#but she was just on customer service with target and all they could do is give her a $5 gift card

[theloveinc]

what is up with boomers needing to tweet about every problem they have 😭😭😭

[temporarywelcome]

12 Fics of Christmas Day 1 - Peter Maximoff

"The Best Gift"

Words: 1.1k

Summary: Peter wants to get reader a present for Christmas that he earned himself.

WARNINGS: light swearing

Target in the 80s

____

Everyone knew Peter was a huge klepto. 

At first, people assumed it was just because he was an attention whore who craved the interactions that came with his constant thievery. But Y/N was beginning to believe it was just a desire he could not control. 

But then Christmas was rolling around and he made it his mission to get Y/N a present the honorable way. No stealing involved. He wanted to earn the present to give it to her.

The question was… how the hell do you get money? 

“A job?” Alex had deadpanned when Peter complained about his predicament. That had made the speedster gasp in complete horror. A job? Working?

That was downright awful. 

“You walk around a few neighborhoods with an empty can asking for spare change?” Alex had tried again, bored with the conversation. 

“That’s so pathetic,”

Alex had then put down his game controller, giving Peter a look, “Get a friggin job, dude,”

Work? Peter Maximoff? The concept sounded both foreign and terrible. He liked how things were now. He went to school (sometimes), he hung out with his hot girlfriend (all the time), he played video games (also all the time), and he was happy like that. 

The thought of taking up some of his precious time doing labor was awful. Absolutely terrible idea. Peter Maximoff would never be caught working some measly job for some measly paycheck.

Anyway… he got a job at Target. 

And he hated it. 

Scrubbing toilets, cleaning spill ups in different aisles, trying to count change as fast as possible while the customers complained and their babies cried, dealing with angry buyers. He was not meant to deal with the stress. 

Currently, he was re-organizing a shelf that he had just fixed up a few minutes ago, when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He suppressed a grimace, turning his head to speak to the customer, “How can I help you-?” he paused, eyes lighting up when he noticed who had touched him. 

Y/N!

“Loving the customer service voice,” she mused, laughing when he threw his arms around her. 

“Save me from this cursed place,” Peter mumbled dramatically into her neck.

Y/N laughed, pulling away to fix his uniform, “Also loving the uniform.” His uniform consisted of a crisp ironed white button down and black tie accompanied by a red vest. Lastly were a pair of navy jeans and his converse, kind of throwing off the professional look. 

“Save meeee,” he repeated, trying to pull her back. 

“You’re the one who wanted a job so suddenly,” she pointed with a playful eye roll, “What was the reason for this again?”

“Um,” he bit his bottom lip, scratching the back of his neck, “I was bored…?”

“Uhuh…” she didn’t believe him at all, but let him be, “You look cute in your uniform,”

Peter blushed, looking down at himself. He thought he looked stupid. “Of course I do. I look cute in everything,” he decided to reply. 

“That you do,” she grinned, cupping his cheeks and giving him a quick kiss, “Take it easy, baby. I’ll see you after your shift ends?” 

“Mhm,” he hummed with a small smile, leaning in for another kiss.

Y/N, being the bully she was, backed away, “You’ll get another after your shift!” he pouted as she skipped off, not running after her. He obviously could catch up to her if he wanted to, but he knew he needed to lock in if he wanted to keep this job and get enough money for her Christmas present. 

So he went back to re-organizing the shelf, using that super speed of his to his advantage. He grinned in victory once he finished (in two seconds), that smile fading as his walkie roared to life.

“Clean up on aisle C37.” 

Stupid shit.

____

It was six a.m. on Christmas day when Y/N had woken up to the sound of knocking on the door to her dorm room. She groaned, pulling her blanket over her head and ignoring the knock.

Which continued. 

“I’m going to kill someone today,” she grumbled, stumbling out of bed and shuffling into her slippers, making her way to the door. She didn’t even bother checking the peephole, opening the door, “What the hell do-?”

“Merry Christmas!” Peter shouted excitedly, beaming at her with a terribly wrapped present in his hands. The wrapping paper was of sharks eating pizza, all crumbled up and almost unnoticeable. There was a bow right on top, and red color that certainly didn't match the wrapping paper choice.

It was adorable.

“For me?” Y/N rasped out, still tired and a bit delirious. She then realized she must look crazy, so she began smoothing down her hair.

Peter nodded, excitement evident in his body language, he was practically buzzing. “Yes! Open open open!” he shoved the gift into her hands.

“Well come inside first,” she laughed quietly, stepping out of the way so he could enter her dorm. He zoomed in, sitting on her bed as he waited for her to open the gift. Y/N took a seat next to him, unwrapping the gift. Inside was a velvet box, which she opened.

A silver necklace, adorned with little diamonds and a pendant. A locket! With a smile, Y/N opened it, eyes brightening seeing a small picture of them together inside. “This is so beautiful, baby, thank you!” 

“I didn't steal it!” He said proudly, “I bought it myself!”

“Really?” She was touched, arms going around him for a hug, “Is that why you were working at Target?”

“Yes,” he hugged her back tightly, “I wanted to work for your gift."

"That's so sweet," she pressed a few kisses to the side of his face, making him giggle. He coughed, trying to hide the sound that just left him.

"I decided to not quit, surprisingly,” he said, trying to change the subject slightly.

“Whoa, really?” Y/N asked in curiosity, “Why?”

Peter shrugged softly, “Thought I could use some responsibility in my life.”

“Who are you and what have you done to my Peter?” Y/N joked, pinching his cheek, “I'm proud of you, baby.” Holding out the box, she asked: “Put it on?”

He nodded enthusiastically, taking the necklace out. Y/N held up her hair as he put the necklace on her, doing the clasp before leaning in and kissing her neck, then shoulder, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Peter,” she smiled, standing up and grabbing a present from her desk, “here,” she held it out, “A gift for my favorite gift,”

He blushed at being referred to as her favorite gift. 

How the hell did he get so lucky?

___

tags: @envy-of-greed @bohnerrific69 let me know if you want to be removed or added

[dominadespina]

THE SINS OF DESPINA HATUN

Since the 14th century, one woman has haunted the history of the Ottoman Empire and the very minds of their historians with her influence over a Sultan who suffered a hummiliating fate.

The only wife of a Sultan who has been the target of curses; Despina Hatun. 

The reason for this great hatred of her has to do with the fact that she was influential and remain christian throughout her marriage. She was able to maitain the first and main place in the harem of her husband and to make him like her. A likeness that overtime grew into love and devotion. 

Her wishes did not remain mere wishes, and for this reason the muslim associates of Sultan Yildirim Bayezid Han, as well as later Turksih historians resented her. Today most people remember her as “Bayezid’s great love”. 

To Ottoman sources she was a fatal woman who lured their Sultan into sin. It can be concluded from that amount of hatred that she was allowed privileges and more power than was allowed for a foreign wife of a Sultan, or an imperial wife in general.

SHE MADE THE SULTAN FALL FOR HER

"As for Yıldırım, let's say that he fell in love with the princess." - Necdet Sakaoğlu. Bu Mülkün Kadın Sultanları, pg 83

"Throughout his life he was devoted to Despina, and his brother-in-law Stephen in turn was a devoted and steadfast friend." - Herbert Gibbons. The Foundation of the Ottoman Empire

According to Chalkokondyles, when Bayazit's favorite wife, Lazareva [daughter], whom he took everywhere with him into battle, was captured and handed over to Tamerlane, he ordered that wine be served to him there, in front of her husband. The enraged Bayazit told Tamerlane that what he was doing was not worthy of his father and mother. - Две српске султаније : Оливера Лазаревић (1373-1444), Мара Бранковић (1418-1487), pg 107

"When the latter's wife, the daughter of Lazar, whom he loved more than any of the others, had been taken away, and Timur was taking her around in the camp with him, he made her pour his wine in front of Bayezid, her husband." - Laonikos Chalkokondyles

"He kept her close – she accompanied him everywhere - he appeared unable to part from her. She was the one person, who influenced him most and was of course blamed by the Ottoman chroniclers for the fall of Beyazid’s empire into the hands of Timur. They considered the young sultan totally captivated by her."- Anna Buxton. The European Sultanas of the Ottoman Empire

It is widely understood that throughout their marriage Despina and Bayezid shared a devoted sentiment-perhaps more on his part-despite the circumstances that brought them together. The couple had similar interests such as politics, wine, partying, European customs, conversations and according to historians found constant erotic pleasure with each other. Though all of these cited interests might just be Ottoman historians attempts to depict this woman as deceitful.

" The sexually robust woman – she satisfies all his desires- but remains a Christian." - Richard Franz Kreutel performs a service to Ottoman polemic.

It is said that for some days, Bayezid remained in Despina's chamber and completely forgot about state affairs.

Olivera (Despina Hatun) is accused by Ottoman historians of using her charms and beauty to lure Bayezid to her. This seems highly untrue as Bayezid's harem is labeled as being filled with "forbidden beauties." He could have set his sight on another with more charm and beauty, and in fact he did, but still remained devoted to Despina.

It seems they use her beauty and political influence only as a means to label her as a Femme Fatale who is cunning, power-hungry and worst even, an infidel. Yet, when we look at foreign sources about the personality of Despina Hatun, she is describe as being gentle and flowery.

SHE WAS ALLOWED POLITICAL INFLUENCE

According to Dr. Zeljko Fajfric in his work "Srpske kraljice i princeze," released in 2007, no sultana before Olivera, who did not convert to Islam, managed to become so influential.

Yet something that is enough to critize him on is that he only puts this influence of hers to be due to her charms and beauty, yet again unintentionally labeling her as a femme fatale.

If beauty was all it took to have political influence, dozens more like her would have succeeded in that aspect, but she remains the only wife of Bayezid who had significant importance on politics.

Either Bayezid often sought after her opinion in matters of state or he took her as an advisor which might be the reason she was often with him, but no, a good scent, a soft spoken voice, long hair or enchanting glances will work, at least not for very long, even for a man prone to pleasure like Bayezi, and as we know Despina's political influence grew more with time than it decline.

A few things that are attributed to her council...

I: She helped accelerate the transfer of Prince Lazar's body back to Serbia.

II: She freed and paid ransoms for enslaved christians with the help of her brother; Stefan.

SHE BROUGHT DEBAUCHERY TO THE OTTOMAN COURT

Despina is often blamed for having introduced wine at the Ottoman court.

This sin that Bayezid's partook in can not be credited to Despina because he was already throwing such feasting assemblies ever since his princehood. Him and Despina married in 1390, he was well too familiar with wine and pleasure prior to their marriage.

Despina, later on, might have organized such festivities for him.

" Wine and kebab assembly was established. The infidel's daughter came and toasted Ali Pasha. The lady said, see the moment." - Aşıkpaşazade.

Still it is highly unlikely that Despina, who comes from a culture where married women do not speak in the presence of men would even partake in such assemblies filled with drunk men.

What is more likely is that she organized her own wine assemblies in the harem, with the presence of other women, but the chances of her doing such a thing as drinking in the presence of men is highly unlikely.

She might have even brought wine and so called debauchery to the once "pious" court of the harem, but as for the men; who take up the majority parties in politics and war, they were already familiar with the beverage.

[yinwaryuri]

Jack and Joker: The Bank Scene

Happy Monday my friends, we finally are getting our gay heist show! YinWar truly have outdone themselves with the level of quality they've put into it and I couldn't be more excited or more grateful.

I wanted to break down the scene where Joke robs the bank because, given my experience in banking, it's was scripted very purposefully in favor of suspending our belief. Admittedly, my experience is in the US, and not all financial institutions operate the same, but for safety and security measures they're pretty standard across the board.

I was really appreciative of the disclaimer given ahead of time. It speaks to the research that was done for the sake of how much they could accurately portray the events, and when that seemed impossible and they couldn't let go of the scene, they said fuck it - gay story over realism it is. This break down is certainly not to dig at the writing; it's more to buff my knowledge than anything.

We love you YinWar, thanks for having respect for bank employees. Now let's get to the employees I don't respect, and the non-employee that I do.

For the most part, security officers don't need to do more than greet customers, and if there is any suspicion he shouldn't immediately interrogate someone. He's there for when things get escalated, or if there are any faces he should be looking out for (anyone banned from a branch for any reason), then he can confront them. If Joke had made an attempt at another location and that one tipped off others, then he would have a reason to suspect him.

Joke's mistake here: Being seen. He is so identifiable throughout. The show didn't bother checking any CCTVs, but he makes no attempt to hide from them. Instant jail. Sorry my guy. He also chooses a very unusual method and time of day to strike.

Since the officer did confront him, Joke gives an excuse.

This was a good call. If someone from another location or office, or a third party contracted service is coming, the employees would be notified beforehand of whom they should be and during which times. And even if the person is easily recognizable physically, they will have company identification on them, and if the security measures are extra strict, a form of government ID would also need to be shown.

LOUD WRONG ANSWER BUZZER

So what Joke is going to look for is someone who appears less competent. He looks at the older woman who likely has years under her belt and knows he has no chances there. But the girl to her left....

TARGET ACQUIRED

And she's already in trouble.

Oh hon.

That's never a situation I'd want to be in. Calling customers to inform them that there's been a mistake made on their account is never fun and it often is hard to reach them. There are ways of simply correcting the error and informing the person after it's been done just so they know what to expect when they look at the activity on their statement. Whatever the case, she's new, inexperienced, and having a bad day.

The balls he has to say this. Bestie. Have you ever touched banking software.

He's just getting her out of the way. If she had received any proper training and meant to apply it at all, this would've been a red flag. She is trusting the judgement of the security officer. Joke hasn't introduced himself by name and if he meant to help fix the mistake he wouldn't make her leave. It would be her responsibility and a good training opportunity. Instead, this happens....

She's risking so many things! Security within the immediate premises, security of the bank's information, confidentiality of the customers' information (which is literally their government ID, home address, other contact info, ALL of their accounts and activity). Absolutely a bad move.

GIRRRLLLL. That is on you. I saw her hesitate, but in the end just knew it was bad. At least where I've been, that possibly means fines and/or jail time for her as well, depending on the severity (most likely fines though). This poor girl is gonna have the worst confidence about her ability on the job after learning she helped a guy embezzle money. Where's her story?

Joke sends the security guard away, gets behind the desk with Carbon's ID and is likely planning to simply empty his account and leave. Then who should show up but Jack! (Next time please direct him to wait in a queue, your "manager" is supposedly still fixing your little check blunder, remember?)

And even Joke is nervous for a moment because he definitely didn't want to get the cute bartender involved.

Nevertheless, he humors Jack and listens to the bittersweet story of his childhood and his dream of opening a school. I love Jack, I really hope that he is able to open that school someday too.

So this part of the loan process is called the interview. It's where the employee will get an idea of the customer's needs and see if the bank's service is what they're looking for or if there is any particular offers they can make at this time. It's an important process when dealing in person because it will hopefully help the customer know which steps they can take depending upon approval. It's also where documentation is asked to verify what can be approved.

For the most part, Joke's charisma would be fantastic for a banking career because he seems natural at facilitating a conversation that requires someone to open up about their financial needs. He loses marks for not checking actual information, not filing any copies of the information he has been given, not explaining any details about paying the loan down or how having an account works, not starting the account opening process, and the numbers they talk about are vague so we don't even know how much money is in question here (which is probably a writing choice and I'm fine with it).

Instead Joke pulls a Picard and decides to make it so. And flirts at the same time. There's no signage around the branch to speak of this program and he doesn't go into any details, he simply grabs the stamp and seals their fates together.

I do think it's a sweet little change of mind he has. He was simply going to inconvenience Carbon, but what better way to do it (in his mind) than to give the money to the guy who got snubbed because of him?

The office being truly empty does crack me up. Who is supposed to be there and why are they gone? Also, for a bank, that vault is incredibly small. That is a home safe, that is not for securing the assets of the public. Also, most places have updated their protocol to use two people when opening the vault because having two people present also ensures less opportunity for employee theft.

His ass is not wearing gloves!

And, in a final un-bankerly move, he does not count out even the bundles.

FLIRT

I also love that he goes by Joker, but is constantly pulling a Batman exit on Jack.

I feel bad for knowing that I would have absolutely apprehended this man by asking the simplest questions. But I no longer work in that capacity and couldn't give a fuck! Let him do what he wants!

[merbear25]

Twisted desires (Caesar)

A budding flower of newfound interest quickly grew into full bloom the longer she spent with the man who hired her. Two damned souls with different purposes in life, and yet their paths couldn’t have entwined more perfectly, intersecting at just the right moment. Getting close to a man like Caesar Clown would require a bit of persuasion as Lucille came to realize. However, that wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle.

a/n: This is a trade for @luci0elle. I was so excited to do this trade with you! I had a blast writing it. Thank you so, so much for suggesting it. I hope it lives up to your expectations!

CW: NSFW, MDNI, fem!OC/self-insert (name used for reader), dubcon, drug use, alcohol, vaginal penetration, pegging, cumshot

Wandering behind the buildings of the labs she couldn’t justify calling home, the alleyways paved her road to a future where she’d be offered a blank slate. No ties to the government and none to Vegapunk, instead it would be left up to her full discretion. 

The sun had long since set and the dark clouds casted over any possible navigation by starlight, meaning the pipes that ran above were her only chance of finding a way out of this maze. With residue oozing from the pipes, the dripping substances only further engrained the life she saw for herself.

Ducking out of sight, evading others, eyes set on the target as the sound of rushing water filled the air: Lucille made a break for it just as a security guard spotted her. A leap of faith sent her hurtling into the waters below where her title of government property washed away with the tides.

Since then, she stuck to the shadows and offered the lethal skills infused in her DNA as a service. Although a couple of customers made the mistake of double crossing her, the result was more or less the same—a clear message of what would happen if others tried the same.

Even with operating behind the scenes, word spread among those who were in search of such expertise. Spoiled with choice of who she deemed worthy of her time, someone only familiar by name caught her eye—Caesar Clown. It was an offer she couldn’t refuse. Be it led by morbid curiosity of genuine interest, the deal was made and their fates were merged if only by their signatures.

Neither of them were what the other had expected; the dashes of personality that contradicted word of mouth were both refreshing and worrisome. Finding out who they really were while being in such close proximity wasn't something to be taken lightly.

His suspicious sideways glances, countered with her playful energy sent his reservations towards her for a loop. The evident want she expressed to be around him when she wasn’t off on a mission was…unnerving. 

What did she have up her sleeve? was the question that wracked his brain more often than he cared to admit. But still, the bubbly and apparently genuine interest she took in him was received well. After all, how could he resist being fawned over by a deadly force such as herself?

“Come on! I want you to test out one of the cocktails I made!” Luci tugged at Caesar’s coat relentlessly.

His eye twitched in irritation. “I’ve already told you I’m very busy and—”

“You’re always ‘very busy’!” She grumbled.

“And what? I suppose you’re going to say ‘it won’t kill you to take a break’?” He mocked her typically playful tone.

“Is that a challenge?” Luci’s face showed a glimmer of mischief as a coy smile spread on her lips.

A hue of pink dusted his face at his own slip of the tongue. He huffed at her persistent nature, reluctantly surrendering to the silver-eyed woman cocking an eyebrow at him. “Fine. Show me what attempt you’ve made.”

As she led him to the kitchen, his amusement in the confident strut she had made it difficult to suppress even the faintest grin. 

“Take a seat.” She gestured to the sofa.

“You’re going to serve me too? Seems I’m getting the royal treatment,” Caesar chuckled. She gave the concoction in the drink mixer a few more good shakes, while sticking her tongue out at him, earning herself a couple more laughs.

Gently, she placed the fuchsia alcoholic beverage in front of him. The swirls of edible glitter danced even under the fluorescent lights.

“Adding something as gaudy as glitter to the drink? Must have looked atrocious beforehand.” He teased, bringing the glass up to his lips.

“I just know how much you can’t stomach a real drink, is all,” Luci whispered. She leaned in, showing the bit of cleavage spilling out of her top.

His cheeks reddened, so he turned away from her and threw half of the drink back in one gulp. There was lust peeking behind her sultry stare, making him chug the remainder of her experimental talents.

She shifted closer to him, her leg now pressed up against his without letting up on the rising want in her demeanor. “Well?” Her voice trailed into his ear. “What's the verdict?”

The assassin's cool tone as she awaited his critiques was faintly nerve-racking. She gently brushed her chest against his arm, when he began stumbling over a response. “It was deceivingly strong…just a tad though.” He added so as not to give Lucille the satisfaction of being right about his intolerance to hard liquor. 

Clearing his throat, the feeling of her rubbing up against him was causing his mind to go fuzzy. He couldn't think straight, only being grounded by the redheaded beauty's touch. He rubbed his temple, trying to regain focus.

“Did…did you put something in that drink?” He tugged at his clothes, which were beginning to feel like they were uncomfortably snug.

Luci gave him a helping hand by unzipping the front on his body suit. Revealing his chest and slender stomach, she ran her hand over him greedily. The dampened skin heightened her longing to see more of him, to feel more. The shaky pants that passed his lips grew more and more needy as her touch became more assertive.

With no say in the matter, the drug forced his body to release pheromones laced in a nearly sickeningly intoxicating aroma. A deep sigh escaped her as the desired effect took its course on her, as well.

“You drive me wild. You know that, don't you?” Her fingers aggressively tugged down his boxers, revealing one of the side-effects. 

The sharp inhale of his throbbing cock meeting her firm grip only made him more irresistible. Her pupils dilated as she watched the subtle shifts in his facial muscles: reluctance, embarrassment, and finally surrender. The hands of a killer could do more than stomp out the light in her victims’ eyes—capable of bestowing unimaginable waves of ravishment throughout them just as skillfully.

“You want more, don't you?” Lucille nodded, coaxing the same out of him. With a dark smile, she swiftly derobed.

Standing in front of him with smug confidence, the slick arousal between her legs made his heart race. As much as he knew he shouldn’t want her, there were other forces at play, which made his better judgment take a backseat.

His cock twitched as she traced his jaw with her delicate fingers. “I’m going to let you feel every ounce of pleasure you’re burning for, don’t you worry.” A temptress in her own right, he didn’t stand a chance against her dark charm.

She guided him to her bedroom, a domain where she had home field advantage. As she climbed onto her bed, the arch in her back put her wet pussy lips on full display. A suppressed whimper could be heard behind her as she bent over in front of him. His long, lanky limbs caged her small form in. The tip of his cock pressed against her aching core. The close proximity caused the emitting side-effects of the drug to waft over her, causing her patience to wane at an alarming rate.

Unable to wait any longer, she eased herself back on him as far as she was physically able. Tingling sensations of overbearing fervor pushed her into a frenzy. Bouncing up and down his length, the leverage of her on all fours gave each of them rush after rush of pure bliss. Stretching herself out from his girth had her clawing at the bedsheets in a desperate attempt at seeking stability as she plunged him deeper and deeper inside her.

Choked sobs from above gave her more than enough encouragement to keep the fast pace. A large shaky hand gripped at her hip. “F-fuck…” Caesar moaned.

A growl rose from her throat as she slammed her dripping core roughly against him, causing his balls to slap against her clit. With the overpowering erotica flooding his senses, the room began to shift and spin. His body trembled and grew heavy, causing him to slump over on his forearms suddenly. He could barely keep his weight above her.

Cupping his tired face, an unfamiliar warmth emanated from her hand. “You shouldn’t have downed your drink so quickly,” she teased. He groaned from the way her body was still wrapped around him. “Shh, don’t worry. I’ll make things much easier on you.”

When she crawled out from under him, he collapsed on the inviting comfort of her bed. Breathing heavily, the drug's effects were making it impossible for him to ease his swarming thoughts. He watched Lucille carefully, craving more of her but unable to decipher whether it was solely due to the drug or not.

She snuck around him, letting both her hands caress the sides of his hips and waist. His body responded instantly: quaking from the unexpected tenderness in her touch and yearning for sweet release.

“You want it so badly, yeah?” She cooed at him.

He buried his face into her pillow, the scent of her driving him further into madness. A deep gravelly groan was forced into the pillow as he nodded slightly in response.

She chuckled softly. Grabbing a spare pillow, she wedged it under his hips, leaving him in the perfect position for what was soon to come.

While focusing on inhaling the faint scent of Lucille’s shampoo in the fabric of her pillow, the chilled lube caused his body to tense. Her calming voice rocked him back into a trance, and as her slender fingers pressed inside him, his eyes rolled back.

The tip of her strapon buried into him. His hands tightened their grip on the sheets, and he bit her pillow as his body was being forced to accept it at a much faster rate. Strained huffs and cries of euphoria were music to Luci’s ears.

“I didn’t think the potion would have worked this well,” she grunted, wasting no time pounding into him.

The curses dripping from his quivering lips were laced with remaining toxins of the elixir. Caesar cried out for her that further fueled her motions, making each thrust more and more intense. He was close, teetering on the edge.

She reached down to stroke him, rendering him helpless to the paradise she’d bestowed upon him. Each jolt of pleasure raptured his body. The skilled tugs of his painfully carnal urge to give into the temptress who’d successfully had her way with him ate away at every fiber of his self-control.

A wanton soaked shriek was muffled into her pillow as he spilled every last drop of fervor into her hand. The overflow of the pent-up sin cascaded onto her bed and splashed on the other pillow. Choked whimpers were soothed by the tender hand of his hired assassin. Soft hushes and light kisses along his shoulder eased him down from his high.

“If things continue this well, you’ll be ready for more soon enough.” There was a sadistic pleasure she took seeing him completely spent and knowing that she’d get her fix in due time.

He groaned and nodded. Having just experienced an explosive orgasm, there was a part of him that just couldn’t be satiated. Damn her for having made such a lascivious test subject out of him. His eyes rolled back as he began hardening again. He thrusted against the dampened pillow, groaning from the overstimulation. Damn her and the spell she casted on him.

[helaelaemond]

Billy Washington idea: Soft-ish Billy being upset after getting himself into trouble again. Like, he just can't stop being a flop even when he tries to. Reader comforts him in the best and smuttiest way she can. Maybe he shows up unexpectedly at her place because he needs someone, even though he won't admit it? Idk, delinquent flop men get me going sometimes.

Title: Only worth living if somebody is loving you - part of the It's All For You series but can be read as standalone

Pairing: Billy Washington x female reader

Summary: Billy has been fired and feels worthless. But you love him; he's everything to you. So you show him how much worth he has. Established relationship, handjob, fingering, pet names, mild daddy kink, mild dirty talk.

Word count: 3.1k

Rating: E

Notes: thank you so much for the prompt! This was a lot of fun to write when I am supposed to be working!

You're not meant to have your phone on at work, but you get away with it where you can. You're in the basement kitchen today, anyway, so no customers will see. Behind the shoddy table set up as a makeshift barista bar, you fill tray after tray of tea and coffee - Blue Lady, Darjeeling, Sumatran, Colombian, jasmine, they all roll into one in the end. So feeling your phone vibrate in your apron pocket is a delightful distraction.

You ignore the tickets coming through behind you, and get one of the dish boys to cover you. "What? I need a fag," you reply over your shoulder when he protests. You smile giddily at your phone and swipe to answer. "Hey, Billy."

He doesn't sound happy on the other end. "Hey."

You slink into the alley and crouch close to the floor, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. "What's up?"

"You got a sec?"

There's something in his voice that worries you. "Yeah. Yeah, I do. Tell me."

He sighs. You hear him blare his horn as he drives, followed by a string of profanities. "Fucking wanker! Twat!"

You take a long drag. "You on a run?" He's been a delivery driver for a delivery service for a few months now. It's shitty money and shitty conditions, but it's all he could get after being fired from his last job. Hitting a customer. The customer swung for him first, but it was Billy who landed the first successful punch.

"No. Driving home."

"Oh?"

"Don't fucking start."

You force yourself to smile against your phone. Your voice is soft. "Hey. I'm not starting anything. You called me."

He sighs again. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I can't... I can't keep doing this."

"Doing what?"

"They sacked me."

"Why?" you ask, closing your eyes and wincing.

Billy's voice is clipped. "Didn't meet their targets."

"Those targets are bullshit," you snap defensively. Everything he's told you about his job has you seeing red - they take advantage and bleed him dry. "You don't need that place."

"I need the pay check."

"We'll figure it out. Where you going now?"

He pauses. You hear his indicator, and the rev of his ancient car engine as he moves between gears. "Your parent still away?"

You watch as the smoke you blow out rises up the alley and into the sky. "Yeah. Key's in the plant pot. I finish in an hour. Make yourself at home."

Billy's car is parked lazily on your street, and you feel butterflies in your stomach. It's been a few years since you got together, but adrenaline still runs through you at the mere thought of being near him. He's got you addicted, flaws and all. It made you want to run all the way home after your shift ended, but you don't think you quite have the stamina for a three-mile sprint.

"Hey, Billy," you call as you let yourself into the home you still share with your parents. London prices are impossible - you'll probably live with them until they die

He grunts in response, and you follow the noise into the living room. He's sat on the sofa facing away from you, head bent, and you go to him. You drop your bag and kick off your shoes and wrap your arms around him from behind. "Hey, daddy."

He winces. "Don't call me that."

"Why not?" you whisper against his ear. "You usually like it."

Billy pulls out of your arms and shifts on the sofa. "Yeah, well, I don't right now."

"Sorry." You go to the kitchen and make two cups of tea - milk and sugar for you, no sugar for him. None of the loose-leaf shit you serve at work, just proper Yorkshire bags. He follows you quietly, and thanks you when you hand him his. "How are you feeling?"

He shrugs, still avoiding your gaze.

"Billy." Your voice is soft. The hard pain in his face hurts to see.

He licks his lips and takes a sip. It's scalding, and he hisses quietly. You put your cup down to cool, and go to him. Your hands find their place on his narrow hips, and you look up at him. He's so tall; it makes you feel so safe. His hair is getting long, and it falls over his eyes.

After a long moment, he finally meets your gaze. "I really tried with this one."

You nod. "I know."

"I promise."

"I know."

"Why are you with me?" he asks softly. When he tries to pull away, you hold him close. "I'm not... God, you deserve better than this."

"No, Billy, no." One hand runs to the small of his back and the other finds his cheek to guide his gaze back to you. "You're worth so much more than a shitty job."

"I'm a failure."

"No, you're not," you soothe. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. Don't let some stupid job define you."

"You deserve so much more than me."

You reach up on your toes and kiss his lips firmly. He meets your kiss with a quiet sigh. "You're all I've ever wanted and needed. Don't worry about the job."

"I'm not worthy of you."

Taking his hand, you lead him back to the living room. You both bring your cups with you and set them on the coffee table. You push him to sit on the sofa, and when you straddle him, it's satisfying how naturally his grasp finds your backside. But still, he drops his head to your shoulder in defeat. You stroke his hair and gently massage his scalp, just as he likes.

"You want me to tell you how much I love you?" you murmur.

He swallows thickly. He shakes his head.

"You want me to show you? You want me to help you forget everything else?"

He doesn't react, except to pull you tighter. You smile slightly, and kiss his hair. Sex is something that brings you closer than anything else. It's the place where Billy feels most in control, where he can take care of you and call the shots and do everything to make you feel good. You accidentally called him daddy once when he was fucking you, and that was the day your dynamic changed. He leaned into the nickname proudly, and he wears it like a secret badge of honour. He does everything to earn it, too. He takes care of you, dominates you like you need. It's the only time when he feels like a real man. He loves you so much, he forgets what hating himself feels like.

The world is cruel to him, but you never are. You're just obsessed with him.

"You want me to take care of you?" you whisper against his ear. Billy buries his face against your chest, and gently bites through your shirt. It smells of coffee and tea and kitchen grease. He nods again.

"Alright. I can do that." You tilt up his chin and kiss him. This time, it's deeper. When you part your lips, he mirrors you and welcomes your tongue into his mouth. Pulling back for a moment, you look into his piercing blue eyes. "Can you do something for me?"

He nods.

You smile softly. "Can you undo my shirt for me, please?"

Billy's eyes are wide, and he nods again. Long fingers complete the task, and your white work shirt falls open. Underneath is a practical bra, white and cotton and far from sexy. Still, just the sensation of him opening your shirt makes your nipples hard, and that's enough for him. "Thank you," you say, affection in your voice. "Can you touch me?"

He's putty in your hands for once. This is new territory for you, being so in control. Usually, he's the one gently telling you what to do, his voice sugar and honey as his requests and commands turn from this kind of sweetness into depravity. You're trying to emulate him now, to give him what he might need.

He runs his knuckles over your breasts through the fabric, up and down he goes, catching your hard nipples each time. Half the time you're with him, it feels like the first time. Not in a bad way, just the excitement and anticipation, and how much you fucking need him. Just this touch has you feeling your heartbeat in your cunt.

"Lean back, baby," you tell him. You haven't called him that before. It's the pet name he calls you when he's fucking you to the point of tears, and so you're unsure. He shakes his head slightly. "Lean back, Billy." That, he obeys, and that makes you smile. "Good. Can you take off your shirt for me, too?"

Keeping his eyes on you, he takes off his black tshirt and tosses it aside. You grab it, though, and press it against your nose to catch his scent. "Mmph. I love your smell."

"Yeah?" His expression is softening slowly over time. The tension in his eyebrows is smoothing out.

"Yeah, I do." You shrug out of your open shirt. As you unclasp your bra, you shift to straddle one of his thighs instead of both, and grind slightly. The friction feels so good. When you're good for him, daddy sometimes lets you ride his leg until you come. The thought makes you shiver. "I love everything about you."

"I..." As you throw aside your bra, Billy runs his hands up your sides and back down to your hips. His eyes dart between your face and your breasts. "I don't deserve you."

In his grey joggers, you see his familiar swell. It's impossible to resist reaching for it and pressing the flat of your hand to him. "You deserve me every single day, Billy. You make me feel... oh, God. You make me feel divine."

His hands go back to your breasts, and elegant fingers gently tease your nipples in perfect tandem. Under your hand, you feel his cock twitch. He loves your breasts. Then, he mirrors your action, except his hand tugs down your zipper and he presses his fingers against you over your underwear. A slight lift of your hips, and his hand is trapped between you and his thigh.

"No," you murmur with a smile. "I want to focus on taking care of you."

"You are," he replies. "It makes me feel good to take care of you, too."

He's rewarded with a kiss to his pretty lips, and this time his tongue finds yours first. The pressure of it makes you shiver again. You grind harder against his hand, whilst your own hand palms him through the soft material.

"God." He drops against the back of the sofa again and looks up at you. "Promise you love me."

You take the hand between your legs to your mouth. As you suck his fingers, you look into his eyes. You swirl your tongue between them, over them, and your other hand reaches into his trousers. You fumble with the band of his boxers, and trap his cock under it. You touch the red tip and moan around his digits.

"I fucking love your cock," you moan as you pull his fingers from your mouth.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I can't get enough of it, not ever."

"What do you do when we're apart?" he asks, encouraging you. Suddenly, he grabs you and pulls you to sit next to him on the sofa. His confidence is returning.

"I... I watch that video you made for me a few months ago."

Billy watches your face and bites his lip. "Take off your clothes," he murmurs softly. You obey. "What video?"

With his gentle dominance coming back, your heart is racing. He lifts his hips to help you push down his trousers and underwear, and you begin a steady rhythm with your hand on his cock. "The one where you're alone on your bed."

"Spread your legs for me, baby."

Your breath catches in your throat. Again, you obey. He runs his palm up and down the inside of your thigh, and he pulls it over his leg. The intimacy of feeling your legs rest together makes your chest flush. Billy's hand slides up the soft skin of your inner thigh, and he watches your face. He has more control over his expression as you stroke him than you do when his fingers run up and down the outside of your pussy.

"What was I doing in the video?" he asks softly.

Moaning. Writhing. Begging. "Touching yourself."

"You never sent me a video back."

You laugh quietly. It turns swiftly to a moan when Billy's middle and ring fingers glide between your folds lazily. "I... I tried."

"Did you?"

As two digits press at your entrance, your hand on his cock stills. The pressure is delicious, a little demanding, a little possessive. He touches you like he owns you. He does own you. "Yeah. But... oh, shit, that's nice. But when I watched it back, I... mmph, Billy- it wasn't quite right."

"Impossible," he whispers. He leans over to kiss your neck just as his fingers slip inside. "Everything about you is perfect."

"You're blind."

He bites your ear and then blows into it. "I'm a man in love, that's all."

"Love," you breathe. Finally, you find the strength to stroke him again, although his fingers moving inside of you are driving you to distraction. "There aren't enough words to tell you how I feel about you."

"Mmm?"

"I'm fucking obsessed." He rewards you with his thumb pressing against the side of your clit. He gently rubs up and down, careful not to overstimulate you. "Shit, just like that, please-"

"I don't deserve you." But he's smiling this time. "My pretty girl."

When he says things like that, you utterly melt. And then, it's you who's putty again, and Billy who's in control. "Kiss me?"

"Come here, baby."

You whimper needily when he pulls out his hand. But he grabs your hand, and you climb back into his lap. His trousers and underwear are still on his thighs. Perhaps if he fucks you good enough, you'll leave your smell on them.

"You want me inside you?"

You nod and clutch his shoulders. "Please."

"Please, what?"

It's not even a question. It's am automatic response now. "Please, daddy."

"Oh, that's my good girl."

As you cling onto him, Billy runs his cock through your folds, pressing the head against your clit. When you feel his bluntness against your entrance, you whine softly. "Please. I need you so bad. Please."

"You love me?"

You nod, and press a feverish kiss to his forehead. "I love you so much."

As he presses inside you, your mouth drops open in a silent moan. He's perfect for you, not big enough to hurt, not small enough to frustrate. He doesn't stretch, he fills. He's everything to you. You grind against him and feel the delicious slip of him inside and out. When you rock against his hard pubic bone, he praises you. "Good girl, taking what you need. I'm so proud of you."

It makes you bite your lip. You rock in a familiar rhythm that suits you both. His kisses are on your chest and your shoulders, hot and wet. Over the pulse in your neck, he sucks gently. He'd never leave a mark on you that would embarrass you for other people to see. But when his lips find your breasts again, he gives you flowers of purple and red.

"Fuck!" you whine. "You're perfect, you're so perfect."

He crushes his mouth against yours. Strong arms wrap around your back and then all of a sudden he flips you onto the sofa and shoves your legs up. They press together and you feel the ache down the back of them, but it's nothing compared to the ache in your cunt now he's left you empty. It's only for a moment, though. He slams back inside you, and the change in angle threatens to overwhelm you. Like this, his every pound has the tension between your legs stimulated.

"Daddy!" you moan. "Please, let me see you, please, please-!"

The hand that grips your ankles loosens enough to let one leg drop down. Now you can see him, his slight grin, the fire in his eyes. He looks at you like a man obsessed, like you're the only thing in the world that matters.

"That's it, baby," he pants. His hair sticks to his sweaty forehead. His tight balls slap against you with every thust, making you whimper. "You're taking me so beautifully. Well done, my sweet girl."

"I'm so close!"

"Tell me what you need." He holds your elevated leg up by his shoulder, and turns his head to kiss your ankle. But his eyes never leave yours.

"Your h- Jesus! Hand! Please! Please!"

"Well done," he says again between laboured breaths. "You're so good at telling me what you need. Like this?"

While his hand presses firmly against your pelvis, his thumb finds its way back to your clit. The circles he runs are harder and faster now.

"Can I come?" you beg.

"Of course, baby. Whenever you need."

'Thank you, daddy!"

He's so good to you. He makes sure you orgasm first. Billy pounds you through your explosive completion that makes your whole body jerk, and only when your guttural screams have subsided does he let himself go. You got the coil so he can have you properly. He clings to the thigh against his chest as he comes, spending deep inside you. The cry of your name is deep and ragged. It sends aftershocks rushing through you.

He collapses on you, and you both pant. Only when his cock begins to soften does he pull out of you, but beyond that, neither of you move much. His face is buried in your neck, and your hand is buried in his hair.

After a while, you feel lips press softly against your throat.

"You okay?" you whisper.

"Mmm."

"I wanted to be the one to take care of you." You laugh softly.

He kisses your skin again. "You always take care of me." His voice is nothing more than a mumble.

The laughter fades on your lips. "I always will. I love you so much."

"You make life worth living."

Your arms tighten around him. "Your life is so precious, Billy. We'll find a way to make it better. I promise."

"I love you."

[ofstoriesandstardust]

the one with the bathing suit (b.r.b.)

a/n: yeah.... i don't got an explanation. takes place in the flight risk universe

summary: The time Bradley saw Sunshine in a bathing suit and was allowed to do something about it.

warnings: suggestive themes/comments, bathing suits (because that's a warning in and of itself), swearing, brief mentions of insecurities, brief mention of body sizes, future Bradley and Sunshine, this is my nod to all my fellow vanderpump rules watchers, unedited

Bradley's hand slides into your own as the two of you enter the Target, the cool air hitting you as you enter the store. You slide the sunglasses up to sit atop of your head as you pause, figuring out where the Customer Service desk is.

"Thanks for coming with me." You say as you spot it, tugging Bradley along.

He hummed. "No problem, my love. Shame the pants didn't fit."

You rolled your eyes at the memory of trying them on for him after an impromptu shopping trip with Amelia the other day. The two of you'd bickered about whether or not you should keep them, the pants a hair too small to be comfortable.

Bradley, however, had appreciated how they had made your ass look.

("You say that about everything I wear." You'd said with a scoff. He'd only been able to offer you that cheshire grin of his.)

You let your eyes wander as the two of you wait in line. Target had just put out their selection bathing suits for the summer and you were somehow always surprised by the fact that they continuously got cuter every year.

Bradley squeezed your hand when he caught on to where you were looking. "I think you need a new suit, my love."

You roll your eyes as you step forward in line. "And where in the world would I wear it?"

"I think you forget you live in a beach town now, Sunshine. You'd get good use out of it."

You roll your eyes again as you step up to the desk. "You just want to see me in a bikini."

Bradley doesn't deny the point as the girl working the counter begins to process the return. You thank her as she returns the money to the card and exit the area, headed for the door. Bradley's hand in your own stops you, tugging you over to the bathing suit area.

"B..." You mutter, eyeing the bikinis anxiously. "I don't need to make myself insecure on purpose today."

"I'm looking for me, I don't know what you're talking about." He says, bypassing the bikinis into the much smaller one-piece section.

You snort as your eyes fall on a rosey-pink colored one-piece. "That's cute." You comment, rifling through the sizes. "Too bad they don't have one in my size."

"This one might fit." He says, pulling it from the rack.

You eye it nervously. It was adorable, with an open back and straps that were to die for. "There is no way in hell that'll hold up my boobs." You blurt out.

He grins. "Sure it could."

You shake your head, taking it from his hands and putting it back on the rack. "I hate bathing suits. Make me so insecure about my thighs."

He clears his throat. "Respectfully, my love, no one is looking at your thighs when you are wearing a bathing suit." His eyes roam over your body. "Much more distracting parts of you to look at." You shoot him a look, even as you feel your cheeks warm.

"We need toilet paper."

-

"I have a present." Bradley announces as he enters the house. "You're watching the new part of the reunion without me?! You said you'd wait!"

Your eyes flicker to the paused screen, Andy Cohen in the middle of proclaiming "My cards!"

"'M rewatching last week's episode."

Bradley's shoulders visibly deflate at the explanation, relieved you hadn't gone ahead and watched the reunion episodes about the Scandoval that had rocked the nation without him.

You smile, pushing yourself up on the couch. "Whatcha got?"

"I bought that bathing suit you were looking at this weekend."

Your face falls. "What?"

He holds his hands out, quick to soothe you. "You don't have to keep it if you don't like it." He rushes out. "But you didn't try it on, and it was cute, and you've been saying you needed a new suit anyways."

You sigh, pushing yourself off the couch and grabbing the Target bag from his hands. "I'll try it on." You say as you approach the stairs to go up to the bathroom. "But I really doubt it'll fit."

He follows you closely, sitting on the edge of the bed as you disappear into the bathroom to try it on. You take a deep breath, shedding your clothing to pull the material over your body.

You take another deep breath, nervously opening your eyes as you turn back to the mirror.

You... You don't hate it.

You tug at the straps, adjusting the top.

You actually really don't hate it.

The material is comfortable and does surprisingly fit. Your eyes flit nervously over your chest, fighting the urge to cover it up.

"You wanna see?" You call out.

"Obviously."

You take a calming breath, unlocking the bathroom door, slipping into the bedroom.

Bradley's eyes go wide as his jaw falls open. You roll your eyes, huffing out a nervous laugh. "Okay, B, don't gotta gawk."

He shakes his head. "Nuh-uh, 'm gonna."

You feel your cheeks warm as you struggle to look at him. "'S just a bathing suit. You've seen me in those before."

"Yeah, and this is the first time I actually get to do something about it. Sunshine, you look so fucking good." He says, his eyes still roaming your body. "Holy fuck, and I spent years not getting to appreciate you in one of these things. What the fuck was I thinking?"

You let out another nervous laugh, looking back down at your feet. You hadn't even remembered to take your socks off before trying the suit on, not even thinking Bradley would see the piece on you.

"How do you feel about it?" He asks after a minute, his voice much softer.

You shrug, finally raising your head to meet his gaze. "I don't... hate it."

He grins. "Yeah?"

You shrug, taking another step closer towards him. He reaches out for you, hands falling to your waist.

"I've always loved the way you look in a bathing suit Sunshine, but fuck." He says, gaze planting right on your chest.

You duck your head, cheeks growing even warmer. "Not always."

He tilts his head in disagreement, clearly remembering the lake day from your camping trip in college.

("Careful now, Bradshaw." Eli had said to him. "You spend too much longer appreciating her tits in that suit and you're gonna get punched in the mouth.")

"You gonna keep it?" He says, pulling you onto his lap.

You nod, letting out a breathe. "Yeah, I think so."

He grins, shuffling the two of you back further on the bed. "Perfect." He says, his hand gliding down your body. One plants itself firmly on your ass while the other makes it's way back up towards the straps. "Because now I get to do this," He says, tugging at the straps, letting it unravel. "Without worrying about having to return it."

He captures you in a searing kiss, hands coming up to push the material off of your body.

[asterkurayami]

Ugh. So I went to Target because the App said Halloween ones were in stock. I scanned a photo of the barcode and confirmed, but they were not in the aisle. So I asked someone to make sure and the directed me to find someone with access to the stock in the back room. I go to customer service and they profusely apologize as "they aren't allowed to set them out yet."

We leave, but my sister forgot something so she goes back in. and. what. are. they. stocking? THE HALLOWEEN ONES. I talk to the guy stocking, and told him I was literally in the front a few minutes ago asking for these. I was told that they no longer pull items from the back when you ask, thanks to overzealous customers verbally berating and threatening the employees. I'm sideeyeing in my head at this point because he came out to stock them ON A SHELF after I was told they wouldn't be out for a week. (He was the one telling customer service they weren't allowed to pull them). He also said "we don't want people to pick and choose, but we understand you're going to anyway." I ask what If I buy the whole case? He's says we aren't allowed to do that (as if he could stop me if I wanted to as the case is just sitting there on the shelf now). In conclusion, they lied to my face but I managed to get one of each anyway.

It's nice that they're making an attempt to prevent one person buying up all the stock. But I'm sure those people will find a way regardless. This is the first time I've ever seen a full new case of a seasonal series.

[kanerallels]

First Meetings

(Well I said I'd do it and I'm doing it. Kyvis Origin story, starting now. I've posted one or two other parts of this story here and there, so I'm gonna do a master post at some point! But for now, here's a link to the second part, and here's the first story! Set in a semi-futuristic world, but not so futuristic as to be unfamiliar)

Kate Davis considered herself a professional of her trade. Not necessarily the best, of course—not yet. She’d never done a job that was truly legendary, that would have others talking about it for years to come. But she was quick and smart, and hadn’t been really caught or seen for years.

Which was a good thing in her trade, which was that of a thief.

Frankly, Kate had never considered herself much good at anything else. She’d tried other things, and was currently barely holding down a job at the Starbucks near her house. But, as with the others, she knew she wasn’t long for it. If for no other reasons than she was terrible at customer service, and tended to blow off work for her real job. And truth be told, nothing made her light up like the thrill of cracking a safe, slipping past guards, breaking into a house that was far too fancy for her to ever set foot in otherwise.

It helped that her targets were almost exclusively the rich, arrogant, and corrupt. There was something satisfying about taking from people like that. Her boyfriend, Derek, didn’t seem to see it the same way. He’d told her on many occasions that she should do jobs with his gang, that he was working where the money was. Kate had just laughed at him—she didn’t let other people choose her jobs.

Hence why she was currently picking the lock on the office door of a senator who was not only the proud owner of three houses, but was a bit of a creep as well. He’d been at the Starbucks where she’d worked a few days back, and Kate had seen him hitting on her co-worker—a shy girl who was just out of high school, making her easily a quarter of the senator’s age. She’d gotten his name off of the order, and it hadn’t taken long to formulate a plan against him.

The lock clicked, and Kate let herself into the office. Getting into the building had been embarrassingly easy, and she knew for a fact that the senator was out on a lunch break. That didn’t mean she was going to sit around and wait for him to return, though. She had too much professional pride for that.

The safe was situated at the back corner of his office, not obscured by a thing. Kate rolled her eyes and knelt next to it. “Your owner is a moron,” she muttered to it, getting to work on the lock.

A few minutes later, it clicked open, revealing the contents. Allowing herself a smirk, Kate unzipped one of the pockets in her backpack and began filling it with stacks of cash.

She was halfway finished when she heard voices outside the door. Oh, no—he’s not supposed to be back yet. Smacking the safe door shut, Kate yanked the zipper closed. Slinging the backpack over her shoulder, she made a snap decision and darted forward just as the door opened.

She made it behind the door as it swung open, admitting two men. Neither of them was the senator, but both were talking animatedly, and didn’t notice as Kate moved. “Yeah, apparently there’s supposed to be some kind of robbery here today. That’s why all those law enforcement guys are here. Weird, right?”

“You can say that again,” agreed the other man as Kate caught hold of the door knob before it could fall closed. Silently, she eased it open again. “Can’t imagine what they’d steal from here.”

The first man snorted. “Try not to make it so obvious that you’re new. Now, what did Senator Littlejohn want from here again?”

Kate didn’t wait to hear the response. Slipping through the doorway, she let the door drop closed as she turned—and ran smack into someone.

Stumbling backwards, she caught a brief impression of a man wearing a button down shirt and a frown. Oh, crap.

“You’re not supposed to be up here—” he started, and Kate cut him off by doing the only thing she could think of. She punched him in the face with a satisfying crack, and took off down the hall.

She heard shouts behind her, but didn’t stop. At least, she didn’t stop until she careened around the corner and came face to face with another man. This one, unfortunately, was holding a gun.

“Good afternoon, miss,” he said, his voice mild and polite, with what sounded like a British accent. “Would you mind putting your hands in the air? I’m afraid you’re under arrest.”

Kate held back a groan, but did what he said. Double crap. Just when I say what I did about not getting caught.

Her backpack was taken, and she handcuffed and led down the hall to a meeting room, empty except for a table and two chairs. Kate was cuffed to one of them, while the man who’d stopped her took the one across from her.

“I’ll admit, it was mostly good luck we caught you,” he said conversationally. He was older, with graying brown hair, and was dressed in a neat, inexpensive suit. “None of us had the faintest clue you were already in the building. It was just bad luck for you that had us sweeping this floor when you were sneaking out. Bad luck for Chambers, as well,” he added as Kate heard the door behind her open. “How’s the nose, Chambers?”

“Could be worse, sir,” came the reply, and Kate glanced up as the man who she’d punched stepped into view. His nose was swollen and crooked, and he wore a frown that deepened as he met her gaze. Folding his arms, he settled behind the older man, like he was waiting for judgment to be passed on her.

Kate already disliked him.

The sound of a throat being cleared pulled her attention back to the older man, who was flipping through a file. “We also didn’t know it was you coming—well, not for sure,” he said. “We had a list of thieves that were known to hit targets like this, but we very nearly took your name off the list. We would have if Chambers hadn’t brought it to my attention that you work at one of those American coffee shops the good senator likes to frequent.”

Kate couldn’t hold back a scoff, and the man glanced up at her. “You disagree?”

“With the good part, yeah,” Kate said flatly. “He’s a creep, and if you’re here defending him that makes you just as bad.”

“We’re not defending his actions, we’re preventing you from breaking the law,” the other man—Chambers, Kate thought—spoke up. “His wrongdoings don’t make yours right.”

“I disagree,” Kate said. “I think anyone who takes payoffs from drug cartels and worse deserves to have his money taken.”

“A sentiment I’m sure you’re not alone in,” the first man cut in. “However, that’s not what we’re here to discuss, Miss—Davis, isn’t it? Kate Davis?”

Kate didn’t answer. The less you give them, the better, she thought. Because things could only get worse from here.

“Well, Miss Davis, I’m Agent Andersen. And I’m here to offer you a chance to escape from your otherwise unpleasant fate.”

That got Kate’s attention. Frowning at him, she said, “I was just caught robbing a senator. If I’m lucky, I’m going away for that. But most likely, you’re going to take me out to some back alley and get rid of me.”

“That’s what you think of us?” Chambers said, a look of disgust crossing his face.

“That’s how law enforcement works these days,” Kate shot back. “Surprising that you don’t know that, Officer. Or maybe you are as dumb as you look. I did think I heard an echoing sound when I punched your stupid face—is it actually hollow in there?”

He frowned even more deeply, and Andersen spoke up. “Miss Davis, we are not going to kill you. You’re quite right in your assessment—most government agencies are corrupt these days in the States. Luckily for you, I’m not from the States. And catching criminals is something of a passion for me. So your deal is as follows—you hand over the person we ask for, someone more valuable, and you go free. Otherwise, you go to prison. Simple as that.”

Kate felt her gut plummet. “But it’s not,” she said. “And you know it. Because prison is a death sentence for almost everyone these days.”

“In most situations, yes,” Andersen agreed calmly. Meeting her gaze squarely, he asked, “So. Would you like a way out?”

Oh, she hated this. She hated the idea that this man with his accent and his strange manner, to say nothing of his scowling sycophant, were in control of her life.

But she didn’t have much of a choice.

“What do I have to do?” she asked.

[bookwormbynight]

This is a creative nonfiction piece of mine. TW: child emotional abuse, self-harm, suicidal ideation

Haunted

What is a haunted house? How does a haunted house come to be?

The spirits that make ghosts don’t start dead. Life is a prerequisite for death, and as such, there must have been a point Before, when the spirit was alive - had a body that breathed and ate and felt the sun. Likewise, any curses on a residence must have been put there, because just as the spirits must have once been pre-dead, places of terror must have once been pre-cursed.

I think my mother’s house is haunted. I think she and I are the ghosts.

My little brothers and I used to call it ‘Matt’s house’. Matt is now my mother’s husband, but they were barely dating when that was its name. My mother was freshly divorced. I don’t think it was haunted then. It was this big, foreign, empty place, with tan walls and poor decor. Mom slept in the basement, since all of the bedrooms were occupied by rent-paying university students.

When the students had all graduated, it became Mom’s House, and we lived there. If it wasn’t haunted yet, the curse began settling in.

Mom painted the walls - painted my room purple, so I wouldn’t hate it so much - put up photos with nice frames, put food in the fridge. She fed us hodge-podge meals she came up with on the spot, and adopted two cats and a dog, who covered everything with a thick layer of hair - especially the floor. I moved my clothes in, arranged my furniture the way I wanted, and lived half-corporeal in a different place than I did before.

That house was cursed by the presence of a mother who wanted her children to hurt as much as she did.

I lived with her for sixteen years. I only recall flashes.

***

What I don’t remember: what exactly set her off at any particular time, a single thing she said to me, what I said to her, what made me feel the way I did.

What I do remember:

Matt, if he was present, never chimed in. He always stood or sat somewhere that, if it had been a movie, would be just in the edge of the frame, and continued to work, or scroll on his phone, with a customer service smile on his face. I have no idea what he felt at those times, but whatever it was, it wasn’t that he was an adult that a wounded child was looking to for help.

When Mom was in a fighting mood, it was me or my brothers. To this day, I’m uncertain whether I made myself a target in order to protect them, or if she had already chosen my fate and that was simply a role I ascribed to myself in the aftermath in order to have it mean something. But if I wasn’t the conduit of her anger, if I wasn’t yelling back, if I wasn’t in the middle of the fight– then Avery ripped chunks of his own hair out and hit himself in the face to replace my repeated sticking of a needle into the back of my designated pincushion hand as deep as I could. The house demanded blood.

It was never anything reasonable. We weren’t as grateful as she wanted us to be. We took too long to do something she asked us. We said something she didn’t like. I’m sure raising kids is difficult, but not that difficult. The source was something else, festering within her, although I didn’t understand that piece of it until I was out.

And after every fight, I always felt two things simultaneously. The first; that I was crashing from an adrenaline rush that swore up and down I had been in a dire, life or death situation. The second; that I did not deserve to be breathing. I believed that second one deeply. I had come so close to death within those years, on so many occasions, that I did not understand the appeal of living. I was paralyzed between two fears. I was only half-alive.

***

Then, when I was sixteen years old, she kicked me out of that house.

It was because I fought back, although the fighting was nothing new. I guess I fought back too hard for her to handle. She had me pack a bag, told me to get out of her house, and said “I never want to see you again.” Those were her words.

I believed them. She did not.

Within the week, she had apologized and begged me to come back. Within the month, she had begun threatening legal action - she would charge my father with a breach of the divorce settlement and cut me off from him and trap me with her. (A Beldam.) She let it go after we built a case of abuse against her, satiated with the idea that honey attracts more flies than vinegar. I let her be my mom again.

The situation can only be described as rough and slow-going. Six months passed before I entered her house again, and when I asked her to take me back home, she cried.

(In my less furious moments, I feel truly sorry for her. She is as cursed as I was. She is trapped with something too.)

Two years later, the first and last time I spent the night in my abandoned room since I left, I realized there were ghosts in the walls. I heard them.

The same hangings were left up, the same teal curtains, the same lavender paint. The scratched wooden floors had been decorated with an ugly, green, filthy rug, which had been covered with a veritable mountain of rainbow-bright toys for their one-year-old. That bed had the same size, same squishiness, same texture. My TV, a Christmas present from Mom, bought for me with the reasoning that I wouldn’t have to buy my own when I get my first apartment, was in the same spot.

I was stressed the fuck out, lying alone in that bed, like I had been transported back in time. Every memory coalesced on top of me to layer, smothering me again in that cacophony of tip-toeing and yelling and snotty tears and suicide ideas.

That house haunted me the second I let it.

Badly, I wanted to drown out those fucking ghosts. I wanted to turn on the TV and play calm babbling brook YouTube videos until I fell asleep so I didn’t have to hear it all, just like I used to do when I lived with them, and then I wanted to wake up in the morning and not recognize the way the sun dripped through the windows and lay on the ground in exactly the way it did every morning I woke up there while I was still dead.

The remote was not in the same place. I tore the room apart looking for it. It wasn’t there.

I slept on the couch with the dog and pretended I couldn’t feel the curse on that house.

***

My mother disowned me a second time in early August this year. I’ve decided, this time, that I’m not going to let her take me back.

[happi-tree]

i hate accidents (except when we went from friends to this)

“Oh, god, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you, I don’t know what came over me, you’re just so hurt and I was so scared and I didn’t know what to do and -”

Link cuts himself off as he glances up from Taylor’s still-glazed expression to his forehead. Before his eyes, the gash stitches itself closed, the open wound fading to a pink scar that pales to white before disappearing entirely.

Lincoln remembers hearing the words “kiss it better” throughout his entire childhood. He remembers the way his dads would patch up his scraped knees with ointment and a bandage and top it all off with a tiny kiss before treating him to a hard candy from their first aid kit for being such a good boy.

Never once had Link thought that the phrase could be literal. Or that his newfound powers could make it literal.

Or: Link discovers a rather unorthodox way of using Lay On Hands thanks to one Taylor Swift, and for some reason, he can’t seem to stop finding excuses to perfect his new skills. Fortunately, Taylor is more than happy to help.

read on ao3

once / twice / thrice, pt. 1 / thrice, pt. 2

once (‘cause i know you had a long night)

The first time it happens, it’s an accident.

They’ve just gotten out of combat at the Eleven-Seven on the edge of town thanks to yet another harebrained plan - this one in particular involving about 27 Large Swig™s’ worth of slushies, an ungodly misuse of pretzel warmers, and mentally begging the forgiveness of customer service employees everywhere. 

Lincoln Li-Wilson stands over a puddle of goop, cleated foot planted firmly where the chest of the latest of the Doodler’s acolytes used to be. He smudges some flecks of dark, slimy sludge off his face with his shoulder. 

God, that’s gonna be a pain to wash out. At least he didn’t wear his favorite jersey tonight.

Link can feel the final dredges of adrenaline coursing through his veins and knows that it’s only a matter of time before he crashes. He can’t let that happen yet, though, not after this tough of a fight. He brushes himself off and looks around the abandoned parking lot, trying to make out the forms of his friends by the hazy yellow-white light of a distant streetlamp.

Scary stands a short distance away, brandishing her knife and stabbing into the remains with extreme prejudice, targeting anything that still moves. Other than the bloodlust in her eyes and a broken nail, she doesn’t look too bad.

Normal looks a bit worse for wear, swaying a little on his feet. Even so, the air around his palms coalesces into a foggy white energy as he makes his way towards an injured Hermie (who had decided to tag along, for some reason that Link doesn’t particularly care about).

That leaves Taylor. Link knows he’d been injured pretty badly - a blow to the head, if he remembers correctly - and his anxiety only increases the longer it takes to find his silhouette in the blackness of sun-off.

Then, a pained wheeze sounds off from somewhere to his right, and Lincoln jogs over to the source of the sound, and -

Oh, fuck, he’s barely moving.

Taylor is lying flat on his back, his cane knocked a few feet away. His clothes seem to have protected most of his body from road burn, but his left cheek is pockmarked and raw from where it likely scraped against the asphalt.

Most worrying of all, though, is the gash on his forehead, just above his left eyebrow.

Link remembers Grant telling him that head wounds bleed more than others, once, but that doesn’t help the turning of his stomach when he sees the pavement slick and puddling around Taylor’s head, his face coated in red from temple to jawline. 

Taylor isn’t even trying to get up, and from the cloudiness of his faintly glowing eyes, Link wonders how much of the pain he’s really registering.

Link waves a frantic hand in front of Taylor’s face. 

“Hey,” Link says, voice pitching high as he searches his friend’s face for some sort of recognition. There is none.

“Taylor, hey, c’mon,” Link prods, shaking Taylor’s shoulders gently with trembling hands. Wetness pools at the corners of his eyes, and he blinks it away to keep his vision clear. “I’m gonna heal you, but you gotta stay awake, okay?”

Finally, Taylor’s eyes seem to focus, pupils dilating unevenly but staring at him nonetheless.

“Well, mus’ not be dead yet,” Taylor slurs, raspy and dazed and sounding almost awestruck.

What the fuck is that supposed to mean!? Link thinks.

“What?” 

Taylor cracks a delirious grin, blood pooling into the corner of his mouth. “‘f I die, ‘m going t’ hell… n’ there aren’t any angels like you down there,” he explains through half a facefull of blood.

At any other time, that kind of line would fluster Link out of his mind, but as it is, all he can feel is frustration and fondness and desperation and worry and that goddamn adrenaline.

“You’re so fucking stupid, Tay,” Link says.

Link doesn’t really register what he does next, but quite suddenly his mouth tastes like copper and his hands are cradling the back of Taylor’s head. 

He inhales the scent of iron and pulls away from - from where he kissed Taylor, directly over the horrid gash on his temple. 

The boy beneath him hisses in pain, and Lincoln nearly drops his head to the asphalt again.

“Oh, god, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you, I don’t know what came over me, you’re just so hurt and I was so scared and I didn’t know what to do and -”

Link cuts himself off as he glances up from Taylor’s still-glazed expression to his forehead. Before his eyes, the gash stitches itself closed, the open wound fading to a pink scar that pales to white before disappearing entirely.

Lincoln remembers hearing the words “kiss it better” throughout his entire childhood. He remembers the way his dads would patch up his scraped knees with ointment and a bandage and top it all off with a tiny kiss before treating him to a hard candy from their first aid kit for being such a good boy.

Never once had Link thought that the phrase could be literal. Or that his newfound powers could make it literal.

“Uh, Link?” Taylor prods, tapping him in the chest, voice completely devoid of the slurred syllables from seconds ago. “Earth to Lincoln? You okay there, buddy?”

“Yeah?” Link says, entirely unconvincingly. “Are. Are you okay?”

“Mhm!” Taylor chirps, and god, is Link glad that he sounds much more like his regular self. He barely restrains himself from pressing another kiss to his friend’s forehead out of sheer relief.

Looking down at the boy below him doesn’t help to suppress that urge much. Taylor’s pupils appear to be evenly sized, now, but they’re large and blown out, the black almost completely eclipsing the dark reddish brown of his irises. The whites of his eyes are still glowing that faint goldeny color, a few shades richer than the far-off streetlights. And while some of Taylor’s face has traces of blood, Link’s unconventional Lay On Hands has wiped most of the gore away, revealing skin painted red for a completely different reason. Now that he thinks about it, Taylor’s entire body feels even warmer than usual, and Link wonders what on Earth that could possibly mean. 

“Uh,” Taylor says, “you can let go of me now.”

Link practically jumps back as if electrocuted, clambering away from the boy and back to his feet.

“Ow,” Taylor hisses, rubbing the back of his head from where it had hit the asphalt.

“Sorry! Sorry,” Link says, waving his hands before extending an arm out to Taylor.

Taylor accepts the help, and Link can’t help but register the way that his smaller, warmer hand fits against his palm as he hoists his friend up.

“No worries,” Taylor responds. “Thanks - I think my sword-cane fell somewhere over -”

“I got you,” Link says, scooping up the item and pressing it into Taylor’s free hand.

“My hero,” Taylor sighs fake-dreamily, and the adrenaline kicks up the pace of Link’s heart again, blood scorching through his veins and rushing to his face.

Okay, maybe it’s something other than adrenaline, but that’s for Lincoln to unpack later.

“Come on,” he says after he gives Taylor a final once-over (and tries not to let his eyes linger too long on the place where he kissed him). “Let’s go help the others.”

[aita-blorbos]

AITA for kind of lying to my customer?

For starters, I (38M) do not actually like my job that much, but I can’t really be hired to do anything else. Regardless, I try to be as professional and ethical as I can be about it. 

So my twin sister (38F) and I have been running a small business together for many years, although we moved into a new neighborhood recently so we have had to sort of reestablish ourselves. Money is very tight for us both right now, we have no support systems, and this is the one way we can make a living. One night, I ran into a performance artist (40M) who really looked like he could use our services. He is a social outcast who does not really like his job, just like me, so we got along really well- I think he is the first friend I’ve made in some time. He said he was not interested, but he asked for a business card so I hoped he would come back.

The guy got back to me a day or so later and he offered us a commission- for good money, too. He was very urgent in his particular request. He did not really offer any specific details, I think it was over some kind of relationship drama or something? I did not ask, not my circus not my monkeys. So my sister and I got to work. (I suppose I have to mention what exactly it is I do for a living for this to make sense. My sister and I are assassins.) Anyway, she got ahold of our requested target and it turns out the guy wanted to kill our local government representative (I do not keep up with politics that much so I do not know him that well). Then my sister and the representative got talking and she really clicked with him, which is unusual because she’s usually pretty cynical about love.

My sister started begging me to not kill him. We really needed the money- so I refused. However, I really do love my sister. She is the only person that has always been there for me, and she accepts me despite my many eccentricities. And she really deserves more than what she gets. But I did not want to outright lie to my client either. Then I realized I had promised a body, just not whose. So we just kind of found a guy who stumbled into our house and killed him instead.

The client insisted on burying the body himself (sentimental reasons I suppose) so we wrapped it in a bag and I tried to warn him against opening the bag up. He seemed pretty happy with it at the time, so I suppose all is well that ends well? But I have not seen him since that night so I do not know how it turned out.

I suppose it eats at me sometimes that I lied to him. But at the same time, I did not want to hurt my sister by killing the one guy she has fallen for in years.

AITA?

[hotchnerobsessed]

Hey, hope you're doing good 🤠 how about Hotch x non BAU Reader doing lazer tag for a first date? They're on opposite teams and Hotch thinks he's obviously going to beat her because of his FBI training, but she wipes the floor with him? All in good fun of course, but he's curious as to how she beat him. Her day to day job wouldn't indicate that she'd be that good and she promises to tell him on the next date. Turns out she's a private sector bodyguard, a family business kind of thing. Maybe she's like a customer service rep or something during the day, I don't know 😂 hope this helps, thanks for considering it 😄

HI!! Thank you so much for sending this in 🥰 I’m looking for ideas to include in a fic I’m already working on and lazer tag will ABSOLUTELY be included!!!

BUT I LOVE THIS SO MUCH 😂😍 you just KNOW Aaron would be SO shocked but also SO impressed 😏

I’m just imagining his little smirk when you suggest lazer tag for your next date night, thinking he’s going to win so easily. But then the absolute surprise on his face when you’re wiping people out left right and centre, knowing he’s your next target. He’d just stand there all 😧😧 completely caught off guard, and then you’d round the corner, take aim, and get him square in the chest. All he could do is just glance down at his vest, then back up at you, a smirk plastered across your face.

If he wasn’t already in love with you, THAT was the moment he fell in love.

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Kiss from a rose

Flower shop owner Cass x Baker Marinette for my wife @boldlyanxious. happy early birthday congrats on Age

Marinette stood under the awning of her shop, frowning at the thick droplets of rain threatening to soak her in seconds if she dared to step out from under it. The forecast that morning had suggested a zero percent chance of rain. They had insisted that the clouds overhead were simply the classic Gotham pollution that they all knew and hated. But no. It was pouring. She hoped that the news anchor would get targeted by the mob again. They deserved it.

Okay, perhaps she was being dramatic. She was annoyed, though. She hated rainy days. They made her tired and irritable. Always had, always will.

If she had her way, she would close up shop the moment the asphalt darkened.

Unfortunately, rainy days were great for business, people would be more than happy to ward off the chill with a warm pastry, to enjoy the natural heat that radiated from the ovens no matter how much AC they blasted.

They were also basically every day in Gotham.

At this rate, she would retire early. Which would be great. Maybe she could retire somewhere where it didn’t rain as much.

In order to do that, though, she should probably get back to work soon. Adrien, while good at the customer service part of things, wasn’t all that great at the actual baking part of working at a bakery, and they had been getting dangerously low on low-price items. She glanced back through the window, at people casually chatting and eating, then at Adrien, manning the register.

He caught her gaze and sent her a mildly exasperated look. She checked the time. They would be closing up soon, and they had… well, it would be tight, but it definitely wasn’t worth making another batch this late in the day.

Which meant that her job for the day was pretty much done.

She could see the exact second he realized this, too. His shoulders slumped in defeat.

But this was quickly wiped away in favor of his best smile because a customer had finished their brownie and was in dire need of another.

She snickered to herself, mentally promising to make a quick batch of passionfruit macarons as an apology as she went back to glaring at her mortal enemy: the weather.

But then unexpected movement out of the corner of her eyes drew her attention.

It was the flower shop a few places down. The woman that ran it was quietly gathering the displays she had left out, looking just as annoyed by the rain as Marinette. But probably for a better reason, seeing as the water could easily mess up her displays and deter people from buying from her.

Still, Marinette felt a kinship with the woman.

Maybe that was why she offered to help her take the boxes of flowers in.

The woman  – ‘Cass’, according to the sign above the door declaring this her flower shop – looked mildly confused for a moment. She looked at the box of flowers in her hands, briefly, as if processing the idea, and then eyed Marinette up and down. She hesitated, before sending a tiny, grateful smile and nodding.

Marinette helped gather boxes and take them inside. It was slow moving, since Marinette didn’t want to risk accidentally ruining any of the flowers (she wasn’t sure whether they would ‘expire’ at the end of the day like the goods her bakery sold, but she wasn’t going to risk it in case they wouldn’t), and the woman didn’t seem to be in any particular hurry. The store was cold, especially in comparison to Marinette’s bakery, but that probably wasn’t helped by the fact that neither of them were particularly dry. It was silent, save for the rain outside, and though she remembered being told once that Cass was mute and that that was the reason for the woman’s quietness, she couldn’t help but feel that it was a little awkward to work in silence like that.

So, she filled the silence. Talking about how this one movie from the other day had been painfully boring and that she needed to avoid it at all costs, if only for the sake of her own sanity. Rambling on and on about all of the different times that Adrien (her roommate, who she could not stress enough was her roommate, and by the way he was just a roommate) had nearly killed both of them trying to cook, whether that be by exploding a microwave or by poisoning them. Running down her to dos for the next few days and mentioning that she needed to buy more flour for the shop. And then, when Cass had sent her a mildly amused look, said flour not flower. Then she decided that, actually, maybe her shop could do with a couple of flowers, a pop of color could do them nicely, but they would have to be scentless, or the entire eating experience would be ruined. Cass had looked confused, so she had had to quickly explain that taste is actually largely based on smell, and sometimes smell can rub off on foods, so people who serve food are actually required to ensure that they never smelled too much – whether good or bad.

She was… definitely talking the woman’s ear off, but she didn’t seem to actually mind all that much, smiling faintly.

At least until Marinette was done helping her.

But, when Marinette made a move to leave, she held up her hands, briefly holding up a finger in the near-universal ‘one second’ gesture.

Marinette watched as the woman flitted about her shop, her lips pursed in thought, a tiny wrinkle between her brows, her cheeks puffed out the slightest bit. She was… extremely expressive. Marinette figured that was probably because she almost definitely used sign language, which Marinette admittedly didn’t know too much about, but she knew that a lot of meaning in sign language was conveyed not actually through the signs themselves, but instead facial expressions. Or, at least, that was what she had guessed by the few interactions with deaf customers she’d had – Adrien was the polyglot, not her.

Either way, the expression was kind of cute.

It was, perhaps, because of that particular line of thought that it took her longer than it should have to realize what was going on. It wasn’t until she saw the woman start arranging the flowers into a careful bouquet that she realized what, exactly, was going on. Marinette’s eyes widened. She did not know that much about plants, save for the edible ones, but she knew enough to know that bouquets were probably expensive.

“I don’t – here, let me run back to my shop and get some money.”

She shook her head and paused briefly, if only to pull a pad of paper out from behind the desk and start writing.

They are to thank you. If you pay for it, I’ll have to thank you again.

Marinette smiled bemusedly. “What a tragedy that would be, getting a bunch of flowers from a pretty lady.”

Cass sent her a look that was surely meant to be stern, but there was amusement crinkling the corners of her eyes.

The paper crinkled in that same gentle way as she tied off the ribbon and offered it to her.

She hesitated, before carefully taking it into her hands. The bouquet certainly smelled floral, but not to the point where it was overwhelming, though that was hardly what most people focus on. Still, it was nice that Cass had taken that into consideration.

As for the flowers themselves… the bouquet was made up of vibrant yellows and soft whites. Marinette tried to pick out what any of them might be. She thought that a couple of them could have been daisies, but don’t quote her on that.

“I’m guessing that all of these have hyper specific meanings?”

Cass nodded, giving her a briefly amused look before starting to write them out. Then, she scribbled over the words and wrote something else. Unfortunately for her, Marinette was nosy, and therefore she squinted long and hard at the section that had been crossed out to try and decipher what she’d originally been trying to say:

Agrimony means gratefulness. White carnations and yellow daisies are about how you’re really sweet and I want you to be happy. Mayflower and Queen Anne’s Lace together usually convey a sense of ‘welcome to my place’.

Basically, I’m really thankful.

Marinette’s eyes widened. She looked down at all of the different flowers. She had been mostly joking about the flowers all having some sort of secret code – she’d heard of flower language, of course, vaguely, in passing – but that was… a lot. It was interesting, knowing how much thought could go into all of the different parts of a bouquet, how it all came together to convey a specific feeling. She wondered if adding or taking away a single flower could change the meaning entirely.

She sent Cass a hesitant smile. “Don’t know how you can keep up with all of that.”

Cass rolled her eyes, waving her compliment off easily.

I don’t know how you can make all of those sweets in time for the breakfast rush.

Marinette felt a faint blush creep across her cheeks. “Well, first, you have to wake up super early.”

Cass looked as if she would rather die. Marinette couldn’t help but laugh at the way her entire face scrunched up in disgust at the mere idea of waking up early.

She could only shrug. “The struggles of a small business owner.”

Tell me about it, Cass wrote, before leaning back against the desk heavily, as if even the memory of work was enough to make her feel faint.

Marinette giggled. “I’d love to, but we should probably get back to our jobs as small business owners and all.”

Cass gave a clearly overexaggerated pout (Marinette wasn’t sure quite how to explain how she knew that this particular overexaggerated expression was more for the sake of a joke than the overexaggerated expressions the woman always did, but there was a definite difference), and Marinette could only laugh and lift her hand in a lazy kind of wave as she headed to the door.

A hand caught her sleeve before she could reach the door, and Marinette wouldn’t even pretend in the privacy of her own head that the reason she was hesitating was just because she didn’t yet want to brave the rain.

The woman hesitated, before offering her another flower. It did not quite go with the bouquet – where the bouquet was white and yellow, this flower was white and pink. Still, it was pretty. And, for the first time, as she gently took it into her free hand and started looking it over, she was pretty sure she recognized them.

“Almonds?” she said.

Cass’s eyes gleamed. She nodded eagerly.

Marinette couldn’t help but giggle at the woman’s excitement. “What do they mean?”

She had her trusty notepad on her. But she hesitated this time, her pen hovering over the page.

“Oh, don’t tell me you forgot,” Marinette teased.

Cass’s lips twitched upwards in amusement.

Finally, she started writing.

Help me pack up the next time it rains, and I will tell you. Promise.

Marinette could look it up, of course. It was the modern age. Phones exist and, if she really wanted, it wouldn’t be that difficult to check the moment she left. And she was pretty sure the woman knew that, too, since Marinette had already told her that she was well aware of what flower this was. It wouldn’t be hard to look it up.

The choice was hers.

She smiled faintly, soft petals coming to rest against her lips when she pretended to tap her chin thoughtfully. As if she would ever actually need time to consider her options.

“Promise,” she agreed, quietly wondering if she might have to reassess her hatred of rainy days.

[eastwindmlk]

Okay, votes are in and it seems that people want to see it posting sooner rather than later.

With little further ado:

Pairing: Lily/James

Setting: Modern muggle band AU!

Main tropes: Forced proximity, Marauders shenanigans, Idiots in Love

Summary:

As a favour to a friend, Lily took a job as tour manager for a growing local band: Mischief Managed. What she did not expect is that three years later she would still be travelling around with the merry band of troublemakers. While she had no problem dealing with the usual shenanigans, there was one member that seemed bound to making her life more difficult than it needed to be. James Potter, guitarist. With his stupidly charming smile, magnetic personality and endless parade of hook-ups that should leave her unbothered, but don’t is the bane of her existence. So why can’t she stay away from him?

Posting: Hopefully every Thursday

Snippet under the fold:

Doing a last check, the redhead pulled her hair out of her face, pinning the top portion back with a clip as she climbed up the stage and into the backstage hallway. This is where she found the three missing shirts and lost the remainder of her good mood. 

Because there he sat, the bane of her existence and guitarist of the band: James Potter; Currently showing off his musical skills while wearing a coat for giggling girls with wandering hands. All three were clad in nothing but the missing shirts and scanty underwear. 

She should have known. 

Letting out an exasperated sigh, Lily paused for a moment before turning around, still shaking her head. Having decided that the talk on loss prevention could wait. 

“You alright, Evans?” Lily did not need to turn around to know there was a smirk on his insufferable face, a stupid sparkle in his eyes as he honed in on his target. 

Lips pressing together for a moment, determined to not turn this into another argument. This meant she had a choice to make: She was either going to lie about it, a skill she had never bothered to master. Or she was going to use her passive-aggressive customer service tone on him? 

“Nothing, I just found my missing inventory. Shall I just write them off then? Or were you planning on paying for them?” Customer service voice it was then, turning around slowly with a fake smile plastered over her face. 

Sucking in a breath, the redhead fought the urge to gag when the coat giggled some more cooing as the pink-haired one grabbed his chin and kissed him full on the mouth. “You stole these for us? You’re such a bad boy.” 

The nausea was burned away by irritation, the corners of her lips twitching fighting the urge to look the way she felt. Hands wringing in front of her, not quite as satisfying as the idea of wrapping them around his throat, but it would have to do. 

“I am sorry ladies, it seems that I have upset the delicate sensitivities of our tour manager,” James placated, gently shrugging off the bodies draped over him. The smile on his face was almost apologetic.

 “Without whom this entire tour would be impossible,” She reminded him, arms crossing over her chest. 

“Naturally, I am sorry I did not mean to inconvenience you,” he nodded, making her think that she might have finally got somewhere with him. 

But no, because the moment he saw her self-satisfied look, his lips curved into a smirk. That smirk meant that he had an idea. Something that amused him, which usually meant trouble for her. 

[heykoonsy]

Word Count:  3.4k+

Pairing: Husk x Angel Dust (HuskerDust/AngelHusk), slight Angel Dust x OC

Summary: “Give him everything but your ass.” Angel Dust was tasked with one job: convince the investor to subsidize Valentino’s agency. Angel was more of a closer to Valentino, enticing the wealthier of his associates into funding projects for him. However, this latest pitch didn’t go as planned and Angel’s hubris prevented him from seeing the potential drawbacks of a one night stand with someone Valentino marked. In this slow burn love story, Angel must confront the worst parts of himself if he is going to win back his career.

Content Warnings: Rated 18+ for foul language

Author's Note: I'm gonna be honest, I almost forgot to post this because I was too busy watching the ATLA Reboot on Netflix. Anyway, enjoy!!!

Tezan moved through the crowd outside like a hot knife through butter. His hands were in his pockets, his gait was brisk, and his eyes were locked on his target. A couple yards ahead of him, he saw Spitzers. Tezan had been keeping a close eye on him in between meetings at Jullien’s and his busy schedule after he left the office. Tezan lifted his hand out of his pocket and took a look at his watch. They were making great time. 

Spitzers was currently on his way to lunch–but he wasn’t sure why he felt the need to rush. While this pace might have been perfect for Tezan, Sptizers was struggling a bit. He wiped at the sweat on his brow as he stopped at a crosswalk. Tezan stopped a few feet away from him, standing directly behind a couple of hellhounds.

Spitzers checked his watch and he seemed a little apprehensive. 

Just where are you headed? Tezan asked himself.

Within a few minutes, Tezan’s question was answered as Spitzers made his way into an italian restaurant. Tezan quickly followed, making sure that he kept his eyes on where Spitzers was seated. 

“Lunch for one?” The hostess at the front desk asked. 

“Yes please, and if possible can I get a booth? I have some work I’d like to get done while I eat.” Tezan gestured to the laptop bag he’d slung around his arm.

The hostess smiled, “Sure, it’s not too busy today.” 

She led him back into the belly of the restaurant and stopped in front of a booth a few tables away from where Spitzers was seated at a table. He smirked to himself–he had the perfect view.

“Hale will be by to take your order.”

With that, the hostess left. Tezan perused the menu, looking up at Spitzers occasionally. After a few moments, Tezan saw a familiar face sit down next to him. His eyes widened, and he struggled to listen to their conversation over the ambient music playing in the restaurant. Why was Spitzers meeting with that hack, Brut? Tezan strained his ears.

“Working with someone like you…

…honored, really, but why?”

They went back and forth for a while, with Tezan only hearing bits and pieces. He grew frustrated quickly. 

“Hello there, I’m Hale and I’ll be your server today,” Hale said with a plucky customer-service-smile. “Do you know what you’d like to drink?”

“A glass of water, three lemons. And I’d like to place my order while I’m at it.”

Hale got his pad and paper ready, “Sounds good to me.” 

Tezan took no time to order, hoping that by ordering ahead he could keep his server’s visits to a minimum. When Hale left, he pulled out his laptop and attempted to dissolve into the room. From the bits and pieces Tezan overheard–it appeared that Brut was a necessary addition to Spitzers’ team. Spitzers was pulling out all the stops to woo Brut: a sign-on bonus, a lengthy contract, and most importantly a great percentage of any revenue.

Tezan listened closely as their lunch concluded. By the time Tezan finished his order Brut was already excusing himself. They exchanged a hearty handshake–it appeared that Brut had added a stipulation which was why no contracts were signed during their meeting. 

After paying, Tezan waited for Hale to collect his dishes before he grabbed his laptop and made his way over. Spitzers was doling out cash when Tezan sat at his table. Spitzers was surprised, but not alarmed. 

“Working lunch?” Tezan broke the ice. “I'm here for business as well.”

“I don't believe we've met,” Spitzers said, eyeing up Tezan. “You are?”

“Tezan. I invest in agencies,” he gave him a knowing look. “Much like yourself.” Tezan offered up his hand in greeting.

Spitzers shook his hand. “I'm afraid my investing days are over, so I'm afraid we don't have much to discuss here.”

“Oh, but we do,” Tezan smiled. “I've been following your career even before your blacklist. I was investing in the same business as you in the lower rings.”

“I see,” Spitzers nodded. “An apology is due then for not recognizing you.”

Tezan waved him off. “I never really attended any of the meetings, some of the guests rubbed me the wrong way.” Tezan made a face remembering Berkeley’s shit-eating grin. He leaned his elbows on the table. “What I'd really like to discuss is why you've decided to cut off your business in the lower rings altogether.”

Spitzers took a sip of his drink, considering Tezan’s question. Tezan watched him closely, looking for any signs of resistance to his inquiries. 

“I see I have an admirer.”

“Was I that obvious?” Tezan chuckled. “It's just that I've suffered from Val’s blacklist myself and I'm struggling to find my footing.”

Spitzers nodded. “Well, any advice I have you surely are already aware of?”

Another server collected Spitzers money and left them to chat a moment. 

“Investing in lower levels, yes. But I was surprised to learn that you began investing in Valentino’s current director, Mr. Jullien.”

Spitzers began eyeing Tezan carefully. He smiled, watching his opponent with rapt attention. “I'm afraid my proposal was rejected, I believe my advice would hinder your progress instead of help you.”

Tezan took note of his lie. While any other person would take his comment about being rejected at face value, Tezan knew the truth. He also thought that it was peculiar for Spitzers to eliminate himself as a reliable advisor. It seemed that he was being evasive–but Tezan relished a challenge. 

“I believe you're doing the best you can,” Tezan said, waving off Spitzers comment. “I have to admit, I never would have thought about going after his allies in the industry. He made an enemy of the wrong person, that's for sure.”

Spitzers began busying himself with tidying up the table. “What makes you say that?”

“You haven't heard? Val cut off all ties with Mr. Jullien. Looks like anyone that works with you gets shafted.”

Spitzers remained calm, choosing to stack dishes atop each other instead of responding. 

“But that's what's brilliant about you. By making enemies of his friends, you make friends with his enemies.” Tezan chuckled. “Like, for example, those he's blacklisted already.”

Spitzers looked up at Tezan, meeting his eyes. “What are you suggesting?”

“I'd like us to become allies. Like you, I have worked hard to establish myself and having some whore ruin everything…” he trailed off. “Let's just say, I'm as excited about putting Valentino out of business as you are.”

Tezan rose from his chair, and rifled through his laptop bag. He extended a business card to Spitzers. 

“Think about it,” Tezan said before sauntering off.

Husk sighed deeply as he slapped his rag onto the bar once again. He’d cleaned away any residue within the first few dozen swipes, this time it was merely to give himself something to do. His shift started an hour or so ago and he’d done just about all he could think of to pass the time. He organized the bottles of liquor, wiped them down and prepped the fruit for the day. In between these tasks, he’d look at the door of the hotel and wonder just when Angel Dust would return from work.

Husk slapped the rag back onto his shoulder and leaned against the bar. His eyes went to the door again. He sighed again and wondered if maybe he should take Fat Nuggets on a walk. Husk clearly had too much energy–which was currently being wasted hanging around an empty bar. In truth, Angel was the only one keeping him company these last few months.

“Excuse me,” a voice called from the door of the hotel.

Husk looked up quickly, eyes going to the owner of the voice. He saw a sinner walking towards him, clad in expensive looking formal wear. Husk raised an eyebrow, “What do ya need?”

“I’m looking for someone,” the gentleman said. “I heard they were staying here.”

“Name?”

“Angel Dust,” he said quickly. 

Husk narrowed his eyes at him. He inspected him closer. He looked well-off, from money most likely. For a moment, Husk wondered whether or not this was the investor that was giving Angel the creeps. 

“He’s not here right now,” Husk said, and whatever customer-service voice he’d put on was long gone now. “Bye,” Husk turned around.

“I think it’s best we aren’t seen together,” the gentleman said. “Could I leave a message with you?”

Husk looked at him, assessing just what business he could possibly have with Angel. “Fine,” he grumbled. 

“Please tell him that I took his advice about buying a bottle of Brut, but the winery may be closing. He’ll have to hurry if he wants a sip.” 

Husk narrowed his eyes, wondering just what this fucker was on about. “Anything else?”

The sinner came closer, looking around the lobby as he did. “I will be waiting at this address two days from now at noon,” he slid a scrap of paper towards Husk.

Husk grabbed the paper and tucked it underneath the bar. “I’ll be sure he gets the message.”

“Thank you,” the gentleman said, giving Husk a polite smile.

The sinner walked out without another word, wasting no time climbing into his car and leaving. Husk wondered if he was wrong–perhaps that wasn’t the investor that was bothering Angel at work. If so, then who could he have been? And what was with that weird message?

Husk grumbled to himself, intent on leaving well-enough alone. He gave the door to the hotel one last glance before deciding that it was time for a walk. Husk wasted no time making his way to Angel’s room. Maybe after a walk around the block with Fat Nuggets he’d be less antsy. 

Angel Dust burst through the doors of the hotel, his arms full of merchandise from his latest shopping trip. He trotted over to the bar quickly, his sunglasses slipping from his face. 

“Husky,” Angel cooed, throwing his things all over the bar. “Guess what?”

Husk looked at Angel, then towards the plethora of bags he’d cluttered the bar with. “Someone left you in a store unsupervised?”

Angel pushed his sunglasses upwards and into his hair to keep them in place. “Ha ha,” Angel said, “I bought some things to celebrate the news I heard today.”

Husk leaned on the bar, a smile spreading across his face. “Oh?”

Angel sat down on his stool and tried to calm himself down. But it was clear that Angel was far too excited to contain himself. “It’s the best thing ever,” Angel exclaimed. 

“You booked another role?”

Angel Dust shook his head, “Nope, although it will probably get me a ton of more work. I need a bay breeze stat,” Angel requested, tapping the bar heartily. 

“Are you gonna tell me what happened?” Husk asked, putting together his drink like the servant he was. 

“I have been nominated for that award I was talking about!” Angel squealed. “Val attended the nomination announcement–and he said that I was nominated for the Best Male Performer Award!”

Husk smiled as he slid over Angel’s drink. “Holy shit, that’s amazing. When will the winners be announced?”

Angel took a hefty sip of his drink, humming his approval as he did so. “The awards will be given out a few weeks from now. If I win, I’ll be buried in scripts and proposals!”

“I’m rootin’ for ya, kid,” Husk chuckled. “Congratulations.”

Angel smiled softly, like he was shy all of a sudden. He turned to the right, to all of the stuff he bought. “Since I was nominated, I went out and bought a few things to wear for the award ceremony.”

“A few things?”

“Hush Husky,” he waved him off. “You just have to see this dress in the light,” Angel said, holding up a bag. “It sparkles.”

“You’ll have to model everything for me,” Husk said absentmindedly as he prepared himself a drink. 

“That was a given, Husky,” Angel shot him a look. 

Angel Dust took another sip of his drink, done with fretting over his bags. “So, what all did you get up to today? Pay Beck and Belise a visit?”

“Nope, they’re dead to me. We just went to the park and back.”

“I’m glad you can get out of the hotel, it must suck having to man the bar all the time.”

Husk shrugged, “It’s not that bad,” he said. “Although the occasional weirdo does pop up.”

Angel shot him another look. “You better not be talkin’ about me.” 

Husk chuckled. “No, not this time.” 

“Oh? Who graced your presence today?”

“Some rich guy,” he said. “He was looking for you actually.”

Angel Dust looked at Husk curiously. “That’s weird, I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

“Yeah, he left a message for ya. Something about taking your advice and buying a bottle of Brut. Apparently the winery is going out of business though so he told you to hurry if you wanted some.” Husk said, trying to remember everything he said. “I didn’t know you were that into wine.”

“I’m not,” Angel said quickly.

“He said he wanted to meet, I have the address right here.” Husk said, putting the scrap of paper he was given onto the bar.

Angel’s expression stiffened and Husk caught wind of it.

“What’s wrong?”

Angel took a long inhale, trying to avoid Husk’s gaze. “Oh, um, nothing,” he smiled. He took a long sip of his drink. He sat there for a moment, realizing that the weirdo that came to the hotel today was Spitzers. And it seemed that the message he left with Husk was actually a warning. 

Spitzers was taking Angel’s advice and starting his own agency. He’d likely signed Brut on, but what did he mean by the winery closing? Did that mean that his business was in danger? Was he warning Angel that his suggestion might have been bad judgment on his part? 

“Angel,” Husk prompted again. “He’s not that creep you were tellin’ me about right?”

Angel shook his head, taking a deep breath. “No, he’s someone…different. A colleague, I guess.”

Husk took note of everything Angel wasn’t saying in that moment, no doubt. Angel wondered if he should be more forthcoming with information, but in order to get into everything, he’d have to revisit what was probably the shitiest decision he’d ever made. For some reason, having Husk know about that was a little hard for him. It was one thing for him to know about his career, his risque behavior–but another thing entirely for him to know about the worst parts of himself. 

Angel plastered a smile onto his face, “When did he say he wanted to meet?” 

“Two days from now, at noon.”

“Well, I guess that’s one way to ask for a date,” Angel chuckled to himself, “Now that I’m an AVN nominee, they just can’t get enough of me.”

Husk made a noise in the back of his throat. “Yeah I bet,” he said.

He brought the Manhattan he made to his lips and took a sip. He made a face. 

It tasted terrible.

Angel Dust waited outside the gentlemans club, snuffing out his cigarette on the bottom of his boot. It was almost noon, which meant he’d have to go inside soon or else he would be late. And this was a meeting he did not have the luxury of missing. He wanted to know just what Spitzers meant with his warning–he had to know. Which was why he was risking everything for this meeting. If someone–anyone–from the business caught him here, there would be little he could do to stop Valentino from finding out. 

He already blacklisted Spitzers for their little escapade, Angel could only imagine what Val would do to him if he caught them meeting in secret. Angel looked at his phone for the time. Fuck, he thought to himself before pocketing his phone. He took a deep breath and walked inside. 

He’d never been to this club before–it wasn’t his scene. This club was for smoking cigars and drinking scotch–something that Angel was not known for. Ripping a line of coke off the back of a toilet and grinding on the dancefloor–yes. But Spitzers picked this location for a reason, and Angel hoped that whatever conversation they had here would stay here. 

When Angel opened the heavy oak door to the club, he was alarmed at how dark it was inside. The whole room was bathed in an amber glow, and all the curtains were drawn. Angel walked past the arch of the doorway and into a large seating area. There were end tables lined with boxes of cigars and an entire bar on the opposite side of the room. 

But, what really caught Angel’s eye was Spitzers tapping away on a laptop in the corner of the room. 

“I got your message,” Angel said, sitting on the lounge chair a few feet away from Spitzers. 

He closed his laptop and turned towards Angel, “I have to admit, I was worried about leaving it with that bartender. He’s terribly unfriendly.”

Angel tried to hide his amusement from Spitzers. “That’s just Husk,” he waved him off. “Nice digs by the way, one heck of a meetin’ place.”

Spitzers gestured to the room around them. “This is one of my newer investments. I obtained it through an associate of mine. I figured it the best place to keep things…discreet.”

Angel nodded. “Less discreet than showin’ up at my place, that’s for sure.”

Spitzers shrugged. “It wasn’t a decision I made lightly.”

Angel crossed his legs at the knee. “What got you so worried?”

Spitzers’ face went grim. “Are you familiar with a sinner named Tezan?”

Angel’s eyes narrowed, “He used to be an investor for Valentino–but he didn’t last too long.”

“He accosted me after my meeting with Brut, he wanted to join forces, perse.”

“Join forces? For what?”

“He seems to believe that I’m attacking Valentino’s allies to undermine him. He wants to get revenge for being blacklisted.”

Angel Dust bit his lip, knowing exactly why Tezan would seek revenge in the first place. It was clear that Spitzers was in the dark about the full situation–and he definitely wasn’t going to share with him the more intimate details of Tezan’s grudge. 

“He’s gathered quite a lot of information about me, which means he might not be far off from discovering my real intentions.”

Angel let the gravity of his words sink into his skin. If Tezan was aware that Spitzers was attempting to start his own agency, they’d be fucked. If Tezan were to bring that information to Val, everything would be over. 

Spitzers could be driven from the business again. Sure, he survived Val’s blacklist, but there was nothing stopping Val from threatening more than his livelihood this time. Sptizers just signed a deal with Brut too, which meant that he would be losing out on an opportunity due to Angel’s selfishness. And Agony–fuck, if he signed on with Spitzers already, he could kiss being an A-lister goodbye again.

Angel’s blood ran cold as he knit his eyebrows together. He rested his elbows on his leg, weaving his fingers together. He thought back to those days at the studio–where Tezan watched him like a predator hiding amongst the shadows. It was in that moment that Angel’s contempt for Tezan grew–and he knew that he hated him. 

Tezan insulted Angel and his work with every breath he took. When Angel got him blacklisted, he felt no remorse–the bastard got what he deserved. Over these last few months, Angel tried to right his mistake. But because of some cretin that didn’t even value the industry–Angel’s hard work would all be for nothing. 

“You said he wanted to join forces?” Angel asked for clarification.

“Yes, he gave me his card.” Spitzers pulled the card out of the interior of his suit jacket.

Angel held out his hand and Spitzers gave him the card. Angel inspected it closely, running his fingers along the card stock. “Tell him you’re not interested–that he can find his own way to bring down Valentino.”

Spitzers nodded, taking back the card. “And if he doesn’t take no for an answer?”

“Oh, he won’t,” Angel stood without warning. “But he won’t be a problem for long.”

Spitzers stood, “You can’t mean–

Angel made his way to the door, and Spitzers followed him. “Don’t worry about me, you need to worry about the business.”

“Angel–

Angel didn’t hesitate to close the door behind him, leaving Spitzers alone in the gentlemans club. He quickly made his way down the street so that he could hail a taxi. The quicker he got away from Spitzers, the quicker he could come up with a plan. One that didn’t end with something Angel thought he was long past.  

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