. Your cheeks burned and you shook your head. “Oh, come on baby,” he purred, dragging his fingers against your walls. “You can tell me.” You shook your head again, too embarrassed to speak.

“Were you thinking about my cock?” He asked suddenly, surprising you and making you gasp.

“N-no!” You lied but Seungcheol could see through it. “It’s okay, baby girl. I know you love daddy’s cock,” he said, leaning down to press his lips to your cheek as you whined in embarrassment. He pulled back, a grin present on his lips, dimples on display. “You don’t have to feel embarrassed, baby,” he cooed.

“Do you want it now?” He asked, slowing his fingers and waiting for you to answer. Nodding, you mumbled out a yes, cheeks still flushed.

“All you had to do was ask, little one,” Seungcheol answered, pulling his fingers from you and sitting up. You watched as he stripped, removing his clothes and tossing them towards the hamper in the corner of the room, not caring whether or not he made the throw.

“Top or bottom?” He asked climbing back onto the bed. “Bottom,” you whispered as he hovered over you. “Of course,” he said with a smirk. “My little pillow princess,” he added, taking you in a searing kiss. “How do you want it?”

You knew he was asking if you wanted it rough or soft. He always asked this and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t turn you on even more, that he was able to prioritize your experience and pleasure over his own.

“Slow,” you murmured. “Hmm?” Seungcheol asked, enjoying the way you blushed and squirmed under him. “I didn’t hear that princess.”

“I want it slow, daddy,” you blurted out, the eternal flush on your cheeks burning just as much as before.

“Slow?” Seungcheol asked, dipping his head to kiss your neck, lips dragging up to your ear. “You want daddy to take it slow?” He asked again, making you nod. “Want me to make love to you?” He whispered. “Yes,” you breathed out as you felt him grind against your soaked center.

“If my baby wants it slow, then she’ll get it slow,” he muttered, guiding the tip of his cock to your slit, brushing against you teasingly before pushing past your folds, gliding the head in. Your back arched off the mattress, one hand gripping the sheets under you, the other grabbing his arm, squeezing his bicep.

“Always so tight for me,” Seungcheol whispered, kissing the tip of your nose. “Relax, sweetheart. Let me take care of you.” As your body relaxed under him, Seungcheol was able to glide in further, your tight walls welcoming him with erratic fluttering as he slid in further and further until he was fully encased inside you.

“Eyes on me, pretty,” he said softly as he stilled inside of you. Your eyes met his and you felt your cheeks burn and the urge to look away but you held his gaze. A smile spread across his face as he reached up to caress your cheek. “That’s it,” he said sweetly. “There’s my girl.”

You whined at the amount of affection he was giving you, your hand on his arm squeezing softly. “Daddy, please,” you whimpered, attempting to move your hips but his weight on you kept you in place. “Please move.”

Seungcheol let out a chuckle and nuzzled your cheek. “Since you asked so nicely,” he murmured, pulling out before pushing back in slowly. It felt good but not enough to give you what you were craving.

“Faster, daddy, please,” you whispered. “Faster?” Seungcheol asked, keeping the same languid pace. “But you asked for it like this. Said you wanted it slow. This is slow, baby,” he murmured, pressing short chaste kisses to your cheek. “Do you want it faster?” He whispered in your ear. “Yes,” you gasped as he gave you a sharp thrust. “Yes, daddy,” you answered.

“Then I guess I can give you what you want,” he muttered, hips moving faster, burying his cock deep inside you with each thrust. You moaned loudly, walls clenching around him. “You’re so responsive,” Seungcheol noted. “You react so well to me.”

Your brain was understanding him but unable to form a response except in whimpers and moans. Seungcheol didn’t seem to mind, instead focusing on keeping a steady pace and not pounding into you like his instincts told him to.

“Oh, shit,” you cursed, immediately regretting the words when you heard Seungcheol click his tongue. ‘Fuck.’

“We’ve talked about this before, little girl,” he said in a darker tone. “I’m sorry, daddy,” you replied quickly. “It just slipped out. I won’t do it again,” you tried to backpedal but Seungcheol wasn’t having it.

You whined as he pulled out of you, sitting back and grabbing your hips to roll you over onto your stomach. “We’ve talked about your language,” he said, pulling you back onto his lap. “You know the rules,” he added as he held you still. “No, please, I’m sorry!” You whimpered frantically, crying out when you felt his hand land a sharp smack to your ass.

“Me too, baby. You know I’d rather be making you feel good but we have rules for a reason.” Your body jumped as you felt another blow land in the same spot. “I’m sorry, daddy. I’m so sorry,” you whimpered, holding back a sob as his hand made contact once more with the same spot before rubbing it soothingly.

“I think three is enough,” he said as he continued to caress the reddened skin of your bottom. “Keep this in mind and think before you speak, little one,” he added, leaning over to kiss your shoulder.

“Are you okay?” He whispered, checking to make sure he hadn’t hurt you. Nodding, it took a moment to form a sentence. “Yes. I’m okay.” Seungcheol pressed another kiss to your shoulder before letting you go.

You climbed off his lap but only made it a short distance away before he was pushing you onto your stomach.

“Hold still,” he said sternly, keeping one hand on your shoulder, the other gripping your hip and pulling up so your ass was raised. “You still want it slowly?” He asked, his voice low. You nodded, turning your head to the side as your cheek was pressed to the mattress. “Do you trust me?” His voice was even softer now.

You nodded, letting out a sigh as you felt his cock grind against you.

“I trust you.”

Seungcheol wasted no time, pushing back into you from behind, snapping his hips in evenly timed thrusts, his cock hitting deeper in this new position and the angle making you see stars in your vision with each measured thrust.

“Does that feel good, baby?” He growled, watching the way your ass bounced each time his hips hit you. “Feels so good, daddy,” you moaned, fingers curling into the sheets. “Cock feels so good!”

Seungcheol let out a chuckle. “Can’t even form full sentences? Is it that good?” He asked, keeping a firm hold on your hip, his other hand keeping your chest pressed against the mattress. “Is daddy fucking you dumb?”

A whimper left your parted lips but you couldn’t deny it when he was right. You couldn’t form a full sentence. He’d once again rendered you speechless with just a few sharp thrusts.

Seungcheol glanced to the bedside table where his phone sat and had an idea. He loved to memorialize most moments with you and this was no different.

He slowed his hips. “Grab my phone,” he ordered, moving his hand from your back. “W-what?” You asked, being lost in another world from how good his cock felt that you hadn’t heard him properly.

“Grab my phone from the bedside table, angel,” he repeated, nodding towards the device.

You reached out, grabbing the edge of the phone and held it up for him to grab from you.

“Stay still,” he warned, opening his camera and lining up the shot. He snapped a couple point of view pictures before turning the camera to video and pressing the start button. His hips continued to snap forward, thrusting hard and deep into you, making you moan out. On screen it looked amazing.

Your reddened ass from his earlier punishment, the way your ass bounced with each thrust, the base of his cock visible every time he pulled back, even the way your fists gripped the sheets.

He knew he was going to save this for later use.

After ending the recording, he locked the screen and tossed his phone to the side on the bed and gave you a few more thrusts before pulling out with a hiss. You whined as he rolled you over, spreading your thighs and sliding his cock back into you.

Your thighs rested on his as he grabbed his phone with one hand and your waist with the other. He opened the camera again, snapping a couple pictures before starting another recording.

You moaned out, keeping a firm grip on the sheets as your boyfriend resumed the same pace from before.

You looked up to see the phone in his hand and whined. “Are you recording this?” you gasped.

You could see the smirk on Seungcheol’s face. “Shh,” he said, letting go of your hip and moving to caress your cheek, his thumb brushing your lip and entering your mouth when you parted your lips. He let out a growl as you sucked on his thumb, his thrusts increasing in speed.

“Such a dirty little girl,” he grunted. You moaned around his thumb, whining when he pulled his hand from your face, fingers skimming down the skin of your neck past your collar, stopping to cup your breast and squeeze gently. “You gonna cum for me?” Seungcheol rasped out, his hand traveling down your stomach and stopping just above where your bodies met.

You nodded quickly, moaning when you felt his thumb start rubbing against your clit in time with his thrusts. He pointed the camera down where he could see his cock disappear repeatedly inside your warm cunt. “Be a good girl and cum for daddy,” Seungcheol groaned, continuing to record as your walls convulsed around his cock.

“That’s it,” he breathed as your moans grew in volume and pitch until your thighs attempted to close but he pushed them apart with one hand, keeping one thigh pinned as he continued to thrust into you. “You’re gonna make me cum,” he moaned. “D-daddy,” you whimpered as your walls clenched around him again.

“Oh fuck,” Seungcheol groaned, hips stuttering as his cock twitched inside you. He came with a loud moan, his release coating your walls as he continued to fuck you through his high until he slowed to a stop. Keeping the camera trained on your cunt, he slowly pulled out, moving to record your fluttering hole as his cum slowly spilled out of you.

He pushed his cum back into you with two fingers before turning off the recording and setting his phone aside.

“I can’t believe you recorded that!” You finally said after coming down from your high. “Don’t worry, baby,” he said, continuing to push his cum back into you as it tried to escape.

“That’s for my eyes only.”

[keenvictory]

"Minor possessive talk, mostly he's just a clingy loser" on the Cove drabble got me so good -- could you maybe do something similar for Derek and Baxter?!

Crazy about your writing, tysm for sharing!!!!

Synopsis: Baxter's life is perfectly, aesthetically crafted. Until it isn't. NSFW drabble.

: ̗̀➛ Featured Characters: Baxter Ward x Gn!Reader

̗̀➛ Content Warnings: NSFW, slight possessive language, very very brief angst (i mean, it is baxter)

̗̀➛  Additional notes: Continuing my loser men agenda with Baxter! I will write a separate post for Derek soon, but finishing two things in a row has me antsy to post this one separately. Theres bottom!Baxter if you squint, but i tried to write him as a switch so take it either direction as you will. Mostly he's just a loser who makes sex way too romantic. I love him.

Baxter wouldn't deign to call himself clingy. He was incredibly independent, really. Your relationship had taken a five year break and survived, he was perfectly content by himself.

But that didn't explain the sick thrill he gets having a clingy partner. There is something so delightfully addicting about being wanted. He loved it when he woke up to you wrapped around him, heart thundering when you burrowed closer at even the slightest twitch of movement, like you were scared he'd disappear.

That was where the thread of guilt came in. Of course you had clingy moments, he'd vanished from your life once, could you really trust him not to do it again? What did his word matter, ultimately?

It was hard not to think like that. He knew his own track record with relationships, and he wanted, more then anything, to not fuck up this one too.

It's never easy to chase those thoughts away. And yet you do it so effortlessly, with just the graze of your teeth, the scrape of your nails.

Baxter is putty in your hands when you mark him up during sex. He's obsessed with the way his pale skin looks after its been ravaged by you, admiring the scratch-marks down his back after he's fucked you, or the hickies and love-bites you've scattered across his chest. He'd let you ruin his neck with sweet bruises if it wasn't shockingly unprofessional.

I mean hickies on the wedding planner, on someone else's big day? He feels a shameful tingle of pleasure he can't deny at the thought. Baxter is so put together during the day that he absolutely falls apart at night, guided by your safe and sure hands. He cries, he begs, he sniffles as big, wet tears fill his red eyes. There was some alarm, the first time he cried during sex. The whole ordeal had been put on hold to make sure he was okay, until he'd shamefully and slowly explained to you that yes, he was perfectly fine. So, so good in fact, the tears had sprouted on an especially breathy moan.

And even though he begs so sweetly to leave your mark sometimes you handle him so tenderly and gently it sparks a whole different kind of need inside him. Love-making, he thinks, with his head nestled between you thighs, moaning with every tug of his hair, is a new world of pleasure. Miles beyond just sex.

But his favorite part of it all is the minutes just after. When he stumbles out of your arms to gleefully assess the damage, take in his tear-stained face, the pink hand prints on his hips and ass, his kissed swollen lips. The sight of it all has his spent cock twitching awake.

Just a little more, he thinks, stumbling back over to you. God his legs ache in just the best way. He's already hard again, cum beading at the tip without a care for his carefully crafted, elegant persona.

He pulls you into another kiss, sweet still, before nipping playfully at your ear.

"You've positively ruined me, dear." He purrs, a shiver of glee running through him as your hands find his hips again. "Want to do it again?"

[runnning-outof-time]

You know I had to do another one! 💙🥂

From the 5 word list, #16 - “Please stay with me tonight.” - with John or Tommy (that's up to you!)

(2 of 2)

Thanks for sending this one in also, Bri! I went with John on it so that I could break to the little Tommy steak that was going on before this! I also may be bending canon a little bit here, but oh well. And I couldn’t resist the silly title. Enjoy! :)

I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! - YOUR COMMENTS & REBLOGS HELP ME WRITE!

Part of my 3.5k Celebration - find more stories here!

Gangsters Have Feelings…?

John Shelby x Reader

Warnings: language, smoking, one sexual reference

Word Count: 1017

Summary: John calls on (Y/N) when he’s having trouble coping with the decisions of his brother, Tommy. (Y/N)’s quite honestly surprised to see this side of him.

(Y/N) took the moment of pause in the conversation she was having to wonder just how in the hell she’d wound up in this position. She never could have expected that her on the fly befriending of John Shelby one evening at the Eden Club would have led to showing up at his hotel room because he needed someone to talk to.

Hell, this brought on a whole new question…gangsters have feelings?

She hadn’t thought of it before, but it was becoming clear that they did…or this one did at least.

From the second she entered the suite, she knew that John was upset. She felt it. The usual energy that he exuded whenever she was around him was missing, and he wasn’t paying much care to his appearance at the moment. His usual three-piece suit had been exchanged for a pair of slacks and a messily tucked in undershirt.

The reason for his calling became apparent the second she asked him what had been going on. A simple question opened the floodgates of complaints of how his brother had been running the business; putting a much younger cousin in a more respectable position while he and his other brother were expected to keep up with the unmentionable side of things.

“You know I never had any ambition to sit in an office and jerk around over some fucking papers, but it’s just that…that’s me own fucking brother making the calls. I mean…it’s gotta count for something, right?” John started talking again, making (Y/N) focus back in on the conversation.

“It should,” she offered a comment, letting him know that she was actively listening to his plight.

John sighed and carded his fingers through the longer parts of his hair before bringing the cigar he’d been smoking up to his lips. He took a deep drag and blew the smoke out in a steady stream as he peered through the window. “And now Michael’s in the office and Arthur’s in charge of London, and I ain’t got nothin’. Tommy doesn’t care though because all I am is some fuckin’ yes man who takes care of errands for him.”

“I…” (Y/N) stopped herself before she could continue. She didn’t really know what to say. Talking hadn’t been placed that high on the agenda of their previous visits. (Y/N) didn’t really know anything about John Shelby…other than he most certainly knew what to do in bed. So she wasn’t sure what type of can of worms she could open by giving improper advice. She could tell that he was looking for it though; advice. “I’m sure that Tommy cares about you, John. You’re his brother,” she started off with a vague statement.

“That’s about all I am,” John mumbled as he shook his head, his eyes focused on the floor.

(Y/N) sighed as she stood from the chair she’d been sitting on. She silently moved over to the window sill he’d been sitting on and took a seat on the corner of it that had been left open. “Look, John…” she paused again, trying to come up with how she was going to finish the rest of her statement. She hated that she didn’t know exactly what to say. “I don’t know much detail about the area of business that you and your family work in, but I do know the man that you are. I know that you care, that you give your all to what you’re doing, and that you’re damn good at it.” She didn’t take his eyes off of him after she finished speaking, watching for any little movement he might make.

Instead of saying anything, John just shook his head. It didn’t seem as though he was shaking off her statement, but rather shaking his head at the situation in general.

“John,” she spoke his name like a breath, hoping that he’d at least look at her. She was really struggling with what more she could add in to help the situation. There had to be some reason he called her to come over, right?

Thankfully, her attempt worked, and he lifted his downtrodden eyes up to match hers. The hopeless expression that was etched into his features made her frown, and she couldn’t stop from reaching out and cupping his cheek with her hand. She brushed her thumb against his skin while keeping eye contact, hoping that her comforting actions would make up for the fact that she had no clue of what to say.

Some time - (Y/N) wasn’t even sure how much - passed before she spoke again. “John, I’m sorry…I want to help, but I’m struggling with what more I should add,” she finally came clean, explaining her internal dilemma before she sent a sympathetic look his way.

“You comin’ here is help enough, love,” he answered her, leaning into her touch. His statement made the smallest smile form on (Y/N)’s face, and that alone helped him start to forget about his woes.

“I…um…” she stuttered over her words as she tired to think of what to say next.

“Please stay with me tonight,” John - thankfully - cut her off. The sentence, which was usually asked as a question, was spoken by the Birmingham gangster as a statement.

“You want me to?” she checked before giving her answer.

“I need you to,” he answered with a reworded version of her statement.

(Y/N) thought for a moment. This question - that John had been asked her many times before - sounded different now. He needed her in a way that he hadn’t before. The thought of that made her heart start to beat faster.

“Will you?” he asked after a few beats had passed.

“I will,” she nodded, sending him a smile.

“Thank you,” he breathed, taking her by surprise as he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. She didn’t pull back from it though, immediately kissing him back. “Thank you, (Y/N),” he pulled away just enough to say before his lips were on hers again.

**taglists are added in the reblogs!

MASTERLIST

[daeneryseastar]

someone sent me an anon ask about the anti rhaenyra agenda most rhaenicent shippers have and like a dumbass i accidently deleted it so i'm just going to try my best to re-answer it here (yes i wrote a whole spiel about it and now it's gone forever and i'm upset.)

from what i can tell there are only two reasons as to why people can't stand rhaenyra but love rhaenicent; and it's because they either have some heavy internalized misogyny OR that's the only way to continue and keep their uwu sad lesbian alicent headcanons semi-tethered in reality. alicent is a character that has next to no positive interactions with other characters, least of all any women. she has a 'good' (and i say that lightly) relationship with rhaenyra for 2 episodes in hotd, and then they are adversaries for the rest of the show. the only other women we see her interact with are helaena and her lady in waiting talya ( who regularly spied on her for mysaria) and minus talya, those are the same female relationships she has in f&b. she doesn't really have a good track record with anyone.

in the book she terrorized rhaenyra from aegon's birth up until rhaenyra's death. rather than teaching her son to rule and raising him to be an upstanding prince of the realm she instead spent her time calling rhaenyra, a literal child, a slut, she accepted criston into her service as her own personal protector in spite of his predatory behavior towards rhaenyra (which she acknowledges), and continuously tries to have rhaenyra and her sons disinherited and killed due to her own spreading of the bastard rumors. not to mention that she was eighteen when she married viserys to rhaenyra's nine. there's really nothing romantic about it. in the show almost everything is still the same except for her being the one to arrange helaena's marriage to her known degenerate and rapist son (in f&b viserys is the one who had them marry) and most likely told her the same rhetoric of rhaenyra killing them to secure her claim that she told her sons from when they were babies up until the coup. with rhaenyra she still antagonizes her because she (lemme check again, told alicent she didn't sleep with daemon and got otto fired because he was working against the crown to install his grandson as heir over her). don't even get me started on the villainization of rhaenyra in order to uphold alicent's constant victimization storyline. alicent is the one who abused rhaenyra, not the other way around, and the age changes in the show (which are so stupid omg) only serve to make alicent more sympathetic and rhaenyra an apparent privileged brat who doesn't understand what it's like to suffer because of the men in her life and therefore deserves her fate (i can literally see the entire galaxy with how far back my eyes are rolled rn.)

if the show wanted to include or focus on two women who were torn apart by the patriarchy and the men around them, helaena's blank character was right there for the taking (and would've been even juicier with the sister vs sister, queen consort vs queen regnant debacle.) she has no personality in the book or any relevance besides losing her children in violent ways and going mad, they definitely could have made her a more present character on screen in a manner that adds an actual emotional connection to her but alas, rhaenicent is top priority. furthering that, if the show wanted to include queer representation with their leading lady, laena had more hints in the text for that type of relationship than anything the show has given us for the rhaenyra/alicent dynamic, even with how hard they're trying to force it down our throats.

the entire relationship has made the story go completely off kilter because the show won't just let it be, and it's affected almost all of their other relationships. they're not going to convince me that rhaenyra cares about alicent more than her own children or even vice versa (though in an entirely different manner) and that reconciliation is possible in spite of aemond murdering luke. it makes both the characters and the writers look like delusional idiots. there's absolutely no reason for these types of glaring mistakes in a series where characterization and the relationships that revolve from them are the reason it's so popular amongst the masses. this lack of proper relationship building has caused hotd to feel a lot more shallow and lackluster than what you'd expect with how massive it's budget was when they created it, the amount of talented actors they casted, and the literal blueprint laid out of what not to do that got season eight is. someone should have taken accountability for these dumb decisions and realized how quickly they're streamlining straight towards what ruined game of thrones in the first place.

[petite-phthora]

It's a date :)

[DP x DC fic]

[Love at first... murder? - part 9]

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Part 1

Ao3

---

Private chat nicknames:

RedHood = Jason

Danny = Danny

---

The next day, Jason wakes up with a yawn. He stretches, letting out a relieved exhale. That was one of the best nights of sleep he’s had in a long time.

Usually, the Pit’s bothering him, combined with hours of patrolling and fighting crime, usually getting injured as well, he usually wakes up sore and almost just as exhausted as he goes to sleep.

But now…

It was calm. He felt calm.

He didn’t quite dream, though that was fine, as he hadn’t had any nightmares either.

It was… refreshing.

Though, all of it is also kind of… unnerving…

All these good things happening?

The Joker finally dying, meeting a cute guy who doesn’t seem intimidated by him as Red Hood and taking him out on a date, the Pit barely bothering him, sleeping better than he had in years…

With all of that happening, Jason can’t help but wonder…

When is the other shoe gonna drop?

His good mood slightly dampened with disconcertion, Jason gets out of bed with a small grunt. He doesn’t bother to get changed yet, instead moving along to the kitchen to start on breakfast.

After taking in the groceries he has left, Jason starts making some simple bacon and eggs. He catches himself humming while cooking and abruptly stops, continuing his cooking with a small frown on his face.

Why is he feeling this… this… good?

Just what is happening with the Pit?

He’s not enchanted or drugged or anything, is he?

It’s all the unknowns that are making Jason slightly worried.

Are his emotions still his own?

He feels like most of his worries have been stripped from his body. He feels way more comfortable in his skin. He feels happy, content, tranquil…

He just feels so much.

…

But still no rage.

He eats his breakfast while he ponders over his newfound emotional state. It’s as he eats that his eyes land on his phone.

The Bats have probably blown up his phone with calls and messages in the meantime.

And the fact that he doesn’t feel as irritated or mad as he should about it is another point of slight concern.

Either way. Ugh, Jason still doesn’t really want to deal with it.

However…

After he has put his plate away, he picks up his phone anyway and turns it back on. Sure enough, he has too many missed calls and unread messages. And it seems that with his ‘online’ status, some are encouraged again and start sending him more texts.

Jason ignores it all in favor of doing what he had planned to do when turning his phone back on anyway, messaging Danny.

Just so that he has Jason’s number as well

…

And perhaps to plan another date meetup, he thinks with an involuntary soft smile on his face.

---

Private chat

RedHood: Hey, it's Red Hood. Just checking in and making sure you also have my number.

RedHood: In case of emergency, of course.

Danny: hi!! 👋😊

Danny: it’s Danny!! 😁                                     

Danny: which you already knew..

Danny: obviously 😅 😅

RedHood: I do now.

RedHood: Who knows, you could’ve given me the wrong number.

RedHood: It’s good to have the confirmation that it’s you :)

Danny: ahh yes!

Danny: good point 👉

RedHood: So, I was wondering if you had the time to meet again sometime this week?

RedHood: I can show you around the city, y’know? Like I mentioned yesterday? :)

Danny: !!!

Danny: yes!! 😁

Danny: that sounds like fun! ☺️ 🙃

Danny: and very useful 🤔

Danny: it’s good to know where not to go 😌

Danny: so I don’t kill another clown 🤡

Danny: haha

Danny: not that I’m like planning on killing another clown! 😰

Danny: no sir, there is no murder on this agenda!! 🙅 🙅

Danny: clowns or otherwise

RedHood: Haha, I didn’t think so.

RedHood: It was pretty clear to me it was self-defense anyway, don’t worry :)

RedHood: Even if it wasn’t, it was the Joker. So who, other than the Bat, cares?

RedHood: And it’s not like I can judge.

Danny: ah, good good

Danny: didn’t want my first impression to be being a murderer 😅 😅

Danny: that’d be bad 😓

RedHood: You don’t need to worry.

RedHood: You made a pretty good first impression in my opinion :)

RedHood: So, when are you free? For the meetup?

RedHood: I can come pick you up at your apartment again, if you want?

Danny: oh yeah that’d be nice!! 😊

Danny: and uhh, lemme check my school schedule real quick brb

Danny: alright, so I have classes till like 12.30 today

Danny: but I’m free from then on 🙃

Danny: minus like, time I need to eat lunch and stuff 😅 😅  

Danny: does that work for you?

Danny: I mean else I could probably do like thursday or something 🤔

Danny: if that works better??

RedHood: Today works just fine. And we can pick up some lunch on the way if need be. My treat :)

RedHood: I’ll come pick you up around 1 pm then?

Danny: it’s a date!! 😁

Danny: I mean sure, totally! it’s not a date!! 🙅 🙅

Danny: unless you want it to be a date?.. 👀

Danny: I mean did you mean for it to be a date?

Danny: is it a date? 🤔 🤔

Danny: I mean I don’t wanna assume 😅

Danny: and like

Danny: I wouldn’t mind if it was a date.. 👀

Danny: or if it wasn’t a date!!

Danny: wouldn’t mind that either, of course 😅  

Danny: I just wasn’t quite sure where we stood 😓 🥺

Danny: and what the context of the meetup was

Danny: ..?

Danny: Red Hood??

RedHood: It’s a date.

RedHood: ;)

---

Jason goes offline and turns his phone back off, still pointedly ignoring all the unread messages and missed calls from the Bats. He slides it onto and across the table in front of him and proceeds to put his arms down in front of him, resting his face on them.

Soft smile still on his face and cheeks colored faintly pink, Jason closes his eyes.

It’s a date…

---

Taglist:

@i-always-say-yea   @uraniumwizard    @why-must-i-be-like-this   @griffinthing

[hexedwinchester]

How come u dont love Sam protecter and older brother Dean🥹

By Sam own words Dean raised him, a-lot of the good qualities that Sam has he got from Dean. Yeah Sam childhood wasn't the best, but he was deeply loved by Dean, i believe this love helped overcome many obstacles in his life.

In fact again by Sam own words, Deans love and protection is the only thing he could always count on.

I am not saying Dean is perfect, but who is ? To say that Sam needed protection from Dean sounds odd, where Dean is literally his home and the only place he feels safe.

hi @rosedark88

Interesting question and perspective you have offered.. this would be fun to analyse 😊

Before I start, let me be honest: I'm not Dean's biggest fan because I find a lot of his actions to be problematic. Please proceed with caution: you may not like the answer but I'll break it down as logically as I can. (Please remember, this is not a hate post)

Yes, I agree Dean has been Sam's protector (but only until early seasons. I'll explain what I mean) and he did raise him but time and again Dean has confessed if not to others, then his own subconscious that he hated having to carry that burden. He has let it slip that he is bitter about having to raise Sam (which I can understand, it wasn't fair) but I've seen him pretends otherwise which is two-faced IMO. (He confesses this in S03E10 Dream A Little Dream of Me when he is facing himself, in case you are looking for a reference.)

He is also a hypocrite with repressed emotions. He says he admires his dad but deep down he too resented him but he still gave Sam shit about him because Sam was just more blunt about his opinion of John unlike Dean. Again, in the same episode he says "my dad was an obsessed bastard. All that crap about keeping Sam safe was his crap." See what I mean?

Continuing on the hypocrisy, his whole agenda of "what's dead should stay dead" is gone for a toss when he makes that deal the first time to save Sam in S2. He gave Sam a lot of shit for trusting Ruby because she's a demon (unfortunate for Sam she had bad intentions) but Dean trusted Benny, Gadreel, Crowley and Cas when all of these guys have broken his trust later. But we don't see Sam bringing that shit up like Dean tends to.

Let's also not forget that Dean berated Sam for getting Charlie killed over the Book of the Damned but apparently no one cares that his manipulation got Kevin killed too? Do you see the double standards here?

Speaking of saving Sam, every single time he has done something apocalyptic to save Sam, it was for selfish reasons. The main reason is because Dean struggles to let go, to move on. He'd rather drag a zombie Sam around than let the man die. Even you have to agree there's some truth in that.

Dean hated that Sam left for college and it wasn't because he was afraid something might get to him. No, it was because he saw that as Sam's betrayal. That Sam picked college over him.

Now, coming to your question about why Sam needs protection from Dean his apparent 'savior'? Yes, Dean is willing to do anything to "save Sam" from every evil thing out there but that's the whole problem. Why even Billie doesn't like the Winchesters because these guys are willing to risk the destruction of the whole world to save each other which isn't right.

let's look at those grave "save Sam" moments and see what's wrong with those pictures:

Sam's first death in S2: Dean bought himself one way ticket to Hell to bring Sam back because he didn't want to keep doing this without Sam (he confesses this in his monologue to Sam's corpse and also in the Croaton episode when he finds out Sam is infected and doesn't leave). Dean is literally nobody without Sam and I'm not saying this. This is who Dean is. Sam is Dean's essence for survival. So Dean saved Sam for himself putting Sam through the same ordeal that John put Dean through. Dean passes on his trauma to Sam like a hand me down.

Sam's detox: Bobby tried to knock sense into him that it's probably the cold turkey thing that's killing Sam. I know Dean was trying to help him but I doubt he knew the right way to do so. Even when he realised his method would kill Sam, he was okay letting him suffer like that until he died (because then at least he dies human). I'm sorry that's not how you deal with someone with addiction problem. Despite everything, Sam is still willing to work with Dean but he can't get over Sam choosing Ruby and calls Sam a monster.

In season 6, the brothers realise something is off about Sam. At the end of the episode 'You Can't Handle the Truth' Sam comes clean that he felt different since he was brought back and he needs help to figure it out and how does Dean help him? By beating him unconscious, tying him to the chair like he is a monster? The way he talks to Sam in that scene: "you better hope he (Cas) can diagnose you. he asks, you answer and then you shut your cakehole". So Sam isn't allowed to talk about his own body? Oh wait I know, he's not, not when Dean said so.

In Season 8, he impersonates Amelia, sending Sam SOS just so he can he rendevous with Benny? Amelia was a shore in his Sam's storm. He loved her and deeply cared for her. To let him think something happened to her was cruel. Especially given how Sam's past relationships ended up his beloveds dying horrifically. Who plays such sick mind games? And to your own brother??!

Season 9, my favourite, the one that completely dissolved the rose tinted glasses that the show created for Dean: Manipulating Sam into saying yes to be possessed by an angel (an angel you know nothing of) knowing Sam's history of possession, that was just sick. Sam wanted to die. He was ready. If Dean wanted to save him, the least he could do was be honest about it. Not manipulate him into saying yes. But he didn't. He resorted to manipulation because he knew Sam would rather die than be possessed. Something that people fail to understand here is 'the idea of possession' is a hard limit for Sam. But Dean has no regard for it because in his head "he did what he had to and he won't even apologize for that". I'm sorry, that's the biggest red flag to me. I don't care if you have raised me, protected me and kept me safe only for you to stab me where I'm the most vulnerable. You are no different than all those evil things out to hurt me. That's why I love Sam for standing his ground and not forgiving Dean for this. He was right to say he didn't want to be brothers. If my siblings betrayed me like that, I'd leave too.

And whenn in Season 9 finale, Dean wanted to go off to kill metatron on his own, Sam wanted to tag along but what's dean's response? Punch him into unconsciousness and leave him on the street like that? All vulnerable for any monster to attack him? Really?! How is this protecting? Ya maybe metatron won't kill him but something else still might!

Oh and in Season 15, Dean pulled a gun on Sam and mind you he under no dark influence. This was all him. I'm not even going to elaborate further on this.

I can list at least 10 occasions where Dean has hit, punched, beat up Sam but Sam hasn't fought back. And that's not even what bothers me the most. It's the fact that Sam doesn't look surprised (meaning Dean beaten him before and I so believe he has and it's a frequent, almost business as usual like) or he looks scared (I'll try to find that gif where Sam is on the ground putting his hands before his face to protect himself against Dean). Dean is abusive when he is angry.

Something you said in the ask that struck me odd. What qualities did Sam learn from Dean? Let's see some of Sam's core good qualities:

Emotional intelligence

Forgiving

Compassionate

Empathetic

Selflessness

Determination

Self awareness

Open mindedness

Authencity

Dean is not known for any of the above qualities, so I disagree he learnt his good qualities from Dean. Dean has an emotional intelligence of a wooden plank. He holds grudges and isn't nearly as forgiving as Sam is. Compassion and empathy are not Dean's qualities either. Dean is selfish. His first thought is how to use someone to his advantage. He did that with Cas, Crowley, even Jack. I've seen Dean give up more often. His "I can't keep doing this", "why is it our job to save everyone", "who says I want to do this?" are all indicators of this. Self-awareness tends to dwell in his blindspot. I've said this before, Dean is black and white, Sam is grey area meaning Sam is more open minded than Dean. My favourite: nothing about Dean is original. His leather jacket? John's. His car? John's. His music? John's. His life motto? Also John's. Whereas Sam has been authentic, true to himself than Dean ever could. Did Sam learn hunting from Dean? Yes. Loyalty? Yes. But neither of these are Sam's core qualities. So I disagree that Sam's good qualities come from Dean. If anything, his good qualities are actually him trying not to be like Dean.

Sam can count on Dean's love and protection because he has been conditioned to since he was 6 months old. First by his father and then by Dean himself either through emotional abuse (he keeps reminding him about how his decisions always end up with someone dying or gaslighting him into guilt tripping on things outside his control) or downright physical beatings. The Winchesters have dysfunctional family and relationships. Again, remember Sam is the forgiving one in this relationship. In fact Sam is forgiving to a fault and that's what this is. It doesn't make Dean's actions right just because Sam has been forgiving them.

To summarise, here why I feel Sam needs protection from Dean:

Dean saves Sam only because he doesn't know how to live without him. That's not normal. He has done crazy shit to "save him" resulting in causing Sam more trauma

He quickly lashes out (often resulting in verbal or physical violence) because of his repressed emotions and poor anger management

He has verbally and physically hurt Sam either by calling him a monster or saying he doesn't trust him or by beating him unconscious on multiple occasions

he is controlling, bossy and threatening. "If didn't know you, I'd want to hunt you." Sorry, if I were Sam, I wouldn't feel very safe

Dean doesn't see the wrong in his action or worse, even when he knows he is wrong, he is too stubborn to apologise for that. Everything is shoved under "I did what I had to" or "I'm not apologizing for saving you".

Dean has manipulated Sam and gaslit him

His whole "this is a dictatorship" comes across as a red flag which takes me to my next point:

He never treated Sam as his equal. Don't see how that counts as love

Dean was mad at Sam in DSOTM because Sam's happy memories (that Sam wasn't in control of and the whole situation was probably rigged. I mean, Zachariah cosied up with Mary's image for god's sake) didn't involve Dean. The idea that Sam can have a life outside Dean has never sat well with him

He has locked Sam in the panic room on at least 3 occasions. Sam hasn't done that even once

Sorry, but Dean is not a poster boy for love and protection. When I look at a character, I not only analyse their actions but also try to understand why they acted the way they did. In Dean's case, the why has always been problematic.

Dean's intentions maybe good but his actions don't always align. His philosophy has always been "if the means justify the end" but I don't stand by it. This is what makes room for immoral, tyrant and corrupt actions and an excuse to hide you wrong doings behind those.

These are my views on why I feel Sam needed to be saved from Dean. You may or may not agree and it's fine either ways 😊

Damn! That was lengthy. But thanks for this interesting ask, it was fun! 😇

[channoticedmeuwu]

𝐓𝐗𝐓 𝐀𝐒 . . . (cliche) highschool romance tropes !!

🎧 𓈒 ◯ 𓏸 ﹒ ⭐ ﹒ ⌣⌣ ﹒ ☆

p : txt × fem!reader | g : fluffy fluff, slightly suggestive, cliche tropes 🫡 | w : suggestive sometimes? none really unless you consider fights a warning, not proofread

a/n : needed to get this out of my system lolll in love w hyuka rn.

🎧 — shy (eh o), loser lover, lotus, hula hoops, too many nights, mon amour, love is banned, BTBT

YEONJUN | BAD BOY × GOOD GIRL

came in my mind in the shower. yes. I just feel that yeonjun would def be the popular guy, carries around a leather jacket and has dyed hair and everything, and hangs out with his cool friends who skip class all the time etc etc. and then he sees you, so pretty and in the moment, and you're always so composed and kept to yourself that it's almost like an immediate form of intrigue for him. it's weird that he's so into you when you've never spoken. and he's like....wtf. it's like, exchanging prolonged glances during class and accidentally brushing against each other's shoulders while walking in the halls. you know that you, the well known rule follower, could never talk to someone like yeonjun, the well known rule breaker. and yet, you broke that self made rule for the first time when he came by your locker to give you a note and ask you to a date—which seemed so out of character for yeonjun. maybe you're the first one he'd follow traditional ideas for.

SOOBIN | ACADEMIC RIVALS

I said it before I'll say it again. SOOBIN ACADEMIC RIVALS AGENDA !! even wrote a whole fic 😭 I just think he's so neat as the school's pride and joy; has no trouble completing assignments and meets deadlines, and totally leaves the class speechless with how fast he finishes tests and exams. but then, his cool and calm persona breaks when he sees the class cheering for you during the timed group math assignment you have to do on dust boards. and he glances to his side of the board. how the fuck did you finish that before him? and so the unspoken rivalry continues as you tend to beat him more in assignments, draws being exclaimed for the both of you in awards supposed to be for one winner, and so on. and unspoken feelings tend to blossom when soobin finds himself growing weak at the scowl you make when you don't understand a question, or the proud smile you wear facing him yet again.

BEOMGYU | ROCKSTAR + finding each other in a raw moment

cuz I'm just a teenage dirtbag babyyy. giving rodrick heffley vibes. probably would put all his allowance in buying a guitar n amp. didn't take lessons so now he's on the road to self learning 💪💪 feminist !!!!! ok but all jokes aside, he'd be late to a practice, cycling on the empty road when he sees you, walking with an armful of books because unlike mr teenage dirtbag you actually take school seriously (do you see where I'm going with this?), and he'd miss a rock on the road, causing his bike to stumble and fall, crashing right into you. so now the two of you lay on the floor, joints scratched and head aching as you scowl at each other. "what the fuck, choi beomgyu?" and he'd see you, pretty as ever, in the evening light, cheeks pink in the most perfect way and hair perfectly set up; as if you were going somewhere. when he notices your tears. "are you crying?" and you look away, angry that you let it show.

"why do you care?" you would ask, irritated, collecting all the books you dropped and trying to rub your eyes clear of all tears, probably smudging some make up along the way. and beomgyu would help you, helping you dust your outfit and overly apologizing. he didn't understand who would hurt you, but it struck a nerve in him. enough to ask you what happened, and offered to cycle you home. he's already late to practice, so does it really matter if he misses it or not? and when he finally drops you home, you give him a hug, thanking him for being so sweet (after almost running you over 😒😒).

and maybe that pulls choi beomgyu's heartstrings to play an unfamiliar melody that echoed in the empty, sunlit streets as a small smiled plastered over his face, exchanging a glance before you shut the door behind you.

TAEHYUN | FAKE DATING

it just. makes sense. he's so not into you and you're so not into him. but holy shit, the rest of the school is. and you're like, let's give them what they want, right? esp when you want to get back at your ex for being such an ass to you during your breakup. y/n redemption arc but make it hotter. and taehyun was perfect, since he needed his friends to stop teasing him for being the only one who hasn't dated anyone yet. match made in hell, right? well, romantic feelings can be lucifer themselves, because when you and taehyun shared a secret (or not so secret) kiss right on the kitchen counter at yeonjun's party, shit turned weird. because last you recall, taehyun's scent wasn't lurking in your mind like it did that night, and he couldn't get the feeling of your lips smiling against him while the background blurred around him. and he distinctly remembers pushing a hand against the dozen cameras flashing around the two of you as all the people you tried to spite watched—as if you two were actually a thing. and god, explain the feeling of his heartbeat in his throat that he couldn't get rid of—as your eyes met, causing his mouth to go dry—if you guys were just acting?

a match made in hell, right?

HUENINGKAI | BEST FRIENDS TO LOVERS + a lil ♡ triangle

he's the sweetest boy you've ever met, and he watches from afar, a sad glint in his eyes as you try to warm up to your crush, testing the waters with hyuka before you could attempt it on your crush. like, fuck, did you have to grab his tie like that, pull him close and ask "does this do anything or are you just choking?" do you even know what kind of effect you had on him? and hyuka would just sit in a corner, munch on a snack he bought as you would try to impress your crush yet again, only to receive a stupid “huh?” as a response.

hyuka had his moments, moments where he wanted to slap the shit out of the boy, and scream at him “SHE'S INTO YOU, GODDAMMIT!” and spell it out for the clueless asshole, as the more you'd advance at him the more apparently confused he'd get. you were convinced your crush was just dumb, because he couldn't straight up tell you that he's not into you, and seeing you sulk after every obvious hint you dropped riled hyuka up. and he was especially pissed the fuck off when he overheard your crush in the boys' bathroom laugh with his friends at how stupid you were for still trying, even though he was obviously playing dumb to keep you going, making you look stupider.

hueningkai was pissed; at you for not realizing how you deserve better, at your crush for being the biggest douchebag you've ever liked, at himself for not being able to control his heart whenever you were near him, at the fucking WORLD for making his life this complicated.

but maybe patience is the best virtue, because when your crush just laughed at you in front of all his friends when you confessed to him, hyuka has never felt better satisfaction than punching the asshole straight in the face, over and over and OVER again. maybe he ended up in the principal's office with a bloody hand and aching fingers, but it didn't matter next to your (ex)crush's busted lip and bleeding nose.

and it especially didn't matter when you hugged him after he got suspended, because, in his mind, if you'd never love him the same way he loved you, he was still the sweetest boy you've ever met.

txt : masterlist

main taglist (hmu to get added!) : @koishua @navyhyuck @allegxdly @daystiny  @kdyism  @neotism  @bluejaem  @radiorenjun  @sleepylixie @oifelixcmerebrou @mrkcore @imdamnconfused  @sicluvz @abhirami20 @tyongishs @emvrd @brxght-world

I’d appreciate if you’d give me a little feedback on the drabble if you read, whether it’s an ask, a reply or in the tags of the rb! Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed!

[vindicated-truth]

"Lieutenant Han. I still haven't received an answer from you. Can I trust Han Joowon? Even if you find out the truth, will you make sure it doesn't break?" "I don't trust you. I don't trust Han Kihwan. I don't trust myself either. I trust no one. So whether you trust me or not isn't important to me."

This exchange between Lee Dongsik and Han Joowon in episode 13 speaks volumes about their fundamental difference in values—and the root of why they haven't been on the same page until this revelation that finally made Dongsik understand.

I've already talked about in another post how it's said that one's weakness isn't the polar opposite of one's strength, but rather: the surplus of that strength.

Your strength becomes your weakness when it becomes too much.

What's fascinating about Dongsik and Joowon is that they are polar opposites when it comes to this:

Dongsik's strength is that he trusts everyone.

Joowon's strength is that he trusts no one.

Pushed to the extreme, it becomes each of their weakness:

Dongsik's strength becomes a weakness when he doesn't stop trusting someone when he should.

And Joowon's strength becomes a weakness when he couldn't trust someone when he should.

This fundamental difference is why, for the longest time, they couldn't see eye to eye.

Dongsik has always operated on the value of trust. He trusts the people he loves wholeheartedly—blindly, in extremes, as the case is with both Jinmook and Jeongje—and he gives it his all to the people he trusts. He gives his trust so generously precisely because he had been painfully denied of it so much, since his false accusation 21 years ago.

Dongsik is determined to give the kind of trust that has been denied from him for so long.

Which is why he wants so desperately for Joowon to prove to him that he can trust him—because he wants to hold on to this trust if he is to give his all to Joowon, too.

However, Joowon is someone whom trust has no value at all. Trained to be alone—bred to be and forced to be, by the people who should've loved him the most—Joowon has always seen trust and attachments to people as a hindrance and a nuisance, and (as Dongsik proved him right, in his specific case) something that tends to blind you in pursuit of the truth.

He doesn't particularly care about what people think of him—he doesn't even care if he's continuously proven wrong by people, as Dongsik often does in fact, as he merely adjusts his perceptions in light of the new evidences presented to him, uncaring at all about the image he presents to people.

And this is what absolutely floors Dongsik about Joowon. Despite his best intentions to stop Joowon from destroying his own life in pursuing the case that has already destroyed Dongsik's own life—the brat just doesn't care.

Joowon doesn't care if he publicly ruins his image, doesn't care if people don't trust him anymore—Dongsik included—and that is absolutely flabbergasting to Dongsik.

And somehow, against all odds—it's precisely what made Dongsik finally trust him.

Because Joowon, against all odds, isn't doing anything for anyone's trust. He isn't doing this for anyone, or anything, other than his relentless and obsessive pursuit of truth and justice.

And for someone who had been surrounded all his life by people who always had a hidden agenda—even Lee Sangyeob—it must have awed Dongsik that here, finally, is someone who is so transparent and so pure in his pursuit precisely because he has nothing to prove to anyone.

And this is also where Joowon's strength also becomes his ultimate weakness as he's pushed to the extreme: he thinks—he believes—he can do everything alone.

Han Kihwan, remarkably, had actually been right when he casually and cruelly said the truth of it to Lee Changjin:

"Han Joowon. Yes, he's my son. But he takes after his mother more than me. They wait for others to reach out to them. But they're so weak that they can't reach out to others first. If someone reaches out to them, they just can't accept it. They pretend they're okay, strong, and cold-hearted. They pretend their whole life, but end up destroying themselves. Pathetic people."

Yet even before Joowon heard the cruelty of these words, he had already been proving Han Kihwan wrong: because despite everything, he had always, always reached out to Dongsik for help.

It is, in fact, what set him apart from Lee Sangyeob: when Dongsik frantically, desperately asked Joowon to wait for him—he did.

Against all odds, Joowon asked for Dongsik's help, again and again, as the only one he trusted with all of his plans until the very end.

Even when the moment came to finally face his own father, Joowon trusted Dongsik to be there with him—because he also knew this was Dongsik's justice to serve, not his.

He was merely the accessory that Dongsik can use to finally bring about the elusive justice he was chasing for 21 years.

In his relentless, obsessive, and objective pursuit of justice, Joowon discovered, against all odds, that the only way he can achieve this—is to ask for Dongsik's help.

[zayray030]

Perfect Princess

Getting kidnapped by a ghostly manbaby was not on Ace's agenda. And neither was getting claimed as someone's else's fiancée, but whatever saved her ass!

OR

A simple midnight walks lead to Ace getting kidnapped by a prince who wants his perfect princess and the rest of the group having to save her.

Note: This was a comission!

“Ughhh!” whined Grim as he cleaned the windows. “Ughhh!” he whined louder as he tried to rub at a stubborn spot. “Ughhh-!”

“Whine more time and I’ll have Sam remove tuna from the weekly shopping list.” threatened Yuu, as they continued swiping away, almost looking calm where it not for the vein throbbing on their forehead.

“What!” gasped Grim is betrayal! “You can’t do that!”

“Er, yes I can.” Replied Yuu,” sounding as done as they looked as they looked at their monster cat and glared at him. “Now hurry up and stop whining!”

“But cleaning is so boring! And it takes to long!” the cat stomped his foot on the ground like a child.

“And it’s going to take longer the more you whine.” Replied Yuu without missing a beat and turned their attention to the floor. “Now please, just hurry up!”

“Fine!” yelled Grim as he turned back to the windows. “All this yelling at Grim the Great! Why I ought- AHHHH!”

“Grim?!”

“NOW SEE HERE FILTHY VERMIN!” yelled out a random ghost as he and two other ghosts flanking him on both sides threateningly made their way to the duo. “What gives you any right to be where royalty lays! Our prince should not be condemned to have to reside where peasant folks such as yourself reside! Leave so he may fine love and happiness in peace without your disappointing aura looming over him!”

“Who the fuck are you!” snapped Yuu as they tried to make sense of the situation. No way in hell where they the usual ghosts. They were long past their first meeting and those three have been caring ever since Yuu and Grim.

No. These ghosts glared at Yuu and Grim as if they were truly nothing,

“Yeah! This is our dorm! What on earth are you talking about royalty for! Neither Malleus nor Leona even stays here! Bad enough with the way they act already, now they have their ghost servants kick us out of our own dorm!” snapped back Grim, his confidence back after the initial fright “You’re the ones who should be leaving!” he pointed at them with his little paws.

“IF BRUTE FORCE IS WHAT IS NECESSARY TO GET YOU REFFIAN FOOLS OUT OF HERE THEN SO IT SHALL BE!” Yelled out the ghost as it started firing spells  with the help of the two lackeys behind him.

“Ahh!” yelled out Yuu, ducking away from the spells. ‘No way in hell are we going to win.’ They thought despairingly as they witnessed one of the spells make a near by vase explode immediately. ‘I need to get Grim and I to a safer location and see if I can get Crowley up his ass to try and help me. Goodbye this week’s check.’ They thought despairingly as they made a quick grab for their fellow student and ran from the ghosts.

“MRAGH!” yelled out Grim as he was suddenly grabbed. “Wait why are you running away he squirmed, trying to escape. “They’re taking over our dorm!” he argued.

“And also have the ability to turn me into fleshy dust. Let’s not risk a fight we’re going to lose!” yelled out Yuu as they escaped from Ramshackle, the last spell missing them by a quarter of an inch as the doors to ramshackle slammed shut behind them.

“AND STAY OUT!” was the last thing that was heard.

Yuu panted as they tried to make sense of the situation. Prince? Love? Owned Ramshackle? Yuu had no idea what was going on, but they knew that only one person could actually know what happened within this school. “I think.” Began Yuu, as they looked at Grim, mutual understanding in his eyes. “That we should speak with the headmaster.”

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“So, ghosts in fancy hats stormed into your dorm, yelled at you about a prince finding his love, started shooting spells at you-almost killing you- and then kicked you out of your dorm?” summarised Crowley, as he stared at the beast tamer and the beast in front of him.

“Yup!” Grim popped out the P whilst Yuu nodded.

“Well, that does make sense considering what time of year it is.! Sighed Crowley as he leaned back on his chair.

“You knew this was going to happen?” asked Grim in shock, staring at the headmaster as if he had said tuna was the worst thing to exist.

“NO! Well- mean- look it’s complicated.” Crowley tried to explain, trying to justify his negligence to his student.

“Then explain. Because I didn’t almost die for nothing!” they snapped, somehow managing to glare down at the taller man.

“Essentially the ghost you saw were the retainers of the ghost groom.” Began Crowley. “He is a prince he lived years ago who dreamed off finding the perfect bride. He would search the lands far and wide trying to find the perfect princess so he can have his happily ever after. Unfortunately, he died horribly before he could finish his dreams. His ghost carried on as he tried to find the perfect woman and every year, he comes to our lands to find her.”

“Boo Hoo, man baby didn’t find perfect slave, what does this have to do with me?” asked Yuu irritably as Grim also looked at Crowley in annoyance.

“The prince and his retainers use Ramshackle as their base of operations.” Explained Crowley, slightly disturbed at the lack of empathy, but then again not completely shocking. 7 over-blots would change anyone. “Thankfully you don’t have to worry. He’ll give up after a few days!”

“And what makes you so sure? Normally you tend to be wrong about these things.” Said Griim bluntly, wide eyes staring at Crowley as if he hadn’t crushed his ego in one hit.

Moving on, the man explained. “That’s because the woman he’s describing doesn’t exist!” explained Crowley. “His specifications, and these are direct quoted mind you: 167cm with an air of mischief and kindness! Smooth, healthy skin! Big eyes! A cute pretty smile! Fun and pretty hair! Pink pouty lips that make you just wanna kiss them! Athletic yet curvaceous body!” explained Crowley to Yuu’s growing disgust. “Essentially, he will never find this woman in all of twisted wonderland. Or anywhere else.” He added, looking at his literally out of this world student.

“So what? We’re just meant to wait out his delusions?”

“Unfortunately. However, I am aware that you are close friends with the other dorms so I am sure they will welcome the two of you for a few nights as he gives up and leaves.” Just as Yuu was contemplating the consequences of socking Crowley in the face, the door burst open and there stood a haggard and messy Riddle, panting deeply, following him was an equally worried Ortho.

“HEADMAGE!” The housewarden cried as Crowley jumped in shock.

“Why, Heartslabul Riddle Rosehearts and Igyhide’s Ortho Shroud! What on earth happened?!”

“It’s Ace! She’s been kidnapped by ghost!” he yelled out desperately, eyes frantic.

“WHAT!!?!??” The other three in the room yelled out in shock.

“Kidnapped?” double checked Yuu. “By ghosts?”

“Yes! Look at this security footage!” instructed Ortho as he showed the people in the room what happened to Ace.

“How on earth did you obtain this-?”

“Not know headmaster.” Snapped everyone as they turned their attention to the hologram that Orth was showing them.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“Ugh those lot better be grateful that I’m covering for their asses!” Ace huffed as she quietly made her way over to Sam’s “If the housewarden discovered I was sneaking out for something as lame as extra pens and notebooks I would be so screwed.”

However, before she could continue her walk over to Sam’s shop, she suddenly heard a sound.

“…lly…”

“Huh? Who’s there?” she called out, searching for the source of the noise, hand going over to her magic pen.

“…Finally…I found you…” the voice seemed to be growing more louder and more clearly.

“Who’s there.!” Ace called out again, taking her magic pen and brandishing it. However before she could do much, a ghost popped out.

“I finally found you my princess!” Yelled a handsome ghost in a groom’s outfit.

Everything went black.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“And we haven’t seen her at all today!” Riddle managed to finally coherently say after he had finally gotten past the panic not onto rage that somebody had kidnapped one of his students.

Meanwhile, Grim, Yuu and the headmaster were sharing a few concerned looks.

“Was that?”

“It would seem so. It seems that the ghost groom has finally found his match. Oh, dear oh dear oh dear.”

“But Ace? She’s the last thing I could ever see be described as the ‘perfect princess? What kind of idiot would look at her and…wait a minute.”

“Technically, Ace is within that height range. She is known to cause trouble however she has been seen helping those around her, like the kid whom she gave that card to. Her skin has no blemishes to it and despite how much trouble she gets on with there doesn’t seem to be a single scar anywhere. Her eyes are a …unique enough colour that it truly does make them stand out. She is in a sports club as well so that’s where the athletic body comes in. And she tends to pout a lot which is what she was doing in that video so technically…she does fit the man’s description. As odd as it is.”

“Of course, only a freak would have been able to view Ace’s wonderfulness and think that he had any right to seal her. We must get her back!” demanded Riddle, fists banging on Crowley’s desk.

“I’m more worried for the guy. I don’t see Ace taking this very lightly and there’s a high chance he’ll return her to use, with him sobbing about how mean she is.” Pointed out Grim, arms folded.

“Either way, if he doesn’t then this can cause a huge problem.” However, suddenly there was a huge yell and a crash. “What on earth?” stood up Crowley, the rest of the students following him also confused by the noise only to be met with absolute pandemonium.

“Headmage!”  voice called out and out popped Deuce looking worse for wear! “Thank god you came! We have a serious problem.!” However, before he could explain, a spell came whizzing by, thanks to the problem he was talking about.

“Getting so bent out of shape over a little joke? How sad.” Cooed Lilia mockingly as the ghosts fired more spells at him.

“Why are you agitating them?” cried Out Deuce as he tried to fire another spell at the fancy ghosts.

“How dare you yell at Lilia. Prepare to perish!” yelled out Sebek as he started dishing out more spells.

Unfortunately, it was becoming clear that the mages were struggling. “Retreat!” called out Crowley.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“We’ll be fine here.” Gasped out the Headmage, finally free from the ghosts.

“Oh hello everyone.!” Welcomes Azul.

“Oh.” Yuu pointed out, Hey!” they said as they stared at everyone else gathering consisting of Pomefiore, Cater, Kalim, Azul and Leona. “Guessing the ghosts chased you out to?”

“You have no idea.” Sighed Vil, shaking his head.

As the students started to share stories about how they ended up down here, all ranging from studying and getting chased out, teaching fashion and getting chased to, trying to grab lab equipment and getting chased out and finally just walking and getting chased away, there were definitely some annoyed faces. When they were finished, Riddle explained the situation to them.

“Soo…you’re saying that Ace fits the description of  a perfect princess’?” asked Cater, slight disbelief colouring his words.

When Crowley nodded, silence descended on the students, before a snigger broke out and the boys burst out into laughter.

“Ha-ha, Ace? The perfect princess? Asked Vil mockingly, almost bent over from laughing so much.

“That has to be the most amusing- I mean horrible thing I’ve heard my entire life.” Snickered Azul, fixing his glasses.

“This is no laughing matter!” snapped the headmaster. “If dear Ace marries the ghost groom, her soul will be tied to him, and she will die.” He informed them sombrely.

“WHAT?” yelled out the first years, scared by this new piece of information.

“Ace will turn into a ghost?” repeated Riddle scared. He couldn’t help but feel at fault for the situation, especially since Ace had only decided to leave the dorms because she felt like he would only yell at her. “We have to go and save her!”

“Of course!” reassured Crowley, gesturing to the other students. “I’m sure her fellow peers would love to help-“

“Nah.” They all replied in perfect harmony.

“It was her fault for sneaking out in the middle of the night.” Replied Vil, looking at his nails completely disinterested.

“I gain no benefit from helping her. She has no particular qualities I’m aiming to ste-use.” Replied Azul, shrugging his shoulders.

“Wayyy to much effort.” Replied Leona, yawning loudly.

“What disgusting attitudes.” Mumbled Yuu, holding Grim tighter in their grip.

“Well, I guess I’ll do it myself.” Ortho glared at them. Just as Kalim was about to ask how, the other boy called out. “Running system for shortest time to retrieve Alice Trappola. Method achieved. Blow up the school. This will commence when talk is at 100%. Power currently at 60%. 80%-“

“STOP! DO NOT BLOW UP THE SCHOOL!” Yelled Crowley, waving his arms hysterically.

“Well, if you have any better suggestions to getting Ace out I would love to hear it!” replied Ortho, still pointing the beam at the school.

“The rest of you! Have you no shame!? You’re certain you want to stick with your answers?” asked Crowley, glaring at his students with nothing but pure disgust. “Because I know for a fact that when dear Ace-chan finds out that you all deserted her, hell will reign over this school.”

“What on earth are you talking about, Headmage?” asked Sebek confused, crossing his arms.

Crowley turned to Azul. “She will tear your business to shreds. She will have ghost armies constantly vandalising your restraint. Any business deal she’ll snuff out like  a flame and constantly bring up how you let a teenage girl die.”

“Hrk.”

“You think playing villains is bad?” asked Crowley, turning to Vil. “I’m sure everyone who thought you were shady, and evil will be kicking their feet up in joy knowing that they were right that you let a girl die in front of you.”

Now looking at Leona. “Forget any peaceful naps or days for the rest of your miserable life. She WILL haunt you and make It worse even after you break.”

“Okay, okay!” Lilia put his hand up. “We get it. Ace-chan isn’t going to let this slight towards her remain unpunished. Now, how do we do this?” asked Lilia.

“How kind you all are!” Crowley yelled out, the fakest smile in the history of the world on his face. “Now, since we’re dealing with supernatural beings who far outnumber us, let us go and see the one-man who has everything for any situation.

“Sam.” They all chorused out, heading onto his store.

“I’m guessing this is about the ghosts?” asked Sam, the moment they stepped into the store.

“How did you know?” asked Riddle, shocked at how quick the man received information.

“2 things. One, my friends in the shadows. And two, Ace’s brother called me and said that he had a bad feeling, so I checked some of the store cameras outside and it shows little Ace being taken away by the ghost.” Explained Sam, pointing at one of the cameras in the shop.

“So, do you have something that can help?” asked Riddle, fidgeting a little. I mean, It’s not like you have an anti-ghost groom-.”

“IN STOCK!”

“Seriously?” asked Leona, eyes wide.

“Ha nope!”

“WHAT?” The end of the world might actually be coming.

“Well, I mean I do? But Ace’s brother said that you guys can come up with something or he’ll you kill himself.”

“How useful. Once again, thank you Sam!” thanked Crowley as he and the rest of the students exited the store.

“So now what do we do?” asked Crowley.

“Well, the only way that we can success is is…. we fight for Ace!” announced Riddle.

“What?” the rest deadpanned

“Not a bad idea.” Agreed Crowley thoughtfully. I mean none of you would ever match he prince’s description and maybe if he saw that Ace was already in the hands of another how will give up!”

“And how do we do that? It’s not like he’ll be dying to let anyone near spiky.” Leona yawned.

“By challenging his masculinity.” Yuu suggested, stroking Grim’s fur as they thought of ways to blackmail the Headmage into giving them more money.

“Perfect! Let’s gather as many students as possible for this!” declared Riddle.

“We meet at the little cottage near the mines.”

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“This is all you have?” demanded Riddle as he stared at the students assembled. The only one’s not out of the main group where Ruggie, Scarabia and Malleus and Silver.

“Ruggie said not on his life, Jamil needs to keep Kalim out of trouble and Silver needs to protect Malleus.” Explained the headmaster.

“God enough.” Riddle huffed as he stared back at the Headmage. “So how do we do this? We can’t just storm in.”

“Can’t we?” asked Vil. “I mean, we can always just say that we found out about the beautiful princess that lived here and wanted to be given the chance.”

“HEHE, can’t wait to see crabby.” Giggled Floyd.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“How dare you insult our prince!” yelled out a ghost indignantly. Stood before him was anyone who was over 180cm who could make the prince feel small.

“I mean are we wrong?” asked Vil, flipping his fair. “If a man simply can’t allow others to gaze upon beauty, then that man is simply a coward who doesn’t deserve the fair lady’s hand in marriage.”

“What on earth has gotten into you?” asked Leona, disturbed at the new chivalrous version of Vil.

“Fine! We’ll show you that only our prince is worthy of anyone!” declared the ghost as he let everyone.

‘This is going to go terribly” thought Jack as he and the rest were escorted into the school.

When they made it to the great hall, there floated the prince in all his glory. “So, I hear you are the ones who are trying to fight for my fiancées hand in marriage?” he asked, sneering at the lot.

“Why yes, we are the only ones truly worthy of her!” declared Vil, much to everyone else’s shock. Where had his previous attitude gone?

“SHUT UP!” Shrieked the prince loudly, fire dancing around him, “I’m the only one worthy of her and I will prove it!”

“Ughhh, whatever, just give us back spiky no-“Suddenly Leona felt a burning sensation on his cheek. It took a couple of seconds for him to realise he had been slapped. “Why you-!”

“Such brutish and uncouth behaviour! My princess deserves to be spoiled by all and treated as if she is the most beautiful person ever!” huffed the prince, almost throwing a temper tantrum.

Vil smirked as Leona glared at the other prince. “I do agree with you. Someone as beautiful as Ace deserves to feel celebrated and loved all the-“

“Do you have a pet? A cat, dog, bird?” the prince shot out in rapid fire.

“What? No, I don’t have ti-!” SLAP!

“My princess deserves to always have something or someone looking after her! NEXT!”

“My name’s Jack.” Introduced the wolf beast man.

“And Jack. Do you have a sword?” asked the prince expectantly?”

“No, why would I? I can always just pun-.” SLAP.

“A princess deserves a prince with a dashing sword to come save her! NEXT!”

On and on it went, everyone getting slapped for one reason or another. Floyd for getting violent, Jade for trying to give a poisonous mushroom, Trey for not being able to give  a single compliment and so on.

“Well, then. Let’s send the next group.” Muttered Crowley in disappointment.

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

“Too shady! Too talkative! Too cute! Too dumb!” yelled the prince.

“Well, this is just pathetic.” Muttered Leona. Before anyone else can agree with him, the doors opened up once again and there was Ace.

Her hair was styled into perfect little ringlets that framed her face and cascaded down her back. Her hair was also adorned by the most beautiful of jewels as were her hands and neck. Her dress captured her figure whilst also trailing down teasingly. Her veil was intricate and beautiful, flipped onto her hair to show her face. Everyone in the room almost forgot how to think with such beauty gracing their eyes.

This inability to think is what would lead to one of the worst (debatable in the eyes of some. However, in the eyes of this person, it was the best) moment ever.

Azul, in full confidence stood up and said, “I object as her true fiancé!” yelled the teen with more passion than when he had used to scam Crowley.

“What?” turned around everyone, looking at him in parts murder and parts confusion. However, Ace caught on quickly, eyes flooding up with fake tears as she ran to the frozen man,

“BABY!” She yelled; her voice shocked up with tears as she attempted to comfortably wrap her arms around the other. Seeing her beauty up close made Azul truly appreciate that he had talent to at least compensate for something. “I was so scared when this strange, creepy man abducted me!” her voice was alarmingly high pitched, sounding like a scared lost child and not at all like someone who kicked Azul in the balls when he once insinuated she and Riddle had been a thing.

“My princess!” gasped the prince affronted at such accusations. “I did not kidnap you! You should be honoured that I chose you as my bride!”

“Suck a titty!” she replied, turning around to glare at him. The other boys had to hold in their laughter but let a few snorts escape. “Why the hell should I be honoured that you chose me? What? Because I fit some creepy physical requirement list? There is more to choosing a partner than just merely how they look!”

“Oh, yes? Like what?”

“How about someone you can laugh and cry with? Someone who’ll stick with you through all the hard times? Someone who you can share withing with? Someone who wants to be with you just as much as you want to be with them!” That’s who would be the perfect PARTNER!”

Throughout all of this Azul couldn’t help but stare entranced by the girl and what she was saying.

The prince said nothing. Merely staring at her and her Azul before sighing and signalling for the rest of the ghosts to back off. “Let us leave. The girl has given me much to think about. And you, shady!” called out the prince, pointing at Azul. “Never lose this wonderful woman. OR I WILL HUNT YOU DOWN,” and with those lovely words the prince and his entourage left.

“Well, that was something.” Azul finally broke the silence, however he was immediately slapped by an angry bride.

“OWCH” winced the other boys.

“Next time you claim to be someone’s fiancée don’t be more romantic, CREEP!” And with that she marched on her heel and stormed out, just as the rest of the group walked in. Riddle, smiled smugly at Azul as he gently guided Ace back to the dorms with him.

“Soooo, exactly how well do you think it’ll go over with Riddle if I asked her out?” asked Azul as he stared at the disappearing red head duo.

“Oh, you would die.” Answered Deuce plainly, not even looking a little sorry for Azul, however that might have to do with the fact that he’s still a little shell-shocked from Ace.

[suzukiblu]

more of the one where Clark panic-adopts his teenage clones, yes including the supervillain one:

"I don't know why people keep doing this," Superman sighs as they stop in the air high above the cloud cover between them and the Lyon lab. 

"Stealing your DNA?" Match asks. 

"Kidnapping a sixteen year-old," Superman says like he thinks it's some kind of correction. Match frowns. 

"Superboy is two," he says. And closer to physiologically eighteen at this point, even accounting for the temporary stall in his aging process. Definitely not sixteen by either count, though. 

"I–well, yes," Superman says uncomfortably. "But you know what I mean." 

Match doesn't, actually. 

"It won't be difficult to crack the lab," he says instead of admitting that. "Security won't be prepared for an external assault from your full powerset." 

"Because they think I wouldn't come," Superman says, sounding resigned. 

"Yes," Match confirms. 

"Because of your reports?" Superman says. 

"Yes," Match says. "And you never did before, either." 

Superman frowns, sparing him a confused glance. 

"Why would I have come before Superboy was even here?" he asks. 

"I was here," Match says. 

Superman's frown deepens. He looks over at him again. Match isn't sure why; the lab is the current concern. 

Maybe he assumes that he's lying about the security. Or that he's going to tell the Agenda that he's here. Those would both be fair assumptions. 

"The Agenda thought I might come for you?" Superman says. 

"The theory was presented, initially," Match says. "But you didn't, so external security in the newer labs is less intensive." 

"Why did they think I'd do that?" Superman asks. 

"Superboy and I only exist because of you," Match says. "And the Agenda knew he'd reported my existence to you." 

"I wasn't actually involved in either of your creations, though," Superman says, still frowning. "My DNA was stolen." 

"Yes," Match agrees, tilting his head. Did Superman think he didn't know that? "Because you made your DNA valuable." 

"What?" Superman frowns at him again. 

"Your DNA was stolen because it was valuable," Match clarifies. "Because you demonstrated it was valuable. You don't use science or tricks or magic or owe any gods or countries or labs any kind of allegiance. You just exist on this planet and you're the most powerful thing on it just because you're here. You can do anything you want, whenever you want, and no one else can stop you. Not even if they kill you." 

Superman doesn't say anything. 

"And you told everyone that," Match continues. "You told everyone that you were the most powerful thing on this planet just because of your very valuable DNA and the fact that we happen to be revolving around a yellow sun. That you can't even die. That you'll always do whatever you think needs done, no matter what anyone else thinks or who tries to stop you from doing it." 

Superman still doesn't say anything. 

"So Superboy and I only exist because of you," Match finishes, and then looks back down at the lab below through the cloud cover. Thirteen is down there right now. Or he should be, at least. 

Maybe he's already escaped. 

That's a very Thirteen kind of thing to do, after all. 

"That's how you feel?" Superman asks, all careful-voiced again. 

"That's what I know," Match corrects. "Would you prefer to go straight in or should I provide a distraction first?" 

". . . I'll be the distraction," Superman says, still watching him with an absolutely indecipherable expression that Match doesn't understand the purpose of. "Find Superboy and say my name when you do. Then I'll get you both out." 

"The Agenda will want me back, though," Match says with a frown, not understanding. 

"Do you want to stay with them?" Superman asks. 

Match has absolutely no idea how Superman can even ask him that. It's not a choice if he stays with the Agenda. 

It's never been a choice. 

"They made me," he says. "They own me." 

"That isn't true," Superman says. "You don't have to stay with them just because they made you. Not if you don't want to. Superboy didn't stay with the people who made him, did he?" 

". . . Superboy lives at Cadmus," Match says, more than a little confused by that statement. "He works for Cadmus. He's a field agent." 

"He–what?" Superman blinks. 

"Did you not know that?" Match asks. That really seems like something Superman should've known. Especially since it's something the Agenda knows. "They're under new management. But it's still Cadmus." 

"I–he's still there? I thought that was just . . . why would he still be there?" Superman asks, looking troubled. 

Match really, really doesn't understand Superman as a person. 

"Because he requires food, shelter, and financial support," he ticks off on his fingers. "Also presumably other resources. And he has no legal identity or legal guardian to either obtain or provide said resources. Therefore: Cadmus." 

Therefore: the Agenda. 

It really doesn't seem like something that should need explained, to him. 

Superman looks at him for a very long moment. 

"Find Superboy," he says, finally. "Then say my name." 

"Understood," Match says.

[ludinusdaleth]

Fun New Facts/Details About Artagan From His Comic Series

(spoilers for the tales of exandria ii: artagan comic run! this was such a (fey)wild ride to read 💚)

-this is the second comic to feature artagan with freckles & extremely expressive ears, and also portrays him with catlike eyes. he can also grow a tuft of a chin-beard! my bearded artagan agenda wins

-we know from egtw that artagan was originally banished from exandria for creating a cult around a whale carcass. we learn in this comic series he named said whale fucking mister demeanor.

-he has been to fey court 4,012 times, by his approximation

-if this wasnt a more blatantly obvious fact than "the sky is blue": artagan is bi/pan. but cannot in any capacity keep up any relationship.

-the first mortal he ever met and befriended was a human named gol. at first gol thought he was an angel or savior but by the end he felt artagan was a curse from the nine hells, for all the chaos & discord he wrought on his village, turning them against each other via pranks and then. whale carcassing

-want to know why arti hates the theatre? good news, we now know! he used to adore the stage before a few fae put on a play mocking his entire life. he interrupted, threw a fit, and said he'd improv his role, but was boo'ed for interrupting the show. so. he set the stage on fire. yes there was a kill count. no he does not care

-he has a unique relationship to keyleth. she's still pissed at him for killing vax, but she is the only one in the fey court hearings he trusts to help him escape - and she does, as artagan points out she owes him for vilya. she drags him through (literal) mud about his actions and does not hold back on how disgusting she thinks he is, but she snaps him into near-clarity, and she's surprised but accepts that humility.

-the term Jestie is canon. i win!

-this isnt a new fact but god. jester & arti love each other so much.

-keyleth & jester band together and are the only two to defend artagan in court, keyleth even going against vox machina's judgement. both acknowledge he has (indirectly) saved the world and shown kindness to them, and jester insists that he is changing (and artagan thinks, he is. he really, really tried to be good, for them. "oh, gals. i may not have always done good, but... those times, i really did. for them, i did."

-sammanar & elmenore are astounded anyone would defend artagan, but lower his sentence, from eternal imprisonment...

to mortality.

the end of the fourth & final issue stated to be continued at the end, so we'll see where this goes! i have only a rough idea where in the timeline this series takes place, post campaign 2, but this is definitely a new development i am curious to see if permanent. even in echoes of the solstice i think that canon can fit somewhat if we stretch it but i really dont know when this mortal stretch begins or maybe ends! either way, he's presently utterly terrified.