#hey what's up the fic isn't dead I was just dragging my feet doing a lot of little rewrites and tweaks

[midnightwind]

Clipped Wings

Summary: Sent away for ruining a plan made by the Talon's themselves, Renn de Riva does her best to fulfill her new contract with Varric Tethras. A few letters home are all she has to tide herself over as they prepare to face down their target after a long year.

Word Count: 5690

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Chapter Two: Dear Runaway Heart

A collection of partially coded letters found set aside by the Fifth Talon, gathered over the course of a year.

Vi,

That was mean, even for you. You didn't tell them that the contract was approved? I tracked them for over a week. I rode a fucking horse, Viago. I haven't done that since you trained me. I hated that. I finally found them camped out in the woods and they both almost shot me. Would you have still felt vindicated if they had turned me into a pincushion? The little farm dwarf is still glaring at me. If they knew to expect a Crow appearing from the shadows, maybe they wouldn’t have almost killed me. Lucky I didn’t drop from the trees, I don’t know if I would have had enough time to explain myself before 7 bolts and 3 arrows appeared in my chest.

Maker… Whatever. They were fresh from some mishap, which didn't help. Cranky, tired, fed up, and surprised make a terrible cocktail. Their trail is apparently pointing them at the capital so I get to play tour guide I guess. Not that you've ever given me a job or taken me on a trip there. I do so wonder why.

Don't fret too much. I'll be on my best behavior, as befits my House. Wouldn't want to embarrass you. I’ll complete this contract, but if they die I’m coming home. No client means no gold means no job. I promise I won’t put them out of their misery myself.

-R

Hey Vi,

Varric said I should keep writing back home, that it might help. Something about my mood spooking Harding. I think traveling with a Crow is all that dwarf needed to be on edge…

We just passed through the capital chasing their apostate. Wish we had gotten to enter it proper, but their information kept us to the outskirts. They had a lead on some magic doohickey the man wanted, but all we found was an empty basement. Their contact, some elven servant, disappeared pretty quickly once they showed us the building and the guards sure turned up faster than usual. They accused us of taking the thing. Never even set eyes on it… Varric said Solas had a bunch of agents scattered around, usually elves, so I'd bet coin we were had by one of his guys. It’s been a while since I’ve had to outrun guards, but this is the job that keeps on giving…

I don't have enough on this mark to see any of this coming, Viago. Usually I have your dossiers and the de Riva recon to run with. Or you just tell me where to go and what to do and things just… Work. Harding doesn't trust me and half the things Varric shares about the mark sound fake or impossible. I can't ask around because no one ever seems to see him, or worse they’re lying and telling him that we’re looking for him. I could brush up on the myths for Fen'Harel, but that sounds ludicrous. Gods aren't real. It'd probably be as useful as asking Varric more questions.

Anyways, the next lead is taking us to Seleny. At least we can use the river instead of walking. So much walking. Thanks for that.

-Renn

Viago,

Guess whose boat got hijacked by Antaam? Sent several of the bastards floating face down back towards the capital for you. Hopefully those ones weren't part of some new Talon plot I wasn't told about. They're sure spreading through Antiva fast. I hope you're still getting updates from Salle. If you need me back to defend our turf, just write me a letter. We both know this job is a joke.

Seleny was nice enough, but uneventful. We missed the mark by a while, but the trail isn't quite cold. We're going south, again. He's still after contraptions for whatever ritual I guess he's doing. If I trust Varric's claim, anyways. It still sounds bullshit to me. Wish I had your take on the mark. Feel like I can't trust anything right now…

Give Teia my regards.

-Renn

Fifth Talon Viago,

The elven ruins south of Seleny were quite the trip. Either this Solas can evade demons better than any Crow assassin sneaks into a villa, or he was never there in the first place. Maybe as the Dreadwolf he just has the keys to every ruin. All the traps still worked, the previous residents were very cross to be woken up by us (not my fault), and there were even a few demons hanging around the place just to spice things up. Never dull, this trip.

In my defense of the traps, I did not have experience as a dungeon delver before this. Or elven ruins. Or ruins. The zombies were 100% Varric's fault, though. I told him not to mess with the urns. At least no one else had to deal with the traps I set off… Scrubbing thousand year old guts off my gear was not a fun way to spend the evening.

The demons were interesting though! They follow magic like moths to a flame. Which was bad news for me. I wasn't ready to be in such high demand. I remember our lessons about them, don't worry, but it's one thing to read about how they hunger for mages and a whole other thing to have them hunting you. To have them reaching ice cold fingers into your mind, whispering temptations and doubts…

Hey, Vi, why did you give me this job? Was it really to keep me safe? I know I fucked up, I know it was bad, really bad. But… did you have to send me away like this? I know the other Talons would want blood, but they might not have killed me. You trained me, you know I can handle the pain. I would have bled whatever they needed if it meant I could stay. You could have sent me home, properly home to Salle. I would have stayed in the apartments forever. Anything for you, Viago. I would have died, if that’s what you needed. I just… Why did you send me away like this?

I hope you're still safe. I hope Treviso is okay. I hope my letters

 Fuck, Teia, I'm trying. Please tell him I'm trying. I'm sorry. Please. Please, get him to write back. I just

I'm so sorry.

-Mirenna

Beloved Teia,

Sorry for the double feature, but getting a letter out of the wilderness is quite impossible. We've stopped in Ansbury to resupply and plan our next move. We delved another ruin on the way over, this time much more smoothly now that I know what the traps can look like. Still found a few new ones, but that's just the learning curve. Good thing I've always been a quick study. Unfortunately, we don't really know what Solas is hoping to find in these ruins. Anything related to the Fade has a fairly distinct aura, but these relics do a variety of things. Some tear holes, others patch them, or they simply take a peek into the other side, spit out names of spirits and demons, pull in magic and store it…

We need information. I'm not a Fade expert, I'm just making my best guess at what all this is and does. But when we find a guide or a source, we get led into a fight or dead end. These Agents of Fen’Harel are dogging our every step and leading us in the wrong direction. Maker, they might be tracking us. He has a whole network working against us and we're just… three people struggling to share a meal most days.

You know me, T. I'm not the best with people who aren't Crows. I start talking about what poisons would be masked best by tonight's stew or the ideal way to slip a knife between the ribs of the last traitorous bastard to mislead us and things go really quiet. Harding looks like she's going to be ill and Varric just sighs… They tell stories about their time in the Inquisition, about their lives before that. The mundane details. They laugh with each other, they reminisce about the people they lost together, and I'm just there.

I know how to be a Crow. I know how to act a slave or servant. I don't know how to be… normal. I miss discussing the best lip stains with which to hide poison with you. The best tailor in town, the tastiest bakeries, the best perches to eavesdrop from, the finest smith for the sharpest blades. You always knew the best shops for the best prices. You single handedly saved my entire wardrobe for each Crow ball and party infiltration. I miss your company. I miss your advice.

I miss Vi. I miss training with him, the proper burn of a Crow workout. Brewing poisons at his side, sitting by the fireplace and reading quietly while he does paperwork. Maker, I miss his lectures! I would kill a man just to be stuck listening to Viago complain about dull blades. I miss gathering intel for him, seeing that little eyebrow raise he does when I do a good job, but he doesn't want to say it. I miss the snakes, I hope Emil is doing well.

I miss feeling like I'm part of something, T.

We’re going to follow the river west, towards Starkhaven. There's a few ruins along the way to check, but the trail is leading farther from Antiva. From home. Hopefully we catch him soon. It's only been a few months, but… Yeah. Please keep Viago updated with all of this, if you could.

-Your Little Wren

Teia,

Things could be better. A handful of ruins later, nothing to show for it, and a longer road away from home. I mean, there have been clearer signs of someone at least being in the ruins before us this time, but it's unclear if that was Solas or one of his agents. We’re definitely following someone’s trail! It's just a trail leading more north now. I guess I'm glad we’re not delving into Nevarra? My time with demons inhibiting ruins hasn't been amazing and that nation is… weird about them. The Veil has to be paper thin all over. Magic must be crazy.

I appreciate your advice on being more social. Trying to mimic you had… mixed results. Varric seemed amused and Harding just went really quiet. I think she blushed a little, even. But, I like making them laugh. Felt a bit like when I mess with Viago so you can get a giggle. Maybe I can't talk like a Crow with them, but I've been stuck listening to their stories for months now. I think I have a solid handle on what they find funny and what I can needle for my own amusement. You never stop being the little sibling, after all.

I think Varric noticed I wasn't doing well. He's been hanging back trying to talk with me more lately. He asked about the Dalish clan I came from. (Not good.) He asked about my parents. (Worse.) Even dared to ask how I got recruited by the Crows. (Better, but not good.) I cut him off before he could ask about my training. Very secretive and I think it'd just make him sad. People outside the Crows just don't understand what we have to do for this line of work.

I barely told him anything, just that my Clan kicked me out and Viago killed some slavers when he found me. He patted me on the back and offered a hug if I wanted one. I honestly don’t think my life was harder than anyone else’s before Viago found me. I mean, Crow training isn't great, but I asked for it. I chose to be a Crow. I like what I do. I like the people I work with. (You're my favorite, of course. Don't tell Viago.) But Varric just got this… look on his face, like I was some poor unfortunate soul put on this path by powers beyond me. He's started watching what I do in a fight or around camp or on the road and pointing out what other jobs I could do. Bodyguard, archeologist, botanist, alchemist… he's trying to offer me alternatives. Like I'm some down on their luck punk who just needs one person to believe in them.

I don't know, he's trying to be nice. Maybe even supportive? He's not a bad traveling companion, I definitely get along with him better than Harding. But it almost feels like… I didn't know my da very well before he died, but it almost feels like Varric is trying to fill that hole for me? It's a strange thing. I guess so long as he doesn't sit me down to discuss the birds and the bees, he can do whatever he wants.

Sorry for the rambling letter. Did you know Solas has a town named after him? Might not be for him, but isn't it funny? I'm hoping it's a sign that we're going to catch him there. It'd be poetic.

-Renn

The Most Radiant Talon,

I think this might have been my least favorite stop. Trying to ask after a man with the same name as the town was a test in patience I definitely failed. Took a few hours, but I almost started stabbing anyone who answered our questions with “You found it! Welcome to town.” Half of them were doing it for a laugh. Would have loved to hear their mirth after I punctured their lungs…

It was good for a rest, though. We got to have proper beds for the first time in a week. And real meals! Cheap tavern food has never tasted so good. You and Viago would hate this. Not to say I don't miss proper, good Antivan food (Maker above seasoning barely exists out here) but almost anything is better than Harding's “cooking.” I think most nights she just throws whatever she finds in the undergrowth into a pot and calls it dinner. I swear, when I get back I'm going to use a decent chunk of my payment on a meal so delicious it kills me. Would love company, if you want a treat.

Awful meals that could rival some of our poisons aside, things have been going… Okay with this group. Harding has finally thawed for me. Just took a few months and a lot of almost dying side by side in dusty ruins. I managed to get my hands on some reagents and a quiet evening at the fire to brew a coating for her arrows to help with the demons we keep running into. She seemed to appreciate the gift. We've spent a few nights discussing plants, although we have fairly different knowledge there. She's been teaching me about the edible stuff and I've been sharing the poisonous ones that can be used as medicine if reduced properly. So we have that at least. If things stay friendly, maybe we can chat business about ranged weaponry.

Varric loves to see it, obviously. Despite all our dead ends and shortfalls, he's been more smiley. Might just be the ale we finally have access to, though. He's currently trying to deal me into a game of Wicked Grace despite being able to see me very clearly write these exact words. I hear you snickering, go back to your drink, old man. I need to update my dear Talons back home before I cheat a weird dwarf out of a chunk of gold.

We're heading deeper into Tevinter proper, I think. Vol Dorma should be the next city hit, and in good time if we can buy horses. The Imperial Highway should speed things up. I wanted to stop in Vyrantium, as a treat, but I was out voted. No respect for legendary Crow contracts… 

It feels like we're getting close to something. Maybe it's wishful thinking or a jinx, but it's like there's an energy in the air. Maybe I'll have real news to write to you about next.

-Your Enduring Wren

T and Vi,

We were being watched. Followed. Tracked. I caught them, finally, trailing us as we were restocking in the markets. Easy enough to slip away unseen, child’s play to get behind the tail, laughable to slip a sweet poison into their blood. As they stumbled into the wall and fell to the ground, I got to rummage in their pockets. Another elf, clearly working for Fen’Harel. A little wolf necklace tells you a lot.

They’ve been sending letters to the apostate, updates on Varric and those he travels with. Where he was staying, where he plans to go, etc. The important one was a warning from Solas himself. He’s sending his agents away from Minrathous, cutting off communication and telling them to be ready for the new world. Whatever he’s been working towards is almost done and it’s happening in the capital of Tevinter. He’ll know we’re coming, but I think I got to this agent before a timetable could be sent.

The agent is eliminated, our route is still the same, but we’ll be riding hard now. I think we’ll be cutting it close. Vol Dorma is still the best bet for last minute communications unless you send it directly to Minrathous. I’m giving this letter and the last to the fastest bird the messengers have. This job ends soon, one way or another. Hopefully I’ll be home in a few months.

-Renn

~◇~

The bar had steadily emptied out as the night stretched on, the barkeep throwing increasingly annoyed glances at the elf curled up in the corner. She had been nursing the same drink for a few hours now, the cup pressed to her lips but she never pulled a single sip from it. Her attention was instead fixed on the papers spread out before her. All of them were letters, written in the flowing script of the Seventh Talon. They were updates from home detailing how the occupation was going, the latest raids and losses, and a few sections dedicated solely to Viago. He refused to write to her and hadn't sent a single letter in the year she'd been gone. Maker, it had been a year… She missed Treviso sorely. She missed Viago more.

Which was why she had been sitting in the booth for hours, staring at an unopened letter. It had his familiar neat script, the wax seal a silly little snake because he just loved being on the nose too much. She knew Teia had been passing on her updates to him; she had explicitly asked the Talon to when she realized he was never going to write back, after all. Her last letter had been a shorter update, but she hadn’t expected it to finally get her Talon to pen one himself.

One letter shouldn't have felt so intimidating, but she was scared. What if he told her to stay gone? What if he was passing on another job that kept her out of Antiva? What if this was a warning that she was never welcomed back? She let out a shivering breath into her drink, ripples dancing in the liquid. The letter had been placed in her hand days ago, long before they had entered the capital. It was starting to crease from how often she worried the paper in her hands as they traveled.

“You have to read it eventually.”

She jumped at Varric's voice, cursing under her breath. Her mug clinked to the tabletop as she half turned a guilty look to the dwarf. He hummed a quiet laugh before sliding into the booth to sit across from her. He spread his hands out around the other letters, tapping the table with a finger.

“You'll keep imagining the worst of these letters if you refuse to read that one.” His voice had that infuriating lilt he got when he knew he was right, a little smug and a little mocking. He softened soon after. “Listen, whatever he wrote you doesn't change the good you've done with us. If you can't go home after this, you'll have a place with me. I'm not going to drop my Rook just because this job is finished. Trouble has a way of finding me and you're too damn handy in a fight to lose now.”

A weak smile brushed her lips, but it didn't reach her eyes. Working with Varric had been good, eye opening. Traveling Thedas had been amazing, between fighting for their lives and slightly miserable camping at times. But the Crows were her home. If she had lost that… Her eyes fell back to the letter in her hand, brows knitting. Fear was a cold stone in her stomach, reaching shivering tendrils up to her heart. It hammered behind her ribs painfully. With a steadying breath, she flicked a throwing dagger out from her sleeve and broke the seal.

Idiot:

I hope you're reading this. If the trail really has led you through Tevinter, it'll be harder to get messages through. The Antaam in Antiva are prickly about anything to do with our neighboring kingdom.

Back home, things have cooled, but they are not forgotten. Killing all those Antaam may have felt righteous in the moment, but the Talons are still complaining that your actions ruined weeks of setting up a larger, more effective strike.

I am one of the Talons still complaining. Remember, this trip with Varric is a contract. Crows don't fail contracts, especially Crows from House de Riva who may need to improve their judgement. But there is more at stake than honor. Whatever this ‘Solas’ is up to needs to be stopped. I've seen enough of his handiwork to know that.

Don't get careless out there. Don't fail. And don't get yourself killed, or I will come after you in the Fade myself.

-Viago

The greeting alone almost had her crying with relief, the noise that escaped her was half laugh, half sob. The whole thing was the closest the man ever got to saying ‘be safe, I love you.’ It wasn't even dusted with poison or anything. She pressed it gingerly to her chest, as if there was some kind of lingering warmth to be gleaned from it. Varric was leaning forward slightly, waiting. She simply gave him a wide grin.

“Good news then?” He asked.

“Yeah,” she breathed, slumping in her seat, “it's good news. I can go home soon.” I still have a home.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I'll be sad to see you go, kid.”

“You can always visit. Treviso is lovely any time of the year, but Salle in spring is better.” She sighed wistfully, spreading the letter flat on the table. “The air heavy with nectar, flowers blooming everywhere… They decorate ships with them, you know. Masts and railings adorned with a rainbow of blossoms. Absolute nightmare if you have allergies.” That earned her a quiet laugh. “Ohh, or during Satinalia! One big party for the whole country, masks and wine and so much food! And, if you ever need a Crow, I’ll clear my schedule just for you. For old time’s sake.”

“A friend in the Crows is a decent card to have in hand.” He conceded with a grin.

“A rare privilege.” And then she shrugged, sitting upright and leaning in. “This is all assuming that we find Solas, though. You sure this lead is the one? The note I found could have been a fake. Don’t get me wrong, this has been a fun road trip, but our track record has been…”

“Shit?” He supplied happily.

“I was going to say bleak, but love the energy.” She cast him a lopsided smile. “All our dead ends in Antiva could maybe end with me getting to cut down some trespassing Antaam. I know how to fight them. The Venatori were pretty rare before the whole invasion, but I still don’t have that much experience with them.”

“You’ll get your hours in by the time we’re done here, I’m sure.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I take it you haven’t left Antiva before?”

She tapped a finger against the branching ink under her eyes. “Did a little traveling back with the Clan, but I was a kid and I wasn’t very good with established borders. More like ‘this chunk of forest has the best fruit foraging and spooky humans, that chunk has pretty coasts and humans in a lot of leathers.’ We avoided both. When I got picked up by Viago, I stayed pretty solidly in Salle or the surrounding cities. Venatori contracts meant traveling to Tevinter so they were pricey. Which meant House Dellamorte got most of them.”

“The famed Mage Killer, I assume. If he was the established specialist, why couldn’t I find a way to employ him?” Varric groused, crossing his arms unhappily.

“First of all,” she held a finger up at him, “rude. I’ve been doing a fantastic job and you are fully expected to write a glowing review of my work to Viago. Second, I’m… not sure. You have the means to pay for his services, but things have been quiet about him for a while. Maybe he’s been out on a long contract and the First Talon has been keeping it hush hush. Not my House so I really can’t say.”

“I never really understood the Houses. Does each one have a specialty?”

She clapped her hands gleefully. “Not specifically, no! But the Talon Houses have reputations and usually a star assassin to represent them. Dellamorte has the Magekiller, de Riva has our poison master, Cantori has the honeypot. Each House has a style, usually, but those inside the House may not always be molded to it.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “Like, I’m de Riva. I’m a deft hand at poisons, but my skill lies in speed. You have a job with a slim window? I’m a good bet to get it done. Quick and quiet is less a mantra and more a promise from me.”

“But you’re still focused on poisons. I’ve seen your morning brew. It’d kill men three times your size, I swear.” There was a familiar note of unease in his voice that always made her smile.

“Of course, I was trained by Viago himself. I’ve been sipping poison since I was a kid! Maybe even earlier, thanks to the Dalish. But Viago specializes in potent varieties. I don’t think anyone can match what he brings to the table. I pride myself more on my delivery of the poisons.” With a beaming smile, she dug in her bag before placing a translucent bundle of twine on the table. “You can poison someone in a lot of ways with access to their house, but there’s a risk of collateral. Poison their wine stash, you might get a servant who likes to sample instead of the master of the house. Dose their makeup and then whoops! The kid tried it on and died. You could sneak into the kitchen and hit their meals, but tasters exist for a reason.”

“And now I’m worried about my meals with you again.”

A bright laugh fell from her lips. “I don’t have a contract for you and a Crow doesn’t kill if there isn’t gold on the table for it.” She gave him a wink before unspooling some of the string between her fingers. “Anyways, my approach is simpler. People are terrible at looking up so I case the place, get access to the rafters, then dangle this little string over their meal or drink after the taster has been by. You use a proper poison, only need a drop. It travels along this string which is nearly invisible, plops onto whatever they’re about to eat, and bam! Contract done. I don’t risk anyone else taking the dose because the guy is convulsing on the floor or face down in the food.”

He grimaced at the image. “Effective, but the whole ‘casing the place’ takes time. You just bragged about being fast.”

“Ah, yes. I just use the usual poisoned darts or blades for rush jobs. You want clean and elegant, you have to allow for at least a day or two.” The twine was abandoned as she flexed her fingers at him like claws, electricity sparking along her hands. “Or I can make it hurt, if that’s what they want. An assassin mage has some perks.”

“Disturbing as always, Rook.” He shook his head with a chuckle. “What about places without rafters?”

She deflated at that. “Less fun, first of all, but usually I just have to go undercover.” Placing a hand behind each ear, she clicked her tongue. “Little makeup for the tats and a stolen uniform let me blend in as a servant. Act demur, bow and scrape, yessir, no sir, knife them in the night later or dose something they won't bother testing. More risk of collateral, but not every job gets to be perfect.”

“And aren’t we familiar with that idea.” He sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’ve never opened up like this before. What’s different about tonight?”

Her eyes fell to the tabletop, roaming over the spread of letters as she chewed on her lip. “Might be going soft, to be honest.” The laugh that curved her lips died on her tongue. “It’s been a year, Varric. A year of dead ends, close calls, and empty rooms. I’ve been away on jobs before, but a year?” A hand clutched at the front of her shirt, an ache in her chest. “I miss home. I miss my family. I miss my leathers! Varric, I miss dressing like a Maker damned Crow.”

“Nothing’s stopping you from that.” He shook his head. “No one said you had to pack them away.”

But that wasn’t true, she had been exiled in a sense. It wasn’t right to wear the feathers, she hadn’t earned them back yet. “It would make us easier to spot, they’d stick out in Tevinter crowds.”

He almost rolled his eyes at that. “You would get pegged as Antivan, not specifically a Crow. Your traders go all over, including into Tevinter. This is your weird Crow honor thing, isn’t it?”

She huffed, sinking lower in her seat to sulk. “I got sent on this job as a punishment, Varric, fun as it’s been. Being dragged all over the country with no end in sight? My target always slipping through my fingers? Wearing my feathers would just… feel like I was fooling myself. I’m not a Crow again, not until this is done.”

“We both know that’s bullshit, kid.” The dwarf let out a low chuckle. “You were sent on this contract as a Crow. No one stripped you of your leathers. I can’t make you feel like a proper assassin, partly because I’m not a feathered maniac and partly because your whole business is a mess, but you can’t punish yourself like that. If wearing the silly outfit makes you feel better, like you have a purpose, hells, I’ll go pluck a goose for you with my own hands.”

She huffed a laugh through her nose. “White is so gauche.”

“So I’ll dip them in paint first, my point still stands. Your skills, your knowledge, your gut instinct? Don’t need a fancy outfit for those. Your honor is fine, shining even in my opinion.”

“I disobeyed orders.” Her voice was suddenly small.

He waved a hand through the air dismissively. “Orders you weren’t aware of and that were stupid anyways. You saved people, saved me, and that puts you right in my book.” When she sank deeper into her sulk he let out a long sigh, muttering under his breath as he dug in his pocket. “I was saving this for a rainy day, or even as a celebration gift if we managed to nab Solas, but you’re clearly in your head about this.” He slid a silver necklace over to her, a delicate metalwork feather dangling on the chain. “If you don’t feel like you can wear your official feathers, then you can wear this one as a reminder. You aren’t lost or cast aside or whatever else you’re thinking. You’re on a job and you’re still a Crow, if that’s what you want.”

She merely stared down at the jewelry with wide eyes. “How long have you had this in the wings?”

He shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. “Bought it back in Treviso. I have a… friend with a fondness for an Antivan woman. Thought it might be a nice little reminder since this whole Solas chase keeps pulling them apart, but didn’t feel quite right for the couple. Then you came along and I thought ‘maybe she’d like it!’ But you came with your own set of feathers and it felt like a poor fit for you, too.”

With a tentative touch, she ran her finger along the pendant. “Who’d your third choice be if I said no?”

“I don’t know, Harding? She could send it back to Sera, or hand it off to the next person who’s sweet on her.” He pushed the chain towards her again. “But it feels like a better fit for you now, considering.”

Her mouth quirked with a smile as she plucked the trinket off the table. “Well, I appreciate the sentiment even if you are just trying to pass off a bum gift.”

“So long as it makes you happy.” He grinned, holding his hands up in surrender. “Now, it’s late and the barkeep is looking mighty pissed at us. I sent word to our contact, but we're meeting her tomorrow so get some sleep. I know it’s a novel concept for you Crows, but things are about to get busy.

She laughed, gathering her letters up. “With our luck? The word you’re looking for is chaotic, I think.”

Requested Tags: @weaponizedvirtue

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Hiiii hope you're having a nice day!!!!

Could recommend any fics where Derek is the True Alpha instead Scott? Preferably Sterek, but no-pairing/gen is alright too

Thank you!!

Hey @mayetaisho! I got you.

christabel by Petr1chor

(5/5 I 7,623 I General)

“Peter?” Stiles said, too shocked to keep it out of his voice, ���Why are you calling?”

Peter sighed on the other end, genuine in a way Peter rarely was. “I thought you would want to know.”

“Know what?”

“About Derek.”

“Peter, I’m too old for your cryptic shit. Either spit it out or I’m hanging up.”

“Stiles,” Peter said, his voice shaky, somehow, “Derek is dead.”

Stiles had a phone in his hand, a shattered mug, a puddle of coffee and what might be a first degree burn on his foot.

“Stiles? Are you still there?” Peter’s voice sounded fuzzy when his phone wasn’t pressed against his ear. Without response, he hit end call.

Derek is dead.

xxx

Stiles goes back to Beacon Hills for Derek's funeral, but Derek isn't as dead as they assumed

..With My Teeth by Fayaheda

(1/1 I 7,763 I Mature)

"I'm gonna bite that incredible ass of yours, now..." She grins when she sees his cheeks flood and he looks down to his feet out of embarrassment. "...With my teeth."

The Bargain by dr_girlfriend 

(6/6 I 9,713 I Teen)

Time drags on, and it becomes apparent that this is not a part of the tradition. The wolves start to shift on their feet and murmur, but no one attempts to speak to Stiles. He stands, feeling the back of his neck growing red from the sun and his face growing red from embarrassment.

What will happen if Derek Hale cannot be coerced to the altar? Will the bargain be revoked?

The One You Choose by Asterekmess (Livinginfictions)

(7/7 I 13,495 I Mature)

Stiles hadn’t seen Scott in over a week, except for glances he caught during school hours.

You’re an Understatement (you’re getting worse) by LadySlytherin

(1/1 I 13,510 I Explicit)

Erica’s goal in life was to be hired by Neckz’n’Throats. Not as a model, though she knew she was hot enough for that. No, she wanted to be behind the camera. And to do that, she needed two things. A glowing recommendation, and a portfolio that would grab their attention; that would make them take her seriously. For that, she needed the right models. Thankfully, she knew just who to ask.

I found you hidden in plain sight (why'd I take so long?) by Gorgeousgreymatter

(7/7 I 25,419 I Explicit)

Stiles is pretty sure he’s hallucinating. He’s got to be. There’s no other plausible explanation, he thinks, as he sits on the sidelines of the lacrosse field and feels the cold, hard bench underneath him, the roar of the crowd at his back like the worst white noise machine in the world.

There’s no other reason why he sees it, the hulking, black figure of a wolf peering at him from the treeline behind the bleachers. Its eyes flare in the glaring glow of the stadium lights, but they’re the wrong color, he thinks: blood-moon red instead of cobalt blue, but the familiarity of it all makes his stomach roll and clench.

"X" marks the spot by mmspring

(3/3 I 39,796 I General)

"Please, bring my nephew back" Stiles stays silent for a second, before clearing his throat and speaking again. "Do you remember that time when you asked if someone in this town could stay dead?" he asks, and waits for the other man to confirm that he, indeed, remembers. "Well, let's hope the answer is still no".

Or

Stiles has to save the day once again, but he doesn't want the recognition for it.

DNA by badluckvixen13 (fanaticmusings)

(28/28 I 127,882 I Explicit)

Centuries ago, the Alliance gained control of the majority of the free world. The rest of the world, the Frontier, are the magical wastelands where criminals hide and dark secrets are lost and the pre-Alliance divisions remain. To foster a sense of allegiance, peace, and progression toward human and supernatural equality, the Alliance created the Handler-Shifter system to enforce supernatural law on behalf of humans and supernaturals alike.

For a better alliance, Stiles enters the service just like his parents before him. For the sake of Pack, Derek returns to the Alliance and finds himself partnered with a smart-mouthed, pale, kid who has seen more darkness than most people his age. Together with Scott and Kira, they find themselves standing on the edge of a revolution thousands of years in the making with only one question to answer:

Are they strong enough?

[comfytickles]

Crows Feather!

Pairings: Rax x Lili

Warnings: None!

Lee: Raz

Ler: Lili

This is a sfw Psychonauts tickle fic. Scroll if this ain't your thing!

"So, has this got anything to do with psychonaut training?"

"Nope!"

The two little psychonauts sat in the tree fort at the dead centre of the Questionable area. Lili had managed to drag Raz away from Sasha's "intriguing" lectures after a little convincing. Raz furrowed his brows and stared blankly at Lili.

"Then why are we even here? Is this one of those moments you keep telling me about?"

Lili burst into a fit of hushed giggles and shook her head, leaving the goggle-wearing psychic even more perplexed.

"No Raz, this is to do with a… test!"

"A test, huh?"

Raz looked unconvinced. This wasn't the first time his girlfriend toyed with his expectations. He gave Lili an awkward grimace and gestured for her to explain.

"Yeah! A test to see if we have similar reactions."

Okay, now Raz was confused.

"Lili, all people have different reactions. I mean, your reaction to a difficult situation is arson."

Lili shrugged with a laugh, to which Raz giggled. This was true of course and she knew it. But this… test was a little different. It was something she had been waiting a long time to do.

"Shut up moron."

"Oh yeah? What are you gonna do about it? Burn my goggles?"

The two giggled for a while before Lili reached into her bag. Raz looked curiously over her shoulder before she pushed him away.

"Hey! What gives?"

Raz pouted slightly and crossed his arms. Whatever Lili was getting had better be worth it or else he wouldn't be leaving Sasha's lab for these "trips in the woods" anymore. Lili pulled the object out of her bag and hid it behind her back.

"Don't be such a drama queen, Raz."

"I wouldn't be if you just showed me what you're hiding!"

Raz moved a bit forward and reached for Lili's hand, but she quickly moved out of reach. She grinned and shook her head, leaving Rax to roll his eyes and sigh in defeat. This girl… What about her Raz found cute was beyond him. She giggled. Oh wait, now he remembers.

"Raz, do you remember that time at Whispering Rocks—"

"There were many times at Whispering Rocks Lili."

"No, the one where you were using an object to get information out of people?"

Raz looked frankly amused, leaning back lazily on one of the walls.

"That still doesn't narrow it down."

Lili pulled the object out from behind her back and twirled it around between her fingers. Raz went red in the face.

"Oh so you remember this crow's feather, do ya?"

"I— Y-Yeah. I used that to—"

"Tickle me?"

Raz shifted uncomfortably against the wall and tried to bite back a nervous giggle.

"No! I used it to—"

"Tickle other people?"

Lili looked like she'd won the lottery and honestly? In this situation she may as well have. Raz, unfortunately, had gone bankrupt. The pyro-girl looked fondly at the silky black feather shining dully in the gaps of light.

"I'm not ticklish Lili."

Raz was avoiding Lili's triumphant gaze and instead chose to look at a nearby bird, perched on one of Bob's thick vines. He didn't notice the large, transparent hand gliding towards his legs. With a yelp he was pulled up into the air by his feet, his hands swayed limply alongside his head and torso.

"Oh really? Well, let's just test that theory."

"It's not a theory! It's aAEE—"

Raz jolted harshly and swung back, away from the black feather. In the rukus of being strung upside-down, his turtleneck had shifted up to reveal his pale, yellow belly.

"What was that Raz? It isn't a theory?"

Lili swirled the feather teasingly around Raz's naval, making him buck and whine. There were moments where the feather dipped into the naval, causing the junior psychonaut to squeak in protest.

"Lili please!"

"No, no, I think you're right. It isn't a theory. It's a lie~"

She pulled back the bottom of the turtleneck and slid the feather up and down the little guy's side. He twisted around, holding his breath and biting his tongue. No way is he gonna break. Psychonauts don't have weaknesses like this! Well, maybe Psychonauts don't, but he wasn't too sure about Junior Psychonauts.

"L-Lili— gheehe— st-stop it!"

"Hehe~ It tickles, dosen't it Raz?"

He nodded involuntarily and closed his eyes. This was a bad decision. With Raz's attention based solely on holding back his giggles, it left Lili with the opportunity to add in a few helping hands.

"ghhnnnahaha—! waitwaitwait! Don't use your haahahaands! Liliiii!"

Lili knew it was unfair. After all, Raz didn't tickle her like this. But then again, this was adorable. Watching your boyfriend squirm around and cover his face in an attempt to salvage his dignity? Now that was a sight Lili couldn't pass up. Not for the life of her.

"Why not Raz? Gimme one good reason—"

"C-Cause I diiihihihidn'— gosh please! I didn't dohoho this to yooohohohohou~! Ahahahahaaaha!"

Lili's hands made their way down to Raz's armpits and she grinned. A horrible winning grin. Panting, Raz shook his head in desperation, his cheeks alight with colour. Why would she do this? It was so embarrassing! The fingers dug into the hollows and Raz barked out a loud laugh.

"Tickle tickle tickle Raz~ Somebody's way too ticklish for their own good."

"Noooo! Don't dooohohohoo that! Don't tease meeehehehee! Please!"

He thrashed around in his girlfriend's hold and tried to pry her hands away. Well, this wouldn't do. Lili wanted no obstructions to her "playtime", and these hands were proving to be quite the problem. A second large, transparent hand joined the first, grabbing Raz's wrists roughly and pulling them above his head.

"L-Lili, d-don't! I'm sorry for tickling you that day!"

Slowly, the little psychonaut was turned the right way up. He was grinning nervously down at Lili, clenching and unclenching his gloved hands. Lili squeezed his sides and watched as Raz's knees raised in a desperate attempt to block the sensation.

"Alright Raz, I'll give you a fighting chance!"

Raz looked perplexed as Lili readied herself in the position to lunge. He was dropped with a loud thud, before being tackled by the smaller. Her hands dug into anywhere she could reach and Raz screamed.

"Stoppit! Stooahaha—! Ahahahaaa!"

The amount of "coochie coos" and "kitchy-kitchys" was unbearable! Too bad Lili was having the time of her life, unable to see her boyfriend's gradually increasing embarrassment. He pushed at her shoulders but that just left his hollows open for further assault. Except, Lili didn't go all the way up…

"If you keep struggling like that, I'll have to bring back the hands!"

"Nonono! Anything b-fuuuheheheee—!"

Lili didn't even know Raz's voice could get this high. Until now of course. She paused briefly to examine which area she had drilled into.

"Oooh~! Looks like someone's got ticklish ribs!"

"Y-You should know by now that I'm ticklish everywhere."

Raz admitted this with an air of respect. To what about this situation he respected, he wasn't entirely sure. For all he knew, Lili was just really, really good at revenge-tickles.

"I thought you said you weren't—"

"I was obviously lying."

With a squeak and another hysterical push at Lili's shoulders, the young psychonaut's ribs were assaulted with scribbling fingers. Oh how wonderful. By now Raz's laughter had caught the attention of Nona and Cruller, who were now standing at the bottom of the tree.

"Now what're you kids doin' up there?"

"You're not doing anything bad are you pootie?"

The tickling ceased immediately and the pair hastily separated. Raz was blushing an intense shade of red and Lili was sporting a bashful yet noticeably smug grin.

"N-No Nona! We were just—... Uhm…"

Lili was staring at Raz still wearing the smug grin. His train of thought crashed and burned, leaving his voice to fade part-way through the sentence. Lili decided it would be better to calmly sort the situation out. Sike.

"I was tickling Raz"

Raz let out an audible shout of indignation, followed shortly by a sharp squeak.

"Lili! Stop!"

"Wha~at? It's just Ford and Nona?"

"Yeah that's the main reason why—"

Nona said something briefly to Ford and the kid's went quiet.

"Kinda deserved after that whole crow's feather situation."

Ford said this as if he remembered it like it had happened yesterday. Lili let out a laugh of triumph and Raz, now mortified, covered his face. Seems like even Ford remembered that stupid crow's feather. Jeez, he was never gonna live that down…

"You really aren't Raz."

"Yes, it seems like your girlfriend is intent on reminding you that pootie."

Great and now they were reading his mind.

"It's annoying isn't it?"

"Yeah."

"Just like the crow's feather."

Raz groaned in exasperation and held his face in his hands.

[akumicchi]

can you do bakugou imagine with him saying “wait, you think I’m cute?” of the fluff prompts? thanks I’m advance!

Warning: just the starter pack of warnings needed for a Bakugou's fic. And reader isn't good with cats.

Akumi's notes: super fun to write, I may or may not had indulged myself with the teasing, hehe~

Putting a foot delicately on the railing, you hopped to the balcony with grace, making almost no sound while landing. Sneaking out of the B class dorms was never a challenging task, and by now, you had completely mastered it. As you saw that the curtains in your boyfriend's room were closed, a knot formed in your belly, and checking the bright "11:24 pm" on your phone didn't make it any better. Jesus, you were oh so late, and oh so dead.

No light filtered through the black fabric, so you couldn't guess if he was still awake. Swallowing hard, your fingers pushed the glass door just enough to peek. But you were greeted by red piercing eyes that carved holes into your soul from the bed. You braced yourself and put on a smile.

—Hi there! How was your-

— You're late —you were cut off mid sentence, and his words felt like a bullet to your chest. You should have known better than procrastinating at your dorm with Juuzou and Rin for too long, being aware of Bakugou's tight schedule...

— I'm so sorry, kitty... I didn't mean to make you stay up so late...—your feet dragged you close to his bed, and as you crouched and leaned your chin against the mattress, your guilty gaze lifted up to his— Can you forgive me?

— Who said I was waiting for you, huh?! —a vein pulsed in Bakugou's forehead as he grabbed a pillow and shoved it harshly to your face— I'm awake cuz Kirishima has been sending me stupid memes all night!! And stop calling me that! Fuckin gross!

Your lungs gasped for air against the soft fabric. Arms flailed, until they managed to move away Katsuki's hand and the pillow.

—But you... are a kitten! —you sucked deep breaths back into your system— And it...goes well with...your name!

— How come, asshole? —Bakugou quirked a brow, an even deeper scowl on his face. The boy looked like he was about to snap.

But you were reckless, so you kept on explaining why calling your boyfriend "kitty" was extremely accurate.

— Yeah! You see, your name's Katsuki. Ka-tsu-ki. The "Kat" on your name sounds just like "cat" in English. Besides, you're a grumpy cat so it's the perfect nickname for ya! —you were absolutely serious about it, to you, those were solid arguments supporting a statement, but, for Bakugou, it was mere teasing.

Oh boy, he was mad. Not only the vein on his forehead was pulsing, also the ones on his temple and neck. His jaw was tight, teeth gritted with anger, fueled by the bright eyes you held while embarrassing him nonstop. With no warning, Bakugou got on his feet and chased after you. While you ran away as fast as you could, stumbling on his belongings mid way.

— Get back here you fucker! I'm gonna show you who's the real kitty!! This is a small space so you won't be running away for too long!

— Wait, Katsuki, wait! Aizawa's downstairs, we're gonna get caught!

— YOU are gonna get caught, YOU are the one who sneaked out of your dorm!

Now you were standing on Bakugou's bed, ready to jump away, while he was on the floor, arms ready to capture you anytime. This wasn't the cuddle session you were expecting at all, but it was your fault anyway.

— Hey, Katsuki.

— What is it now? — he growled.

— You know I love you, right?

— I know it says quite a lot since you don't even like cats in the first place!

A few bangs were heard through the wall next to Bakugou's bed.

— Hey, you two! We're trying to sleep here, tone it down! —the voice of a drowsy and low-key annoyed Kirishima rang from the other room.

— Ah, we're sorry Kirishima! We'll be quiet, I promise! —you threw a high pitched whisper back, a wry smile on.

— It's okay, but you guys can't do this every night! I'm messing up all my stuff the next day!

Great, now you'd have a sleep deprived Kirishima on your consciousness to make you even more guilty.

— Yeah, yeah, just go back to sleep! — Bakugou added in a tone lower than usual, maybe taking to mind his friend's request.

Kirishima's intervention had dissolved the previous atmosphere between the two of you, leaving a much needed calm silence stablish in the room and around the teens now sitting next to each other on the messed up bed. You felt really bad about everything, having Katsuki waiting all night for you, and waking up his best friend for no reason. Looking up at Bakugou's face, you saw the tiredness within his scowl. The wrinkles under his orbits, and the hard time his eyes were having to keep focused. You wanted to apologize, but just words didn't seem enough.

— C'mon Kats, —your voice came out low, not wanting to disturb the quietness around, but the teasing tone remained just slightly— the fact that I don't like cats makes you even more special! Because you're the only cat I like!

— Tch, what's up with that stupid logic of yours. Who even calls their partner after something they dislike?! —he growled, but also quietly.

— Let me remind you that you don't even call me cute nicknames, so I had to put extra effort on yours. —you had filled your cheeks with air, sealing your lips with a cute pout.

— Oh, shut up and go to your fucking dorm already, I wanna sleep. —Katsuki groaned, laying down on the mattress and about to pull the covers over his body. But you stopped him by setting yourself between his legs and holding onto his wrist.

— Kitty... —the silly nickname made the boy's body tense, but it slowly relaxed with the brushing of your thumb against his skin— I know it was my mistake, taking so long to come here and making you stay up so late... I want to make it up to you, hm?

— And how are you supposed to do that?

— It's simple! I'll give you a shoulder massage until you fall asleep, how does that sound?

— Hmph, it better be good —the boy complied.

— No worries! Now take off your shirt.

— Tch, don't tell me what to do, I know I'd have to take it off for a massage —Katsuki sat up again, and pulled the hem of his shirt above his head. Then, he laid face down on the bed.

Taking seat on his butt, straddling his hips, your hands found place in his trapeziums and started delicately stretching the muscle in slow motions. Your actions earned a low satisfied groan from the boy below you. It made you smile proudly, it looked like Juuzou's massage lessons were being fructiferous, but you weren't telling that to Katsuki today. As the tight knots on his upper back disappeared, you kept massaging down his spine, putting all your weight on your hands for a better performance.

On the other side, Bakugou felt like floating between pillows made of clouds as the fatigue left his body. He couldn't help the small groans from leaving his throat because of how light headed he was. It wouldn't be bad to just doze off like this.

— You know? Sometimes I just can't get over how cute you are. —you chimed.

— Stop teasing me. —Bakugou was supposed to sound sharp and tough, but in his drowsy state, those words came out slurred and muffled against the pillow.

— But it is true! It ain't just saying, I really think so! —your whisper brushed his left ear, making his skin shiver and blush.

After a short pause, the boy spoke slowly, his half lidded eyes held a glimpse of sad longing in your direction— So... you think I'm cute... For real?

— Of course! Wait... Does that mean I don't demonstrate enough? —your soul dropped. You knew Katsuki hated being teased by you and how low he thought about himself, but you hoped your cheerful encouragement had helped him to feel loved and deserving of that love.

— Hey, that's not what I-

Brushing his spikey locks out of his face, you placed a soft smooch above his barely clutched eyebrows.

— Your forehead is cute, I don't see it often so I'm thankful when I'm able to.

And then tender lips worshipped with kisses every lovable spot they could reach — Your nose is cute too, specially when it's wrinkled. Yeah, just like that! And your cheeks, your hands, your nape-

— Shut up!

It was just so adorable in your eyes the way he looked: Back glued to the headboard, eyes completely open, framed by sharp clutched brows, and a deep blush covering his features from neck to ears. You wished you had your phone close.

— I'm really sorry for making you wait for me.

— I told you, I wasn't waiting! It was Kirishima. And stop apologizing already! All you have to do is turn out the fucking light and get back here, you still have to make it up to me, and I wanna sleep.

Of course you knew Kirishima had been sound asleep even before you came to the room, but you didn't feel like teasing your kitty that far tonight. Bedtime was top priority.

[talia-rumlow]

Wheelman 2019 (X Reader) Chapter Five - I Told You To Run, YN!

So, people. This i the last chapter of my Wheelman fic. Tiny celebration, with a finished Fic here on Tumblr. Next week "Bound & Brockened" will begin. And that one is seriously something to follow along.

- That I got Fucked by a criminal, in the park?

He looks at you for some time.

- You'd tell your friends that?

He kisses you again.

- You think I would? I mean, If I could tell my friends that a criminal, bank robber fucked me in the park, you think I would?

He lets out a little nervous laugh.

- Well, if I could tell my friends that I fucked a Bounty Hunter in the park, do you think I would?

- Absolutely, I think that.

He playfully nudge your shoulder, before there's a sound. Footsteps. Someone is moving towards you. Slowly, quiet. Definitely someone who is looking for something, or someone.

He quickly and quietly gets you down on the ground, lies on top of you, covering your mouth, and holds a finger over his lips.

- Shhhh...

You reach behind his back, get his gun out from his pants. He gets the other one. Both of you are ready to fight. He leans down. Whispers in your ear, so quiet you have to concentrate to hear him.

- When I say go, you run. I'll cover you!

You shake your head. He's still covering your mouth, so you can't talk.

- Yes, YN. You do! I got you into this. Now I'm getting you out of it.

His voice so determined that you don't dare to argue with him. You can bring your gun with you, run and hide somewhere close, and then double back.

He rolls of you, on his back, with his gun ready. You try to make your body ready to run. Looking around you, searching for the easiest way out.

Then you see the two pair of feet closing in. Fuck! You slow your breathing down. Look over at him. Firm lips. Concentrated. He almost looks scared. Is he? How the fuck can you know? He probably knows these guys. Is he fighting his friends, shooting at his friends? Do criminals even have friends? Allies you know. But those are not friends. They just work together because it's mutually beneficial. Kinda like when your father does jobs for the Police.

He looks at you one more time. Once again his finger over his lips. You nod.

- NOW!

He yells, as he fires four rounds at the guys closing in. You almost don't hear what he says, but the vibrations the sounds make, makes you get up and run. More shots fired behind you.

You don't run far. It's dark outside the paths in the park, and right now, you praise the fact that you like to dress in black. And the fact that your hair isn't blonde. It's almost impossible to see you. Once you feel that you are far enough away, you kneel down behind a big rock.

The shots stops. You slowly get up. No movements over there. It could be a trap. But you still have a full magazine in your glock, and you're a good shooter, even in the dark. You slowly move back towards your hiding spot. Still no movement. You're so focused on finding Frank, that you almost trip over the first guy. Quickly bending down to check his vitals. Fucking dead!

A couple of more steps, and you see the other guy, when you move closer, you can see something or someone under him. Frank! You push the guy off him. No movement. You check his vitals. He's still breathing, so this must be something else. Hit his head maybe. Fuck!

You shake him, and he comes too with a bang.

- Fuck. Motherfucker. Fuck you!

You take his face between your hands. Look in in the eye.

- Hey... Hey, Frank.. It's me.. Calm down!

It's like he suddenly gets his brain back.

- I told you to run, YN

- I did!..... And then I came back. Come on. Someone definitely heard that, the Police will be here. We have to move!

You try to drag him with you. He grabs your arm. Points to his right leg.

- He shot me twice. I can't run anywhere!

You look around for something to tie around his leg, maybe if you just find a car, you can get away. He stops you.

- Run, YN!

- The Police will get you!

- Take the money, and run! If I don't have the money, they have no prof. Take them!

You look from him to the bags and back again.

- No!

Sirens starts to approach. Frank once again grabs your arm. Pulling you down to him. Kissing you intently.

- You know the place in Long Island where you bought your car?

You nod..

- Meet me there in four months.

- What if you're not there?

He takes both the duffle bags, and gives them to you.

- That means I'm in jail, and you need to buy your own car!

You kiss him again, keep your lips on his, for as long as you have time for. Before the sirens is dangerously close.

- Now, go! Four months, YN! Now run!

You run. Fuck. Triple fuck. You never thought you'd ever end up in a situation where you had to run from the Police. And Frank. Fuck!

------------------------------------------------------

Four months later, you again walk into the place where you bought your BMW. Not knowing if he'd be there. He sounded pretty confident, that he wouldn't end up in jail. But you know how the system works. One fingerprint, even if it is for another crime committed. It would take him down. Fuck the Police, fuck the system. Why the fuck are you even here?

- Looking for a car, Miss?

You know that voice. A smile starts to form on your lips, as you slowly turn around.

When your eyes meet, he winks at you. And you know how to play your part.

- Yes. I'd love a new BMW M5 CS. My old one.. I didn't like the colour...

He calmly walks over to a dark green one. Drags his hand over the roof of it.

- I think this one will fit you perfectly, Miss. What is your budget?

You smile at him, and tilt your head towards a dusty car outside.

- Oh, about 230.000 I'd say. Not totally sure. I didn't count it myself..

He sends you a smile. Before walking over to a cabinet, and takes out a key. Tossing it in the air, before catching it again.

- Want a test drive, Miss?

He tosses the key to you. You snatch it.

- Fuck, yeah!

When you're about to get in the drivers seat. The manager comes over to you. Stops you.

- Jared. I know that you're new and all. But when it comes to 200.000$ cars. You'll do the driving.

You look at Frank, mouthing "Jared" to him. He gives you a resigned shrug, before opening the door for you. You walk over to him. He takes your hand and holds it until you are safely in the seat.

He gets in the drivers seat. Puts the key in, and slowly drives out of the store.

When you get out on the road, he looks over at you.

- The money is in the car outside the shop, right?

You look back..

- Yes?

- Good.. The car is ours then...

You laugh..

- Well.. "Jared". We should test out the backseat then.. Don't you think?

He doesn't answer. Instead, he takes the car onto a dirt road, and parks it on a green field, behind a tree. Looks at you.

- You know, YN. I think "Jared" would like that!

You quickly move to the back of the car. It's not hard, more than enough of space between the front seats. To easily slip into the back. He follows closely behind. Getting on top of you, before his lips meets yours. His hands dragging your skirt up. Yours unbuckling him.

- Fuck me, Jared!

You say with a teasing smile. He looks at you for a second, before carefully taking a hold of your chin. Kissing you.

- It's Frank to you, missy...

Your hands move up to his hair. Eyes still locked with his.

- Fine.. Fuck me, Frank...

His hand, pushes your underwear aside, before entering you.

- Fuck! I've been waiting for this...

He growls into your ear.

- I belong to you. Take me!

You say between moans and ragged breathing.

- Mine! All mine!

He says as he fucks you raw, in the back of the car.

---------------------------------------------------------

The manager sits down at his desk, takes up the note left for him there. No names, just handwritten block letters " MONEY FOR THE BMW, IN THE DUSTY PICK UP TRUCK OUTSIDE! AN EXTRA 30.000 FOR THE TROUBLE!"

------------------------------------------------------

The BMW is fast. It doesn't take long before you're already far away From the city. Frank looks at you, before taking a firmer hold of the steering wheel.

- Want to see what this baby can really do?

You smile back at him.

- Hell yeah!

He clamps the gas down, and the V8 engine shows it's Powers. You don't miss anything. Bounty Hunting can be done from everywhere. And you can do that without your father.

You put the City and your old lives further and further behind you, before you drive into the sunset, with nothing else ahead of you, but the open road.

@nekoannie-chan @there-goes-thefighter @here4thefanfics @late-to-the-party-81 @mostlybuckystuff

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Previous Chapter

[jtrbluv]

resolutely, yours. | kth

summary: When your best-friend slash pain-in-your-ass, Kim Seokjin, drags you to a New Year’s Eve party that you didn’t want to go to in the first place, what better way is there to pass the time than to stay sober and watch all your classmates go berserk? Well, that is until Kim Taehyung steps into the picture, of course.

pairing: taehyung x reader

genre: fluff

word count: 2.7k+

warnings: profanity, slight alcohol consumption, implied drug usage (two words only, i swear), college party antics should say enough

A/N: first fic of the year! W O O! this was supposed to be for tae’s birthday but i guess it’s fitting since it is the new year. a special thanks to miss mei @sugacouture for her likeness and @koushiningg aka the eternal hypewoman. this fic (drabble) is rly short but i do have a lot coming up in store! for now, hope u enjoy and happy new year everyone!

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You are going to murder Kim Seokjin.

The spiked punch that fills your red solo cup up to its brim has been waiting to be quaffed down for thirty-seven minutes now. Roughly five minutes before that, Seokjin had somehow managed to drag you through the front doors of the fraternity party he’s been wanting you to accompany him to for weeks now.

And it only takes ten minutes for the proclaimed party animal and people-person, Kim Seokjin, to vanish from your side. He leaves you to fend for yourself in a jungle full of plastered college students—priorities at the moment are to either drink so much liquid regret that they can’t even remember their own names, or to find someone to make out with when the clock strikes at midnight. From simple observation, you notice that most, if not everyone here, fall under both categories.

Well, the exception being you, of course.

One thing to note is that you actually do have a decent tolerance for alcohol. You were no stranger to it, and it would serve as a dutiful companion to you when times called for it. Like last week after your last final that you knew you fucking bombed.

However, the humidity of the room due to the accumulation of bodies that left little to no room for fresh air, in addition to the strong stench of alcohol mixed with sweat mixed with God knows what, just was not the ideal place for you to get wasted. It didn’t stand close in comparison to drinking with a solid group of close friends, or by yourself in the comfort of your bed while a shitty rom-com plays in the background on your laptop.

The atmosphere is suffocating all of your senses— tears pricking at the corners of your eyes due to the strong odor of the room, the curled front pieces of your hair dampening and sticking to your temples, your mouth and throat dry as the Sahara Desert because, of fucking course, there is absolutely no water to be seen.

The small black dress and heels that Seokjin forced you to wear was worsening the situation greatly—your legs practically glued stuck to the stool you were sitting on, leading to ugly red marks and stinging skin if you tried to stand up.

You could not take being inside any longer. Instead of passing out from being piss drunk, you were almost adamant that you were going to pass out from the grueling mix of heat exhaustion and secondhand high.

Your grip on the solo cup significantly tightens, nearly crushing the plastic in half. You quickly stand up from the stool you were sitting in, the sensation akin to getting your legs waxed as you take a deep inhale through your nose, mentally preparing yourself to dive into this sea of financially obligated, depressed monsters.

Peculiarly, you manage to shove your way through a good chunk of the mass, your eyes set on the door that leads towards the balcony. Your ankles almost completely give into your weight a concerning number of times, and if it wasn’t for all of the arms of oblivious partygoers that you had clung onto for dear life, you probably wouldn’t be able to stand on your own two feet by now.

Solely occupied with trying to navigate your way through the crowd, you don’t even realize that someone bumped into you and spilled your drink all over your dress until you reach the balcony. The cold, night breeze passes over your body, leaving chills on the huge wet patch on your dress. The one goddamn time your dress sees the light of day, you just so happen to find a way to ruin it.

“Fucking hell!” You holler into the vacant balcony, your hands coming up to carefully poke at the wet patch on your dress. You wince as the soaked, freezing fabric comes in contact with your bare stomach. Angry, you chug down the rest of the drink inside your cup and chuck it off the balcony, too enraged to even react to its strong taste.

Shivering, you walk deeper onto the balcony, cradling yourself and staring at your shoes, a string of curses spewing from your lips. You scold yourself for not bringing a jacket while simultaneously plotting your revenge against Seokjin. A pair of black loafers intrude your vision, accompanied by a husky voice that calls out to you,

“Oh shit, are you okay?”

Your head shoots up, your eyes meeting the ones of the man standing in front of you. He towers above you significantly despite you wearing heels. His eyes are only a tad obscured by the soft, brown curls of his hair, perfectly styled and gelled to have that ‘purposefully messy’ look. The only difference being that models stood no chance against him when he was the blueprint himself. The black button up he’s clad in exquisitely accentuates every crevice of his lean, chiseled body. And his eyes that were already alluring on their own, were adorn with hazel-colored contacts that you swear you could stare at for hours upon hours. He is so otherworldly beautiful, you temporarily forget to breathe.

And you also forget that you are just staring at him, and he is staring back at you with a smile.

Times like this is when you wish you were at least a little buzzed. Sober ‘you’ is way too socially inept to fend for themself sadly. “O-oh i’m fine, someone just spilled their drink on me.”

Maybe it’s the way the moon sits behind him and casts a halo-like glow around his figure or how he’s just been staring straight into your eyes this whole time, like it’s second nature whilst you can only hold eye contact with him for two seconds before instinctively shying away. To say that his presence frightened you was an understatement. You were about to take cover and hide under the patio table like a five-year-old if he kept looking at you like that.

He blinks, his mouth stretching into a wide grin, rectangular-shaped and having the ability to ease your nerves. He places his drink on a patio table, dusting his hands on his pants, “Here, I’ll get you some napkins, just stay here.”

Stunned, it isn’t until he leaves that you yell out to him as he steps back inside the chaos, “Thank you!”

You carefully sit down on a patio chair, your arms still wrapped around your shivering torso while you try to breathe warm air into your cupped hands.

The man steps out onto the balcony minutes later, his fists full of paper towels as he hands them to you. “Here you go.”

You graciously take them, blotting your dress with the paper towels, your nose scrunching at the scent of alcohol that you had no choice but to inhale. “Thank you so much, really.” You say— still very much shocked to know that chivalry isn't quite dead yet. “It’s Taehyung, right?”

He nods, “Yeah, and you’re Y/N?

Your pause, your hand hovering over your dress as you look up and nod with a forced smile, “No but really, thank you. You didn’t have to.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’m sorry that it happened in the first place,” he says apologetically, as if it was his fault, “it seems like everyone’s already out of their minds, and it isn’t even midnight yet.”

“Hey, don’t apologize,” you assure him, which seems to work because his eyes soften a bit, “besides, I guess it’s my fault for coming here in the first place. I knew something like this was gonna happen and now here I am, smelling like cheap, convenience store vodka.”

He chuckles, and you swear you’ve never been so elated to make someone laugh until now, “I somehow managed to beat the crowd. I’ve literally just been standing out here by myself for a good hour now.”

You sigh in envy, “Must be nice.”

“Too bad you couldn’t make it, it’s been awfully quiet up here.” He says, pivoting on his heel to look at the rest of the empty balcony.

Your eyes trail to the commotion inside the house, the crowd still going strong, “Are we really the only sober ones here?”

He shakes his head, “Nah, we’re just the only ones stupid enough to show up at a college party on New Year’s Eve, expecting to have a good time sober while everyone’s getting plastered.”

The unexpected truth pill causes you to enter a fit of laughter, small clouds of air leaving your mouth every time you exhale. He laughs along with you. “Yeah we are pretty stupid, I do admit.” You concur, while rubbing at your arms that were covered in goosebumps.

“Do you want my jacket?” He asks you while pointing to the black blazer that’s slung on top of the chair next to you.

You wrinkle your nose, “Are you sure?”

“Yes, before I put it on you myself,” he giggles with a roll of his eyes.

Shaking your head, you grab the blazer and wrap it around your shoulders. You stand up from your seat and turn towards him, brow quirked. “A-are you not cold? It’s fucking freezing out here.”

“I’m fine, I swear,” he counters, reaching out to help you slip your arms into his huge jacket sleeves, “I’m also not wearing a sleeveless dress.” He teases, eyeing you up and down as he takes in how oversized his jacket is on you. He thinks it looks much better when you’re wearing it, but he won’t tell you that.

“Right…” you drag out, following his footsteps as he motions you to follow him towards the edge of the balcony.

You two stand next to each other, leaning against the edge, arms nearly brushing against one another.

“So Taehyung, what brings you here in the first place?” You ask, knowing that he seems just as displeased to be here as much as you are.

“I got dragged here by a friend, Park Jimin, in particular.” He responds with a frown, “I have no idea where the fuck he is now, he literally left me as soon as we got here.”

Turning towards him incredulously, your brows raise and the corner of your lip curls into a smirk, “You don’t say.”

Confused, but also curious about the expression painted across your face, he quirks a brow, “Hm?”

You close your mouth, crossing your arms tighter around yourself, “I got dragged here by a friend too. Kim Seokjin. That asshole left me as soon as we got here too.”

He steps back, scoffing in disbelief, “Wow, we really just got stood up by our own friends.” Taehyung proclaims into the vacant balcony, for both him and you— the thought of it sounding even more pathetic after being said out loud.

“They’re pretty goddamn close to losing that title now.” You quip, shaking your head in dismay.

His head rocks back, a lively laugh leaving his lips due to your comment which makes you smile at the fact that you are even able to make him laugh like this.

“Damn it Y/N, you should’ve came out sooner, we could’ve been having a good time out here.” He tells you with a pout as his laughter starts to dwindle.

Sighing heavily, you too, feel regretful about the missed opportunity, “I really should have.”

He nudges you with his elbow, “At least you’re here now.”

The bass-boosted music from inside the house ceases, the room becoming momentarily quieter while someone bellows out, “Hey look, it’s the countdown!”

Everyone’s focus shifts towards the gigantic flat screen TV that hung above the fireplace, making you realize where the fraternity funds truly go to. You and Taehyung exchange glances before shrugging and moving closer to all the commotion since it was New Year’s Eve, above all.

He leans against the doorframe and you stay close to his side, the number ten flashing brightly on the screen—the crowd’s shouts getting louder as it reaches the final ten seconds of the year.

Instead of shouting out the numbers with the rest of the mass, you and Taehyung are simply witnessing it all fold out in silence.

“EIGHT!”

‘You got any New Year’s resolutions?!” You nudge him while attempting to yell over the noise.

His head whips towards you, “Me?!”

“SEVEN!”

Your brows furrow, “Does it look like I’m talking to anyone else?!”

His mouth splits into a grin once more, folding over in laughter just enough to meet eye-to-eye with you.

“SIX!”

“I mean! I didn’t have one originally!”

The crease in your brows dissipate, “Well, what changed?!”

“FIVE!”

His head tilts to the side, “I came here!”

You mirror his head tilt, confused as ever, “Um, so you wanna go to more parties next year?!”

“FOUR!”

He slaps a palm against his forehead, “From what you know about me, does it look like I like parties?!”

“How the hell would I know?!”

His jaw drops, “Y/N—!”

“THREE!”

“—I wanna get to know you better Y/N!”

Your jaw drops as well, “What?! Me?!”

“TWO!”

“Is there any other Y/N standing in front of me?!”

“I– oh...”

“ONE! HAPPY NEW YEAR!” The crowd shouts together in unison despite all being under the influence. A confetti cannon erupts, flying around the room and falling into people’s hair as the mass starts to split into pairs, all partaking in the traditional New Year’s kiss that you personally haven’t had much luck in participating in yourself.

You rip your gaze away to look at Taehyung. He smiles, pulling a piece of confetti out of hair, making your cheeks flush. “Happy New Year, Y/N.”

“Happy New Year, Taehyung.”

The small amount of alcohol you consumed when you first stepped foot onto the balcony leaves you slightly buzzed. Just enough to leave you with the right amount of courage to vouch for the nickname.

You take a daring step towards the man in front of you, “I also have a resolution of my own, Taehyung.”

He takes an even more daring step towards you, having the audacity to lean down— your faces only inches apart. “And what is that, may I ask?”

Grabbing onto the collar of his shirt, you close the gap in between the two of you, locking your lips with his. The kiss isn’t short enough to be a peck but isn’t long enough to be considered making out. You pull away enough to be able to see his face, “Is to get to know you better too.”

He chuckles, “Y/N, your lips taste like spiked punch.”

Pouting, you bump your forehead into his, “All I drank was whatever you saw me have at the balcony, I swear.”

He pecks your nose, your frown immediately wiping away as he does so, “I trust you.”

You smile, giving him a peck on the mouth, “As you should.”

“I’d kiss you again, but you probably can’t stand being here any longer. Let’s get out of here.” He tells you, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

You slide your arm onto his, interlocking his fingers with your own, “I think you’ve already completed your resolution Taehyung. You seem to know me so well already.”

Pushing through the crowd, he hooks an arm onto your waist while he shoves a path for you two to get through, “Too bad I don’t know where you wanna go though.”

You hum, thinking for a moment before your grumbling stomach answers for you, “I’m hungry, let’s go grab burgers or something.”

You don’t see the way Taehyung is fondly staring at you because you’re too busy trying to open the front door. At last, you manage to pry it open, stepping back outside while Taehyung’s holding you in his arms. It’s not that cold this time.

Taehyung’s hands land on both of your shoulders— turning you around to face him as he swiftly latches his lips onto yours. You stumble back, but his hand is quick to support you as he kisses you deeply. You kiss him back, letting your fingers curl around the curls of his hair.

He pulls back this time, letting his forehead rest on yours, “Y/N, I think you are the one that’s completed your resolution. How the hell did you know that I fucking love burgers?”

-

-

MASTERLIST

[turinn]

A Night Out

Mammon x GN!Reader

Summary: Mammon discovers a club holding a night to celebrate human culture, and decides maybe his human could use a little of that. Fluff, alcohol consumption, cuddling, Satan being a bastard at the end. A/N: This is my first Obey Me fic!! I’ll admit, I don’t know Mammon that well as he’s not one of my best boys, and I’m not even sure where the idea for this came from. It just popped into my mind, and I’m not one to turn down inspiration. I can’t make promises for characterisation, but I tried my best! Also I know literally nothing about nightclubs I just made shit up sorry.

"Hey, MC!! Open up will ya?" You groaned, pulling yourself out of bed. Mammon better have a damn good reason for nearly knocking your door down at... okay it was only 8PM, but still! Sometimes you just wanted an early night. You probably should've learned by now that that was far too much to ask in this house. You paid no mind to the fact that you were in your pyjamas, or the fact that they weren't the most modest of clothes. It was a warm night, so it didn't even register in your mind that you would be showing Mammon far more than he bargained for when you tugged the door open and glared at him. "What is it, Mammon? I don't have any money." His cheeks tinted pink at the sight of you, but the last comment brought his composure back just fine. "Why d'ya have to assume I'm after money? I'm here to do something nice and ya throw it in my face!" You rolled your eyes at his theatrics, though your interest was piqued. "It's a fair assumption, isn't it? Anyway, what do you want, then? I was about to sleep." "At 8PM? Laaaaame. Listen, when ya hear what I have to say, ya won't be worrying about sleep!" Mammon grinned at you, taking a few seconds to realise that your silence was an indicator for him to continue. "There's this club having some kind of event- ain't the kind of place I'd usually be seen dead in but apparently theres some kind a' market for human culture here, an' they're capitalising on it. Figured ya might be interested." His grin only got wider, he looked so proud of himself for thinking this up. Truth be told, it did interest you, if only to find out what exactly demons trying to hold an event based on 'human culture' looked like. Considering the sheer size and diversity of humanity and it's culture, creating anything both inclusive and cohesive sounded borderline impossible. You nodded, shutting the door and reappearing a few minutes later fully dressed. Mammons cheeks seemed to get even pinker, though he would never acknowledge it. Your club attire was vastly different from your casual wear, and he had not been expecting you to look so good. "Coming...?" The question seemed to bring his brain back into his body, causing him to realise you'd walked past him and were waiting at the top of the stairs. 

The walk there was pleasant, warm evenings in the devildom were often quite nice, and spending time with Mammon when he wasn't scheming or trying to scam someone was something you'd grown to enjoy. Hopefully, things would stay that way.

The club in question was tucked away down an alley, honestly a little skeevy-looking, and you couldn't help but think that if Lucifer saw Mammon bring you here you'd be greeting him hanging upside down the next morning. Luckily for both of you, it was just the two of you. Before long you had a drink in your hand, though you couldn't identify it just from looking. A quick sip told you it was your favourite, and you briefly wondered how Mammon knew what drink you tended to go for when you went to clubs back home.

Honestly, you had to give the club its due. They seemed dedicated to making sure your senses weren't too thoroughly abused- the lights were bright enough to see while dim enough to keep the atmosphere and the colours changed often, but they weren't harsh at all and the music was loud but not deafening- and indeed to the theme. While most nightclubs around the world had similarities, the club had seemingly gone out of its way to at least represent some different cultures. All of them would be near impossible, but you hadn't been anticipating much of an attempt at all. The songs played varied in both language and genre, while keeping the upbeat tempo generally expected in a club; the drinks menu, which was extensive, offered an almost flooringly wide range. Given you'd been expecting some trussed up version of a generic western nightclub- something no different to any place in London you'd pay out your ears to get into only to leave an hour later because the music was shit, or some drunkard had tried to steal your phone- this was rather impressive. You grinned at Mammon as a song you knew and loved came on, and dragged him out to dance with you. With the drink not yet kicking in, you weren't as bold as you could be, and stood a few feet away from him, singing along quietly while you danced. Mammon really, really wanted to dance with you properly. His hands on your hips, you smiling at him, preferably leading to your lips on his a little later on- but admitting that? That he wanted to dance with a human? That that was his entire reason for even bringing you here? Never. He had a reputation to uphold! He was in luck, though. A few drinks in and another song you absolutely adored and you were all over him. Or at least, thats how he’d tell the story in future. In truth, you'd simply stepped close enough to him that he got the hint and put his hands on your waist, hoping the lighting was low enough that you wouldn't notice his blush. From this close, the grin on your face was even more brilliant, your laughter and occasional gentle singing reaching his ears easier, and... well, he thought everything about you was beautiful. Not that you'd ever hear it from him.

As the night wound down and the alcohol started to make you more sleepy than anything else, you hooked your hand in his and dragged him home. Your cheeks were still red from the drinks and exertion when you stepped into the light of the House of Lamentation, and the notes of tiredness he could spot in your eyes somehow added to your overall cuteness. Kissing you was pretty much the only thing on his mind as you turned to him and thanked him for the evening, but before he could make his move you'd turned back and headed up the stairs, hand still in his. He noted it was his room you made a beeline for, not yours, and the two of you collapsed onto his bed in unison- which made the fact that you somehow ended up lying on top of him super odd, but he wasn't about to complain. "I had a really good time tonight. Thank you, Mammon." "'Course ya did, you were with me." Your soft giggle was the sweetest sound he'd ever heard. "Hey... this was a date, right?" Sincerity and hope filled your eyes as you waited for an answer, and his heart clenched. Did you want this to be a date? "I mean... if that's what ya wanna think then sure, it was a date." That blinding grin graced your features once again and you pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, doing the same to his other when he didn't pull away. His eyes darted around the room, looking anywhere but you as he flushed, and it wasn't until he made eye contact with you again a few moments later that you finally planted one on his lips. Were this some corny romcom, he might've said he felt like he'd somehow ended up back in the celestial realm (he'd never admit he was thinking it), for all the joy that filled him when you did so. He stuttered for a moment when you pulled back, but you gave him no time to begin boasting to save face before you settled into his arms and let sleep overtake you. Mammown as more than happy to join you, a soft smile gracing his features. His human was so cute.

Waking up the next morning, his D.D.D had blown up with notifications from the House of Lamentation group chat. Just his luck that the reason for such activity happened to be a picture of the two of you sleeping that Satan had snapped earlier. He'd have to have words with his little brother about respecting boundaries and learning to knock. (The hypocrisy of such a lecture was lost on him.)

[naireides]

omg a bellarke fic where they take a 'business shower' (urban dictionary it; it's platonic af) and they think it's normal but everyone else is like wtf this isn't normal

business shower: an intimate shower taken between 2 persons solely for the purpose of saving time aka truly the most blarke like thing to exist

wc: 3.8k | rated m

read on ao3 here

Despite everyone saying otherwise, Bellamy is actually a pretty good roommate.

Clarke moved in with him a few months ago and, according to all of their friends, it was going to end in disaster. She’s pretty sure Jasper even went as far as to say that they might kill each other which was a little insulting.

The thing is, she knows how her relationship with Bellamy looks to the average outsider. They fight and bicker and argue about everything. There’s nothing she can say or do without him getting on her case, and she knows that it’s probably the same for her too. They like arguing with each other. That’s just their thing. She doesn’t know why it’s so hard for their friends to understand that.

But fights aside, Bellamy is a good roommate.

He always takes out the trash on time and is considerate enough to pick up a carton of her soy milk whenever he realises she’s running low and he actually likes doing the dishes which almost made Clarke weep with joy when she first found out. Sure, they’re not perfect by any means- he has a bad habit of leaving the toilet seat up and she never remembers to clear her hair out of the shower drain- but he’s still one of the best people she’s ever lived with.

And then school starts back in the fall.

She knows that Bellamy is a high school history teacher, but it was never really one of those things that ever came up between them. When she moved in, it was July, meaning school was out and he was on break. Clarke keeps an eight to four job at the free clinic in the city so she got used to not seeing him in the morning. She would leave coffee in the pot for whenever he finally rolled out of bed, and he would already start prepping for dinner by the time she stumbled back in and collapsed on the couch.

They have a system. She’s gotten used to their pattern.

So when she wakes up on Monday, she stops dead at the sight of him puttering around the kitchen, still soft and sleep hazey in his pyjamas, his glasses sliding off the bridge of his nose.

“Morning,” he says when he finally notices her standing in the doorway.

It jerks her out of her stupor and she grunts in return. He already has the Keurig up and running so she settles on grabbing a few snacks for work. She chucks a granola bar and an apple in the oversized tote she loves so much for breakfast and she’s deciding whether she’ll head to the cafe down the street for lunch or drag herself down to the cafeteria for shitty hospital food when Bellamy throws one of the sandwiches he made at her.

It almost hits her square in the face and she fumbles to catch it.

“That’s lunch,” he says, ignoring her huff. He finally glances up at her. “You’re welcome, princess.”

Clarke pulls a wry face and shoves it in her bag too, feeling a bit warm inside. “Thanks.”

He just winks at her and rests his own foil wrapped sandwich next to his messenger bag. The warm feeling quickly dissipates when she sees him heading to the bathroom and she glances at the clock.

“Hey!” she calls out, scrambling after him. She manages to wedge her knee between the doorway before he could lock it shut and Bellamy lifts an eyebrow.

“What?”

“I need to shower,” she says, shouldering past him and slipping inside.

Behind her Bellamy scoffs. “Yeah, so do I. Wait your turn princess,” he says, wrapping a hand around her upper arm and dragging her back towards the door. It takes some effort on her part but she manages to shrug him off eventually, batting his hands away and marching right back in.

“I have to be at work in half an hour and it already takes me twenty minutes to get there with traffic,” she huffs, shoving down her pyjama bottoms. Her sweatshirt is long enough to cover everything, but it still doesn’t stop his eyes from dropping to her legs for a second before sneering at her.

“Well then maybe you should learn to wake up earlier, princess,” he shoots back and Clarke pinches the bridge of her nose.

“You know what? I don’t have time for this,” she says, shouldering past him and pulling the shower curtain back. He makes a protesting noise in the back of his throat, one that quickly morphs into a squeak of surprise when she tugs off her shirt right in front him.

“Jesus, Clarke,” he swears, whirling around. If she squints, she can see the barest hint of colour creeping up the side of his neck “Give a guy some warning.”

“Look either you shut up and get out, or suck it up and get in,” she says, completely ignoring him. She slides her underwear down her legs and throws it on the heap of clothes where it lands with a muffled ‘fwump’. “Your choice.”

“Get in?” he splutters, still staring hard at the scratch on the door. “You mean in the shower? With you?”

“Don’t be such a baby,” she snaps, twisting the faucet to get the shower going. There’s the telltale creak and rumble of the pipes before the water actually starts running.

“You’re naked. I’ll be naked. Is this not weird for you?”

“I work at a hospital,” she deadpans. “I’ve seen more than my fair share of naked people. It loses it’s novelty after a while.”

She can see him deliberating as she waits for the water to heat up and tries not to feel too self conscious standing naked a mere five feet away from a fully clothed Bellamy. If only he would hurry up and do something.

“My college roommate and I used to do it all the time,” she says in an effort to spur him on. “It really doesn’t have to mean anything.” Clarke decides to neglect the fact that she and Niylah were also fuckbuddies.

She can pinpoint the exact moment he makes up his mind, shoulders tensing beneath his threadbare t shirt, and she tries to bite back a victorious grin.

“Fine,” he sighs, pulling his shirt over his head as his hands drop to loosen the knot on his sweatpants. “But I’m only doing this because I have to catch my bus in twenty minutes. And we need to figure out another, more viable solution for this-”

“Can we figure it out later?” she says dryly, cocking a hip as she stares plainly at him. “There’s a draft.”

He shuts up, but not before glaring balefully at her.

“This is ridiculous,” he hisses, climbing in behind her and pulling the shower curtain shut. Bellamy refuses to even glance in her direction, and Clarke cheerfully ignores him.

“But it saves time,” she quips before nudging his side. The brush of her wet skin against his startles him more than she’d expected, and he almost slips on the tile trying to jump out of her way. “Pass me my face wash.”

They manage to get done without any overly awkward moments; their shower is fairly big plus neither of them have time to dawdle this morning.

Bellamy is annoyingly straight laced about the whole thing though, going even as far as to turn his back towards her as he lathers up and she has to bite back a grin. Clarke isn’t nearly as innocent though, and if he catches her checking out his toned muscles well, no one can prove it.

(He really is annoyingly ripped, and she’s not sure if she wants to sketch the lines of his body or run her tongue across them. It’s a problem.)

He still isn’t looking at her when he hands her her towel, and Clarke secures it under her arms while he wraps his around his waist.

“We’ll talk about this later,” he says, cheeks still oddly flushed.

“Yeah, yeah. Hurry up and get changed grandpa. You have ten minutes before your bus gets here,” she replies, letting her eyes dart back down for one last glimpse of his abs before she slips past him to get changed. “Don’t wanna be late for the first day of school. Gotta go embrace those freshmen, right?”

“Fuck off, Griffin.”

They don’t talk about it when they get home.

They’re both exhausted after work, to the point where they end up flipping a coin to see who should call and order Thai take-out for dinner because they’re both just about ready to die.

So they end up sharing the shower again the next morning.

And the one after that.

And then the one after that.

And then it just… becomes a thing.

“You know, if you got up a few minutes earlier this wouldn’t happen,” he says, taking the bottle of body wash from her.

“Why don’t you get up earlier instead,” she mutters, pushing him out from under the stream of water so she could rinse off. It’s a testament to how far they’ve come- how often they do this- that he doesn’t jump out of the way when she touches him. Now he just huffs and steps aside, though not before leaning in to get his 2-in-1 for his hair. She tries to ignore the smell of his soap this close.

“I stay up late writing lesson plans and grading essays,” he says. “I need all the rest I can get.”

“So? I spend my day saving lives. I need all the rest I can get.”

“You work at a clinic, not an emergency room.”

“Cases of flu can become life threatening. And don’t get me started on STIs. Chlamydia can cause you to go blind.”

He ducks his head, biting back a smile. “Alright, you’ve proved your point.”

“Blindness Bellamy.”

“I’m going to go blind if my shampoo drips into my eye,” he groans. “Move.”

“No you won’t,” she shoots back, just to be contrary, but shifts so that he can duck under the water.

It’s not like they share every shower together. It’s only in the mornings when they’re both half asleep and in a hurry to get out of the apartment. It’s no big deal. Bellamy still tries to be fairly modest about it but she’s still grown accustom to seeing his dick soft between his legs, and she’s pretty sure that her breasts have lost their novelty sometime during the first week.

Still, Clarke forgets that it actually is a big deal for people who aren’t her roommate. Like Raven, who she had made plans with last week to go shopping and then completely forgot about them until she showed up at their door.

“Shit,” she swears, blinking the sleep out of her eyes as she steps aside to let her in. “We had plans.”

“I’m going to assume you forgot and not that you’re heading out in sheep print pyjamas,” Raven says graciously, throwing her purse onto the sectional and kicking off her sandals.

“Yeah, it’s been a long week,” she says, muffling a yawn into the crook of her arm. Flu season always brings in an influx of patients, some of which are notoriously terrible to work with, at the clinic.

The door swings open again and both of their heads swivel to see Bellamy walking in in all his sweaty post run glory.

He quirks an eyebrow when he spots Raven sprawled out on the couch and glances back at Clarke. “Plans?” he asks, draining his nalgene and setting it on the kitchen counter.

She shrugs. “That I forgot about,” she says, trying not to stare too much. She may have gotten accustomed to seeing naked Bellamy in her shower, but sweaty Bellamy has a special place in her heart. And elsewhere.

“We’re heading to the mall in a bit,” says Raven. “You’ll have the whole apartment to yourself. That means you can jack off to NPR podcasts without your headphones on for once.”

He bares his teeth at her. “Cute,” he says flatly, making his way to the bathroom. “Thank god I don’t have to put up with you all day.”

“You like it,” Raven calls at his retreating figure, and he throws his sweaty workout shirt at her face before closing the bathroom door behind him. She manages to dodge it at the last second and it lands on one of Clarke’s many decorative throw pillows. She snatches it up before she has to end up lysol-ing the entire place again.

“I’m gonna get ready,” she tells Raven. “There’s coffee in the kitchen and I think we have leftover pizza in the fridge if you’re hungry.”

“I’m an adult Clarke, I think I can handle a few minutes on my own,” she says, rolling her eyes.

“Yeah, well forgive me for trying to be a good host,” she tosses over her shoulder as she slips into her room to grab a change of clothes.

Clothes secured in a bundle under her arm, she quickly heads towards the bathroom, ignoring the strange look Raven sent her way.

Bellamy barely glances up when she clicks the door shut and places her clothes on the counter. The room is already steamy and she can feel her hair begin to frizz.

“Promised Raven I’ll be ready as fast as possible,” she tells him, stripping out of her pyjamas quickly. He just hums and steps aside so that there’s room for her under the spray.

“Don’t let me keep you,” he says, handing her her body wash before she can ask.

She snorts. “Yeah, you really want us out of the apartment huh? Bet you can’t wait to get the NPR going.”

“Fuck you princess.”

She just grins toothily up at him and flicks soapsuds at his cheek, laughing at the mock outraged face he pulls in response.

Clarke finishes before him, and quickly towels off and gets dressed while he’s shaving.

“We might be out whole day so I’ll pick up something for dinner on my way back,” she tells him, smacking her lips together after applying her lipstick.

“Or you can let me actually cook for once since we’ve gotten take out for the past three days.”

“I’m thinking Italian. I’m in the mood for garlic bread,” she continues, ignoring him and stepping out of the bathroom

Bellamy laughs. “You’re a fucking mess, Griffin!” he calls after her and Clarke flips him off behind her back while grinning at Raven.

“Ready?” she asks, slinging her purse over her shoulder.

“Yeah,” she says, still looking at Clarke kind of strange.

They spend more time window shopping than actually shopping, but by the time lunch rolls around they still have a handful of bags each. There’s been a sort of awkwardness between them though. She can’t put her finger on it, but there’s something about Raven that’s feeling odd today.

She thinks about asking her while they’re getting lunch at the little hipster cafe tucked away in the corner of the mall, but Raven beats her to it, bringing up the topic herself.

“So,” she starts, picking out the tomato from her sandwich, “You and Bellamy, huh?”

Clarke, who had just texted the man in question a picture of a Julius Caesar mug, looks up with a frown. “What about me and Bellamy?”

Raven stares at her for a moment and then snorts. “Cut the crap, Clarke. I know you and Bellamy are dating.”

She ends up opening and closing her mouth several times before managing to eke out, “No we’re not.”

“Come on. I saw it with my own two eyes this morning. You can stop hiding it.”

“I’m not hiding anything! Bellamy and I aren’t dating!”

She squints at her, trying to determine if she’s lying. “I saw you shower with him this morning.”

“Yeah, so?” Clarke frowns. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Raven gapes at her. “What does that have to do with anything? Seriously? You don’t shower with someone unless you’re bumping uglies.”

Clarke wrinkles her nose delicately. “Okay, one, who even says the phrase ‘bumping uglies’ anymore. And two, yes you can? I used to shower with Niylah all the time.”

“Yeah,” she says slowly, “And you were sleeping with Niylah.”

“We never fucked in the shower!” she objects. “Trust me, I have seen more than my fair share of shower sex related injuries. That’s one thing I’m never going to do.”

Her eyes squeeze shut and she pinches the bridge of her nose. “So what, you and Bellamy are showering together platonically or some shit?”

She feels herself blush. “Yes? It saves time!”

Raven cracks an eye open and stares at her with the most done expression she has ever seen. “You two are a goddamn mess,” she declares, ignoring Clarke’s sputtering and going back to devouring her lunch.

The rest of the afternoon passes far less awkwardly than the morning, but she can’t stop thinking about her words.

Of course Clarke thinks about Bellamy in a sexual way sometimes. He’s hot. He reminds her of almost every hero from a two dollar bodice ripper novel merged into one– sexy high school teacher with perpetual messy hair and a voice that screams sex. She’s certain that everyone who’s met Bellamy has thought about him that way once or twice. Her roommate is incredibly attractive.

But just because he’s attractive doesn’t mean she actively does anything about these fantasies. Her relationship with Bellamy is perfectly cordial and platonic, no matter how many times she dreams about him between her legs.

She’s still mulling it over by the time she gets back home where Bellamy, true to his word, is cooking them dinner.

“Hey,” he says smiling up at her when she walks in. “Had fun?”

“Yeah,” she murmurs distractedly, setting down the loaf of garlic bread on the counter. She shakes her head to clear it. “Yeah, it was good. How was your day? Any podcasts give you a hard time?”

“You’re a brat,” he says without missing a beat and she grins.

Clarke helps him finish up dinner and they sit together at the table for once instead of sprawled out in front the tv, trading anecdotes about their day. Afterwards she helps him do the dishes, and then follows him into the bathroom. He lifts an eyebrow at her joining him, but doesn’t say anything, just peels off his shirt and chucks it in the laundry basket.

“You don’t think this is weird, right?” she asks, undoing the snap of her jeans.

He glances up at her from beneath his fringe which has fallen into his eyes. “We’ve been showering for well over a month now and you’re just asking?”

“Raven brought it up,” she defends herself, shucking her shirt and bra in quick succession. “Apparently it’s weird for two people to just shower together.”

“It’s a little weird at first,” he nods, “But I don’t really mind anymore. It saves time.”

“That’s exactly what I said,” she huffs, following him into the shower. He reaches around her to twist the faucet and then stays there for a moment. “It’s totally platonic.”

“Oh yeah. Completely.”

“I mean, who cares about your arms anymore?” she says, trailing a finger down his bicep and he turns to face her.

He quirks an eyebrow. “I could say the same thing about your legs,” he says, giving her thigh a light tap, dangerously close to her ass.

“Your abs have almost no impact on me at this point,” she says, raking her nails across the aforementioned muscles and feeling them quiver beneath her touch. His eyes darken slightly and he licks his lips, glancing at her chest.

“Your boobs are definitely boring,” he says, hesitating for a moment before reaching out and circling a nipple with a featherlight touch. Her breath catches in her throat and she has to bite her lip to keep a breathy moan from slipping out.

Her eyes flick down. “I don’t think your dick thinks so,” she says lightly before letting her hand drop. She looks up at him and he swallows, jaw clenching, before nodding, and she runs a teasing finger down his length before grasping him.

His head bows forward and when he exhales shakily, she can feel it ghost across her skin. “I could argue that you don’t think any part of this is boring,” he murmurs, hand inching up towards the apex of her thighs. “You just hide it a lot better.”

She’s been dripping since his arm lingered around her when they first got in, but she’s not about to tell him that.

Her free hand creeps towards his hair and his eyes flitter shut when she combs her fingers through it. “Only one way to find out,” she hums, rolling up onto the balls of her feet so that her lips just barely brush against his skin.

Bellamy makes a sound low in his throat and then he’s shoving her up against the cool tiled wall, kissing her feverishly, and it’s like everything she’s ever dreamed.

She kisses back just as frantic of course, one hand wrapped around his dick, pumping slowly, and the other tangled in his hair as she moans into his mouth, and he takes his chance to lick into her, deepening the kiss.

“Fuck,” she whimpers, trying to chase after his mouth when they finally part. They’re both breathing heavily.

“Oh princess,” he chuckles. His hand hasn’t moved from its spot high on her thigh, still stroking her skin and driving her mad. He nips at her neck and she’s just about ready to melt in his arms. “I intend on doing just that.”

Their eyes lock for one heated moment, and then it’s a flurry of limbs, struggling to turn the pipe off and get out of the bathroom without slipping. Bellamy keeps his promise, and even goes a bit further, finding out even more than she’d teased.

Later, when they’re still breathing heaving and lying on his now soaked sheets, Clarke huffs out a laugh.

“Okay, so maybe that wasn’t a totally platonic shower,” she gives, and he snorts, throwing an arm across her side and kissing her temple.

“I think that was the least platonic thing to ever occur, yes,” he nods, and she elbows him none too lightly in the ribs.

“Shut up. Platonic showers do exist okay? This was the only time it ever resulted in sex. It’s an outlier.”

Bellamy grins, burying his face in his hair as his hand gently strokes her skin. “Whatever you say, princess,” he says, pressing a kiss to her pulse point. Clarke grumbles, but she can’t stop the truly stupid grin from spreading across her face as she cuddles back against him.