#it’s done being reorganized it’s just not all put away quite yet. it just looks like my room is messy again

[figuerockfaeth]

had a little bit of a freak out #moment and rearranged my entire room

[spencerreidsconverse]

When Evil Doesn't Sleep

summary: Spencer has been gone far too long on a case and when he finally returns home, reader shows him just how much she missed him.

word count: 3.4k

warnings: smut, implied dom/sub undertones, pet names

Pairing: Spencer Reid/Female Reader

A/N: My first fic!!! I hope you all enjoy! <3

“Y/n I’m really sorry but it looks like the case is going to take a lot longer than we thought. We had a recent development and the profile is now pointing to a partnership so now we’re hunting down two unsubs”. You sighed as Spencer rattled off his apologies through the phone before putting him out of his misery “Spencer honey, you don’t have to apologize. Quit worrying about me and focus on catching the bad guys.”

To say you missed Spencer would be the understatement of the century. He had been in Utah for six days already and now with a pair of psychos your odds of finding him in your bed by the end of the week were growing increasingly slim. It didn’t help that you had been swamped prepping for an extra class you’d agreed to take on at Georgetown where you worked as a Criminal Psychology professor. Between both of your hectic work schedules you hadn’t had a real weekend to yourselves in a few months, and while you knew when you first started dating Spencer that it was an inevitable of his job, it had never been this crazy before. They say evil never sleeps but lately it hasn't even taken a catnap.

“I love you Y/N. I promise I’ll come home to you soon and take you out on a real date. I’m sorry darling, I have to go. I’ll text you when I get to the hotel tonight and if you’re still up we can talk for a bit okay?”. “Alright Spence, I love you too. Stay safe okay?”. “I promise, goodbye love.”

Your farewell barely made it past your lips when the dial tone cut you off and once again your boyfriend of three years vanished from your side of the country. You let out an exasperated sigh before reminding yourself that there were other people who needed his help and that you could wait for his attention - at least until that night. Continuing the trek up the stairs of your and spencer’s shared apartment, you managed to haphazardly balance your grocery bags in one hand while unlocking the door and disabling the security alarm, internally cringing at the high shriek that rattled through your brain.

Walking through the living room, you sat the bags on your kitchen counter and began reorganizing the small fridge space to fit all the perishables you had brought home, absentmindedly hoping they wouldn't spoil now that it would be just you for several more days. Moving to the cupboard you replaced the few grab and go snack boxes you had made up to try and encourage Spencer to eat more throughout the day and refilled the paper plate stash that quickly became a requirement after you realized neither one of you could tolerate doing dishes every night. You ripped open the cardboard packaging of yet another microwave dinner and set the timer before leaving to change into more comfortable attire.

Opening the door of your shared bedroom, the smell of vanilla wax melts and dryer sheets hit you like a brick and immediately sent a pang of loneliness through your chest. Spencer was usually around by the time the chores needed done, and you rarely had to do them yourself. Unfortunately, the laundry was piling up and you needed something to distract you so you spent the day running errands and cleaning the apartment more thoroughly than necessary. You walked over to the stack of black dresser drawers and pulled out the first pair of pajama pants you touched, Spencer’s old caltech sweats that now fit you far better than him considering he had received them when he was 14. They looked more like capris on him now and it was embarrassingly difficult to convince him to buy a new pair that fit him properly. You slipped on a tank top and pulled your hair back before making your way lazily to the bathroom to take off the remnants of your simple makeup.

After scrubbing your face clean and pulling your dinner out, you moved to ready the couch for yet another night of binge watching cheesy 90s movies. You selected Clueless and watched the vibrant colors pop across the screen while you dived into your meal, making a poor attempt to ignore the slight freezer burnt taste that lingered after every bite. You finished your dinner and set the bowl aside before covering yourself with a blanket and allowing yourself to sink into the cushions, desperately awaiting Spencer's text.

You were jolted out of your doze by the loud buzzing of your phone against the wooden coffee table. Clumsily you reached for it and managed to swipe the answer pad before it sent your genius to voicemail. “Hello?” you managed before a yawn ripped its way through you suddenly. “Hey Y/N, I’m sorry it’s so late. I didn't mean to wake you, I figured you’d still be up. You should go back to bed love.” For the first time, you noticed the neon green numbers on the microwave. 12:30. You stifled another yawn and shook your head in an effort to wake yourself further “No way, I just dozed off while watching a movie. I was waiting to talk to you. Besides, I’m up now anyways so you might as well stay on with me for a bit. Did you get any further today?” “Well, JJ had the idea that the partners were originally a typical dominant/submissive partnership but that something in the dynamic must have changed because the MO began to deteriorate. We think the partners must have split up now, because we’re finding similar pieces of the previous MO at separate crime scenes.”.

You processed the information he fed you slowly due to your semiconscious state but eventually you put your words in order well enough to respond. “That should be helpful though yeah? I mean, they’re used to working in a partnership so being suddenly separated from your other half so to speak would throw you off track quite a bit right?”. You could practically hear him smiling through the phone as you drew the conclusions the team had come to only a few hours prior. “Yes. We’re hoping to be able to draw them out and trap them. Play them against each other.”.”Does that mean I can stop sleeping on the couch soon?”. You heard him let out a dejected sigh - you knew he hated that you would force yourself onto the cramped couch when you had a king sized bed a few hundred feet away but he understood.

When he had come home in the early hours of the morning after an abrupt end to a case a few weeks after you had moved into his place, he had caught you curled up on the sofa with a throw pillow stuffed under your head. When he questioned you about it the next morning, you simply answered that the bed felt too big without him and that you couldn’t stand the empty feeling. “Sooner than later I hope my love. Y/N I really wish you wouldn’t do that to yourself. It’s horrible for your body. It can put you at a much higher risk for chronic back and neck pain as well as-”. “Spence. I’m not a giant like you are. I fit on the couch much better than you do, and I barely notice the difference.”. You both cringed, hearing the lie clear in your voice. Still, Spencer must have felt bad because he humored you. “If you're sure. What did you do today my love?”. You smiled sadly hearing in his voice just how desperate he was to escape from his reality and come home to you.

”Well, I straightened the house. In fact, it’s so clean i think we could use it as a sterilization room.”. He let out a soft chuckle and you could hear him begin to relax as you recounted the rest of your day, excluding the part about the microwave dinner. Spencer loved to tell you how many of the ingredients were one step away from processed garbage and you decided to opt out of the lecture for the evening. He had more than enough to worry about without having to focus on your diet while he was away. After a half hour of light conversation, a loud yawn betrayed you as you were excitedly discussing the cute puppy you had met on the way to the market. Spencer immediately requested that you hang up and get some more sleep but you refused. After a few minutes of bickering, you relented on the condition that he would read to you until you had fallen asleep. You curled up under the fluffy blanket as Spencer’s even voice recited the collection of Grimm’s fairy tales quickly lured you to sleep.

You woke up the next morning as sunlight peered through the curtains, stretching your body out to ease the aches from the previous night. You smiled softly as your screen lit up with a text from Spencer wishing you a good morning and an update that they had a solid plan for boxing in the two unsubs that afternoon. “If all goes to plan I should be carrying you to our bed before midnight tonight.”. Your smile widened and you sent back “Can’t wait to truly see you - and love you- tonight. I’ll be waiting.” You plugged your phone into the charger and straightened up from the night before when your phone went off again. The one word message glared at you from the screen and you let out an involuntary giggle. “Tease.”. You hoped it gave him something to look forward to until he was back in your arms. You sent back a simple “XO” before deciding to reread one of your favorite books for a few hours to kill some time. You made yourself a sandwich for lunch and had a few glasses of water as the clock slowly ticked by. You were over halfway through the lengthy novel when you received another message.

“We apprehended both unsubs. Hotch is postponing the paperwork until Monday so we can go straight home. I’ll see you in a few hours baby.”.  You jumped slightly in celebration before finishing your current chapter, marking your place, and all but skipping to the shower to shave and exfoliate your skin. You knew Spencer would still be heavily worked up once he arrived home and luckily, his favorite release included intertwining your bodies as close as possible and loving you sweetly and slowly.

You took your time in the shower careful not to nick yourself with your razor. You scrubbed your scalp with your nails, letting your stress and soreness melt away under the steam. You waited until the water ran cold before turning the knob and stepping out, wrapping yourself in a fluffy towel and blow drying your hair until it layed perfectly even. You applied lotion all over your skin and stepped out of the bathroom to slip on your black silk robe, knowing it wouldn’t be worth it to dress up further. Spencer would be desperate to feel your skin against his and any fabric in his way didn't stand much of a chance.

You made an actual meal for dinner, a pasta dish with chicken that could be easily reheated for Spencer when he grew hungry later in the night. You helped yourself to a serving and after quickly cleaning up the kitchen and storing the leftovers, you retreated to the bedroom to wait for his return.

You were half paying attention to the feed you opted to scroll through on your phone when you heard the door creak open and bags drop to the floor. You set your phone on the bedside table and ran towards the foyer, all but throwing yourself at the exhausted man in front of you. He took a step back from the impact but still enveloped you in his arms and pulled you impossibly tight into his chest. “Hi baby.” you whispered against the scruffy skin of his jawline, peppering kisses up towards his earlobe. He let out a long sigh of relief and picked you up off the hardwood floor, wrapping your thighs around his waist resulting in a high pitched giggle to erupt from your throat. He kissed you then, slowly at first but quickly building more passionate. Your lungs were burning when he finally allowed you to pull away, opting to kiss down your neck to your collarbones and the skin of your chest that was newly exposed as your robe slipped open.

He carefully made his way back to your room, continuing his kisses back up to your shoulder, stopping only to leave marks you knew would only grow darker as time passed. At the very least he was sure to only mark you in places you could cover with little difficulty. “I missed you so much Y/N. The entire ride home all I could think about was you waiting for me in our bed. My gorgeous girl.”. You felt your chest heat up at his words of admiration, wrapping your fingers into his curls and pulling his lips towards your own once more.

You felt him groan against you and moved to quickly unbutton his shirt, slipping it down his arms and tossing it in the general direction of the hamper. He pulled you up with him then, so you were both on your knees, chest to chest as he pulled your robe fully down your back to the swell of your ass where he grasped at you through the slick fabric. You let out a whine and you pulled his belt off, undoing his jeans desperate to continue. He grinned against your neck and pushed you down so you laid flat on your back, completely exposed to him. He kissed at your stomach, making his way down to your inner thighs. He licked a slow wet trail from your pelvic bone to the top of your clit as you whimpered desperately. “Spence, please… I need more”. He humored you, creating slow small circles with his tongue moaning at the taste. You cried out as he created the perfect amount of pressure on your clit, legs threatening to close around his head when he moved to slip one of his fingers easily inside you as the mix of your own wetness and his saliva aided him. He smirked as he felt your thighs flex before using his left hand to throw one of your legs over his shoulders at a time. He pushed a second finger in, curling them up to perfectly reach your g-spot with every thrust. Soon though, you grew impatient with just his fingers. You needed more and you knew just how to get it.

“I want you so bad Spence. I’ve waited for so long and I just can’t anymore. I need to feel you deep inside of me.”. You were positive those words would leave him just as needy as you were and he proved you right when he kicked his pants the rest of the way off and went to line himself up against you. “Wait.”. He stopped immediately, examining your face for any indication of what was wrong. “What’s the matter baby? Are you okay?”. You shook your head and smiled at his concern before switching your positions so his back was resting against the pillows as you straddle his thighs. He smirked at you as he caught on, trailing his hands up the front of your legs to rest at your hips. “You gonna ride me angel?”. You responded with an eager nod and he squeezed your hips, pulling you up further so you were hovering above him. “Sit pretty like my good girl then.”. You whined softly at his words before slowly sinking yourself down around his length, sucking in a harsh breath at the stretch. Even with how wet you were, the adjustment took longer than usual due to the dry spell you were both suffering from as of late.

When you finally felt stretched out enough to move, you slowly ground your hips forward flush against his. He groaned out, lifting you back up so you were almost completely off of him before pulling you back down. You moaned both at the sensation and the idea of being manhandled by the genius below you. You realized what he was asking though, and began bouncing yourself up and down his cock, stopping every few thrusts to grind your clit down on him. You let out soft moans, and after a few more minutes you felt his fingers dig deeper into your hips and his breaths quicken. You knew he was close and as if on cue you started rubbing fast circles against your clit as he spoke again.

“Baby girl I’m getting close. You gonna cum with me angel?” You nodded furiously in response and you felt him start thrusting up to meet you. You panted as you hurried towards the edge of your orgasm, holding on until his thrusts grew sloppier. “You ready to cum with me baby? You gonna cum on my cock?” “Yeah.. gonna cum all over your cock Doc.” You fought to keep the grin off your face when he moaned at the title. He thrusted deep into you twice, before he ordered your release. “I want you to cum now baby. Cum all over my cock.” You felt your orgasm rip through you, electricity shooting through your limbs. Spencer groaned loudly as you tightened around him before pulling you down deep and releasing inside you.

You both fought to catch your breath as you rode out your highs before you found yourself slumping against his chest, suddenly drained from your activities. You felt him chuckle at your drastic change in energy as he wrapped his arms around you again. “I know you just washed the bed sheets and we’re both sweaty but do you think a washcloth will suffice for tonight?”. You nodded against his chest before slowly lifting yourself up and off of him, rolling onto your back on the other side of the bed. Spencer swiftly made his way across the hall, returning to wipe you down gently with the warm fabric. You shivered as the cool air dried your skin, watching him move throughout your room.

He slipped on a fresh pair of boxers before tossing the washcloth in the hamper along with his previously discarded clothes. He hung your robe on the back of your bedroom door then flipped the light switch off before rejoining you in bed to slip under the blankets with you. You immediately curled up into his chest, sighing contently as the sound of his heartbeat filled your ears. You kissed his chest and whispered goodnight, drifting into your first real sleep since before he left.

The next morning you and Spencer went shopping after you successfully convinced him to upgrade to a smart phone with video call abilities. He had begun to shut down the idea as he always had before but after the mere suggestion of what it could do to better your late night hotel room chats he was the one pulling you towards the nearest phone shop. You smiled politely while Spencer took his sweet time weighing the pros and cons of each model, letting your mind drift to the first time it would come in handy. As you finally neared the checkout counter, you took Spencer's hand in your own and gave it a gentle squeeze. After running his card through the machine, the salesgirl gave him the small plastic bag and wished you both a good afternoon.

As you exited the shop, you looked up at him, nudging him to get his attention “What do you think of an app controlled vibrator?”. He stared at you incredulously for a few moments, almost stopping dead in his tracks. After recovering from the initial shock at the vulgarity of your suggestion, he shook his head with a soft smirk and nudged back against you. “Tease.” he called you once more. “That’s the reason you love me right?”. He pulled you into his side, kissing you softly. “One of many Y/N. One of many.”

[downwiththemutantnjnjaturtles]

We Met Within This Screen [chapt. 6]

[Donnie x reader]

sfw, chapter 5 here

Come on, save it, save it, Donnie chanted to himself later that night, at home and tucked away in his room trying to figure out how to neutralize the situation. He paced along his bed back and forth, phone in hand as he wracked his brain thinking about how he'd get her to let it go. He could tell her that she was...overtired? Go the stereotypical route and say it was just her eyes playing tricks on her? Try to play it off as human teenagers messing around on the roof?

She'd gone to bed already. He hated that he couldn't pursue the subject until morning, her morning, but by then, he'd be tired. When she woke, he slept. But he needed to get it resolved as quickly as possible, so he reckoned it was time to pull an all nighter. Luckily, that wasn't anything he wasn't used to.

He figured he'd get the preliminaries out of the way so he could get right to it when she eventually texted back.

"Good morning

I know you're not awake yet but I figured I'd get an early start today.

I want to know, what exactly did you see last night?"

He shut his phone off and set it down on the bed, fingers rubbing his temples. Depending on her answer, this would either be difficult, or near impossible.

The rest of his time was spent just waiting around for her to finally wake up, dodging all his brothers and trying to occupy himself with something. He was fiddling with the radio he kept on the floor next to his bed when his phone notified him of a message. Turning the volume up, some old-school rock played softly. He didn't always keep music on when he worked, which was what he was doing felt like, but something needed to fill the silence. It also made it feel more casual to have the radio on, for both himself and for whoever might stop by his room.

"Good morning to you too

That was...sudden??"

How nice it was to read those words coming from someone who wasn't his family. Not that they said it like that often anyway, but the small gesture hit differently.

"I'm just really curious about what you said you saw."

Curious? Not quite. More like dying to know, and not because he fancied himself some cryptid hunting.

"That's fair I guess

But don't laugh, ok?"

"I'd never, [y/n]"

"Well

Okay

They were big

But no like not the overweight kinf, not even just 'tall guy' kind of big

kind*

You know?"

Yeah, I aware. I'm 6'8" and have a giant shell on my back.

"They?"

He was hoping she'd only seen one of them. Maybe it would have been easier, but, of course, that wasn't the case.

"I think there were two

Idk it just looked really weird, it was dark but the silhouette from the light made them look bulky, I don't know what it was"

Lips pursed tight, he looked up from his phone, and all of a sudden that music in the background was suffocating. He quickly reached over and shut it off. He needed to be able to divert all of his attention to one thing. Except, even though he should have been spazzing over her spotting them (even if just for a split second), a concern crept up in the back of his mind that made him scoff at himself. The need to know was too great.

His eyes fell on his scaled, three-fingered hand as he typed.

"Did it scare you?"

Perhaps it wasn't what he should have been focusing on. But he was. He knew she hadn't seen much, but what if she quipped that it was frightening, or gross, or…?

"I don't know, Bo

I guess it was kind of freaky

Uh, do you actually believe me? That I saw something?"

"'Freaky?'" he repeated to himself in a whisper, brow ridge furrowed. What was I expecting?

He had to shake himself of whatever was going on in his head at the moment, because there were more pressing matters at hand. Like what he was going to answer her question with. Theoretically, he could go two routes; one, invalidate the experience and try to walk on the line of telling her that it was not real without making her feel crazy. And then probably get mad at him. Or two, go along with it, if he didn't have the heart to do that to her. The answer was already here; he let out a deep sigh. Two, it is.

Nothing could make him want to make her feel that way, even if it meant he'd have to put in a little extra effort in fixing his mistake.

"I wouldn't doubt your judgement, [y/n]."

"Thanks

That makes me feel a lot better

You're a really good guy, Bo :)"

Freezing, he sat and stared at the screen before slowly taking the phone away from his face, lips moving, but no sound coming out. He had no idea what to say; all he could focus on was the fact that the girl he undeniably liked thought he was a good guy. And that, presumably, it meant she might have liked him as well. Big on the "might", he realized as the logical part of his mind took over once again. Regardless, he licked his lips and got to preparing a worthy response. He didn't want to come off as flustered as he felt. Donnie was aware he was not particularly suave—he took solace in the fact that she couldn't see his face or hear his voice. He contemplated on acting a bit more "cool guy" than he actually was, but wanted her to like him for him, not a facade. Which was a major contradiction to all that he had done up to that point, but the least he could do was be the person he was on the inside!

"You there?"

"Sorry, I got distracted…

You really think so?"

"That I think you're a great guy?"

"Well...yes."

"Totally. 100%"

His heart was going, he was stammering to himself, and a new feeling enveloped him. He was no stranger to the different emotions; he'd gotten familiar with many of them. Because though he didn't always show it, he had a lot of feelings. These, he felt most viscerally. But he had to get back on track. If he could push last night's incident under the rug, all would be well. More well than it already was, considering.

"Thank you, [y/n]

To be honest, I've never had a friend like you

So, do you want to talk more about what you saw? I know I'm switching tracks quickly, it's just very….interesting."

It was a jarring and awkward subject change, he knew that, but he desperately wanted to get it out of the way. The sooner, the better.

"I suppose

You seem pretty interested in it"

Maybe she wasn't hanging onto the experience like he'd thought she would. There were so many tales of people seeing inexplicable things and becoming enraptured by the experience that he guessed he should only expect the worst, but it appeared that she was not so obsessed. Crisis averted?

"Not too much, I was just wondering

We can forget about it."

"Oh, I'm not going to forget about it, Bo"

There it is, he thought, not surprised.

After thirty minutes of attempting to throw her off without coming off as suspicious himself, he had to take a breather, reorganize his mind. Only to come back and find that she had to go take care of things, and that she'd talk to him later. He'd done as much fixing as he could; at that point, it was as good as it was going to get. The thought of being looked for by his unknowing friend loomed about in the coming weeks as they did their patrols, when they would pass by her residence, and the times that he snuck off to stop by himself. Sometimes accompanied by Mikey, but he tried to keep it as solitary as possible. Soon, watching her on her balcony from that roof became part of his routine. He vaguely thought sometimes that watching her like that could be considered creepy, but that ship had already sailed.

For the third time in the last month he was there yet again, on the same roof, watching the same balcony, watching the same girl. Sometimes they texted, sometimes they didn't. The times he wasn't talking to her as he sat there were the times he daringly crossed the threshold onto the fire escape. There were only a few instances of that. But did he still feel out of his mind doing so? Yes. The window only looked into part of the living room and kitchen, but he felt scandalous to do it. Most of his time there was spent only with his shell against the wall next to the window, just out of sight. He could always hear her faint but noticeable footsteps coming and could easily vault the railing and climb up or drop down. She couldn't get past his keen hearing unless she knew to tread lightly.

Mikey was with him once again, this time out to look for scrap rather than patrol. He'd been buddied up with his younger brother more often ever since their talk that night in Donnie's room. They only stopped by because they were already out and had a viable excuse.

"Does she know about us? Like, me, Leo, Raph..." rambled Mikey, curious, as he practiced one of his new moves with his skateboard. He kicked up onto the ledge of the roof and skidded before hopping off, tucking the board under his arm. "You guys have been together like, what, two months? And she doesn't even know your name."

Fiddling with the strap reaching around his shoulder, Donnie replied matter-of-factly to hide the embarrassment that was ailing him at the thought, "Okay, for starters, we're not 'together'. And secondly, she hasn't mentioned voice chatting in a while."

"And?" He got back on his board, zooming by Donnie.

"My name? It just hasn't come up," Donnie shrugged.

"Call her, then!" Mikey smiled, still preoccupied with his board and trying out his new tricks. Donnie gave a light scoff and shook his head. His brother passed behind him where he sat leaned against the water tower.

"I don't want to just call her out of nowhere, Mikey, she might be asleep."

He also didn't want his brother there when he did.

"You gotta not be so shy!...oh, look, in the window. Right there. See? She's up," he quipped with a small smirk. The curtain was drawn, but the light had turned on at some point, and they could see her silhouette moving past. Donnie looked over his shoulder to say something but felt a hand slip into his pocket on the other side, stealing his phone right off of him. He was fast, but Mikey was faster in jumping into his board and gliding all the way to the other side of the roof with the fussy turtle hot on his trail.

"Mikey, quit it!" Donnie barked, lunging toward him for the phone.

"You'll thank me later!"

The two wrestled for the phone, Mikey holding it just out of reach as he tried to navigate the screen without dropping it.

"Come on," grunted Donnie as the tussle led them near the edge, where Mikey held it precariously over the alley below. His glasses were jostled off his face when a stray hand bumped them, causing them to fall amongst their feet. Squinting, he partially knelt down and searched for the pair while still looking at his brother and his phone, trying to stretch his arm long enough to snatch it. "Really?" he groaned, "just give me the phone!"

Donnie slung out his staff and used the other end to whack his wrist from underneath just as he pulled away from the edge, losing his grip on the phone. Mikey tried to catch it but it bounced off his hand, going right over the side of the roof and plummeting down into the alley.

Mikey froze. Donnie finally found his glasses.

Laughing nervously, Mikey turned back to him, "Whoops…"

When he didn't immediately find the phone on the ground, Donnie knew what happened. He looked over the edge, and there it was, sitting on the pavement in the alleyway. The building wasn't incredibly tall, but enough to do some major damage. He'd have to switch for one of his spares if he didn't want to deal with a busted-up screen.

"I don't need your 'help', Mikey, so leave it alone next time," Donnie said and gave him a narrow-eyed look, huffing as he leaped down to retrieve it.

Mikey may have been insistent, but he knew then it was time to stop. All he wanted to do was help. For his shy, flakey brother to come out of his shell (no pun intended). Donnie, at that time, had the biggest shot out of all of them for something unique and good. He hadn't yet worked out the logistics of how to bridge the gap between the two, but it was a calling of his to help him along.

Donnie watched for people from behind a corner before creeping out to get the phone, which was face down on the concrete. No doubt cracked to all hell if not completely shattered, though it did have a case.

But as he got closer, he heard a voice. From the phone.

He picked up the phone timidly and shot a glance up at the roof, where Mikey was peeking over the edge in apprehension. Without a word, Donnie activated the taser in his staff, pointing it at his brother and zapping it briefly. He flinched and retreated out of sight.

"Hello?"

"Hello? Bo?" she asked again, tone riddled with confusion. "What was that?"

"Uh, yes—hol—hold on, please," stammered out donnie, flying around the corner and pressing flat against the wall as a group of laughing people passed by the alley. "Just one second," he said nervously. Above him, Mikey was rapidly motioning for him to get up there, eyes wide and body trying to stay low. Baffled, Donnie gestured back at him, mouthing at him to keep his pants on for one more minute while he made his way up.

"Hey, what's going on there?" she inquired, concerned.

A street cat abruptly skittered out from between his legs from the dumpster he stood next to, and he had to stifle a startled yelp. He hopped up onto the nearest fire escape, trying to control his breathing. "Hey, hello…[y/n]," he half-chuckled, distracted by working up the building one-armed as he kept as quiet as possible.

"What was all that? And who's 'Mikey'?"

There was suddenly a shout—Mikey's shout—and his stomach did a jump. He sputtered as fast as he could, "I'm sorry [y/n] but this really isn't a good time, and I mean it really isn't," he pulled himself up onto the roof, and there was Mikey, fending off men clad in black, "so I have to go, but—"

"Don, dude! I need help over here!" cried his brother, sliding out of the way as a sword was jabbed towards him. He countered with a harsh uppercut to the man's chin, sending him stumbling backwards. The blade fell to the concrete with a clank.

"'Don'? Bo, what the hell?! Who is with you? And—"

Donnie jumped into the battle, a mix of nine or ten armed men with swords other weapons, and Mikey trying to stave them off, swinging his chucks with nothing short of reckless abandon. But he still didn't hit himself with them.

Ending the call, he secured the phone in his pocket. He wailed the guy closest to him in the side of the head with the heavy staff, then kicked him in the chest. The man fell to the blow, and Mikey ducked underneath the length of Donnie's weapon just in time as the two came together. Stray bullets flew past them, some colliding with their shells as they spun around for protection.

"How was it?!" Mikey yelled over the clamor, breathless. Donnie sidestepped from the rapid hit he sent towards the human to his left.

"What are you talking about?!" Donnie loudly questioned, flummoxed of what could have been going on in his brain during a fight. "We're kind of in the middle of something here!"

"Your phone call!"

"Yeah, the hell's the talkin' about, Don?" a gruff voice cut through the jumble.

Both of the boys whirled around to see their older brothers there, weapons drawn.

"Oh, right. As soon as I saw those bad guys coming, I let them know," said Mikey casually to Donnie, throwing his fist into the face of the man coming up behind him. "You know, standard biz."

With the rest of the team there, the fight was over twice as fast. Some groaning in pain and some unconscious bodies littering the area, along with their weapons. Leo finished the last one and sheathed his swords, eyes on their tallest brother while Raph kept watch around them. Donnie swallowed as Leo approached him.

"Don, you said you were going out for scrap metal," Leo stated.

In the background, Mikey grabbed his skateboard and was going to try to kickflip over one of the knocked out guys, but Raph yanked the board from him, growling. He checked all of the men to make sure they were down and would stay down.

"We were...just on our way back?" Donnie answered. Nearby, there was a small pile of scrap he'd collected, though definitely not enough to justify being out that long.

"So you stopped at your friend's place?" Leo deadpanned, crossing his arms. "Didn't you think that this could get her in trouble, too? Her apartment's right there, dude!"

Mikey budded in and corrected him, "Ah, we stopped by [y/n]'s. And nah! It's all good."

Donnie's face twitched. "Of course I thought about it! That's why I've only come here three times since, and only thirty minute intervals!" he bit back, throwing his hands up. The rest of his brothers all looked at him and his specificity. "I'm not naive, Leo."

The leader pushed past the both of them, signalling that it was time to leave, and they followed. Not before Donnie got what little metal he had collected and put away his staff, tucking the stuff under his arm. Raph joined alongside Donnie as they ran. "What's with all the secret' stuff, Don? First, ya hide it to begin with, then, ya make out like you were done, and now you get jumped by Foot guys by her place when you shoulda been gettin' scrap!" he said. "How were we supposed to cover for ya if you're lyin' even after we let you off?"

"Technically, I did get some!" Donnie remarked. He held up a piece of the scrap for him to see, and Raph snorted. "But..."

Well, his question would be a little harder to answer.

Next block was the nearest manhole, where each turtle swiftly jumped in, knowing by heart (and years of wandering) most of the sewers and the way back home. In some tunnels was Mikey's telltale graffiti, but it was scattered throughout the place enough to not be a giant arrow to their hideout. In the last portion of the run was the tunnel they always slid down, and once they were actually home, Donnie knew what was coming. Master Splinter was already waiting for them by the time they arrived.

"Uh-oh," Mikey said upon seeing him, sinking behind his brothers. Raph pushed him back up front.

Dropping the scrap in his arms, Donnie squeaked, "That's not good." He quietly cursed how high pitched his voice became when he was nervous.

"Yeah…" Leo cleared his throat, looking down at his hands clasped in front of him. The situation had an awkward tension for everyone in it, save for Raph, who was immune to it by then and Splinter himself. "We took care of the soldiers," he added more seriously. "Got out of there before too much attention was drawn.

"The police may be able to handle them from here, but it will not make a dent in the Shredder's forces," explained Splinter, grave as he paced along the line of brothers. "He owns the city. Until I say so, there will be no venturing to the surface. You are all lucky to be unharmed."

"That ain't it," Raph piped up. "But they'll be bringin' the big guns, next time."

"Oh, I am well aware."

"Um...of which thing?" the nervous turtle questioned, exchanging glances to Raph and then Mikey.

Splinter raised his brows knowingly, and that was all it took for Donnie. The floodgates of his signature anxious chatter opened. He grabbed the edge of Mikey's shell and pulled him over into the spotlight with him, "I met someone over an online game and we started texting after a few weeks, and—and Leo found out and I said I would stop, but we never told you," he gestured toward their brother in blue, who refused to make eye contact, "so I told her that it was through and then Mikey somehow convinced me to go back on it," he sucked in a breath, and Mikey grinned uncomfortably, "and then we started talking again and I don't know why, but I went back there to her apartment building and it was just…stupid."

There was a cumbrous pause. Donnie was stiff as a board, Mikey couldn't look at any one thing too long, Leo stood in his polite but awkward stance, and Raph started to whistle.

As poised as ever, Splinter spoke. "I know."

All four pairs of eyes shot to their father.

"What?"

"Uh..."

"Huh?"

"Wait."

They expressed their collective confusion at the same time, and Splinter chuckled. Donnie wanted nothing more than to be able to retreat into his shell, but that was physically impossible. "Nothing gets past me, especially not you and your nervous habits, Donatello. You are scratching that spot on your neck again, son."

Flinching, Donnie pulled his hand away. He'd be damned; Splinter was right.

But unbeknownst to them, there had been spectator of their fight on the roof that night.

————————————————————————————————

shh do not think too deeply about this my children

a/n: haha plot device go brrrr

i need to finish this cursed fanfiction

[collectivefandomstuff]

Title: A Hindering Hand Type: Fanfic, crossposted to AO3 (https://archiveofourown.org/works/27270097) Status: Complete. Chapter: 1/1. Fandom: DC/Batman Rating: T Warnings: Language. Beta: No beta we die like Jason Todd and also Damian Pairings: None. Word Count: 4k+ Genre: Humour/Comedy Characters: Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Dick Grayson, Stephanie Brown, Damian Wayne. Summary: When Dick is refused the opportunity to coddle Damian, he decides to lavish his other siblings with his questionably helpful assistance. They are palpably ungrateful.

Excerpt: Damian didn’t answer the first time, so Jason made use of his annoying gene(s) and called him over and over until he picked up. “Todd,” Damian snarled, “I am at school. I realise that you were incapable of finishing your formal education but-” “Your fucking Dick of a brother broke into my apartment and re-decorated my living room.” Jason informed him. 

”You have got to be kidding me.”

Jason stared at what used to be his perfectly clean kitchen; now a hollowed out shell of its former self. Cabinet doors were thrown open, his carefully organised supplies haphazardly shuffled around. Every single counter and parts of the floor was covered in flour, cocoa, and something wet and heretofore unidentified. He didn’t even want to look closer at the stove or the sink, both filled with sticky, clearly misused, pots and pans. There was a smell hanging in the air, the same one that had set his inner alarm bells off when he entered the apartment: burnt sugar and something that smelled suspiciously like rotten fruit. Jason took a deep breath to stop himself from just whipping out his guns and shooting at the mess. It would be cathartic, but ultimately unhelpful. Instead, he fished his phone out of his front pocket and thumbed through his contacts.

He got through two rings before the line opened.

“He got you too?” Tim said on the other end. His tone reminded Jason of Bruce, which was usually a clear indication that Tim was fucking done.

“How can he be this useless?” Jason ground out.

“He was raised by Alfred.”

“So was I. And you.” “Fine. He was spoiled by Bruce.” “uh-huh,” Jason agreed, daring to move into his living room. Thankfully, the carnage hadn’t spread there, though there was an oven pan, placed strategically in the middle of his coffee table. The contains looked like what Jason imagined “dubious food” in Zelda looked like in real life. “I have to stop hanging out with you,” he told Tim. “Why?” “I just made a video game reference in my head.” “Which game?” “Not the point.” “I mean-” Tim began, but before he got any further into arguing why the specific game was “of import” to the discussion -fucking dweeb -Jason cut him off: “I’m going to kill him.” Tim was quiet for a moment. “What did he do exactly?” “Hi Little Wing,” Jason recited from the note that had been stuck underneath his brand new fucking oven pan Dick you bastard that was expensive. “I made you some brownies!” Jason stopped to look closer at the brown sludge that he was pretty sure was stuck to the bottom of his new pan. Martha herself recommended it, Dick goddammit. “I hope they turned out all right! Don’t work too much! D.” There was a pause. “Did they turn out all right?” asked Tim. “No,” Jason gritted his teeth, “No, they did not.” “He’s really on a spree this week.” “Yeah?” Jason muttered absently, poking at the sludge with his gloved finger. It jiggled. Somehow, that made everything so much worse. “Mm,” Tim said, and Jason could hear the tapping of computer keys in the background which meant that he had about 30% of Tim’s attention. “He hit Cass and Steph a few days ago. I guess since Cass is staying there when she’s in town he thought it was two for one. Tried to do their laundry.” “Why haven’t they killed him?” “They’re working on big drug bust. So, no time.” “Well I have time.” Jason groused, already trying to reorganize his plans for the evening. He would need at least three hours to repair the damage Dick had done to his kitchen. “Good,” Tim said, his voice cold, “because so do I.” Jason stopped trying to figure out how many new appliances he would need to buy to focus for a moment. “What did he do to you?” Tim was silent for a long while, then: “He tried to clean my apartment.” Jason shuddered. On one hand, he understood the compulsion. His replacement’s usual idea “clean” was “nothing hazardous is currently growing somewhere”. Still, the only thing worse than Dick trying to clean was Bruce trying to clean. Or cook. Or do laundry. Or vacuum. The Batman he may be, but Jason had never met a more incompetent homemaker in his life. Once, Bruce had tried to dust a little and they had to call the fire department. “And?” He prompted. “He moved everything,” Tim said, deceptively calm, “and threw out at least thirty-four irreplaceable things.” Oh shit. There was a reason why Jason stomped down the urge to clean Tim’s apartment. He once moved an old magazine when the younger boy wasn’t even there and the next day he got received three upset calls and a computer virus for his trouble. “He re-organised my desk. My cases. My clues.” Tim continued to rattle off. “And he didn’t even manage to clean properly. I’m pretty sure he tried to scrub my TV with vinegar.” Jason bit his lip to keep from laughing. Looks like Tim got it worse. “Shut up,” said Tim grouchily. “I didn’t say anything.” “You were laughing at me.” How- Jason’s hand clenched around the phone. “I told you to stop putting cameras in my apartment.” Tim snorted. “So find them and take them down. Think of it as practice,” he said, lilting the word “practice” in the same way Bruce usually did. “You’re such a creeper.” “Says the murderous crime lord.” “At least I’m not a stalker.” “Have you checked your bottom cabinets yet?” Jason stilled at the sudden change of subject. “Why?” “Looks like the re-organising urge lived on.” Oh, he had better fucking not. Jason stepped back into his kitchen and, with the care of someone opening a bomb case, edged open the door to his pots- and pans cabinet. He came face to face with his toaster, nestled between a pasta drainer and three boxes of cereal that he had not owned this morning. It was the sugary shit too. “Son of a-” “I think he put your spatulas in the fridge,” Tim said cheerily. Jason was going to wring his little neck. Right after he had stomped on Dick until the unbridled rage in his chest went away. “This is why I don’t want any contact with this family for-” “You know why he’s doing this right?” Tim queried lightly. Jason frowned. “I don’t keep track of the family gossip, pretender. I have better things to do with my time.” Tim made an offended noise at being called “pretender”. “Fine. Then why don’t you try to make him stop and call me when he’s tried to clean your guns?” Jason rolled his eyes. The dramatics, honestly. Bruce 2.0. “Why is he doing this, Tim?” He asked reluctantly. Tim sniffed. “Damian told Dick that he wasn’t needed at the moment, which was the little brat’s way of trying to get Dick to take some time to de-stress, but obviously Dick took this to mean that Damian has cast him aside and considers him a bad parental figure.” Jason spent a good few seconds rethinking the whole “moving back to Gotham” idea. He could just… leave and never talk to this insane family ever again. It was entirely doable. Just, one little call to Roy and hasta la vista you absolute nutjobs. He sighed. “So we have to talk to the demon child?” He asked tiredly. “Yeah pretty much.” “I still think my first plan was better.” “If you kill Dick, the family will never leave you alone.” That was a surprisingly good point. Dammit. “Can I punch him a little?” “I’d encourage it.” “Hey,” said Jason suspiciously, “just what are you planning to do him exactly?” “Honestly?” Tim replied. “I’m going to send a false tip to the department of Agriculture, fabricate evidence, and make them recall his favourite cereal.” Jesus fucking Christ this family was a pizza bagel of crazy with a sociopath topping.

-

It took them a while to track down Robin during patrol, and when they managed to find him they were met with immediate resistance. Which, taking into consideration who they were, wasn’t all that surprising. “Calm down.” Red Hood said placatingly while he jumped out of range from Robin’s swords. “We just wanted to talk to you about N-” He dodged a batarang that was clearly aimed at his throat. Add psychopath topping to that pizza bagel. “Would you knock it off,” Red Robin snarled, spinning out of the way when Robin spun to aim a kick at his stomach. Hood seized the opportunity and darted in to restrain the tiny beast that, let’s be real, was absolute proof that Bruce should not be allowed to procreate. Robin thrashed in his hold for a good three minutes before he finally settled down, glaring murderously at Red. “What do you want?” Robin spat. Even when Hood could feel him literally vibrating with supressed rage, he still kept perfect syntax. No abbreviations here. Little freak. “We need you to call N,” Red said. He looked a little ruffled and more than a little miffed. “I will do no such thing,” Robin sniffed. “Think again,” Hood said in his ear, letting his voice drop into a menacing tone. “Look,” Red Robin said. His hair was sticking up at the back after the struggle and he looked real fed up with this. Hood could relate. “N is running himself ragged trying to prove he’s a good parent or something and you need to make him quit before he injures himself.” Robin stilled. “What would Grayson be doing that would cause him such stress?” “He’s cooking,” Hood drawled. “And cleaning,” Red added. Robin’s whole body tensed. “I will take care of it.” He declared imperiously. Hood looked at Red, who shrugged. Yeah, good enough, I guess.

-

It was not good enough, he guessed, Jason realised as he took in what used to be his living room, but was now a cut out of a living room no one would ever willingly ”live” in from Garishly Tasteless Designs Magazine. He had his phone up and dialling before his eyes had even swept up the full length of the dirt-yellow curtains. It took a while to get the full effect of them, because he kept getting distracted by the frills and the suspiciously Nightwing-esque pattern. “Yeah?” Tim answered on the other end of the line. His voice said he was knee deep in something and wasn’t really paying attention. Probably his revenge plan, which Jason was seeing in a whole new light right now. “He redecorated.” Jason’s voice was so low it was almost a growl. There was a pause. “It didn’t stop?” Tim sounded much more alert and aware this time. “No it did I just went out and bought this lime green couch myself from Blind, Bath and Beyond,” Jason snapped. He heard Tim groan into the receiver. “But we even talked to Damian,” his replacement whined. Like he had anything to complain about. His living room didn’t have- was that a fucking Billy the Bass? Jason was going to shove his guns so far- “I’m calling the brat,” Jason ground out before hanging up and redialling. Damian didn’t answer the first time, so Jason made use of his annoying gene(s) and called him over and over until he picked up. “Todd,” Damian snarled, “I am at school. I realise that you were incapable of finishing your formal education but-” “Your fucking Dick of a brother broke into my apartment and re-decorated my living room.” Jason informed grimly. “He- you must be mistaken.” “Look, kid, there aren’t a lot of things I know, what with my not completing my formal education and all, but if there is one thing I will never unlearn it’s how to spot Dick Grayson’s fucking taste in fabrics.” “I see.” No, you little shit. You don’t see. Jason was the one who was cursed with seeing this absolute monstrosity of a- was that crystal?! “You said you were handling it,” Jason reminded him, firmly putting his back to the living room. Looking at it was bad for his blood pressure. “I do not understand.” Damian said seriously. “I specifically told Grayson to stop bothering you and go back to Blüdhaven where he could be of use.” Oh. Oh Damian. Jason resisted the urge to smack the phone into his face. Sometimes Damian’s age and social inexperience really shone through. Jason took a deep breath to keep from screaming. “Listen, Damian.” Jason said carefully. “Dick is feeling a little neglected right now, and what he needs, what we asked you to do, was to start hanging out with him again.” “-tt-” Damian was probably rolling his eyes. Jason could have Tim check later, he was sure the little creep had cameras in every building in the city. “That is preposterous!” “No,” Jason said dangerously, “it’s not. So now would you just call him and tell him you need help with your homework or something?” It was truly a testament to Jason’s level of desperation that he was willing to be this nice and patient. “Grayson needs to rest-” “Just FUCKING CALL HIM!!” Ok, so there was a limit to that patience. Oh well, he was only human. Damian, however, apparently thought that this was one indignity too far because the call disconnected. Jason glanced behind him and immediately regretted it. Porcelain figurines. Oh, how he missed the days when he was a big-name villain, and the only thing Dick did was fight him. In the corner, a cuckoo clock struck seven and a tiny robin popped out and chirped at him. Jason’s vision blurred with sickly green for a moment. Yeah, he was staying in a safe house tonight.

-

It took for days of no progress and Tim having his entire coffee-stash replaced with decaf (“cheap decaf, Jason. Low-level, buy in bulk decaf.”) before they threw in the towel and went to the manor. The estate looked as menacing to him now as it had when Jason first saw it as a little kid from Crime Alley. It probably always would, no matter how many times he was back. If Tim was feeling apprehensive, it didn’t show. He just looked grumpy, like a particularly displeased cat. His replacement rapped his knuckles on the door and stepped back to cross his arms, frowning. He looked very intimidating. Like a squirrel with an anger management problem. The door swung open to reveal Steph, dressed in a t-shirt that Jason was pretty sure wasn’t supposed to be a splotchy pale blue. Her jeans looked new. “He’s not here,” Steph told them in a biting tone. “Who?” Tim asked. “Dick. Though for the record we have to come up with a new name for him because ‘Dick’ is going to be real ironic soon.” And whoa, Steph did know how to look properly intimidating. “What’d he do?” Jason asked her. Stephanie stepped back to let them inside. “There was an incident with a waffle iron,” she said icily. “He tried to cook?” Tim guessed, taking off his shoes. “He tried to laminate.” Steph corrected. Tim grimaced. “Is Damian here?” Steph snorted. “Damian is useless. We need to strike back.” She lowered her voice, her eyes cold. “And strike hard.” Damn, if this continued, Dick wouldn’t even be allowed back into Gotham. Actually, yeah he would. Only Batman could bar people from entering Gotham, apparently. Because Bruce was only one with any rights around here, that fucking- He was getting off subject. Also, not paying attention. “-alking to Dick,” Tim was saying, “trying to talk to him is a good way to make this worse.” “I wasn’t suggesting we talk to him.” Steph said, cracking her knuckles. Tim looked unimpressed, which frankly impressed Jason a little. Stephanie was scary. Not Batman scary but- Hang on. “Hang on,” Jason said, holding his hand up for emphasis, “Batman is the only one who can bar someone from coming to Gotham.” “What the hell is your point, zombie boy?” Steph asked, crossing her arms. “We don’t need to redirect Dickies attention back to Damian. We just need to redirect it. To someone.” Jason grinned at them and it probably only looked about 30% insane. “Someone with the power to stop him.” Understanding dawned on Stephanie and Tim’s faces. “Someone who deserves to have his clothes ruined,” Steph whispered reverently. “Someone who has time to redecorate because he doesn’t have a job,” Tim added gleefully, “someone who flounces into board meetings too late and does nothing.” “Exactly.”

-

Tracking down Nightwing turned out to be the easiest thing they’d had to do so far. He didn’t even try to avoid them. “Hey guys!” N smiled cheerily at them as if he hadn’t spent the last two weeks putting them through some kind of Donna Reed inspired psychological torture. “Nightwing.” Red Robin greeted coldly and, yeah, in costume the replacement could totally pull off intimidating. “Whoa, what’s with the murder faces?” Nightwing said, stepping off the ledge he’d been standing on and walking closer. Hood crossed his arms. “You’ve been busy lately,” he commented and even the helmet couldn’t filter away the unvoiced insult at the end. “I guess?” N replied. “Did you like the brownies?” Hood tried to remember that they weren’t here to beat him senseless. Based on Spoiler’s clenched fists it seemed like he wasn’t the only one struggling with that. “N,” Red Robin said with the calm voice he usually reserved for interrogating suspects, “we appreciate you trying to… help us.” On “help us” Red’s voice broke through the calm and straight into “I’m going to kill you and bury you in store-brand decaf coffee” territory. “But we really are doing fine on our own.” Nightwing pursed his lips. “You are all working so hard-” he started, but Red cut him off. “Yes, and that’s why we appreciate it. But we’re actually worried about someone else, who needs your help a lot more than we do.” Nightwing paused and Hood could almost see the gears in his head whirring. “Who? Damian?” “Not Damian,” Red said, because they all knew it wouldn’t work to say it was Damian, “B.” Nightwing crossed his arms. “You think B needs help?” And here was the fragile part of their plan. Hood cleared his throat. “B,” he said, trying to keep his tone civil, “works himself to the bone and he doesn’t accept help from any of us.” “He has Alfie though,” N argued. “Alfie is busy taking care of Damian, since you’re not helping him as much anymore.” Spoiler rebutted. And damn, blondie, good answer. “We struggle too,” Red said, “but we help each other, right guys?” “Uh-huh,” Spoiler agreed. “Right.” Hood lied, thankful that the helmet veiled his eyeroll. “You guys help each other out,” Nightwing said with obvious disbelief. “You.” “Red is always helping me with cases,” Spoiler said, “and studies and stuff too. And I help him with staying alive and acting like a human.” Red nodded. “And Red and I work together on cases,” Hood said truthfully. “And sometimes Hood makes sure I eat and stuff,” Red added, “and I help him with security.” “They also hang out and play video games and watch nerdy movies,” Spoiler revealed. The little snitch. “Really?” Nightwing said, looking between the three of them. “That’s great!” He shuffled around a little. “So, you guys don’t need me either, huh?” Oh god. Oh dear god it was the voice. The patented Richard Grayson sad-and-feeling-neglected voice. The voice that could inspire shame and guilt in the most hard boiled criminal. At least he was wearing the mask so he couldn’t give them the accompanying puppy eyes. “Well,” Spoiler said and Hood could see her wavering. She didn’t have the years of experience needed to withstand Dick’s manipulation. “But B does!” Tim exclaimed, dragging Spoiler to stand behind him. Good move. “And the little brat too, even though he doesn’t admit it.” Hood added. Nightwing bit his lip. “Look,” Red’s voice was genuine now, “we all really do appreciate it, but B and Dami need your help more. And frankly, the last time I saw B he looked dead on his feet. We’re all good. But he isn’t. He sleeps less than I do.” Maybe that was even true. Huh. Were they doing B a solid here? Wait, no. No they weren’t. It was recommended by Martha, Dick you absolute menace. “Ok, I hear you.” N said solemnly. “I just wanted to help out.” Martha. Think about Martha. “We know,” Red said, patting N on the back. It was really awkward. “Did I tell you B has started eating power bars for dinner?” “Wait, seriously?” Nightwing looked disturbed. “That’s so bad for you.” “Yeah,” Hood said as if he hadn’t watched Red do that at least three dozen times, “he’s really setting a bad example for li’l D, isn’t he?” He thought Red might have done the wave if he could have. Hood certainly wanted to give himself the wave for that stroke of genius. “Okay, I know you guys are manipulating me,” Nightwing told them drily. Shit. “But you have a point.” Oh thank Jesus. N stretched. “Well,” he said, “I’m going to make sure B doesn’t kill himself. And yes, I’ll stop helping you guys.” He shook his head. “You three should really open up more, you know?” They nodded, because at this point they would do anything to make him stop “helping out”. Red cleared his throat. “So, good luck, uhm...” Nightwing grinned. “I’ll stop, but you all have to give me a hug before I leave.” Fuck. N pounced on Red like a jaguar on a gazelle, completely ignoring the scandalised (and very undignified) “meep” Red let out. Hood turned around, ready to make a run for it. “If you leave before a hug I’ll make you dinner next time!” Nightwing called cheerfully, still holding onto Red Robin like he was a life vest. Triple fuck. Hood sighed. The things you do to not have your living room secretly re-decorated.

-

As awful as it was to get cuddled by Nightwing, it was all worth it about a week later, when Tim climbed in through his living room window for their bi-weekly movie night. This week: when the great go bad- The Godfather 3, X-Men: The Last Stand, and Matrix Reloaded and Revolutions. “I see you got rid of the ruffles,” Tim remarked. “You didn’t see that on your stalker cam?” “I’ve been busy watching Bruce lately.” “Oh?” Jason prompted, putting the pizza boxes on the coffee-table. “He tried to call me five times today,” Tim said. He walked over and got two beers out of the fridge. Jason sniggered. “It’s that bad?” “He’s only got one target now. B is about to break.” “Tell me more, tell me more,” Jason said, making himself comfortable on his new -fucking stylish thank you very much -couch. “Like, did he do something to his car?” “I can’t believe you just made a Grease reference, you absolute nerd,” Tim commented flatly. “Musicals are cool,” Jason told him. Because it was true and he would fight anyone who said otherwise. “Was Olivia Newton John your childhood crush or something?” “Who’s to say it wasn’t Travolta?” Tim gave him a deadpan stare. “Because,” he said drily, “unlike Dick, you actually have taste.” Jason mulled that over. “Touché." He shrugged. "Now tell me about B.” Tim looked up from where he was connecting his computer to the TV and grinned sharply. “You want to experience what the Germans call ‘Schadenfreude’?” “Hell yeah I do.” Tim hit a key on his laptop and the Cave flickered into view on Jason’s TV. At least, he thought it was the cave. “Is that?” “He re-decorated the cave.” Tim laughed. It was not a nice laugh. Jason approved. On the screen, Bruce had just entered through the door to the storage area and was making his way to the computer. Trailing after him with a plate of questionable looking sandwiches was Dick. Jason nabbed a beer from the coffee table and leaned back against the couch. “Oh we are so watching this tonight. Sofia can wait.” “I made a compilation of the past week,” Tim said smugly, picking up the other beer and folding himself into Jason’s new armchair. It was beige and, most importantly, neither pea-green nor suede. On screen Bruce collapsed into his new, avant-garde office chair and put his head in his hands while Dick chatted pleasantly in his ear. “You know,” Tim said thoughtfully while Dick re-arranged Bruce’s files, “sometimes I think he’s being purposefully bad at this.” “Why?” “Oh just,” Tim reached for the pizza and Jason handed him the box, “whenever he starts doing this, we all have to interact with each other to make him stop. Like how you and I only started hanging out to begin with because he kept breaking into our safe houses to make ‘breakfast’. Well, that and that time he gave you a haircut in you sleep.” Jason stilled with his beer halfway to his mouth. “He…” Oh god. “That’s totally what he’s doing isn’t it?” Tim looked at him over his slice of pepperoni. “Yeah, probably.” Jason slammed his bear down on the table. “THAT SNEAKY FUCKING BASTARD!” Jason glared at Tim, the proof of Dick's successful manipulation. He didn't even like the replacement. Why the hell was he hanging out with him? Stupid, meddling big brothers who ruin your life. "It's okay," Tim reached over and patted his hand, "I just confirmed that they're taking his cereal off the shelves this week." And yeah, that made it a little better, actually. "I still don't like you." He told Tim. "I know. Wanna watch Bruce find out that Dick redid his wardrobe?" "Yeah ok," Jason grumbled. Maybe, he admitted to himself only, the replacement wasn't all bad. The screen zoomed in on Bruce's expression as he came face to face with a sequined suit. Yeah, Jason thought, taking another sip of beer, not all bad.

[j-wont-stop]

Title - The Scarred (Chapter One)

Word Count - 1550

Fandom - Batman: The Dark Knight

Pairing - Ledger!Joker x OC

Summary - Penelope Bishop works at a florist shop in Gotham, barely getting by in the corrupted city. Her life is shrouded by therapy and judgment with little light to find her way with. However, when a certain painted face starts making himself known to her, things take a turn.

Warnings - Some Swearing

Inspired By - Cold - Aqualung & Lucy Schwartz

Masterlist

Tick.

“What do you think about your day to day habits?”

Screams flooded her ears, a deep, guttural rumbling playing in the background.

“Nothing of it.” A pen scratched away in a notebook.

Tick.

The older woman watched as her eye fluttered about the old wooden floor. “Nothing?”

A cold breeze suddenly reached her numbing skin, her mind unable to comprehend the sensation of an ever true freefall.

“Yes. Nothing.” A sigh reached her ears, her right arm coming up to run over her left. The sensation was left unfelt, unnoticed if it wasn’t for the rustling of the oversized jacket.

Tick.

A brown eye shifted to the clock on the wall. 5:53pm. Another sigh. The pen stopped, then the notebook closed. Hands folded over the leather cover. “I’m afraid that’s the end of our session, Miss Bishop.”

“Of course.” Her eye stayed focused on the clock, yet grew more and more distant.

“Miss Bishop?” With a sharp inhale and whip of a head, the woman knew she finally caught her attention. “I said that’s the end of our session.” She raised her eyebrows at the younger female whose eye shifted to the floor once again.

“Right,” Her right arm pushed her off from her chair, walking - practically stumbling - to the door to grip the knob. It swung shut with a slight thud, a sign of underlying frustration.

Her hands stuffed in her pockets she started her journey through the woeful streets of the city, her eye dancing around cautiously at those around her. The sky was clouded, grey and foreboding over the already depressive buildings and people. Her shoes softly padded against the gum and puke stained concrete, silent compared to the heels that clacked around her obnoxiously. She felt the faintest amount of joy upon seeing a familiar building, the chipping white brick a comfort.

She followed the steps up to the third floor, keys noisily being shuffled to unlock the door to what she called home. She took a deep inhale, the scent of lavender filling her senses to bring a light smile upon her face. The apartment was small, obviously run down to fit the exterior, but her choice of furniture made it seem somewhat younger. She had spent at least a week removing mold and a few stains, and by the time she had finished it seemed almost brand new. The bleach smell took a while to wear off, but it was worth it to her in the long run.

The living room was just a bit larger than the size of an average bedroom, furnished with a small kitchen, dining table and couch. It was all put together and connected through accents like curtains, family photos and knick-knacks. She quite liked that it was smaller, that everything was visible save for the bedroom and bathroom which had their own separate rooms for obvious reasons. It left little room for any intruders to hide and she knew exactly where everything was, knowing someone had come through should anything have moved in the slightest.

She hung the tan jacket on a hook by the door, kicking off her shoes and throwing her keys on the table. She made her way to the bathroom that connected to her bedroom, clothes thrown in the hamper in the corner. Her nimble fingers grasped at the soft padding that hid the left side of her face and neck, the cotton coming off with ease as she pulled. She chewed on the right side of her cheek as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. The once soft, pale skin now uneven, scarred and discolored even where her eye used to be. As they traveled down they seemed to fade, stopping at her mid thigh. Though her arm had received the most damage, the deepest scars.

They used to bother her when she looked at them, but back then they had been far worse. By now, they were incredibly soft with her years of routine moisturizing and upkeep. She hadn’t been to physical therapy for almost two years, not after they told her they had done all that they could, to just continue exercising the muscle that was left before pushing her out of the door. Nothing but another block to check off.

She was now snuggled under her blankets after a soothing shower, the soft warm glow of her bedside lamp illuminating the area just enough to read the book she had recently invested in, Atlas of World History. While others indulged themselves in the words of romance, fantasy and thrillers, she much preferred factual information. Knowledge. To her, even the smallest bit of information that seemed useless could possibly save a life at some point.

__________________________________________

The bitter morning cold was relentless against her skin, encouraging her to attempt to tuck her face further into her jacket. It was moments like these where she was thankful for the bandages as they kept half of her face warm. Cars and buses alike filled the streets during the rush hour, jaywalkers slipping between them when the chance presented itself to involve themselves in the madness. She shook her head to herself, hand reaching up to open the door to a petite shop with a ‘ding’. It was warmer, even somewhat humid. The smells of different flowers and herbals were dominating. She walked behind the small wooden counter to set down her shoulder bag, hearing faint rustling from the back room of the shop.

“Penny? That you?” A woman’s voice floated over. Footsteps grew louder as they entered the front of the shop until a head of brunette hair poked out. “Hey, you!” She chirped with a bright smile while the other just returned it with tight lips. She walked over to where Penelope now sat down, pencil and journal on the counter in front of her. Her figure towered over her not only with her already shorter stature, but also because of her poor posture that would surely cause problems in the near future. “Long time no see, stranger.” She jested, gently elbowing her side.

“You saw me yesterday, you goof.” Penelope practically mumbled, attempting to bite back a smile.

“Still too long.” The woman ruffled her black hair, giggling as she watched her scramble to fix it once she pulled away. She disappeared to the back once more and Penelope picked up her pencil, beginning to jot down some notes as the brunette reentered with a small vase of assorted flowers. “Lunch is on me today, by the way.” She started to touch up the flowers to her liking. Penelope furrowed her brow at her, mouth moving to question her friend before she was cut off. “There’s a food truck just down the street I thought we should try. It’s mostly sandwiches, but I’m sure they have other things, too.” She looked up and smiled at the younger woman who gazed at her with doe eyes.

“Um-” She gazed nervously at the floor before looking back up at her. “Thank you?”

“You’re welcome.” The woman laughed and went around the room to reorganize other vases and pots. It was quiet for a few moments, the sounds of pencil scratching on paper and her friend’s footsteps adding to the peacefulness. The outside streets were muffled in the background and Penelope relished the calming atmosphere, the ghost of a smile gracing her face. It was soon washed away when a thought reached out to her, buzzing in her head. She started to chew on her cheek.

“Emma?” Penelope asked softly, breaking the silence.

“Yes, hun?” The woman’s chirpiness had died down slightly, sensing the more serious tone in the woman’s voice.

“Do I-” She started, pausing to take a deep breath and collect her thoughts. She started to regret her decision of bringing it up, but decided that she now had to commit to it. “Do I have… habits?” It seemed the roles had been reversed, for now Emma was the one furrowing her eyebrows.

“I mean, everyone has habits, hun.” She looked at her friend’s face and immediately noticed the racing thoughts just from her eye, sighing once she did. “Penny, is this about your therapy?” Her voice took on a motherly tone and she slowly made her way over to Penelope who just nodded her head. “I don’t understand why you even visit her, still.” Her arm wrapped around Penelope’s shoulders, her hand rubbing the farther one in small circles. “All they do is pocket your money for hearing your life’s story and feed you bullshit.”

“I guess I’m just too scared to stop visiting.”

“Why, because it’ll break your routine?” Emma leaned on the counter with her elbow, eyebrows raised.

“She knows the most and I’m scared to break that tie because of how much she knows.” Her large eye finally looked up to Emma, filled with desperation and fear. “What if she uses it against me somehow? Or tells someone else and then they use it against me? What-”

“Penny.” Her mouth snapped shut and her gaze cast down to the floor once more. “Not only are your conversations confidential, but - and I don’t mean this in a rude way - what would be so special about you that would make her spill your life story to someone?”

[bobathirstaccount]

I’m still alive... I’ve been writing but I just feel like everything sucks. Here’s something I hope doesn’t suck. 🧋🤎

**

Diamond in the Rough

Boba x fem!reader, just some plotty smut

TW: unprotected sex, recreational drug use (weed smoking)

***


It had been awhile since you’d had a home, but you were pretty sure you could call Slave 1 exactly that. The days had stretched to weeks to months, and still you stayed out in the desert. Your skin tanned and your hair bleached from the suns. You learned how to handle a blaster better, and a added using a cycler rifle to your knowledge base. You weren’t that great, but you were getting better. Boba was teaching you. You sat back to think about him teaching someone. It felt unlikely, but yet here you were, learning from him. You bent down and continued to clean the rifle. It had to be in good working order for your practice session later, and Boba had left the responsibility to you. You felt proud to be trusted with his things. You finished oiling the rifle and reassembled it, satisfied.

“Let’s go, if you’re ready.” You nodded your assent and the two of you headed outside to the other side of Slave 1. Here you were in the shade. Boba had already set up several targets for you. They were very far out for your skill level. You swallowed, not wanting to miss badly. You set up, laying down in the sand and propping the rifle up solidly. Boba crouched beside you, offering tips. You stilled and inhaled, sighting down the barrel. You followed his instructions and gently squeezed the tigger. You missed completely. You grunted, dissatisfied, but your attention quickly turned towards Boba. He had plopped down into the sand beside you and snuggled up.

“Like this,” he reached an arm around you to hold the rifle steady. Then he talked you through everything again, still holding the gun and by association, you. You did not hear what he was saying. You were too focused on the pressure of his body against yours. “Ready?” He asked. You nodded, dazed. You tried again, squeezing lightly on the trigger. The target made a satisfying ping! as you hit it square in the middle. Boba praised you, making you flush. Then he let go and sat up. 

“Go again.” He dusted some sand off himself. You bit your lip, everything he’d ever told you about guns going through your mind as you tried to line up the sight. You carefully followed the instructions your remembered and touched the trigger again. The shot pinged off the edge of the target.

“Better,” Boba commented. You set up to take aim again. Suddenly Boba stood, “Go inside.”

”Huh?” You looked up, about to take another shot.

“Visitors. Go inside until we know what they want. It’s not safe.”

You squinted, watching them appear out of the desert. Sand People. You shuddered and stood, passing the rifle to Boba. He looped it over his shoulder and strode out to meet the Tuskens. You rounded the ship and raced inside to watch from a window.

Boba stood, somehow looking like an imposing force despite being fairly outnumbered. You saw him sign a greeting, which was returned. You exhaled. That was a good sign.

Boba was in conversation with your guests for some time. You grew bored and picked at a spare thread on your boot. Something moved outside. You jolted upright. The Tuskens appeared to be leaving. Boba stood still, watching them go. You made your way to the cargo bay door and waited for Boba. He came around the corner looking unconcerned.

”Well?”

”They were just looking to trade information and goods.”

“And?”

“And?” He quirked an eyebrow at you.

You pursed your lips, “You were out there for a long time.”

He smiled mischievously, “And nothing.” He brushed past you, cycler rifle in hand.

***

That night you found Boba on Slave 1’s ramp. He was seated and hunched over, attending to something. You strolled up, “Whatcha doing?”

“Rolling us something.”

You grinned, “I knew you got something from the Tuskens.” He shrugged and finished rolling the joint. You smiled and snatched it from his hands, surprised that he let you. He passed you a lighter and you sparked the joint up.

Inhaling, you passed it back to Boba. He smiled softly. The mood was subdued. You felt supremely relaxed. You laid back, feeling the cool metal of the ship supporting you. Boba turned slightly towards you to pass you the joint. Then he laid down next to you. You took a hit and looked up at the stars. Boba reached across you to grab the joint, grazing your chest as he did it. A fire ignited in your pussy. You controlled your breathing and tried to think of something else. But the world was so still it was hard to be distracted by anything. You noticed Boba was lying against you. His side was flush to yours. He passed the joint back. You accepted it, licking your lips. “It’s so chill out here. I feel so relaxed.” You dropped the volume of your voice, adding, “With you.”

“Hmm, the desert is like that. Especially at night.”

You sighed and took a hit. “Did the Tuskens bring any news?”

“Nothing of interest to you. Some deaths. Some power changes.”

You shrugged, leaning into Boba a bit. He gestured for the joint and you handed it back. He turned to you, “What news are you looking to hear?”

”Oh, nothing in particular. Just curious.”

He hmmed again, “I can get you news from off world if you like.”

“No. I left that life behind,” you shook your head. “That’s very dramatic,” he said.

“Don’t you believe in living more than one life?”

He paused, thoughtful perhaps. Finally he said, “Yes.”

You shrugged, “I don’t miss that life.”

”You still need to start your new one.”

You turned on your side, pressing your tits into his upper arm. You rested your head in your palm and looked down at him. “Funny, I thought I had.”

He inhaled, then looked you in the eye. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that...” You waited, vaguely alarmed.

“You’ve been here quite a few months... almost a year.” You nodded. You could feel his body tense up. “I was wondering... if you planned to stay.” It was almost a question. You looked down, his gaze intense. You exhaled slowly, then said, “I mean, that’s really up to you... it’s your ship.”

“I’m asking you.”

“Oh, uh,” you were caught off guard. You decided to be succinct, “Yes.” You chewed on your lip nervously. His body relaxed a bit, “Is there anything you want that isn’t on the ship?”

You shrugged, relieved. “Not really. Maybe a cushier hammock.” The corners of his mouth turned up slightly in what you knew to interpret as an amused smile. A silence fell over you. You laid your head down on Boba’s shoulder and snaked your arms around his. He sighed. Sometimes the two of you would sit or lay like this, dangerously close to being intimate. Nothing was ever spoken, so you couldn’t be sure what he was thinking. You weren’t sure what you were thinking. You knew that you would say yes if he propositioned you. But was it reciprocal? You had just crossed a major milestone and you were scared to push it. It was your turn to sigh.

“What are you thinking, cyar’ika?”

“Oh, nuthin. Just enjoying our time out here,” you chose your words carefully. You wondered at the alien name, but were too shy to ask. Instead, you said, “What’re you thinking?” He inhaled, holding it. Then he slowly exhaled. “Same.”

“Aren’t we a pair?” You breathed, nervous.

He laughed, a soft, gravelly noise. “Suppose so.” He turned his head towards you and rested his chin on the top of your head. You snuggled into him, your eyes getting heavy.


You awoke to being placed in your hammock. ‘’Sorry, kinda hard to set someone down in a hammock,” Boba commented. You smiled to yourself sleepily.

***

You had woken late and lingered in your hammock. You didn’t want the feeling from last night to go away. The barrier between the two of you had never felt so thin. You sighed, the feeling dissipating into the day. You swung your legs out of the hammock and headed towards the fresher.

You walked the ship, eating a piece of fruit. You found Boba in the cargo hold. He was reorganizing parts. Items were strewn all over the floor in careful piles. You tip toed around them. “Good morning,” he spoke without turning around.

“Mornin,” you chimed.

“You seem quite cheerful.”

“Guess so,” you shrugged. You looked around again, “Can I help?”

“Mmm, I suppose so. That pile needs to be sorted.” He pointed to a greasy pile of nuts and bolts. You finished your apple and rolled up your sleeves. The two of you worked in comfortable silence. Once the bits and pieces were sorted, you helped Boba put them all away. It was tedious work. By the time the task was done, you were tired. “Time for a nap?” Boba stated, looking at you. You smiled, sleepy. “Yeah.”

“Me too.” He stood awkwardly. You gave him a confused look, but turned to leave.

“Perhaps.”

The word hung in the air. You turned around.

”Perhaps we could nap together.”
You snorted, “Why take a hammock when you have a bed?”

“Exactly.”

You blinked slowly. “You mean in your bed?” You felt vaguely embarrassed to be asking the obvious question. But you weren’t sure you interpreted him correctly. He nodded solemnly. You smiled nervously, “Okay.”

The two of you made your way to his quarters. He gestured for you to get in first, so you kicked your boots off and slid in. He sat on the edge and took his time taking his footwear off. You laid there on your back nervously. Then you decided to take off your sweater. You were getting hot with anxiety. You laid back down again, then rolled over onto your side. You rolled onto your back. Boba finally finished and was crawling into bed. He laid down on his side facing you. You rolled over again to face him, feeling silly. You rested your head on your hands and met his gaze. “Now what?” You whispered.

A vague smile flitted across his lips. “What do you want?”

The question was vague but specific at the same time. You blinked, trying to come up with a response. You bounced the question back at him, “You’re the one who wanted me in your bed.”

He hmmd, then said, “I don’t really want to sleep.”

You grinned, then became serious. “I don’t either.”

You stared at each other. He reached out and put your hair behind your ear with a finger. His hand lingered, then came to rest on your cheek, cupping it. He ran his thumb over your bottom lip. You licked your lips and stared at him, wide eyed. You scooted closer to him. And closer. His hand travelled down your upper arm to your waist. You kissed him lightly, barely touching his lips with yours. His grip on your waist increased and he pulled you forward into him. He kissed back gently but with an air of urgency.

You found yourself putting your hands on his chest, gripping his shirt. The kiss deepened. You snuggled in closer to him and slipped your leg over his hip, squeezing and rocking slightly. He exhaled heavily and his hand went to your ass, pulling you against him. He ground his already hard cock into your center, making you moan. He broke the kiss. You were out of breath and already thinking of him inside of you. He pulled back slightly, “This is what you want?” You leaned into him and kissed him in response. He groaned and rolled you over. His weight settled between your legs. You spread them wider and wrapped them around him. He bit your lip lightly and jerked his hips up into you. “Fuck me,” you said, shocking yourself at your boldness.

You felt his cock jump. He sat up on his haunches and undid your pants. You helped him as he pulled them off. He undid his pants and pulled himself out. You gasped at his size. He grinned at you and laid back down over you to kiss you. As he did, he nuzzled his cock into your slick folds. You both moaned at the sensation. He thrust up into you, grunting. You gave a small exclamation as he stretched your pussy. He grabbed your hip with a hand and stroked you shallowly, letting you get used to him. Your body buzzed and your chest heaved. The feeling of him inside of you after all the pining and anticipation was overwhelming. You gave soft cries as he slowly deepened his strokes. Your pussy was on fire, wet and ready for him. He bottomed out in you with one stroke, and paused, moaning your name. You breathlessly kissed him. He kissed you back desperately, his cock twitching in your cunt.

You rocked your hips and he started to fuck you into the mattress. Your pussy took the fucking and you pleaded with him for more as he pounded into you. He started to pant and moan, close to his climax. You moaned at the thought of him cumming in you. Your pussy’s fire spread to your entire body as you came, pulsing and pushing Boba to the edge. He grunted, “I have to pull out.”

”No, no,” you used your legs to keep him inside of you. He grunted, straining. “Are you sure?”

”Yes, yes I’m sure,” you cooed into his ear. He groaned and fucked you hard and deep. You spread your legs, taking him and moaning his name. His thrusts stuttered and he stilled in you, groaning your name again. You kissed the side of his head as he rolled off you. He pulled you close to him, wrapping you in a strong arm. You put your hand on his chest, feeling his heart beating quickly and his uneven breathing.

“I haven’t had sex since the Sarlacc,” Boba said, matter of fact. You smiled, “Hope I was worth the wait.”

“More than worth the wait,” he kissed your forehead. There was a silence, then he asked, “What does this mean... between us?”

Your breath caught. “I... like you, Boba.”

”In what way?”

”In... the romantic way?” Your voice went up at the end, making your statement a question. He kissed your head again. “Really? I don’t have a lot going for me right now.” You pursed your lips, smiling. “You have more than enough.”

“I have something for you,” Boba blurted out. You looked up at him. “I... bartered for it with the Tuskens. Along with the weed.” He sat up and grabbed a satchel on a shelf above the bed. Laying down, he opened it and pulled out a loosely wrapped package. He handed it to you. You took it nervously and began to open it, stopping to look at him. He was watching you.

You pulled the packaging back to reveal a woven necklace with a large clear gemstone in the center. It was cut and highly polished, and appeared flawless. You smiled shyly and looked up at him. “It’s gorgeous.”

”Not as much as you are, cyar’ika” he breathed, tracing your jawline. “What’s that mean?”

”Sweet heart.” You smiled again, blushing. You curled up into his embrace with a full heart. You were definitely home.

[aphrodites-law]

A Bit of Clarity 🍂 (12/?) The visions had started last autumn, a year ago now. It had caused a bit of chaos for some, a bit of clarity for others. Two days ago, Clarke Griffin had been perfectly fine managing both her Café and her stress. But now she was curious - so deeply curious about the vision of herself entwined with the aloof Lexa Woods that it was leading her to complete distraction. (ao3)

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7] [part 8] [part 9] [part 10] [part 11]

A few minutes before closing time the next day, Clarke was waiting at the end of the counter for surprise customers. Gaia was already wrapping her scarf around her neck and Wells was pulling out ingredients for the next day. He had stayed much later today, going over resumes for their interviews tomorrow, but also reorganizing the kitchen.

After giving Gustus a call to offer him the job, Wells had realized that things would get crowded quite quickly. Gustus was a big man and the kitchen was on the smaller side, but it was workable with a different layout. Clarke thanked her lucky stars for her best friend's ability to adapt to situations, as she herself disliked big changes. Regardless of the possible growing pains ahead, it was an exciting time for the café.

Right after Gaia left with a tired wave, Wells found Clarke absentmindedly drawing the branches of the weeping fig. The last customers had left as well and the sun had already set. The mugs were clean, the plates drying, and the day's crumbs swept from the floor. It hadn't rained at all today; a small mercy given that Clarke couldn't stop thinking about her date with Lexa. She wasn't sure where they were headed, but heavy rain might've halted Lexa's plans and she didn't have the patience to wait another day.

Wells peeked at her drawing pad and sighed. "God, she's a beauty," he said dreamily.

Clarke snorted. His fondness for their Ficus was a running joke between them. "Weirdo."

Wells gave her a tired grin as he buttoned up his wool peacoat. He always looked so sharp in winter wear, whereas Clarke always felt like a bulky bear. She'd dressed up a little today - fitted dark pants and a knitted sweater with a nice scoop neck. Her boots were clean and if her hair's curls had loosened over the day, she had still clearly made an effort to look presentable.

“So, you had your vision," said Wells.

Clarke dropped her pencil. "Wh- I- what?"

"It was a few weeks ago, wasn't it? When you came in looking like you hadn’t slept a wink."

Shame gripped her. "Wells, I-"

“You’re looking more crimson than cranberry juice,” he pointed out with a laugh.

“I’m sorry, I just didn’t know how to bring it up," she said. She'd always felt guilty for keeping it from him, but it wasn't the easiest topic either. "Did Raven tell you?"

"Nah, she even deflected when I wondered aloud. You just started acting weird whenever someone mentioned visions. You hate lying, so I figured you didn't want to be asked if you'd had one."

Clarke closed her notepad. She should have known he'd catch on. "I didn't mean to be secretive. You know I would've told you the minute it happened, it just wasn't… family friendly."

"Yeah, I figured. It's good though? I mean, you're happy, right?"

It was a surprising question, though it shouldn't have been. Clarke hadn't really thought about it. It wasn't something she asked herself or even expected. For so long happiness had just revolved around the café. Finding the right name; the right building; the right theme. She'd judged her days based on their achieved goals and for a while it had been a thrill. And it still was - her work made her proud and it made her happy too - but it wasn't everything. She'd come to face that recently, and though the wake up call had been… unconventional, certainly, she was grateful for it.

"I am. I'm seeing her, actually. The woman from my vision. You'd recognize her - she's a regular."

Wells nodded as if he'd already put two and two together. “At Octavia and Lincoln's party I saw you talking to her. Then it clicked she wrote that article on Finn - I remembered checking her profile on the Gazette when it dropped."

"Yeah, she works there. She's writing a piece on the visions actually."

"So it's getting serious?" He asked hesitantly.

And really, Clarke couldn't fault his curiosity. She'd been so wrapped up in Lexa that she'd neglected their relationship and now he was unsure if he should gently prod or wait.

“It’s new and we’re taking things slow, but yeah, I'm hoping it'll work out. I really like her."

Wells looked over her shoulder toward the entrance and smiled. "Seems like she really likes you too."

Clarke turned around and saw that Lexa had parked her car and was just crossing the street toward the café.

"Are you coming in tomorrow?" He asked her.

Clarke whipped around, her cheeks flushed. "What? Of course I am. Why wouldn't I?"

"Dunno, you tell me." He laughed as he checked for his keys in his pocket. "Gaia and Harper have the early shift, in case you forgot. We just have those three interviews in the afternoon, but you already know that."

"I do know," she replied with a frown. "There's no reason I wouldn't be here earlier. I'm always here. What are you saying?"

He shrugged, entirely too proud of himself, and walked toward the back exit. "No one will fault you if you take a break. Enjoy your date!"

"I will! And I'll see you in the morning!" Clarke replied stubbornly.

"I'm sure you will!" he retorted, still snickering, before closing the door behind him.

A hand touched Clarke's shoulder and she startled.

"Sorry," Lexa said with a gentle smile. She'd put on her black coat today, the top buttons undone to reveal her sweater - a reddish brown this time, perfect for the fall. Her hair was down and her eyeliner perhaps more pronounced than usual. Clarke wondered if she'd applied it in her car. She looked beautiful.

"Hi, baby," she softened, forgetting all about Well's teasing. He didn't know what he was talking about. Tonight was just going to be a nice date. Some food, wine - whatever Lexa had planned. They were still going slow. Clarke didn't have any expectations other than enjoying their time together. She liked their pace. It was… frustrating at times, sure, but it was working. They had both opened up to each other.

"Hi," Lexa whispered before she inched forward so that she could kiss her over the counter. Clarke sighed into it, having imagined such sweetness all day long.

"Am I too early?" Lexa asked. "Do you need help cleaning up?"

Clarke brushed her thumb over Lexa's jaw. "No, I'm done. I just need to grab my coat and close up."

"Was that Wells who went out back?"

"Yes, he was being ridiculous."

"I thought he usually left earlier?"

"He does, but he's been rearranging the kitchen. I think he's worried Gustus will find it too small."

"Gus has an entire farm and acres of land at his disposal, but he sleeps in his shed because it's warm," Lexa said. "He won't mind."

Clarke beamed, delighted to hear it. "I'm going to give you Wells' number and you're going to text him just that. "

While Clarke left to grab her coat, Lexa worried her lip. "Oh but he doesn't really know me…"

"He will."

Clarke came out from the back with her coat and scarf on. She pulled out her set of keys. "He's my best friend and you're my-" she stopped herself. "I think you'd get along great. He loves theater, devours literature, and he already thinks you're amazing for taking Finn down. So don't worry about it."

"Well, that reminds me: Collins went ahead with suing the Gazette."

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

They made their way to the front, where Lexa opened the door for Clarke. "No. It'll never stand, but he aims to waste our time and money."

"Waste of time and money - that's been his motto since birth."

Lexa wrinkled her nose. "Let's talk about something else."

"Please. So where's my carriage?"

Lexa laughed.

* * *

Lexa may not have found a pumpkin to turn into a carriage after all, but her car smelled like apples and she drove so smoothly Clarke could've closed her eyes and imagined they weren't moving at all. She had never thought 'great driver' would do it for her, but here she was eyeing Lexa's hands on the steering wheel and feeling hot.

"How's the writing going?" Clarke asked, clearing her throat when her voice started off slightly rough.

Lexa took a left, which would've surprised Clarke if she'd paid any attention to the road. But all she could think about was Lexa's razor-sharp focus and how she yearned to be the reason for it.

"Good, I finished a first draft. My writing partner is looking at it for now. I need it out of my sight for a few days."

"Partner, huh?"

Lexa smiled as she kept her eyes on the road. "Echo. She wrote most of the FC&B article."

"Did you write for other newspapers before?"

Lexa nodded. "Two. I've been lucky, professionally. Smaller papers have always been more interesting to me, so I stayed away from national ones. I was able to climb the ladder a lot faster than some of my old classmates."

"The Gazette must've been a change of pace. New city, new job - I don't think I could handle it."

"When they hired me I was so happy to be working I just threw myself into it," Lexa admitted. "I got the idea on the Mountain Men soon after, just from reading old archives about them. That kept me busy, so I didn't have time to worry about fitting in. It was nice. Exciting. It felt like falling in love with my job again. Then one day Echo invited me to grab drinks with other colleagues and… I realized things had fallen into place already."

"Costial is pretty magical like that," Clarke said with a smile. She loved it when Lexa talked about her time here. Sometimes it was easy to forget she hadn't even been here a year yet. Clarke remembered her first year in the city - how she'd felt like she'd always belonged here. How she couldn't wait to build her life here. And college had been fun, and sometimes she walked by the campus just for the nostalgia of it, but it was the years after that had really shaped her life into what it was today. There had been many tears and failures before the café, but she'd never once thought of leaving. She hoped Lexa felt the same.

One glance outside the window and Clarke finally had an idea where they were headed. They were quite far from the center of the city now, just a few miles away from Busy Moose Park and its lake on the outskirts. Lexa took the road that led to the park, but she didn't make the turn Clarke had expected and instead continued straight.

"Are we going to the factory?" Clarke asked.

The chocolate factory and its surroundings were certainly a sight to behold, and popular with teens because of its smells and aesthetic quality, but there wasn't much to do unless you brought a picnic. Which was unlikely to be comfortable anyway in this cold.

"Not quite," Lexa answered with a secretive smile.

A few minutes later she finally pulled over into a small parking lot, checking for Clarke's reaction as soon as they got out of the car.

“I know I said I’d take you somewhere more upscale, but I thought you might really like this place."

Because the factory was just a ways down the road and it was windy tonight, the bold smell of chocolate permeated the air. They had stopped in front of a rustic restaurant surrounded by a garden. Small lights glowed softly against the brick walls, complimented by the dancing shadows from a few lanterns. There was a patio with beams covered in twining vines, the plants and wisteria also covering the top like a ceiling. Powerful heaters kept the biting cold at bay, no doubt, making the entire place look like a winter fairytale.

It was the kind of romantic setting Clarke would have made fun of in front of friends while secretly hoping to experience it one day.

“How the hell have I never been here before?” She asked in astonishment.

With a hand on her back, Lexa led her toward the entrance.

“Did you know Icicle? Italian restaurant?”

“Yeah, that rings a bell.”

“This is it. The owner retired and her son took over - revamped the whole place from top to bottom and gave it a mountain lodge theme. He figured they should capitalize on the location more, especially the constant sweetness in the air. It just reopened a few weeks ago. Featured in the Gazette and everything.”

“Oh, that might’ve been when I was a bit angry at you," Clarke remembered and gave Lexa a teasing grin. "Deleted the app like it was some kind of statement."

Lexa scrunched up her nose, not too eager to remember that time. The hostess seated them inside at a secluded table for two. The light was dimmed and there was a candle between them; and even two squares of chocolate wrapped in gold foil.

After they took off their coats and sat, Lexa bit her lip. “It's not too much, is it?"

"Are you kidding? It's gorgeous." Clarke reached for her hand. "You're always surprising me."

A waiter gave them a menu and a basket of bread. They looked like mini baguettes and Clarke was temped to steal one for Wells.

“God, I almost forgot about this smell," she said, taking a deep breath. The chocolate from the factory still wafted faintly in the air, and mixed with the smell of food it had Clarke already salivating for dinner. "In college we used to hang out by the lake a lot. If the wind was on our side we’d always get a whiff from the factory. Not even edibles could beat that.”

Lexa arched a brow. “Edibles, huh?”

“Please, I know you’ve dabbled," Clarke scoffed.

“What makes you think that?”

“You have the vibe.”

“The pothead vibe? I thought I was unreadable.”

“Oh you have that vibe too," Clarke laughed. "But then there’s the tattoos, the plants, the way you write about nature. You’re curious, open minded, andyou went to a liberal arts college. You must’ve tried it at least once. I think that’s how you approach most things: don’t knock ‘till you try it. Am I close?”

Lexa looked away, slightly flummoxed. “It sounds like I’m more of an open book then.”

"Maybe that's a good thing…" Clarke offered with a hopeful smile, thumb caressing the back of her hand.

"Maybe it is," Lexa agreed.

They both picked the apricot glazed chicken with roasted potatoes, pairing it with a white wine. Throughout dinner Clarke felt such pleasant warmth, both because of the wine and Lexa's steady gaze on her. She was relaxed and unfairly charming; a great listener by all accounts, but also coming out of her shell when it came to her own past. Clarke knew it wasn't easy for her, which made it all the more special.

"In retrospect I should've figured politics weren’t for me when I started screaming at my television every time the news came on."

Clarke grinned, knowing the sentiment all too well. "Good thing you don't work for a newspaper or anything…"

Swallowing the last of her wine, Lexa gave her a playful smirk. "Local news. I can take the city hall drama. I actually enjoy it with my morning pastry."

"That I can believe. You always look so deep in thought when you read. Harper dropped a cup once and you didn't even flinch."

"Really?" Lexa asked. "Is there anything else I do that I should know about?"

The waiter stopped by with their desserts: molten chocolate cake for Lexa and a slice of pear tart for Clarke.

"It's not like I stare or anything," Clarke clarified as she grabbed her spoon. "Your seat just happens to be in my vicinity."

"Mm." Lexa smirked. "I guess I just pop up sometimes…" she trailed off, her tone heavy with implication.

She did this occasionally, but more boldly recently. Alluding to Clarke's vision seemed to greatly entertain Lexa.

"Ha, you're funny," Clarke deadpanned.

"Did I also crack jokes while I was kissing you - and I quote - everywhere?" Lexa goaded.

Clarke shrugged as she chewed on her tart. "Actually you were a lot more suave than you are now. Pity."

Lexa laughed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"Please, you're very proud of yourself. And it's not fair all I have to go on is your distaste for coffee." Clarke remembered how frantic she had been after her vision, her mind firing questions every second. “Did you know I went to a vision reader right after?”

It had been an impulse and she'd regretted it, but she figured Lexa was familiar with them.

"Really?" Lexa asked, surprised.

“Yeah, the one by the market. Becca’s Reading or something. I bailed at the last minute.”

“I actually haven’t spoken to one. I was toying with the idea, but it might be an entirely different article.”

Clarke grimaced. “They’re just opportunistic money grabbers.”

Lexa offered a spoonful of her cake, which Clarke took before plopping a bit of pear on top of it. The warm chocolate melted the pear in her mouth and she sighed at the taste. Lexa smiled.

“It’s a different point of view. Besides, listening to so many stories might’ve given them some valuable insight even if they opened a shop for the wrong reasons. If my job’s taught me anything it’s to not judge a book by its cover.”

"Hmm you're good at it - your job. And I'm not just saying that because you're wining and dining me."

Lexa looked bashful. "You know, I remember when you yelled at me to get over myself."

"Not our finest moment…"

"No," Lexa agreed. "But it was needed. Before that there was so much I wanted to tell you, but… couldn't."

"I know." Clarke remembered that feeling as well. After the vision she'd look at Lexa and be so certain there was so much left unsaid between them, yet neither of them knew where to start, or if it was reciprocated. "I should've let you interview me - just ripped off the Band-Aid. It would've explained a lot."

"I would've never made it past the first question," Lexa said. "Can you share what you saw, Clarke?"

Clarke smiled cheekily around a mouthful of her tart. "Well, I would hope that kind of confession would score me a date at least."

"Oh I would have asked you out on the spot," Lexa replied with a smirk.

Clarke gasped. "How very unprofessional of you."

"If you hadn't noticed, my professionalism hangs by a thread whenever I'm near you."

Clarke let out a small laugh. "Well, that's one thing I'm glad for."

* * *

After their dinner, Lexa suggested they walk in the park before it closed. It was cold but their coats were thick and the wind was minimal. Clarke had no desire to part just yet, and so took Lexa's hand in hers as soon as they left the car by the park's entrance.

They had a little less than thirty minutes before it closed, but enjoyed every second as they strolled by the lake. The half-moon was reflected on the quiet surface, and though there were a few other people, Clarke felt like they had just stepped into a world of their own.

Clarke nudged Lexa toward one of the Beech trees, its autumn leaves still clinging bravely to its thick branches. They settled beneath it, lying down on the soft ground where leaves piled atop the grass. Between the branches they could see some stars, and Clarke wondered if maybe the park could close and leave them be. There was nowhere else she wanted to be.

She heard some rustling and then saw Lexa look down at her, her face framed by her wavy hair and the stars above. She took Clarke's breath away.

"You're so beautiful," Lexa murmured, struck by a similar thought it seemed. "You have the kindest eyes and the warmest smile. It's the first thing I ever noticed about you."

Clarke reached up to kiss her, parting only when she felt Lexa's hand on her stomach. Even atop her coat and thick clothing, she could feel its warmth.

"I think you're drunk on wine and chocolate."

"Then you'll be relived to hear I'm a very sincere drunk."

Clarke giggled, which made Lexa's smile stretch in such a fond way. She pressed closer to her, the tip of her nose brushing against her neck. She kissed the small spot, as if to apologize for her cold nose.

"I wonder so much about you, Clarke."

Clarke hummed. "What do you wonder about?"

“I’ve spoken with a lot of people. Heard the visions about reuniting with loved ones, getting over addictions, graduating. There’s been some romance of course,” Lexa said. “Aden’s first kiss, though he couldn’t see his boyfriend’s face. Echo celebrating a wedding anniversary with her husband. But so few - even online in anonymous circles - so few like yours.”

Now Clarke felt warm again, mostly from the blush on her cheeks. “I don’t believe that.”

Lexa lifted her head from her shoulder. “Have you personally heard of any?”

“Raven saw Wells naked.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

“Okay, so I'm a pervert, what can I say?”

“No,” Lexa replied, tickled by Clarke's little huff. “You’re a mystery. You intrigue me.”

Clarke cleared her throat. “Well I’ve had a bit of a dry spell. I had flings, but… I didn't allow myself anything more. The café was taking up all my thoughts and for a while it worked for me. Then the days got long again, and lonelier… Raven said it was probably just my body wanting me to snap out of it.”

“And what do you think?”

Clarke did wonder about it then, or at least differently than she had in the past. It wasn't so long ago she'd asked these questions herself. She'd been so frustrated she couldn't discuss them with the person she'd shared it with, and here she was, lying right next to her in a bed of leaves.

She touched Lexa's hand on her stomach, lacing and unlacing their fingers, gently playing with them as she tried to make sense of everything.

“Have you never fantasized about a stranger?" She asked quietly, catching Lexa's eyes. "Someone who knows nothing about you and yet knows exactly how to make your body soar?"

“That’s not what you saw though, is it?” Lexa murmured. “I wasn’t a stranger in your bed. I knew you and you knew me."

Clarke felt her heart beat faster. She wanted so badly to kiss Lexa again; to feel her body against hers like the night on her couch.

"Lex…"

Their lips were just a hair's breadth apart now. To anyone else, they would've looked like they were kissing.

"How was it different, Clarke?"

Clarke swallowed, trying to find the words. “How? The way you handled me - needy and possessive, but tender and attentive too. Like you were in charge of my pleasure and you had to remind me."

She saw Lexa swallow and so continued, eager to share everything this time: "You said my name and it almost sounded like a prayer - like you couldn’t believe we were together. I never heard my name like that before. I never thought I could make someone feel lucky."

"God, Clarke, you have no idea." Lexa exhaled before closing the gap and kissing her. It wasn't like any other kiss they'd shared tonight. It felt like a promise, almost. Lexa tasted so sweet on her tongue and Clarke could only wonder if all of her was just as heavenly.

She cupped the back of her neck and felt herself throb with desire, her mind filled with both the reality of Lexa and the last of her vision.

"I can even remember the smell of us," Clarke sighed between kisses. "How sticky my skin felt, like we'd been in bed for hours."

"Clarke - fuck."

Clarke pushed Lexa on her back and cupped her cheeks, claiming her lips quite quickly again. She licked into her mouth and moaned at the silky feel of Lexa's tongue.

"Sometimes I'd try to picture us again but you'd disappear," Clarke continued, eyes closing when Lexa started kissing down her neck. "I wasn't sure if it was you anymore. But then you'd come back. I'd feel your hands, your mouth on me… lower, and lower…"

Lexa let out a groan and pinched the bridge of her nose before falling back on the ground, the leaves rustling beneath her. Something in the way she set her jaw made Clarke frown.

"Baby…" she said, tracing a finger over her cheekbone.

"Did you call her that?" Lexa asked without thinking.

Clarke retracted her hand and paused. A grin spread on her face. “What? Are you jealous… of yourself?”

Lexa glared petulantly. “No.”

“You are."

Lexa remained quiet, so after a moment Clarke poked her arm. “Well what about yours?”

"Mine?"

"I wasn't even in it - how do you think that makes me feel?"

Lexa shook her head. "You were in it."

"You said you were just standing in a random kitchen making coffee."

"Yes."

"So?"

They heard the echo of a bicycle's bell on the pathway and turned to the sound, but the couple soon rode away. Clarke looked at Lexa again, finding her staring at the sky.

“What are you keeping from me?”

A small smile grew on Lexa's face - but she remained tightlipped.

"How was I there?" Clarke asked again, deeply curious.

"The doodles," Lexa simply replied.

Clarke remembered that she'd found that to be a strange detail before. She didn't put up her doodles on walls and she didn't frame them. These had to be important. Something that made her identity unmistakable in Lexa's eyes. Sure it could be that her style was recognizable, but Lexa made it sound as if it was something else.

“Lex…"

She lifted Lexa's chin to catch her gaze.

“If I tell you, I worry it might not happen," Lexa admitted.

Clarke bit her lip, finally understanding. It was almost like saying a wish out loud - fearing it might not come true if you broke that single rule.

“You want it to happen?” She asked instead.

A breeze passed as Lexa looked at her intently, leaving no room for doubt. “Yes.”

There was no waver in her voice. Not even an ounce of hesitation. The sheer confidence set Clarke alight. She’d forgotten how it felt to feel so wanted. Whatever it was in that frame… Lexa clearly hoped for it in their future. The fact that she wanted it with her, and no one else, made her desire swell.

She leaned down and kissed her right against the grass and by the slumbering tree, forgetting all about the doodles. Lexa believed it was her - that was all that mattered. After weeks of being unsure of where they stood, if her feelings were even shared, she didn't need anything more.

Lexa wound her arm around her waist, her mouth still as hungry against Clarke's. When they pulled away, she pressed their foreheads together.

“I wish I could see us like you did," she murmured wistfully.

"What would it change?"

“Maybe… maybe if I knew I was good enough for you… If I was sure that I wouldn’t- that I wouldn’t hurt you-"

Clarke shook her head. "Don’t fill your head with thoughts like that. Let's just be here, together, and worry about the rest when it comes. I know it's hard for you, but this - us - right now… it's good, isn't it?"

Lexa nodded. "It's the best thing that's happened to me in a long time."

Relieved, Clarke tucked her head beneath Lexa's chin. "Then just be with me. You can be happy, baby. You have a right to it. Don't let anyone or anything tell you otherwise."

Eventually they made their way back to Lexa's car, neither of them interested in picking up their leisurely pace.

"I'm sorry we ended up walking so much," Lexa said.

"You fed me beforehand, so it's forgiven."

Lexa smiled. "Good to know."

Before they reached the parking lot, Clarke decided to ask what had been on her mind: "I know you said Costial feels like home to you; that you found your place here, but… do you see your future here? Because this is it for me. And I'm… I like you, Lex. I like you a lot. I don't want to be an interlude. I don't think I could take it."

"Clarke," Lexa stepped closer to her. "You're not an interlude, you're - God, you've been in every act of my life here. I don't want to go anywhere. I- I want to be with you. That's what I know for certain. Is that alright for now?"

"It is."

Lexa kissed her softly and then smirked. "I may not have had erotic visions of myself entwined with a hot local, but I still want to stay here."

Clarke shoved her playfully. "I don't even like you anymore."

They laughed the whole way to the car.

* * *

It seemed like a tradition already; Lexa walking her to her door while Clarke racked her mind for a way to linger. When they finally arrived she leaned against her door and sighed.

"Tonight was amazing."

Lexa hummed. "I'm glad."

"I'm definitely taking you out this weekend," Clarke said.

"You are?" Lexa asked, tilting her head to kiss her again.

Clarke closed the gap as she wrapped her arms around her neck. The kiss was slow; amatory, but as always it could not go on for too long before hands wandered.

"I hope you have sweet dreams," Lexa said, her eyes hooded and her lips slightly redder.

"Oh I will."

Lexa glanced at her mouth. "If I pay you a visit again maybe you could keep a journal close by. I'd love some notes on my performance."

Clarke rolled her eyes. "Remind me why I ever told you?"

"What? That we lasted hours?" Lexa husked.

Right. Clarke narrowed her eyes and let her hands slowly drag down Lexa's arms. Now, Clarke wasn't innocent. She knew fully what made her look good, even when her coat was buttoned up. She had let Lexa tease her and goad her about the vision all night, and she had kept her retort to herself. But no more.

She pressed her body closer to Lexa's, unmistakably provocative with the way their breasts touched.

“Make fun all you want, Lexa, but remember this: I’ve seen all of you while you haven’t seen an inch of me.” She felt Lexa’s hand tighten on her waist. “I’ve felt your body against mine. Your mouth on my thighs. I’ve felt your tongue inside me.” She glanced down at Lexa's lips and then back up, proud of the gobsmacked look on her face. “So you can tease me. You can push my buttons. I can take it. But you? You only have your imagination." She stepped back and gave her sultriest smile, "And trust me, it’s got nothing on reality.”

She turned around and quickly unlocked her door, then looked over her shoulder. "Thanks for the date, baby."

As soon as she stepped inside and closed the door behind her, Clarke knew she'd just played a dirty hand. But Lexa had teased her at all night and all was fair in lust.

With a wicked grin, too pleased by the night's events, Clarke took off her coat and slipped out of her shoes and socks. And because she just couldn't resist one last look, she walked to her window and waited. Finally she saw Lexa walk out of the building. She seemed unfocused, going right and then left, forgetting where she'd parked.

But then she stopped and turned around.

Clarke's smile fell. Just watching Lexa like this, seeing the effect she had on her… it changed something. She had closed the door in the spur of the moment - because they were good at testing each other. Because she had thought tonight should end there, on another game of theirs.

But she didn’t want to play anymore.

And maybe Lexa realized it too. She looked up and found her apartment's window.

Their eyes met.

Clarke reached out for the curtain, gripping it so tight her knuckles went white. She couldn't look away from those eyes in the moonlight if she tried. Even if the ground started shaking beneath their feet.

"Lexa-" she started before stopping herself. It had to be Lexa's decision. Clarke had already made hers. She couldn't call out to her. Not for this. Lexa had to choose.

Clarke held her breath, unsure she'd even be able to leave this spot if Lexa did walk away after all. Until-

Lexa bolted back toward the building.

Clarke watched her disappear from view and then heard her intercom. She rushed toward it and pressed the buzzer, her heart in her throat. Still barefoot, she pulled the door open and waited. Footsteps thundered up the flights of stairs, closer and closer.

Tonight had not ended. Not yet.

[forever--darling]

mine - s.m.

ceo au

a/n: I suggest listening to I put a spell on you by annie lennox while reading this

warnings: 8.3k words of slight curse words, innuendos, and ceo shawn mendes

Ding

Surrounded in the sweet smell of pastries and bread, you had been so caught up in the comfort that the building provided while your nose was stuck in a textbook, you had failed to notice that you were still in the middle of a shift. Your eyes were tracing over the same line over and over as a small feeling filled your gut like you were missing something, but you tried to write it off and continue studying. You had a huge test the next day that was worth a large percent of your grade and you couldn’t afford to fail it, so any distractions had to be rid from your mind. And, they had but it wasn’t until the loud beep went off again that it alerted the attention of the man stood at the front counter who had been ringing up another customer. 

The older man poked his head into the doorway to see you bent over the counter, eyes trained onto the thick book and zero perception of where you were. He sighed before beginning to yell your name over and over into the back room. Seconds later, your head tore away from the book, startled and brought back to the fact that you were still at work. 

Pushing yourself away from the counter and away from the textbook, you grabbed two oven mitts. “Oh, shit!” 

You opened the door to see the smoke rising from the baked treats and quickly reached for them hoping that you hadn’t burnt the last batch of the day. Slipping the hot pan onto the wood counter, you slipped the oven mitts from your hands as your eyes fell back to the still open textbook. Your neck was twisted to the side in a desperate attempt to analyze the words and have them stick into your brain. 

“Y/N,” he called again, taking your attention away from your studies for the second time. 

“Right,” you replied, slamming the book closed, making sure to mark your page before you continued to prepare the muffins for their basket. You sighed with relief that not one of them appeared to be burnt black.

Minutes later, you appeared from the back room and approached the front counter with a brown wicker basket sat neatly into your palms. Covered in a clear plastic bag tied at the top with a pink ribbon to ensure that the muffins stayed in the basket when delivered, you slid the basket onto the counter next to the other one. It appeared to be the same despite the different flavored muffins and the grey ribbon tied tightly at the top in comparison of a pink. 

You sighed in a way to prepare yourself to face your boss, “Here you go, Oscar. The last batch of the day, all made and ready to go.” 

Oscar, your boss and owner of the building, nodded sparing a glance towards the basket as he continued to jot down words on a notepad with a black pen. “Not burnt?” he asked raising an eyebrow his words soft but serious. 

“Not burnt,” you replied, hands running along the plastic wrap before falling onto the ends of the ribbon tightening them. “Luckily. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s alright, hasn’t been the first time.”

“And probably won’t be the last,” you admitted teasingly. 

Oscar nodded knowingly as laughter bubbled from the back of his throat, “Probably not but it’s okay, you’re a college kid. I knew what I was getting into when I hired you. So what class is it this time?” 

You sighed, crossing your arms over your chest as you leaned back against the counter, body facing the back wall at the chalkboard menu you had written on with new pastries that morning. “Physics, which I don’t even know why I’m taking in the first place. Anyways, I have this huge test tomorrow and it’s a large part of my grade. I’m struggling enough as it is so I can’t fail.” 

“I see,” Oscar responded, already able to feel the stress seeping out of you, “And have you figured out what you want to major in yet?” 

“Nope,” you replied popping the “p” as you began to rock back and forth on the balls of your feet, “Not a clue.” 

He smiled, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder, “Well, I’m sure you’ll figure it out, and if you never do and college doesn’t seem like the place for you, there will always be a place for you here.” 

“Thank you, Oscar. I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me,” you said sending the older man a warm smile. 

“Anytime, kid,” he mumbled, returning your smile with a wink.

Oscar Wheeler had been the owner of Sensationally Muffin for almost three years now and had opened the bakery after leaving his former job as a salesman. At rolling in at the height of around six foot, Oscar Wheeler was a broad shouldered man that had a strong large build at the age of forty-five. He had umber colored skin, with warm yellow and copper undertones, that wrinkled at the corners of his mouth and around his eyes. Grey hair rounded the edges of his head, standing out against his black buzzed head while also being shown present around his facial hair that ran along his chin and upper lip. 

Besides his handsome middle aged features, Oscar was a sweet man that would spread kindness wherever he went and found a comfort in the bakery business. He loved the happiness that was brought from making the baked goods and found solitude in his small quaint little shop that bursted with warmth. From his presence, he provided a kind of compassion that no one could fake and because he was so nice and talked to anyone that walked through those doors, the small bakery became a place of support and love for many people. 

Oscar had built the life he had always hoped for in the last three years and it always warms your heart at the business he had created.  As a previous salesman before, all he had ever done was work. Day after day, chained to that desk, losing the feeling of what it felt like to actually be living. One day it had gotten to be too much and he quit on the spot, invested his savings into a dusty old building sat on the corner of first avenue. 

He built this place out of nothing all by himself and because he had always been working he wasn’t married and he had no kids. He didn’t have a family like many men did his age and instead created his own family, here. He had formed friendships here and as corny as it sounded, you had found your own little family within these four walls. 

Even though the bakery had been up and running for three years there were still not many workers that had settled here. Oscar was a man who relied on honesty and selflessness. He was picky when it came to who he hired. He had rejected many college students the moment they walked in through the doors begging for a job, and it came to quite a shock when he finally had hired you. It was over a year ago when you had just gotten done with what ended up being one of the worst classes you had ever had and along with that had been stood up on a date. 

It was snowing and the wind was blazing and you couldn’t bare the idea of moping all the way back to your apartment to only get pitied for the rest of the night by your roommate. Instead, you wandered the streets, which seemed almost empty due to the storm, trying to busy yourself until the time seemed acceptable to return home. 

However, it became difficult to stay out in the cold any longer when the wind picked up and you stumbled into the first warmest building you could see. If only you knew that when you walked into the bakery that day, snow falling from your clothes, that it would be the start of meeting some of the best people of your life. From then it was the easiest decision Oscar had made, from seeing how you longed to get warmth from the small fireplace and offered to help with anything. So when the time had came that you finally asked if there were any jobs in the small building, you had instantly grown to love, he had said yes without even giving you an interview. 

That was how the little Sensationally Muffin family started and despite the sadness that took up the man of never getting married or having children, it was quickly replaced by the happiness of your presence and the bakery’s presence. Because at the end of the day, you were his daughter whether from blood or not. 

“So, are you still okay to deliver these tonight or do you have to get home,” you were brought out of your thoughts by the man of the hour himself who was reorganizing some of the pastries in the box placed near the counter. 

“Only two stops?” you asked, looking towards the two baskets on the counter. 

“Yes, two stops,” Oscar confirmed adjusting a piece of coffee cake before sliding the small plastic door shut. 

“Then yeah I can. Suppose I can take a break of studying for a little while, which I’m guessing since this basket is all blueberry muffins and it’s a Thursday that we have yet to deliver Mrs. Crenshaw's basket of muffins,” you stated, eyes looking towards the pink bowed basket that was filled to the brim of just blueberry muffins. 

“You’d be right.”

“Of course, I know how much Mrs. Crenshaw loves her blueberry muffins,” you laughed.

Oscar smiled as he moved the two baskets towards the other end of the counter so you could just grab them on your way out, “She does. Anyways, I got a call from Roxy one of the head nurses of the nursing home. She said that they’ll be at the park again like they are usually on Thursdays. She says today they got some college kid to sing to them with his guitar so they’re just hanging there until six, when they’ll have to get everyone back.” 

“That’s nice, I’ll head there first. Won’t want to miss them,” you replied, untying your blue apron from around your waist and folding it up in your hands, “So where’s the other delivery supposed to go?” 

“Uh, it’s a large company building near the center of the city. I attached the address to the basket so you know where to find it and put the man’s name so you don’t get lost once you’re in there.”

Your eyebrows knitted together in confusion at his words as your fingers knotted into the apron in your hand, “A company building that’s different. We don’t usually get orders from places like that.” 

The older man nodded but couldn’t help the small smile on his lips, “Yes, but I have to say I’m not complaining. Business is business and I will take as much of it as I can get.” 

Your expression softened and chuckled knowing he was right. Walking into the back room, you placed your apron down on one of the bottom shelves and began to place all of your notebooks and your textbook back into your backpack. Still curious of the journey you were about to take, you continued the conversation to see if Oscar knew anything else. “So, with this company building do you know anything about them or about who made the order?” 

“Uh, yeah. I believe it was some assistant or someone like that. Ms. Bloom, I think it was. She was calling about placing an order of muffins for her boss. Heard from a friend that we have the very best. Said that her boss has a thing for muffins and would probably like the small surprise from all of the meetings he has been having the last couple days non stop,” he said now starting to tidy up the counter. 

“Hmm busy man,” you commented pulling the backpack over your shoulders before you clock out of your shift, “Is it a big company?” 

He nodded, turning his attention away from the front counter towards you as you approached the basket of muffins, “Yes, very. Like muli-million very, I think, but you shouldn’t have to worry about that. You have enough on your plate as it is.”

“Funny,” you thought out loud as your fingers began to trace around the white card that was pinned to the basket, the words hidden on the other side, “A multi-million company is buying a fourteen dollar basket of muffins. You would think they would at least buy some that are sprinkled with bits of gold, but hey lucky us. Business is business.” 

Oscar chuckled at the way you quoted him and couldn’t help but to walk over and pull you into a side hug, “That’s right, so I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Definitely.”

“Okay, be safe. Text me if you need anything and good luck on your test,” he said, hand placed comfortingly on your shoulder. 

“Thanks,” you mumbled out, grabbing both baskets and turning to walk towards the front door sparing a small wave over your shoulder, “Bye!” 

He waved back a smile pulled across his face, causing his eyes to wrinkle like they tended to always do. Squeezing past the glass door, you ended up on the sidewalk that wasn’t as busy as it had been previously in the day since most people had made it at home by this time on a weekday. You smiled at the feeling of wind dancing across your skin and the sight of the sun starting to fall from the sky as you moved towards the side of the bakery to locate your transportation and one of the things you loved the most in this city. Your bike. Hating how crowded the streets would get for driving, you would rely on your beautiful bike to get you from one place to another whether it’s to deliver muffins, or get you across campus as fast as possible. Gosh, you really loved that bike. 

It was a light blue Schwinn bicycle that had a white seat and a metal basket hanging in the front off of the handlebars housing a place to hold the muffins. Unlocking the bike from the bike ramp, you placed both orders of muffins into the hanging basket and swung your leg over the seat. Situating yourself onto the bike, you set out to your destination, one of two until you were able to go home and crawl into the bed of your apartment.

-

By the time you had managed to drop off the basket of muffins in the park for Mrs. Crenshaw and get out of the park, it had taken you almost a half an hour. You didn’t think that when you got there that Mrs. Crenshaw would insist that you stay and continue to argue over it for the next fifteen minutes. Even when you had mentioned that you had another stop to make she would just interrupt you by talking about how great the music was this college boy was singing, or go on about how cute he was as if that would make you stay and visit with them awhile. You thought it was sweet that she wanted to talk to you and you felt a little guilty about leaving in a rush, but knew that you could just visit another day. 

Another day when you didn’t have to go deal with multi-million company people and have to study for a huge Physics test. When you somehow had managed to slip away from Mrs. Crenshaw because she was stuffing her face with muffins and dancing to the music, you quickly grabbed your money from Roxy, the head nurse that Oscar said made the call, and hot tailed it out of the park before any of the other elders could pull you into a conversation. 

You were walking your bike down a sidewalk that went out of the park, waiting to get out towards the street to hop back on and get going. Knowing that the road was approaching, you stopped your bike for a second to take a glance at the address written on the card of the basket. Reaching over and into the bike basket you flipped the card over and read over what it said. 

Mr. Mendes

Mendes Corporations 

982 Edgefield Drive 

Toronto, CA R1A K3G

The bike ride from the park to the company building took exactly seven minutes give or take and luckily it was a place you couldn’t get lost finding. From a few blocks away, you were able to spot it and it’s crystal glass walls. By the time you had actually arrived outside of the building, your jaw had hit the floor. When Oscar had said company with an office building, you never expected this. Even when, he said “multi-million” you wrote it off thinking that he was just kidding. Yeah, you thought “oh it will just be a small brick company building that was two or three stories high” - yeah no. This was not the case.

This company had to have been large and very much a multi-million maybe even billion. The building was tall coming up to maybe being the height of a small skyscraper that went up multiple stories, made out of clear glass, accented with silver steel to add detail to the building. With windows surrounding the whole building, it no doubt had a lot of light pour in during the day. Or maybe the windows reflected the harsh light to hit back at the streets, considering you couldn’t see within the building through the windows. Either way you couldn’t know until you actually stepped in. The front was fitted with two sets of doors on either side of a silver large revolving door and above the door were the words Mendes Co. splayed across in thick black letters that no doubt lit up at night. 

To accompany the doors there were two doormen dressed in black fitted suits and white earpieces on, standing on either side of the regular doors. They looked more like bodyguards and could be for all you knew, but with them opening the sets of doors they stood by, it gave you the impression they were just very well dressed doormen. As you looked up at the building, it seemed to go up forever before being cut flat by the open styled roof, that no doubt probably had access to it from a door and stairs. 

Surprisingly with a place that looked so high class and well done, there was a metal bike rack sat near the road. Even that seemed to be better than the other streets you found bike racks at. It was clean and reflected off the lights of the city, not one speck of dust or rust. You somehow found yourself standing outside, looking around to see if the people walking near the building were better dressed and looked ready for a business meeting, but they all appeared like you. Casually dressed and not paying attention to the gorgeous building, they were passing as if it were a normal thing. 

Noticing that the sun was setting more and more behind the city the longer you stood there gaping at the business building, you quickly tore your gaze from it to lock your bike against the bike rack. When secured and sure that it wasn’t going anywhere, you took the basket of muffins in your hand and made your way towards the revolving door. Both doorman/ bodyguards looked you up and down as you reached the door and no doubt if you hadn’t been holding that basket of muffins they probably wouldn’t have let you walk in just by the way you dressed. 

As soon as you laid eyes on the bustling building from the inside, you knew they definitely wouldn’t have let you in. The inside was the nicest place you had ever seen. The walls from the ceiling to the floor were white and smooth showing a faint reflection as you walked by it. Anything else was silver or black causing the whole room to appear sleek and smooth leaving you with the question of what the hell this company really did and was. And if that wasn’t it, the lobby was filled with people fitted like they were made of money. 

From the tight suits that clung to each man to the women that dressed in short pencil skirts or dresses paired with a blazer, their hair all pulled up out of their face and showing their beautiful soft features. Plus, every women had a pair of heels at least six inches tall on the bottom of their feet making them look even more business sexy and tall. Like extremely tall. You weren’t exactly a very short person but next to all these women, they made you look like the size of a twelve year old next to a bunch of NBA basketball players. In that moment you had never felt so out of place before with your ripped skinny jeans and sneakers. 

Your hair was messily pulled into a ponytail with pieces framing your face and along with the jacket and backpack you had on, a grey long sleeve shirt that hugged your chest tightly. Your face barely had any makeup thinking that for work all you needed was some mascara but now you wished you had put on some lip gloss or something because compared to all the other women who supported a lipstick your lips just looked dry and cracked. You knew you didn’t belong in that building and so did everyone else. They all followed you with their gaze and probably felt relieved that there was a basket of muffins in your hand meaning you weren’t actually here for something important. It was funny that the basket provided you with protection from the well dressed vultures and you knew that it would be a whole different story when you had to leave basketless.   

Tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, you moved your way through the lobby towards the front silver desk that appeared to be just as smooth as the walls. A woman sat behind the desk her blonde hair pulled into a tight bun at the back of her head with a tight black skirt and white blouse with the top buttons undone. She looked up from the computer but instead of giving you a harsh glare like everyone else, she offered a soft smile not enough to show her teeth but enough for it to be a smile. 

You took a deep breath never feeling this nervous to deliver a basket of muffins before. Raising the basket, you gestured to it as you explained why someone like you would be in a place like this, “Uh, I have a delivery for a Ms. Bloom which is really-- uh, for a Mr. Mendes.” 

As your words came out stuttered and fast, you mentally groaned at making yourself look like an actual idiot. Now you made yourself look even more out of place if that could even be possible. At embarrassing yourself in front of a woman who was basically a model, you could feel the heat rush up past your neck settling onto your face. You tugged at your jacket mercilessly, worrying that you might actually be escorted out of the building, but a sigh of relief flew past your mouth at the small chuckle made from the model worthy receptionist. “Yes, Mr. Mendes’ office is on the twelfth floor and as soon as you walk out of the elevator there should be a large desk where Ms. Bloom sits.” 

“Alright, thank you,” you replied, raking your fingers through your hair anxiously before making your way towards where the woman was pointing that held the elevators. As you rounded the corner towards the elevators you found people bustling in and out not caring about bumping into you along the way. 

There were a total of six elevators all with large silver doors and blue buttons off to the side. You had managed to slip past a sea of people that were just leaving elevator two and enter into elevator four which only held a couple older men dressed in black suits and a small group of women who were whispering to each other in the corner while sneaking you glances. They were tall like every other woman in this place and dressed in tight business clothes as usual. You were lucky to get an elevator that wasn’t full of people because that might not have set too well with you if you had. 

The elevator itself was lit with white and had lights showering down from the top as the walls were cut into squares all around, bouncing your reflection back at you. Again the nicest elevator you had ever been on and wished more than anything that yours back at your apartment building looked as good as this.

“Floor?” one of the men asked who had white slicked back hair and was carrying a brown briefcase. He didn’t spare much of a glance to you which you felt relieved to not have to face his judging eyes, when you could already feel a hole being burned in the back of your head from the women. 

“Uh, twelve,” you mumbled, hearing the whispers stop behind you for a few seconds before starting up again. 

You weren’t even surprised probably anybody and everybody in this building knew that the twelve floor belonged to the owner of this whole corporation. Which meant that if the lobby were as dressed as they were, walking out of this elevator and onto that floor probably looked liked visiting royalty, and you were not one to walk through the doors and be among royalty. Because of the women behind you, you couldn’t help but dig your fingers into your side while trying to take smooth sturdy breaths but it became too much when you heard one of them say something about how you looked. 

It was muffled and you couldn’t hear much of what she said but it was enough to know it was about you. It caused your stomach to sink further than it already had for being required to be in this building, so it made you a little less fidgety when you reached back and pulled your hair loose from the ponytail letting it fall. Your shiny unbrushed waves laid across your shoulders and you smoothed them down at the top, hoping that it looked a little more put together than it had in the ponytail. 

Luckily, the twelfth floor was the lowest floor selected so you were able to be the first one off the elevator. When the awful ride finally came to a stop at your floor, you spared the men a small smile. “Have a nice day,” you said before walking out of the elevator.

The doors closed behind you and instead of walking forward towards the desk, sat a few feet down the hallway tucked up against a wall, you stood still. Clutching the basket to your chest, you gaze across the most important floor of the whole entire building. As expected, its lined with white from Ms. Bloom’s desk to the chairs that sit tucked into the few other smaller desks sat abandoned in the hallway to the walls. Also, right above Ms. Bloom’s desk was Mendes Co. in the same way it was on the front of the building. Block letters in dark black, concluding that this was in fact his floor. It was modern and sleek and made you wonder to no end about who this man was. Mr. Mendes.

He must have held so much power, in whatever the hell he did, to build a building so large and so high class. You had no doubt that he had a lot of money and from how expensive everything was and set out to be there was no doubt in your mind that Mr. Mendes had to have been older. He had to have built this company up over courses of years to get it to where it is now. It didn’t make much sense to you though that if this company seemed to have so much money and was so well known why you had never heard of it until now. It made you think that if had been around a while that you would have heard about it at least once or twice. Maybe you hadn’t heard of it because you were just some college kid that had her head stuck in a pile of books. 

Within the nice floor, you could hear the faint sound of voices, phones ringing, and the sound of heels clicking against the floor, along with music that had to have been John Mayer but you couldn’t be sure. It smelled faintly of rosewood and spices mixed with some kind of cologne which instantly sent your mind in a frenzy at how good it smelt passing through your nose. It made your body sway and your head swell from how much you were beginning to like it, and knew that all the women that worked here most swoon in the presence of the masculine smell. They probably had fallen to their knees, once or twice, for their boss if Mr. Mendes smelled anything like his floor. 

You were brought out of your thoughts at the sound of a high pitched voice that appeared very annoyed, “No, Mr. Mendes is in a meeting I told you that a half an hour ago and he will still be in a meeting a half an hour from now. I will let him know that you called like I said I would before.” 

You looked to find the voice coming from where the large white desk was set against the wall, being no doubt Ms. Bloom. Approaching her and the desk, you watched as she yelled something into the phone before slamming it down back onto the desk, hanging up the call all together. She sat down in the grey plush chair at the desk and began to fiddle with the computer as if she hadn’t noticed you. You took that small moment to analyze her from head to toe and wasn’t surprised at all with what you were seeing. It was as if there was a pattern for the women that worked in this office or even set foot on its expensive tiled floors. 

She had tan skin that looked like she had just come back from vacation and sleek caramel hair braided back into a low bun with not a single piece of hair out of place. She had piercing blue eyes that matched the colors of the ocean and stood out even more against her dark eyeshadow and winged liner. She had a small button nose that was contoured to perfection and plush pink lips that looked glossy in the light. She was dressed in a tight black dress that fell to right above her knees, showcasing her long freshly shaved legs, and it was so tight against her body that she couldn’t have been wearing a bra or any underwear. It was clear that if it was that tight and she still decided to wear it to work that it probably didn’t bother her. 

And, from the way she ordered the basket of muffins to surprise her boss, dress skin tight with a face full of makeup, and be so defensive on the phone about him it was not hard to realize she had something for Mr. Mendes or maybe with him. You weren’t entirely sure but it wouldn’t be a surprise that with what money he appeared to have he could afford to sleep with his assistant and hire every beautiful person that walked along Toronto. As you thought about it all, you made sure to make a mental note to ask your roommate later that evening about the corporation because with everything you had discovered in the last ten minutes you had never been so curious in your whole entire life.

“Yes?” her high pitched voice snapped from behind the desk, not bothering to look up.

“Oh, uh I have the basket of muffins you ordered from Sensationally Muffin,” you whispered softly, slightly worried she would bite your head off if you said something wrong. 

Instead, though at your words, her eyes lit up and a small smile feel on her face but that all slightly faltered as she looked up and locked gazes onto you. She frowned as she looked you up and down before letting out a distasteful noise that sounded much like an ew. She covered it up though with a small cough and turned her eyes to the basket in your hand. It was a mixed batch between one's like chocolate chip and blueberry to apple cinnamon and pumpkin. In fact the basket had almost every flavor except lemon which was requested to not be added. 

You even added in your favorite muffin creation; a triple chocolate craze muffin that was filled with chocolate syrup. Of course it was delicious and drool worthy but something you could only have one of. They weren’t ordered very often and because the basket required almost every muffin you had on the menu, you thought you would sneak it in because it really was made for the high class. Now that you are standing with the basket in your hands, you’re happy that you added it, or maybe you weren’t because this man seemed to have everything except for your muffin. Which thanks to you, the triple chocolate craze will bless his taste buds though he has probably tasted the grandest of things compared to a chocolate muffin. 

You felt the basket get tugged from your hands and set down onto the desk. It was funny, how much that delicious basket of muffins blended in with the rest of the building because of that stupid grey ribbon. No one would even be able to tell that it was fourteen dollars and came from a cheap bakery a few blocks away. It was sad that something so delicious would have to be given to a man that seemed to be screwing his assistant, but like Oscar always says business is business. 

“How much do I owe you, for the muffins?” she asked picking out a black leather wallet from within a desk drawer.

“Uh-” 

“Wait,” she holds her hand up cutting you off and at first you have no idea why. Then you realize that she has stopped you because of the voices that are coming from down a hall near the elevator that you somehow had missed when you exited and looked around the floor. They were getting closer and one obviously stood out towards Ms. Bloom when she quickly grabbed the basket of muffins from the desk and gave you a pointed look. “I’ll be right back.” 

She turned away from you and fast walked, almost a jog, away from the desk in the opposite direction of where the voices were coming from. Her heels clicked against the floor as she went in a fast set of twos as she made it down the hallway towards a pair of double doors that went all the way up to the ceiling. 

They were made of wood and stained dark almost to the color of black and had rusty red undertones that were seeping past the dark hue. The handles were silver rods that hung off the door and went up past the height of Ms. Bloom even in her heels. Probably stainless steel from the way they looked. She tore open one of the doors and slipped in, disappearing behind it with the basket of muffins in her hands.  

You stood and took a deep breath, running your fingers through your loose hair tugging at the ends. Closing your eyes with the exhaustion kicking in, you could now hear the multiple pairs of footsteps echoing within the floor and the voices becoming more clear. As they seemed to be just around the corner, you could now identify that it was definitely a group of men. All low and deep, shouting multiple things at once, clearly arguing. However, there was one that stuck out like a sore thumbs amidst the others. It was higher and soft to the ears. 

He seemed to be the one centered in the attention because though the rest of voices were jumbled together you were able to hear his words clear, “Enough, enough. I answered everything in the meeting, now stop because I have other things to attend to.” 

Though his voice was demanding and sent a shiver down your spine it did not ward off the other men and only made them yell louder down the hallway as they rounded the corner. Hearing the muffled shouts burst from no longer being a wall away, you turned in the direction of the voices, that sounded clearer then they had before, faces being matched towards the rowdy sounds. Sure enough, walking in your direction was a group of what appeared to be six middle aged men dressed in suits and surrounding the very person that caused their shouting. They trailed behind him and as they only got closer to where you stood it was not hard to spot the man out who stuck out among them. He was tall. Taller than the rest of them which proved to be the first thing that made him stick out. 

The next thing was his age. You easily noticed that he was half of their age at most and very handsome. Possibly the most beautiful man you had laid eyes on and that said a lot, since every young male worker in this building could make your knees weak, but him god he was something else entirely. He had dark curls sat at the top of his head that looked all messy and hadn’t been styled which only made him look more gorgeous. Which seemed impossible since he had a sharp jawline, pretty brown eyes, and pink pillowy lips. He also obviously was fit, you could tell from the way the dark blue suit hugged his long body. It made you wonder what someone like him was doing in a place like this instead of on a billboard somewhere but when the rest of the building was also good looking it kind of wasn’t a surprise that he was here either.

“Gentlemen,” he announced, revealing his soft silk like voice, making it evident that he was the one that had stuck out among their constant rambling down the hallway, “The meeting is over, I appreciate your time but this shit’s done.” 

He continues to walk down the hallway towards you and the men still refuse to give up despite how cold it sounded. He tries to ignore them, looking elsewhere than the six men around him. In doing so his brown eyes fall onto you, stood abandoned at his assistant's desk with flushed cheeks, looking so out of place. At first you thought he would glare at you or laugh at the sight of you in a place like this. Which wouldn’t have been all bad if his laugh ended up to be just as beautiful as he appeared to be, but instead he cocks his head to the side looks you up and down with a curious glint in his eyes. 

You shuddered under his gaze and can feel your cheeks become even more red from his intense stare. He refused to look away from you and as he looked you up and down once more, he began to lick at his lips. You didn’t know at all what it meant the way he was looking at you or why, when there were plenty of more attractive women to drool over, but felt slightly appreciative of it anyway because he was very hot. However, that turned from just a hot man in a suit staring at you into something much more real fast. 

“Mr. Mendes!” 

His eyes broke away for a second at the sound of his name and your blood had ran cold. Your eyes widened at the name and soon realized that this tall man with curls who stood in the middle of the men was the man of this company. He was younger than you had ever expected and now it didn’t appear such a surprise that all the women dressed the way they did especially Ms. Bloom. Any woman would want a man like that who owned what he had. In fact, I’m sure many women did. That’s why you were as shocked as you were to see his eyes on you. 

He noticed your expression as soon as he moved his eyes away from one of the men back to you and realized at the mention of his name that you were startled. You looked like a deer in headlights, innocent and doe eyed. It made his stomach burn at the thought of being with someone like you. A woman pure and not invested in a world of money. It turned him on in a way it never had before, and though you were a complete stranger, if the hall were empty he would have you bent over that desk within seconds, right under his company’s name. 

You broke away from his gaze at the sound of Ms. Bloom returning back to the desk and you had never been so relieved to hear the sound of her heels clicking against the floor. You noticed the way she spared a glance over your shoulder towards “Mr. Mendes” her boss before looking back towards you smugly. “How much?” 

“Uh, um…” 

“Excuse me,” she snapped, “Are you def, how much?” 

“Fourteen dollars,” you replied swallowing the lump in your throat. 

She picked through her wallet and handed you a twenty before shoving the wallet back into the desk. “You can keep the change save up to buy something that isn’t…  well that,” she sneered gesturing to you up and down. 

“Thanks,” you mumbled softly too focused on the gaze still locked on the back of you to even defend yourself against the snippy comment from the assistant. 

Not sparing another second, you turn on your heels and head straight for the elevator. Walking by his tall figure and the other men, you can feel his eyes follow you all the way to end of the elevator. Even when you enter into the small moving box, when you look back out towards the floor you can see his brown eyes disappearing behind the silver doors as they come to a close, leaving you alone and in complete relief to be on your way out of here. As you ride down in the elevator back to the lobby, he on the other hand clears his throat and fixes his black tie before scurrying away to his office behind the large dark wooden doors. 

When he is safely behind them, the men no longer are able to bother him and eventually disperse given up. Shoving his hands into his front pockets, he walks across his office, hands tracing along his desk, stopping at the basket of muffins on his desk. It being the very reason why someone like you were in his building and why you had wanted to leave in such a hurry. He chuckles softly to himself before he continues forward to one of the wall clad windows of his office. He leans against it, gazing down towards the sidewalk in front of the building that appears so much smaller from where he stands. It’s minutes later by the time he notices you bolt from the building and head straight for your bike and though he has to squint to see from how small you appear he knows it’s you from how frantic you are.

He is interrupted by a small knock on his door and the sound of it opening. He doesn’t even have to turn around to know who it is. It was going to happen some time today, he knew from the way she dressed in that skin tight black dress that hugged her whole body leaving no room for undergarments. Other days, that dress would have him locking his office and taking her onto the top of his desk where she would scream for his mercy but today his sight was too focused on something else to give into her. 

“Mr. Mendes,” she said seductively, knowing how much he liked to be addressed that way in the office by her. “I got you a basket of muffins. Your favorite. With how many meetings you’ve been having, I thought it would make you feel a little bit better or just cheer you up. I know how those meetings can be.” 

He didn’t turn around or even acknowledge her words at first too focused on you as you unlock your bike from the bike rack, climb on, and ride away down the street. It finally registered that she had been talking when you were no longer in sight. “Oh, yes. I see.” 

That was all he had said and he still hadn’t turned around. She was pushing out her chest and rubbing her thighs together waiting for him to turn and look at her. She had gotten him a basket of muffins and instead of shoving her face down onto his desk as a way to express his gratitude, he was just staring out the damn window. It had been a week since he had devoured her on his grey couch sat in the corner of the room and she was dying to feel his burning touch again. 

Usually by now, he would have been hot and horny to do a couple rounds from his desk to the couch or even on the floor. Anywhere he could just to relieve the throbbing that would appear between his legs from her in that skin tight dress but clearly that wasn’t the case now and she could see that. See that something else was taking up his mind or perhaps someone else. She was getting nervous that he wasn’t going to turn around, that he wasn’t going to acknowledge her in that dress, and wasn’t going to finish off the ache that her thighs couldn’t do on their own. 

“Is that all, Ms. Bloom?” his voice broke her from her thoughts and she felt her heart drop into her stomach. 

She was shocked that he was denying her and denying any moment to pleasure himself. With realization of what he really was saying that shock turned into anger. Her blood began to boil and now she was beginning to feel hot in more than just one place. Waiting another second, thinking he was going to change his mind, she lost it fully when he sent her a glance over his shoulder and raised his eyebrow clearly annoyed. His eyes showed no trace of lust or need and instead was emotionless not even giving her a once over like he always did. At his small glance, her eyes narrowed and sent him the coldest glare she could muster as her lips curled into a snarl. 

“Yes, Mr. Mendes that’s all,” she spat, the words sounding like venom dripping from her tongue as she turned on her heels and stomped out of the office making sure to slam the door on the way out. 

He sighed at the childish behavior, pissed at her response to him refusing to have sex with her. Sure, she was hot or whatever but clearly she didn’t understand that it was going to happen sooner or later. That he was going to get tired of her and toss her aside. He can only stick with one woman for so long before it starts to taste the same on his tongue. 

Since she was his assistant, she should’ve known this out of anybody with how many women, who worked under him, that he would bring in this office to fuck. Each only ever lasting a few weeks at most, she should have easily known this was going to happen. It was just the way he was and no woman could change that. He knew that if she continued to be upset about the whole thing that he would have to fire her, leaving it only being five months since she’d been hired and even if he did have to, it wouldn’t be a problem. 

Many women wanted this job and would kill to wait on his hand and foot at every hour of every day. It would be easy to replace someone like Ms. Bloom. Plus with her now tossed to the side, he had his eyes set on something else. Something that he was going to get no matter how hard it was because he never got refused. Turns out this something was just a college girl who worked at a bakery making muffins.

next part

[givemeweasley]

Scapegoat

George Weasley X Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: mentions of blood (nothing serious), Umbridge ew, angst

A/N: thanks to @i-padfootblack-things​ for the request :) This is my first request so thank you again and I hope you like it!!! Also here's a link to the request for those of you who want to know what it was! 

Request

-----

“This is a bad idea.” You whispered in George's ear. Fred was hidden behind a pillar across the corridor smirking as he glanced down the hall.

George let out a small laugh before turning to you and kissing your cheek. “All our ideas are bad ideas, love. At least for the people they happen to be about.” He winked and turned back around. You hated that heat rose to your cheeks, but you couldn’t help it. You loved him.

Yet that love didn’t entirely erase the feeling that this prank was going to go bad.

“Here she comes.” Fred's voice rang out through the Extendable Ears.

And with a flick of his wand, George’s half of the prank came alive.

You watched as Pansy Parkinson took an unknowing step into the puddle of goo that George had charmed to be like instant cement. Instantly, she began to struggle but the more she struggled the more the goo climbed up her legs.

You peered over at Fred who was snickering before waving his wand for his half of the prank.

Suddenly, a Blast Ended Skrewt fell from it’s frozen place in the ceiling and landed in front of Pansy, who was full on shrieking.

“Time to go, princess!” George laughed, grabbing your arm and tugging you away.

But Pansy was still struggling, the goo was at her waist and steadily climbing higher.

Fred began jogging to meet the two of you. “That’ll show her not to mess with you.” Fred winked your way.

But you felt awful.

Tugging your arm from Georges, you took off down the hall to find the goo at Pansy’s neck with the Blast Ended Skrewt firing away at her.

She was missing her eyebrows and the ends of her hair were simmering.

You pointed your away at the creature and shouted. “Immobulus!” The Skrewt seized, but froze in its place. “Stop moving, Parkinson! It makes it worse!”

But she screamed in frustration. “I should’ve known it was you! You filthy disgusting-”

“Y/L/N! What is the meaning of this?!” Professor Snape's billowing robes flowed behind him as he appeared from seemingly nowhere.

You stood frozen, wand still in the air pointed at Pansy. You knew it was useless to try and say anything but still you wanted to try.

“Sir, I was just trying-”

“She did this to me, Professor Snape!” Pansy shrieked, the goo now at her chin. Snape glared at you but not before waving his wand to remove the goo that had been steadily encasing Pansy. He then pointed at you menacingly.

“Detention. For a week.”

“But-”

“Starting now.” Snape turned on his heel and you knew he expected you to follow.

-----

For the next several hours you were forced to count Flobberworms, clean spare cauldrons, reorganize shelves, etc. until Snape decided he was tired.

You were covered in Flobberworm goo, your bones were aching and you had a headache. You wanted nothing more than to crawl into your warm bed. Actually, that was a lie. There was one thing you wanted more. You wanted to punch your boyfriend. And his brother for good measure.

They left you there. To deal with Pansy and Snape alone. And while they were the masterminds behind the prank, it was you who got in trouble for it. Neither of them even bothered to check up on where you were. No saving you from detention or making some wild excuse that McGonagall needed you that instant.

They’d quite literally fed you the snakes.

The march back to the Gryffindor tower didn’t make you feel any better. The neverending flights of stairs made you ache more and the dark quietness of the corridors only fueled your anger.

“You look-”

“Balderdash.” You muttered, not wanting to hear the Fat Lady’s comments on your attire. You knew you looked gross.

Sighing, she swung her portrait to allow you access.

You clambored in, ready to get to the shower and then collapse in bed. Your eyes were locked on the dorm steps when someone spoke up.

“Hey.” George was sitting on the couch looking at you with a guarded expression. You blinked at him, before deciding you didn’t care and turned back to make your way up the stairs. You weren’t in the mood to talk to him. “Wait, princess!”

In a moment, his hand was wrapped around your forearm before it was immediately snatched back. “What the hell is this?” He sounded just as disgusted as you currently felt.

You whipped around. “It’s a lot of things. Flobberworm goo, Longbottoms failed potions, Moly dust, would you like me to continue?” You snapped.

George had the grace to grimace and look guilty. He wiped his hand on his pants. “Y/N… about that-”

Hot tears sprung to your eyes before you could help it. “You left me there! It wasn’t even my idea to prank her! Yeah, it hurt that she called me what she did but I didn’t want her to get seriously injured!” You pushed him. “And instead of helping me help her you just ditched me, like the coward you are.”

You were about to turn on your heel and march right back up the stairs when George put his hands on your cheeks, and gazed at you so earnestly your heart stuttered.

“That’s not entirely true.” George held up his hand, traces of blood still evident despite his obvious efforts at trying to wipe it away. I will be obedient.

The color drained from your face as you looked at the words etched into his skin. You forgot all about your detention and were suddenly focused on what happened after you left the twins.

“What happened?” You whispered, clutching his scarred hand in yours.

George flinched as your fingers brushed over the raised skin. “Me and Fred were running, I thought you were behind us- Umbridge was coming around the corner and decided we were up to no good. I turned back to tell you to run while we distracted her, but you weren’t there. Thank Godric.” His other hand tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. “We spent the better part of our night writing in our blood.” George's hand slipped from your cheek and slowly grazed its way from your shoulder to your hip, pulling you close. “That doesn’t mean I’m any less sorry that you got caught by Snape.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Although I’m glad you're covered in- whatever this is- rather than your own blood.”

You looked up at your boyfriend, your heart swelling in your chest with love for him. “I’m sorry- I shouldn’t have called you a coward.”

George laughed as he descended to press his lips against yours. “No harm done, princess.” His arms wrapped around you tightly as yours lifted to curl around his neck and pull him infinitesimally closer. The feel of his lips draining whatever anger was left in your heart. It was difficult to be mad and stay mad at George Weasley.

Finally, you pulled away breathless. “I love you, Georgie.”

“I love you too, princess.” He glanced down. “So much that I don’t mind being covered in- Flobberworm goo.”

You raised a brow and began to pull out of George’s embrace. “Well, I guess that means I should go shower.”

George winked before grabbing your hips and lifting you until you were wrapped around him. “I’m taking that as an invitation.”

You laughed as he carried you up the stairs towards the dorm bathroom. “Then consider yourself invited.”

Taglist: @huffledor-able541​ @sarcasticallywitty15​

[stetervault]

Hey, love the blog!!! I was wondering if you had any fics where Talia is terrible to Peter and/or Stiles? I know that's a lot of fics so maybe ones where it's a notable plot point? Thanks!

Here are some I know, with various levels of bad alpha/sister/all-around person!Talia (some have her redeemable, others not so much):

IBDC: Teen Wolf by moonstalker24 --> Pretend to be dating AU Part 1 & Part 2

Peter pretends to be Stiles' boyfriend, which quickly evolves into being his actual boyfriend.

The Sphinx of Beacon Hills by Guede (Stetopher)

Stiles is a sphinx, and he’s winging his way to visit his buddy Scott when a storm drops him in Beacon Hills, the craziest, crankiest, coldest place ever. And somehow, he ends up with a bunch of werewolves.

The Other Husband by Therapeutic_Steter

Tumblr Prompt: You start working with your spouse and everyone thinks you're cheating because they don't know that's your spouse.

Home by Ragga

Don't be like him, they would say, and then add, or else you get burned.

Unable to bear the whispers any longer, This One left. He forsook those who forsook him, left him bear his scars alone, the scars he bore for his herd. It was better to be alone, stay off the currents, than swim with those most undeserving of his loyalty. So mote it be.

That is, until he met That One.

Ink Blossoms by Triangulum

"So, you're going to ruin your niece's baby shower with flowers in the wrong color?" the florist, Stiles, asks when they reach the counter. He pulls out a binder and starts flipping through it.

"Not ruin. Mildly inconvenience," Peter says.

"Right, messing with a hormonal pregnant woman seems like a great plan."

"To be fair, her fiance and the father of her baby is my ex-boyfriend," Peter says. "And we weren't broken up when they started 'dating'."

Stiles looks up at him in surprise. "And you're still getting her flowers?" he asks.

"It's under duress, I assure you," Peter says. He absolutely wouldn't be here if his alpha hadn't ordered it.

"Well, shit, yeah, let's get you some purple revenge flowers," Stiles says.

God Only Knows by katiemorag

Peter still couldn't quite believe he was being made to attend his niece's wedding, reason number one being that her fiancé was Peter's ex, who had cheated on Peter with Laura.

There's also the slight issue of his entire family refusing to believe that his boyfriend, Stiles, actually exists.

You Are so Much Better Than I Ever Knew Before by lavenderlotion

“Oh sweetheart,” Kate cooed, voice sickly sweet and obviously fake. “You didn’t think you were dating...did you?”

Stiles just stood there, still in shock and only coherent enough to shrug his shoulders. “Oh sweetie, that is just too cute. No, Der-Bear here just needed something to keep his cock warm while I was away visiting family.”

what the dust reveals by WindyRein

That one where Stiles and Peter are soulmates and there's spy-assassins and wings and other stuff.

You Just Got Ghosted! by Ragga

“What’s your name, angel?” little Stiles murmured even as his eyes fell closed, quickly losing his battle against sleep.

Stiles smiled. It was a little sad but also heavy with the knowledge that what he was doing was the right thing—heavy with the knowledge he didn’t deserve the moniker bestowed upon him.

“You can call me Mietek.”

Or the one where there's time travel, feels abound, two Stiles in one timeline, and one of them stuck somewhere between the planes of existence. Yet a ghost can still manage to save the day and get the girl. Or the wolf. Manly wolf. Because Peter.

Toothed Morality (Send Me Flowers) by rightsidethru

“The world is a dark place, moje kochanie; it is one filled with monsters, always ready to gobble you whole. Be wary of the promises they give: seal every vow with blood and bone and Name. A True Name, one that will bind them to their word.”

“But how will I know that they’re telling the truth, Matka? Couldn’t they lie…?”

“You’ll know, mały płomień.”

Send Newts by Bunnywest

The first thing Peter notices is that Talia’s smiling, and that in itself makes him suspicious. When he sees that Laura’s smiling too, his distrust intensifies. “What?” he demands? “What is it?” Talia’s smile widens as she serves him a cup of tea, made just how he likes it. “Just wondering if your new husband knows you’re such a curmudgeon in the mornings,” she says sweetly. Peter’s cup clatters against the table and the tea spreads in a puddle, ignored. “My what?” “New husband,” Laura chimes in, and then she’s wrapping her arms around Peter’s neck, and saying, “Thank you, Uncle Peter,” and hugging him tight, and the memory of last night tugs at him again. What happened again, exactly?

The Various Triumphs of Mischief Bilinski by Whispering_Sumire

"Hello, Chris," sings a honeyed voice from behind.

Chris' attention snaps toward the intruder, his gun already out of its' holster and aimed at whoever it is — a boy, apparently, with braided russet hair, a red jacket, and wise eyes. He's wearing a gas mask, but Chris can tell by the way his eyes crinkle around the edges, the way sun-burnt sand swirls in his irises, that he's smiling.

Chris cocks his gun.

"You killed my father," he says.

"No offence, but he totally deserved it," the stranger agrees with cheerful solemnity.

"What the hell are you doing in my home?" Chris demands. The kid is perched on a windowsill in Chris' office, as nonchalantly as if this were something he did every day, as if they were familiar.

"I was just wondering," the kid speaks softly, fond amusement sewn through with a peculiar resignation, "how you'd feel about putting down some nazis?"

[Or: The one where Stiles goes back in time and subsequently fucks with everything.]

The Devil You Know by Triangulum

Hell is busy and Peter is understaffed. There are too many evil people being sent down below and there are only so many demons Peter has to torture them with. He needs to reorganize. They don't utilize group torture nearly as much as they should. Stiles probably has some ideas on that.

Or

Peter is King of Hell, Stiles is his second in command, and Talia summons them for a favor.

Call Me Mary Poppins by Triangulum (Stetopher)

Chris pinches the bridge of his nose and says, "You're telling me you want to fuck the nanny?"

"Don't be ridiculous, it's nothing as stereotypical as that, Christopher. This isn't porn. I want to seduce her," Peter says.

Or

A Stetopher nanny AU that wasn't really asked for.

Follow My Lead by Inell (Peter/Laura/Cora/Derek/Stiles)

Peter can’t quite figure out what’s so appealing about the young agent questioning them about his sister’s murder, but he does know that Agent Stilinski is more than he seems.

The Perceptions of You and I by lavenderlotion

“Baby, why did your secretary ask me if I was here under duress?”

Peter looks at him, blinks slowly, and then tilts his head to the side before asking, “She what?”

“She asked if you were forcing me to be here,” Stiles says, eyes flicking across the room to where said assistant is standing at the punch bowl. “She wanted to know if you were blackmailing me or threatening me.”

“She thinks you’re here under duress because Peter is such a terrifying bastard there’s no way a human Omega would be with him otherwise.”

Rent-a-Date by RebaK1tten

If Peter has to spend Christmas with his family, he's going to have a buffer. Even if he has to get him off a website.

Pissing Off The Straights by Therapeutic_Steter

platypusesrneat asked: Peter's family is alive, rich, and complete assholes. Peter can't stand them and is trying to get out of going to their stupid party. Cue Stiles saving the day!

Prayers to a Lesser God by Green

When the Hales are trapped in a house fire, Peter prays to every deity he's ever read about. Miraculously, one answers his call.

this (let's remember) by sinequanon

Peter has always done his pack's dirty work, but it's not until his sister locks him away in Eichen House that he realizes that he has other priorities.

OR

A Romeo and Juliet type story featuring less suicide and more murder.

Don't Come For His Family by lavenderlotion

In the three years Stiles had been with Peter, the man had only talked about his family a handful of times - and as far as Stiles knew had never once spoken to them. So he wasn’t exactly excited to see the mans family, even though that’s exactly what they were about to do.

It does not go to plan.

Beautiful Like Birds by Whispering_Sumire

"Stiles?" he asks, turning on the light, and Stiles looks at him- eyes wide, a flicker of utter devotion and heartbreaking joy passing his features before his whole face crumples and-

"Daddy?"

John has never seen his son like this, or maybe he has, when Claudia died, but it's different somehow, more, and terrifying because he has no idea why. He's closed half the distance between them before he even has time to think it through, but it doesn't matter because Stiles has bridged the rest and flung himself into John's arms.

He falls apart like that, holding onto John so tightly that it's hard to breathe, but he can't care about that right now because his son is sobbing and chanting "Daddy," desperately into his shoulder.

[Or, the one where Stiles goes back in time to save the world, and surprisingly, survives to tell the tale.]

We Three Can Rule The World by Whispering_Sumire (Steterek)

"Hello," he says softly, setting his fiddle down in his lap, not bothering to stand.

"Hi," Derek replies, half-gruff, then, because he should, "that was- that was beautiful but... you know this is private property, right?"

The boy throws his head back and laughs, and laughs, and laughs. The sound of it is overwhelming in its childish joy, and his eyes positively sparkle when they land on Derek again.

"Yes," he says, unashamed "I knew." Then he's standing, fiddle and bow in one hand, the other stretched out toward Derek, friendly and welcoming, "My name is Stiles."

[Or: The one where there's a fiddler, and two werewolves whose eyes flash blue, and a whole fucking world to conquer.]

The Alpha Thief by Triangulum

Something changes around the time Peter turns thirty. His wolf becomes malcontent and angry. His control, impeccable since he was a child, starts to slip, that inner rage leaking out. Talia's iron clad control over the pack chafes him. He can't explain why, but it feels like his world shifts. Pack members he's grown up with suddenly leave with barely an explanation, without a goodbye. His parents' deaths, something that occurred over five years ago, suddenly feel raw, everything after their passing he remembers feeling stilted and wrong.

Or

What if Malia's existence wasn't the memory Talia took from Peter? And what if memories weren't the only thing she stole?

[tricktster]

Hey, while The Letter is still the subject of like every ask I’m getting, I want to highlight an important point that I neglected to address in my Guide to Writing a Fuck You Letter. (As a  refresher, when I say “Fuck You letter,” I’m really talking about a letter directed to another person that is written in response to that person’s bad/wrongful act. In the Fuck You letter, you explain exactly why that person’s act was bad or wrongful, and then you explain the potential negative outcomes  that the actor should expect as a result of their bad act, in order of escalating severity.) 

If you want to convince someone to take a specific course of action, a Fuck You letter is not your best vehicle to accomplish that goal. Sure, once in a while, someone will get so spooked by a Fuck You letter that they’ll give you what you want, but the purpose of a Fuck You letter isn’t to get someone to agree with you, it’s to back your opponent into a corner in order to provoke a stupid reaction. 

See, it’s not unusual that I have to indulge in some tactful exaggerating when I am describing the bad outcomes that a Fuck You letter recipient can anticipate, because, in my experience, people are usually aware on some level that the bad act they’re doing is something that they can get in trouble for. They don’t want to get in trouble, so they cover their tracks to make it harder for anyone to prove that their act was motivated by bad intent.

Example (with the same caveat as before, this example has nothing to do with the varietal of Fuck You letter that I write): Pregnant people who are fired by their employers because they become pregnant. I can only speak for the USA, but I understand that it is (generally) illegal here to fire someone because they are pregnant - and yet! It happens all the fucking time! Some employers will come right out and say “we’re firing you because you’re pregnant” (especially if they’re firing a low wage employee per this article) but sometimes the employer will use some pretext to fire the pregnant employee - maybe they’re told during their firing meeting that it’s not because they’re pregnant, it’s deeeefinitely because they were two minutes late eight months ago. You get it; obvious bullshit, but it’s not like the employer wrote a letter saying “You’re fired because your pregnant.” The employer did a bad thing, but it’s going to be tougher for the employee to prove. 

This is where the Fuck You letter shines, because you’re going to write it and outline the consequences to the employer for their bad act under the pretext that you can already indisputably prove that the employee was fired because of her pregnancy. In other words, you gotta bullshit. Then, and this is my favorite part, you sit back and watch what happens. If they give you the type of response you’re looking for, that’s awesome, but it’s way more likely that they’re going to respond with the time honored technique of Reacting Defensively and Making a Mistake (Preferably in Writing). People are fucking awful at recognizing their own wrongdoing, everyone’s the hero of their own story etc. etc. You give them a Fuck You letter, and a lot of the time, you get a furious response from the actor that’s intended to justify and explain away the bad act. If you’ve done your job right, they can’t just ignore the letter; they know you’re going to do Something Bad to them if you don’t hear back, and they will righteously show you that they are a Good Person who does not deserve Something Bad happening to them! Sometimes they’ll also threaten you in return, which is *chef kiss* the best. 

So, extending our hypothetical, maybe the employer responds by writing, “As we discussed at the time of your firing, [Employee] you were fired because [excuse]. If you keep lying about what happened, I will have no choice to inform your new employer that you were suspected of [embezzling or whatever, you get the picture]. “

Getting a response like that from the employer might not sound like a good outcome, but it really fucking is, because now you’ve forced the employer into committing to one excuse for why the employee was fired. The employer suddenly is in a way worse position, because he’s going to need to find proof to support his false justification for the firing, which will be pretty hard to come by, since, you know, lying. Likewise, now that he’s committed to a lie, all you have to do is start poking holes in it. And if you can figure out how to get him in deeper trouble for the threat he made in response to your letter, well, golly gosh is that asshole ever double-fucked.  

The Fuck You letter serves an important purpose, and it’s not “forcing someone to correct their wrong.” You write a persuasive letter if you want to coax someone into doing the right thing. The Fuck You letter’s purpose is to goad someone into doing something so indisputably wrong that they they can’t weasel out of it. 

While we’re on the subject, I’m going to share the best fucking explanation of  how to write persuasively that I’ve ever encountered. It’s from Year of the Griffin by Diana Wynne Jones. It’s a fantasy novel about a bunch of students essentially agitating for an improved curriculum at their University. I know that sounds fucking awful, but DWJ was a hell of a writer, and this book has informed my life in a huge way by giving me this gift of a passage, which runs through my mind every single time I have to write something that will convince someone to see things my way.  

“[The professor] was determined to skim Ruskin’s essay. But it was impossible. Ruskin was a dwarf, used to working with intricate things, and his argument was like chain mail, forged link by link. He put out a suggestion. He followed that with obvious things that led from it—things you were forced to agree to—and then he went one stage further and Wham! you were agreeing to something that was quite unheard of. Then Ruskin took the unheard-of idea and did the same to that. Wham. A new mad idea. Around and around the links Corkoran went, up and through and wham! through the first twenty pages. By this time he found he was humbly agreeing to a complete reorganization of the University syllabus, with theory and practical being taught together, to give more space for hugely advanced theory, and the first-year course beginning where the third year’s left off;”

[seimeinotaka]

Elusive kindness (Vil x MC)

(Cross-posted from AO3)

One of the worst days in Vil's recent life, Epel and Deuce had just ran away and left him having to face a possible logistics nightmare. To make matters worse (better), someone  (that absolutely obnoxious manager) had to disagree on why he had simply shown Epel the true power of beauty.

Thanks to polyphenols@AO3 for beta-reading this!

Things had honestly worked out in the most obnoxious yet mysterious of ways.

When Epel had run away, merely two weeks before the VDC, Vil needed to apply all the breathing techniques he knew because otherwise he would explode. Two weeks was so little time to do anything; finding a replacement and properly training them would be impossible to achieve in such a short window. The other option, changing the choreography to fit one person less AND upgrading one of the backup vocals to take over Epel’s parts seemed easier in theory. Keywords, in theory.

This would put everything in jeopardy because he would have to select someone and they would have to almost start from zero. With a clear role assigned to each member, the replacement would be at risk of mixing up their original lines and steps with Epel’s, not to mention the others would have to consider the new spatial reorganization.

The perfect symmetry he had arranged everyone to, the distribution of the main vocals and the backup ones, how everyone was in the perfect spot, everything would be ruined.

Then Freshman Potato No.2 had to follow Epel and disappear, further complicating everything.

Five was too small of a number of singers to properly portray the song AND the dance. Two main vocals and three backups complicated dancing distribution. Three main vocals and two backups caused the backups to fade against the three main singers.

Everything he did had been logical and organized for a reason, meticulously taking care of the smallest detail. His hard work would be ruined for a pair of children who were just throwing a tantrum. He was so desperate that he even considered for the briefest moment if Ann could somehow take in a spot.

Actually, she wasn’t bad looking, she was following the same regimen as everyone else so her skin was clear and pretty. With extremely short hair, she might pull it off. The problem was that Ann was a girl, and her singing voice would disrupt the harmony between the original members. No matter if she was a main or backup vocal, her voice would unfortunately stand out, and not in the way Vil needed.

So he quickly discarded the idea, even if he had spent quite a lot of time staring at her when she had arrived to check up on him, to the point she noticed him scrutinizing her. But no, he wouldn’t get a break, as the same troublemakers came back, and not with good news. If it wasn’t a logistics nightmare already barely avoided, he then faced the possibility of being banned from the VDC for the same potatoes breaking school rules AND fighting non-magicians.

The entire day was too much stress for anyone to handle in a couple of hours. He wasn’t a child who threw a tantrum when things didn’t do his way, but was it too much to ask for things to at least not go as bad for once?

“I have finally understood the meaning behind the power that Vil-san was talking about.”

“!”

“Thanks to you, a lot of people are buying the apple juice from my hometown now… They are so happy about it.”

Could it finally be?

“I want this power too.”

Vil smiled smugly, a true victory having taken place before his eyes as Epel had finally seen his way. After a long and stressful struggle, Epel finally understood the true power of beauty. He would finally become the poison apple Vil needed to beat Neige.

-

The atmosphere in Ramshackle Dorm had turned more light-hearted, even If Epel and Deuce had been slightly punished and Ace seemed still confused at what Deuce had told him. But it was a huge improvement over the dreadful tension from the previous days, and it seemed that things were finally clearing up.

Vil had sent everyone to bed, stopping for a moment in the middle of the hall to check his phone calendar. There were still things to fix in their performance, but with the newfound interest and disposition of everyone, especially Epel, he would have to tinker the schedule he had for the remaining two weeks. To polish them so they would all shine brilliantly, Vil had to make the most of this time for a magnificent comeback.

“Ah, I’m glad I could meet you before you went to sleep,” the voice of the lone girl in the room was unmistakable as Vil sighed and closed the calendar app. Whenever she met him like this, he always ended angry with one of her “incredibly important discussions”, so he might as well finish it fast and go to his room to finish his plans.

However, the prefect looked at him, a soft smile on her face, and no intention to argue with him.

“Thank you, Schoenheit-senpai.”

Vil arched an eyebrow, surprised, but not wanting to chant victory too early. “What is this for?”

“You helped Epel’s village. He told us they weren’t doing so well recently. I mean, he received a lot of boxes that hadn’t been sold and were close to the expiration date. The MagiCam post you made really helped everyone, I can see how grateful and happy Epel is thanks to you.”

“Manager, did you pay attention to what I told Epel when they came back?”

“About you liking to make others kneel?”

He smiled snidely at her. Of all the things she had to remember, it was that. Fine then, he would make her kneel too soon enough.

“So you were paying attention. Good.” Standing proudly, almost haughty and captivating, he said, “I simply showed Epel my power. The power to compel others to do what I want. My beauty can get anyone to do my biding, just as I made all these people buy an apple juice. Of course, I used it to make him see my way, so that he focused on the VDC and dropped this rebellious nonsense. Everything I did, it was all for myself, that is all.”

“Huh, so that’s how you want to call it,” she replied, pursing her lips. Then she had the guts to laugh, covering a smile with her hand. “You’re really strange, Schoenheit-senpai.”

He could feel a headache incoming, thanks to her and her completely inappropriate reaction. She always found a way to get under his skin to his dismay and annoy him, no matter how much he mentally prepared himself.

And she would speak her mind to him because she thought her opinion was important to him.

But even if he grimaced, Ann wouldn’t wipe that smile on her face, no, in fact it had become brighter.

“You know you could have told him you would promote his family’s business if you won the VDC, right?” She looked him in the eye, a serious gaze in contrast with the warmth of her lips. “But you didn’t. You went ahead and made that post in your MagiCam. Because you are so popular, anything you promote will become successful, and you probably charge a lot to do that. But to do this for free, under the excuse as ‘doing it for yourself’, you could have done something else but you helped his village… Hehe, you are far more caring than you let on, senpai.”

Vil frowned as he returned her gaze, not wanting to lose that sudden staring contest, as looking away would give off an impression of weakness, that she had hit the nail right on the head. The last thing he needed was for her to think she understood him and his intentions or feelings. He didn’t appreciate her long tongue at all, nor that kind smile of hers, making him feel somehow exposed and annoyingly teased.

But before he could protest anything, she said, “I don’t think you want to argue with me about this, but thank you again, Schoenheit-senpai! I’m glad things got solved somehow between you and Epel, good night!” And without waiting for him to reply and rebuke her harshly, she left to her room, leaving him once more alone in the hallway.

He let out a long drawn sigh, this day had been exhausting, mentally and physically. Seriously, things could work out with less stress on him. And, even though he still mumbled about how annoying she had been, especially now with her cheeky remarks, he didn’t chase away the image of her thanking him before he went to sleep.

-

Thank you for reading!

[ineffable-endearments]

Waking up in July

(Rating: G. Approx. 1917 words.)

July 1, 2020.

On reaching for the snooze, Crowley discovers an envelope he definitely didn’t leave on top of his phone. (Mail doesn’t usually get delivered to his bedside, of course, but given the handwriting on the front, Crowley has the impression divine intervention was involved this time.)

Dear Crowley,

I am writing to you in frustration. Not with you, you must understand, but with myself. There are a few things I do believe need clarifying.

Given everything that’s happened, I feel strongly that I ought to be behaving in solidarity with the guidelines the people of London have set for themselves. I must admit, it was a surprise to hear you express the same sentiment. I’ve always known you aren’t cruel enough to want to see innocent people fall ill (don’t you roll your eyes at this letter; you said it yourself), but I thought surely you would have your own ways of getting around the lockdown, carrying on outside the rules and indulging in mischief as you always do. Were this the case, it would only be responsible to invite you over here, to decrease your bad influence.

And yet, this was not the case. Still, after declining your offer when we spoke, I felt somehow unsatisfied, or perhaps at loose ends. It would have been very nice to share my baking with someone who is not attempting to steal my cashbox.

If you read this letter before July, do know you’re encouraged to reach out. We could at least speak telephonically. And if you don’t read this before July, know I will be immensely happy to meet with you again as soon as you awaken.

(There’s a long gap between the end of the paragraph and the end of the letter itself.)

Crowley...I suppose the truth is I miss you very much.

Yours, always,

Aziraphale

“Sentimental old sap,” Crowley says out loud. How else is he going to dislodge the painfully fond lump in his throat? “Right. Time to see what’s going on, then.”

=

Continue below or read the rest on AO3

One rushed mobile search and five minutes later, Crowley has an approximate idea of where the humans stand. They haven’t done the greatest job of getting the virus under control, but they seem to have made...progress? Arguably? Ugh, they could have done better. At any rate, if he and Aziraphale want to see each other, they’re going to have to form a...a “support bubble.”

The notion of asking Aziraphale out loud if he would like to be in something called a “support bubble” together almost makes Crowley want to turn around and go back to sleep.

On second thought, the angel would probably get a kick out of it, and the awful naming scheme would give Crowley something to gripe about, so all’s well that ends well, really.

The bookshop phone barely rings before Aziraphale’s voice is on the line. “Hello. I’m afraid we’re closing early--”

“Good,” Crowley says. “I’m not calling you to buy books.”

“Crowley!”

Oh, that’s a familiar delight in his voice. That’s rescuing-from-the-Bastille, cleaning-paint-off-his-coat, showing-up-for-Armageddon-in-a-flaming-car delight.

“Good morning, angel.”

“So very much has happened. I’d like to fill you in, but oh, I don’t even know where to begin...”

Crowley frowns at his phone, worried. “A lot has happened? What, at the shop?”

“No, no, I mean in the world.”

“All right. Well. Just start in...I dunno, start off from our last conversation, I fell asleep pretty much right away--”

“Come to the shop,” Aziraphale blurts. “You have to wear a mask, and-- and don’t go anywhere else, but it’s allowed. It...it’s okay now.”

“I’ll be there in five,” Crowley says, grinning, ready to ignore any admonishments about speed limits.

“Wait! Crowley?”

“Hmm?”

“Actually. If you come see me before July 4, we...we have to be in, ah. A support bubble.” There it is. “Have you heard about that yet?”

“Sure I have.” Crowley does his best to sound gruff and unaffected.

“You couldn’t be in anyone’s place but mine, you know. And even after the fourth, you couldn’t...get closer than two metres to anyone but me, even though you could visit--”

“Aside from the fact that all this is totally for show anyway, stop worrying, it’s fine,” Crowley insists. He miracles himself the least-ugly mask he can contemplate and bustles out the door, hurrying irritatedly back a minute later to grab the “something drinkable” he forgot.

They don’t even sit down right away, much less get within the 2 metres of each other. Aziraphale does, however, give Crowley a long, pleasantly intense look (it appears to be a proper drinking-in) when he enters the shop.

“Did you, ah,” Aziraphale clasps his hands together. “Did you get my letter?”

“I did,” Crowley says. “Got a bit bored, did you?”

Aziraphale sighs, impatient. “I suppose you could put it that way.”

“I’d have come over, you know,” Crowley says softly, just loud enough for Aziraphale to hear. “You could have called. Had my phone right by the bed.”

“I know,” Aziraphale responds, not any louder. He looks away to the table next to him, makes a show of studying a book that wouldn’t have moved from the shelf since 1949 if it weren’t for Adam’s reorganization. “But if you’d...stayed here, wouldn’t you have been bored?”

Crowley shrugs. “Maybe. I’m sure being bored here wouldn’t be worse than being bored at home.”

“If you were here, hunkering down as you put it, we might have got in each other’s way. I’m sure it would have been lovely for a while, but what about after a day or two? Or after a week? A month?”

“You have always liked being left alone with your work,” Crowley muses. “I could have gone to sleep here, too, though. I know you’ve got that little flat with the single bed you haven’t used since 1993 upstairs.”

At this, something in Aziraphale’s face loosens, and he looks almost as if he might smile. “Oh, now what kind of host banishes his guest upstairs for bedtime?”

“You absolutely would. Or I could just come visit and leave. Rules only apply to us if we decide they should, right?”

“Well, that’s the thing,” Aziraphale says. “I was stuck. It seems silly, I know, I know, but it’s such a strange time, everyone out there struggling - I would have felt terrible for choosing not to align with the humans’ rules myself. I was hoping…”

“That I’d help you get around them,” Crowley finishes.

“As you always have,” Aziraphale admits. That confession alone pushes the air out of Crowley’s lungs, a surprising sensation even considering his breath is optional.

“Those were...stupid rules. Dangerous for an angel to break. I felt like I was sort of doing you favors while also being a proper demon when I did that. This isn’t quite the same.”

Aziraphale nods. “No. Perhaps it’s not.”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley says, urgently needing eye contact. Aziraphale cooperates, drifting even a little closer as he does. Not quite 2 metres away now. “This is our side.” Crowley gestures vaguely at Aziraphale and everything around them. “I can sneak around other people’s rules all you want, but I’m not gonna force my way around yours.”

“I don’t know what’s right,” Aziraphale says, plaintive. “People aren’t supposed to be seeing each other, so if we’re going to live here, neither should we. I missed you every day, though, Crowley. Isn’t that strange? We don’t even meet every day under normal circumstances, but something about being forced to stay apart reminded me so much of old times - bad old times…”

The angel is getting himself worked up. “No point worrying about it now,” Crowley interjects. “We’re a...we’re a ‘bubble,’ aren’t we? We’re following the rules just fine and I’m even allowed to come and go. Problems solved.”

Aziraphale purses his lips. “For now,” he agrees, smiling in earnest this time. “It did get me thinking about an awful lot of things, though.”

“And none of them have to be resolved this second,” Crowley reassures. “Would you like to talk over wine? I’ve been thinking about this bottle since April.”

“Certainly, yes.” Aziraphale waves his hand. “One more thing before we do, though. You know, it’s alright for people in a bubble to get close to each other.”

“You sure?” Crowley asks, not because he doesn’t know the rule, but because he doesn’t know what Aziraphale’s rule is going to be.

“Yes. I was actually hoping you might - and you can refuse, Crowley, really, it’s a bizarre request - but I was hoping you might allow me to hug you.”

Crowley feels a big, undignified grin breaking out on his face. He schools it into the best semblance of a smirk he can manage, but he’s definitely not going to fool Aziraphale. That’s fine. “All right,” he says. “If it makes you happy.”

There is a different sort of delight on Aziraphale’s face as he sidles nervously up to Crowley. It’s not as blatant as what he’d sounded like on the phone. It’s quieter, but deeper. It’s rescued-books-after-a-fallen-bomb delight.

“Come here,” Crowley murmurs, pulling his very favorite fusspot into a hug. Upon resting his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder, breathing in that cologne and the scent of various baking experiments, soaking in Aziraphale’s warmth like a...well, like a serpent in the sun, Crowley realizes this is as much for him as it is for Aziraphale.

And he doesn’t want to stop. Sod the wine; let this take hours.

“Do you still get the feeling we’re not supposed to be doing this, no matter how safe it is?” Aziraphale asks, voice muffled. He’s sort of talking into Crowley’s jacket.

“Not really the same for me,” Crowley says. “My lot weren’t big on guilt. Fear, more like. Terror, yes. Not guilt.” He lifts his head so he can rest his cheek against the angel’s ridiculous fluffy hair.

“Oh. Yes, that makes sense. Sorry.” Aziraphale presses his head into Crowley’s shoulder.

Crowley rolls his eyes, knowing Aziraphale won’t see it, more attempting to reassure himself that he hasn’t gone completely, entirely soft. “Let’s take it one moral crisis at a time,” he whispers, stroking Aziraphale’s back. Aziraphale shifts and breathes out, snorting very lightly (although he’d never, ever allow it to be called a ‘snort’ out loud) in a way that indicates he’s trying not to giggle.

“You know,” Aziraphale says, apparently regaining his composure, “they might tighten restrictions again.”

“It’s possible. It might be the smartest option,” Crowley agrees.

“We should consider what we’re going to do if that happens.” Aziraphale has not removed himself from Crowley’s grip. “If you’re really sure you wouldn’t mind…”

Crowley finds himself chuckling, progressing to a full-throated laugh. “What, sleeping upstairs?”

“Well, no--”

“We’ll cross that bridge if we get to it, but if there’s one thing I can guarantee, it’s that I wouldn’t want to sit around and chatter 24/7. You’d have your reading time.”

Aziraphale sighs. “And wouldn’t you miss your things?”

“Sure, possibly. Not like I was using them when I was sleeping the months away, though, was I?”

“All right.” Aziraphale pulls away enough to gesture toward the sofa, leaving Crowley wanting more. Days. Days more. Aziraphale is beaming, though, and Crowley might be, too, and Aziraphale doesn’t end the hold entirely because now their hands are clasped. “Now, bring the wine over here and let’s go sample the desserts. I’m especially interested to hear what you think of the devil’s food cake.”

[ladyexploso]

Tokoyami x Bird Mutation Quirk!Pregnant!Reader: Pretty Things

[P1]

Note that this is slightly reflected on a OC of mine but it is a reader insert.

The house of the Tokoyami Family was dead quiet in the middle of the day for ones. Most days the house would be filled with the sounds of daily cleaning, the washer going or the dryer, the sound of dishes being put away, even the sound of the radio would be moving though the air of the house. But today it was quite. The only sounds that filled the house was in the main bedroom, deep in the depth of the large plush nest that was built in front of the queen size bed. The sound of steady breathing and soft coos and chirps filled the nest

Tokoyami Y/N, currently 6 months pregnant laid in the large nest, half awake and have asleep from her midday nap. She felt,wrong in small words. It was nothing big, she wasn’t hurt or in pain, well aside from her actual pregnancy pains she was fine. It was just a feeling that bagged at the back of her mind. The feeling was just strange to her at least. She couldn’t tell if it was do to her own quirk or her husband’s, the both of them having bird related quirks, so most likely the child she would be giving birth to in the next few months would probably have some kind of bird quirk or mutation. Her mind nagged with the most odd “craving” she seemed to have by far though the pregnancy....

She wanted shine things, all over her nest, now.

The odd phenomenon had started about a month ago, when the baby had started letting it be known that they where fully active, they didn’t move much but Y/N had started feeling flutters of what could be called movement. Even though no one else could feel them yet, she could. That’s when the pulling feeling started.

Before her and Tokoyami had known she was pregnant, she had started building a nest in the closet, it was small and cramped and Tokoyami was happy that you wanted to build a nest in the room, but it was so small it barely fit you let alone him. After a week of her feeling sick and just sitting in the small nest he took you to go see the doctor. That’s when the two of you found out you where almost a full month pregnant.

After that the nest had been moved out of the closet and into the bedroom in front of the bed. He had tried to talk his wife into letting him have a team come in and remodel the closet into a full room closet so she could have her own nest room. She was very against the idea of having people in their home, Tokoyami suspected it was do to the news of the pregnancy and the protective motherly instinct that ran though her now. But after a talk with some of his hero friends, Momo and Mina, he had successfully gotten you out of the house early in the morning and back during the late night for a girls day out.

He payed top dollar to the fastest people he know who could get the job done, Power Loader, Hatsume and even Gun Head. The three where great with both construction and pure muscle power to do the job.

The job went pretty fast with the help of the hero’s and before no time a new closet/room was built and painted, along with decorated walls of dressers and mirrors with amazing lighting. He had even put in a dimmer that was remote controlled so if she wanted to dim the lights she could without moving.

When she had walked though the front door , he was expecting her to love it or at least find it nice. But the fact that she looked into the room for 5 seconds and then gave him the most uncomfortable “I hate this things” look before slamming the door to the room shut and falling asleep on the bedroom bed.

She hated it and she wanted it to be known.

Tokoyami never found it to be a waste of time or money, they stilled used it as a closet, she just didn’t want to build a nest in it.

Tossing and turning she couldn’t get comfortable in her nest and she couldn’t figure out why. She huffed as she sat up, her stomach hurt in a deep pit way. A sharp kick to her side made her wince as she got up from her nest, shuffling out and standing up to look over her nest. It just didn’t feel right any more. Her head feathers ruffled as she mulled over her nest. She looked over her nest before something caught her eye, that stupid closet. As of on cue a light kick made her look down, the baby wanted to move to the stupid closet.

She really didn’t want to move all her stuff but every minute she was out of her soft safe nest made her more and more uncomfortable. Grabbing a few of the light blankets that spilled around the nest freely she moved over to the closet door before opening it wide, flipping the switch on the wall to turn the lights on. The room was clean and neat. The room was a nice white with back accents to it and nice lighting over all. Her husband’s suits and extra at home hero suits hung. Draws filled with his at home and civilian clothes. His other draws by the mirror and desk area where filled nearly with his watches and different chokers.

Her side was filled with her dresses and normal clothes. A few drawers where now filled with her pregnancy clothes and baby clothes that she and her husband had picked out a while back. Her own mirror and table clad with her skin and makeup products. Her drawers where filled with jewelry, Tokoyami had bought all kinds of jewelry for her from day one. From bracelets, to earrings to necklaces with all kinds of jewels and metals. At first it was to much, she didn’t want to make him buy her so much, she could just not guess how much he had payed for just one of the gold incrusted bracelets he had gifted her on a whim. But after a while it was evident that he just liked buying you stuff and he wasn’t going to stop any time soon even if she said no to the gifts. He only ever really request that she wear them when the two of them went out to big hero events and dinner.

She smiled at the thought before turning back to the blankets that now sat in the closet carpet. She sighed, this was going to be a pain to move.

Within two hours everything that had been in the previous nest was now in the closet, reorganizing into a new nest, a few new shirts from her husband’s laundry bin where thrown into the mix.

Laying down ones again she felt better, the smell of the room had changed over the past few months from the gross smell of paint to the scent of her husband and even his cologne he would spray on in the mornings before heading to the office. It was nice. But it wasn’t enough.

Her eyes drifted back to her desk, eyeing one of the few draws. A quick gander at a few of things her husband had bothered wouldn’t hurt now would it?

Getting up she wondered over to the desk before sitting down in the plush chair in front of it, her hand drifting down to drum along her stomach, a few flutters being thrown her way from the little one. Pulling open one of the draws her eyes widened and glisten at all of the jewelry that was neatly put inside. Had she really not noticed how pretty these where until now? All the jewels thy glittered in the cases, the shine of the gold and silver bands.

Before she could even understand what she was doing she was taking the cases and throwing them into her new nest, the light clinks of the jewelry hitting the bottom of the nest along with hitting one another as they fell. Dropping the cases she went back over to her nest , making a clearing on the bottom of the nest so she could lay down fully.

She just laid down looking at the ceiling before feeling around for something to latch into and look at. Her hand fell onto some necklace, she quickly grabbed it and brought it to her face. It was a large gold necklace choker mix, a gold band alpines with small diamonds and rubys, gold chains as a necklace lined and fell around it, with one giant ruby having from the last chain. A sharp kick pulled her out of the trance of looking at the ruby jewel. She slowly put the ruby part onto her stomach, moving her shirt up so it was right on the skin of her stomach.

The cool ruby sat on her stomach before the baby stopped kicking, only small movements fell where the ruby sat.

The kid couldn’t even see it, but it wanted it.

Stupid bird instincts.

Before she could scold her baby anymore, she feel asleep to the small movement it gave off.

Tokoyami sighed as he entered his house after a long day patrol the city streets. He just wanted to get home to have some time with his pregnant wife. He had never thought he would get married let alone a child. That’s why he wanted to just spend time with his wife. He loved her so much that it could rot out his own teeth. He was amazed that she had wanted to marry him, after marriage he thought that was it, the two of them would just live out the rest of their lives happily married with one another. The moment that she had let it slip that she wanted a child at some point his heart nearly stopped.

He had held her hands telling her how he wasn’t out on having a child, but he didn’t want her hurt or better yet dead. When he was born, his mother had to have a c-section do you his quirk mutation, his parents didn’t even know about his mutation until the last few months before he was born, he had turned during a ultrasound and they had noticed his head just in time to see. He didn’t want you to die because of a child that he had put into her. And the fact she had a bird mutation as well just made him more nervous. But after she begged him, pleaded with him, he caved.

She was willing to take every risk, even her own life, to have a child with him. The day that they had found out she was pregnant she held his hands and looked him in the eyes saying “ What ever happens, know that I wanted this, that this baby is me and you put together. A mix of you and me and the love we have for one another.” Tears pouring from her eyes as she gave a wavered smiled “ Don’t say another just nod, Tokoyami, if I die or I’m about to, the baby is number one ok?! Don’t think about any else, just think about what I want, that I want this baby, and if I don’t make it, look at him or her and know that in there is me and you! Me! Ok!?” Her hands fell to hold his face, his own eyes pouring down tears onto her hands.

He could only nod as he held her to his chest as they both cried.

It was a day he would never forget.

His thoughts where set aside as the front door clicked closed and he walked in to the house, happy to find his wife wasn’t over doing it in the kitchen and from the sound of the washer and dryer not going,most likely she hadn’t gone over bored today with house work. Dark shadow came out for a moment to look around the kitchen while Tokoyami just headed down the hall way to the master bedroom. Most likely his wife was curled up in her nest taking a nap.

As he walked into the room he noticed that the stack of pillows and blankets where gone from the front of the bed where her nest had been for the past 5 months. A slight panic hit him as he thought about where she could of gone. His mind overworking thinking about where she could be. A loud snort made his head shoot up, looking to the closet he found the door open a bit, the lights inside turned down to a dim shutter. Dark shadow retreated back into the room, pushing the door open a bit more for the man to enter.

He smiled at the sight, she had moved her nest into the middle of the closet. From what he could tell she was full on sleeping in the middle of it. He cocked a brow as he got closer. The nest was almost glistening? As he got closer he noticed all of the jewelry scattered around inside of her nest. He didn’t really understand as he got closer, why would she put all her jewelry into the nest with her? As he kneeled down next to her he felt himself smile a bit more.

He watched as her chest rises and falls, her hand resting on her round stomach. If he could cock a eyebrow he would as he looked down at the ruby necklace that sat on her stomach. He gently slipped a hand over her own hand and moved the necklace a bit only to be met with a hard kick to his hand making him pull away. It was a hard enough kick to make his wife whimper in her sleep and move a bit. He placed the necklace back in her stomach, it seemed the kid was happy with this and instantly stopped it’s assault inside his wife’s belly. His wife’s eyes slowly blinked open as she let out a sigh.

“Hi” she smiled up at her amazing husband, happy to see him home on time for once.

He chuckled as she gave her a kiss to the cheek and saying “ Hi there, I see the little one has been giving you a bit of trouble in the past few hours my love.” She smiled up at him before moving up a bit to sit up. She blushed as she noticed the man looking around her nest, eyeing all of the jewelry scattered around it. She scratched her neck saying “ The little one may or may not have a thing for jewelry, they can’t even see the dang things but they sure as hell want it near them, won’t stop kicking until I put something near my stomach.” Her flushed as she realized her husband was now full on laughing at her. She stomped her foot at him, trying to kick him as he sat next to her nest. His deep chuckles filled the room as he looked down at his wife.

“Don’t do that love it’s ok. The little one has a thing for shiny things like their father, it’s ok I just didn’t know that they would be this interested in them from the start.” Y/N raised a brow at her husband’s statement.

Her face blushed as she realized something. She pointed at him saying “ Don’t tell me, is this why you buy me so much jewelry? Because you have a thing for shine things?!”

He gave a small smirk saying “ To be completely honest, I have a obsession with both shiny and pretty things, that’s why I married you.” She blushed even harder at his words. Before she could stop looking at him she noticed the way his dark pants seemed to be straining, his member standing full attention in his pants as he glanced over her body, her belly covered by the ruby and diamond necklace, a few covering her legs.

She didn’t say anything.

This was going to be fun later on to exploit later.

P2-

[carryonsimoncarryonbaz]

NEW FIC!!!

Written for the Carry On Quarantine event organized by @xivz​ for the prompt of food delivery. My thanks to @fight-surrender​ and @basic-banshee​ for the beta reads and support!!

Baz is a teacher quarantined at home and Simon is doing temp work delivering food for The Girl and the Goat, a local pub. A craving for a burger leads to Baz ordering from the pub, followed by weeks of mutual pining, the slow burn of a developing relationship thwarted by the physical constraints of social distancing, and a refrigerator full of pub food. Movie nights, exasperated friends, lots of texts, way too much food, and multiple awkward encounters. 

Let My Love Open the Door

Baz

I close my laptop and drop my head down onto it. I’m knackered. The metal feels cool against my forehead. I roll my face from side to side, relishing the smooth chill of it against my cheeks. And then I remember.

Fuck, now I have to disinfect the damn thing.

I’m done. Done for the day but also so done with this.

How can I be expected to effectively teach students—Sixth Form students at that—from a computer terminal? I’m almost three weeks into this, but their looming A Levels and GSCE’s are still on schedule for May.

That’s less than two months away. Five weeks and three days, to be exact.

Thank fuck it’s Friday. I’ll at least have two days to prepare next week’s frightfully inadequate lesson plan.

I grab a disinfecting wipe from the canister and methodically wipe down my laptop. I’m not sick—not a cough, not a sniffle—but I’ve bought into this not touching my face directive and I shouldn’t be smearing my germs on random surfaces. For all I know I could be carrying this thing. One of the asymptomatic Typhoid Marys, spreading it far and wide.

Not that there’s anyone to spread it to, seeing as I’m on my own here, but I wipe the laptop down anyway, unnerved by the whole idea of it.

I’ve washed my hands more in the past month than I have in my entire life. I spent the first day at home wiping down every surface, laundering the bedding, mopping the floors. My house went from having a pleasant, woodsy scent to the overwhelming stench of bleach instead.

It gave me such a headache that I had to open the windows and damn near froze. Bloody coldest March we’ve had in years. April’s not proving to be much better.

My mobile buzzes. I should have left it in the bedroom but I’ve become painfully attached to it.

If I’m not planning out curriculum, video conferencing with my class, answering frantic emails from parents, students, the other teachers at my school, or compulsively cleaning and reorganizing my house, then I’m moodily scrolling through Twitter and Instagram and ratcheting up my anxiety.

I should delete my social media.

My mobile buzzes again.

I glance at my watch. It’s six o’clock.

Bound to be Wellbelove.

Wellbelove: are you done yet?

Wellbelove: Baz!!

Wellbelove: you can’t still be doing classwork it’s after 5

Wellbelove: BAAAAZZZZ

Me: Give it a rest, Wellbelove. Some of us are actually working from home.

Wellbelove: I am working, you poncy bastard I’m obviously far more efficient than you.

Me: Look, some of us can’t just post our morning exercise routine and somehow have that count as work.

Wellbelove: Why are we friends again? Can you remind me why I put up with this slander from you?

Me: Because of my sparkling wit and undeniable charm.

Wellbelove: more like your fashion sense and propensity to pick up the bill when we eat out. Neither of which are in evidence at the moment so I may have to rethink my devotion to you

Me: Still, I’m indispensable.

Wellbelove: then buy me dinner. what are we watching tonight?

This all started at the end of that first week, when Agatha couldn’t concentrate on the book she was trying to read and I’d reached the pulling-my-hair-out state of lesson planning. She suggested we watch a film together—FaceTiming while our Netflix accounts played in sync.

We’ve done that almost every night since. Dinner and a movie, separately, from a distance.

We spend almost as much time arguing over what to watch as we do watching, but that’s just how we are. I’ve known Agatha Wellbelove since we were toddlers at the same crèche when our parents were at uni. Same primary school, same secondary school.

We drifted apart during our uni years, with Agatha at Brighton for phys Ed and Oxford to read for English Language and Literature for me.  

It was some bizarre twist of fate that we were both hired to teach at the same secondary school in Chilham. She was the last person I expected to see on my orientation day.

We picked up where we left off, latching onto each other as we navigated our first real world experience after uni.

It’s been three years now and I think the past three weeks have been the longest stretch we’ve gone without seeing each other since we moved here.

She’s self-centered, brutally straight-forward, horribly short-tempered, dreadfully impatient, and devastatingly gorgeous.

A perfect match for me if I wasn’t so irrevocably gay.

And if she wasn’t . . . well, categorically uninterested in me in that way is probably the best way to phrase it.

But she’s my best friend and I know it hasn’t been all that long but fuck, I miss her.

Wellbelove: WHAT ARE WE WATCHING BAZ ANSWER THE FUCKING QUESTION

She’d be kicking me in the shin by now, if she were here. Maybe I don’t miss her quite that much.

Ugh, it’s my night to choose. I don’t know what I want to watch. Something soothing, not one of those action films or plucky sports dramas she likes so much. I actually like Bend it Like Beckham but not those sappy American ones she’s inflicted on me.

I need something familiar. Comforting.

Me: Pride and Prejudice.

Wellbelove: 2005. Kiera Knightley. I will accept no substitutes.

Me: The 1995 version is superior.

Wellbelove: Colin Firth doesn’t look like that anymore Baz. Let it go.

I start to type “Keira Knightley doesn’t either” but fucking hell she does still look the same.

Wellbelove: and you owe me dinner

Me: 2005 AND dinner? You are greedy and demanding, Wellbelove. I’ll agree to Knightley. Make your own dinner.

Wellbelove: I want a burger I’m ordering out since you’re being a berk and won’t send me food

Fuck. I’m craving a burger now too.

I don’t even want to think about cooking anything. I’m so sick of pasta, even though I’ve tried to make it a different way each time, with my dwindling pantry supplies. And much as I love the curry place down the road I can’t eat it every day.

I used to think I could. I used to say I’d be happy eating tikka masala every day for the rest of my life, but I was mistaken.

And no more chippies. I can’t do another chippy.

Me: Who’s delivering burgers? Please tell me you aren’t getting McDonald’s.

Wellbelove: why would I get McDonald’s when I can get a lamb burger from The Girl and The Goat?

Me: they’re not still open?

Wellbelove: of course they’re still open you stupid git.

I don’t know why I hadn’t thought to check. Why I assumed the pubs would close down, when they all have kitchens and food service, just like the chippies and fast food places.

Me: why didn’t you bother telling me, you hag?

Wellbelove: You are a grown man Hunter gatherer type you should be able to forage for your own food

I want one of those burgers. We don’t go there all that often but The Girl and The Goat has some of the best burgers in town. Fucking hell, I’m salivating at the thought of it.

Me: Text when you’ve got dinner and we’ll start the movie

Wellbelove: you’re ordering from The Goat aren’t you you hypocrite and not even paying for mine

I close the messenger app to look up The Girl and The Goat online. I scan the menu and then ring them up.

The warm, cheerful voice on the line assures me the order will be delivered to my door within a half hour. I give my mobile number so the driver can text when he arrives.

“Just be looking for the text, love,” the woman’s warm voice continues. “Simon will leave everything at your door, no need to open up until he’s gone. I know how wary people are these days so we’re trying to make it easy.”

A little over a half hour later my mobile buzzes with a message from an unknown number.

Unknown number: Food’s here!

Unknown number: I’ll ring when it’s on your doorstep

The doorbell chimes and I peek at the doorway video display only to startle at the huge grinning face looming on the screen. I push the audio button.

“Yes?”

“Hullo! I’m Simon. I’ve got your order from The Goat. Lamb burger and chips.” He holds up a gloved hand carrying a bag. “I’ll just leave it right here for you.” I get a brief glimpse of a broad back clad in a brown leather jacket as he bends down, before he’s back to grinning at the camera again. “Thanks for ordering from The Goat. We appreciate the business. If you text me back you’ll get a discount for next time!”

“Text you back what?”

He leans in closer and shrugs. “Whatever.”

He’s got brilliant blue eyes. A scattering of freckles dotted across his face.

“Um, right, ok then. Thanks.”

He waves and then he’s out of sight again.

I move to the front window and twitch aside the blinds to watch him get in a blue car with “The Girl and The Goat” displayed across the door in white lettering.

I wait until the car is long gone before opening the door, gloves on, carrying the parcel of food as if it’s radioactive until I reach the kitchen, where I can dispose of the bag and transfer the food to my own dishes.

It’s likely overkill, I know, but I find being wary and methodical helps calm me.

I settle down in front of the television with my meal and my mobile, ready to message Agatha, when I see the text from the unknown number again.

I’d not say no to a discount. I click on it to text back. What exactly does one text to an attractive delivery man?

I shake my head. He’s just the delivery man, it’s irrelevant if he’s attractive or not.

My finger is still hovering over my mobile. I’m having an existential crisis over what to text a delivery man so I can get a discount on a pub meal. These are the depths that I have sunk to with this self-quarantine.

It would help if he were ordinary looking. It really would.

Me to unknown number: Whatever

I hit send before I think too hard about how unoriginal and trite a response that was.

My mobile pings back a moment later.

Unknown number: 15% percent off the next order. Just say Simon said when you call it in! :)

Read the rest at ao3!!!!!!!!!!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23590015

[creativeskullcreations]

HTaHHQ Episode 3: The Vengeance of an Artist (part 1)

Episode 3 is here! Nick has a job, but will Stacy go for it? Find out when the next chapter comes out! :D

The Oddballs belong to @enderdwarf123

Stacy had gotten quite used to her routine at the Studio. Go in, get list of tasks, then pick up Scout from Daisy. She then had to do the tasks she'd been assigned for the day, with Scout often "helping", to whatever effect she could. The most help she was able to help was when Stacy had to fetch props, since the Puppet always knew where they were. Sometimes they also worked in the cafeteria, but not anymore since Stacy accidentally set a microwave on fire.

In her defense, Scout had distracted while she was setting the time, so it wasn't entirely her fault. She just forgot to take a spoon out of a bowl, that's all.

Now the only time she went into the cafeteria was for lunch, which suited her just fine. It definitely beat having to eat with Mary in her office, even if she had to sit with the Oddballs. They were four young men, the youngest being a sixteen year old who went to the local high-school, and were always seen hanging out together. Stacy really only sat next to them because Nick Nack, who would often come to the cafeteria, avoided them like the plague.

Plus they didn't seem to mind she was there, just continuing to joke and talk, sometimes including her and Scout in their conversations. Which Scout especially loved, since it  meant she got to try out the new swear words she was learning. Though Stacy worried about her new vocabulary, and made her promise to never use those words around Daisy.

"I mean it, too. She might not let us hang out together anymore if she finds out you know how to swear now." The girl told her, to which the Puppet had nodded solemnly, treating it with the utmost seriousness. Scout certainly didn't want to be separated from her only friend outside her siblings, and could tell that Stacy didn't either.

Currently, it was lunch time on Friday, right before Stacy could go and sit at home for the entire weekend. She had collected her food on a tray, and was making her way to their usual table while futilely trying to defend it from Scout. As they got close, the could hear some of the conversation going on there.

"Anyways, so after all of that, Beth totally took all of his underwear!" One of them, Nathan was saying as Stacy approached, tray balanced on her right hand while holding Scout to her chest with her left. Held as she was, the Puppet could only pout and wait until Stacy let her go.

"Seriously?!" Sam responded. "Dude that is sick! He had nothing left?" He sounded honestly curious, and Stacy was as well.

"Absolutely not!" Nathan told them. "I guess that's what you get when-"

"And the girl's back." Daniel warned, covering Nathan's mouth. "Time to stop talking about your stupid college stories before we all get in trouble."

"I don't mind. "Stacy said, putting down both tray and Puppet. She picked up one of the sandwich halves as she sat down. "It's not like I'm gonna tell on you." She took a bite out of her sandwich while Scout went for the chips, devouring them like Cookie Monster would cookies.

"Eeeeeh, maybe? I mean, you're only twelve." John told her. "The stuff we talk about is for, y'know, older kids." He shrugged. "It's not really age appropriate for you."

"Ok first of all I'm thirteen." She told him. "Second of all I have seen so many R rated movies that nothing can faze me anymore."

"Aren't you scared of the Handeemen?" Sam asked, and received a death glare for his trouble. It was pretty potent, for coming from such a stick of a girl.

"No." She gritted out, before tearing into her sandwich. "I'm not scared of them. I just don't like them." A pause. "I do like Scout though. She's cool." Scout looked please at the comment, mouth full of crunched up chips.

"That's not what I heard." Sam muttered, and was popped on the head by his brother. "Ow! What?"

Daniel opened his mouth to answer, but was cut off by the cafeteria doors bursting open. They made a loud bang as they hit the walls, making everyone jump and stare.

"Where is she?!" Yelled Nick Nack as he wheeled into the room. Any remaining conversation died as the people inside realized that, once again, a fight was beginning. In the furthest corners of the room money started to exchange hands, while new bets were made.

"Did you check the lab?" Someone called back, while Stacy slowly sank into her seat. If she thought she could do it without attracting attention, she'd make a run for the door. But Nick was right there, and she didn't want to go anywhere near him.

"What did she do this time?" John asked, and Nick rounded on him, glaring. He drew back a little, wishing he'd never asked as the artist came closer, voice getting louder with every word.

"She took my best paints!" He shrieked, and Stacy gave in to her urge to fully hide under the table, which went unnoticed by the Puppet. Scout joined her a moment later, though mostly for the fun of it. "I told her not to touch them, and she took them for her experiments and I need them back now!"

"You sound mad" Sam noted, and Nick rounded on him. But before the Puppet could tear him a new one, Daniel stood up, adjusting his jacket.

"Here, Nick, I'll help you go find Riley. Maybe she hasn't used the paints yet." He suggested, heading out the door with Nick. "And if she has, I'll help you find some replacements, and tell Lydia we'll need to order some new ones."

"For her sake, I hope not." The Puppet threatened as they left the room. Everyone waited a moment, and then the lunchroom conversations continued. Stacy climbed out from under the table and sat back down, ready to resume her lunch.

"Not scared, huh?" Sam asked, an eyebrow quirked. Stacy squirted her capri sun at him, and the others laughed as he complained about the sticky juice getting on his shirt. Stacy watched as he blotted at it with a napkin, pushing the rest of her food towards Scout.

After lunch it was back to reorganizing the closets with one of the others; taking what Bonzai had messed up and putting the props back into their proper places. It was tedious work, especially when Scout was doing her best to keep things chaotic. But, with some time and Stacy eventually just grabbing the Puppet, they managed to finish eventually.

From the closet Stacy went to sweeping, removing... confetti? from the main set, upon which filming had just finished. From the corner of her eye, she could see the Handeeman Puppets. Daisy had gone off somewhere, but Riley and Nick were having a very animated discussion. Not that Stacy could hear it, or even wanted to, but she was pretty sure it was about the stolen paints.

Instead she focused on sweeping the confetti, then moved on to collecting the bits of paper from the fake bushes. This usually involved smacking the foliage with the broom handle to shake it loose, then sweeping it into the long handled dustpan. Sometimes Scout would leap into the bushes to try and help shake loose the ones on the inner branches, which Stacy was thankful for.

Together they were able to get quite a bit of the confetti swept up, leaving the floor of the set spotless. That done she started gathering the discarded props, piling them into a wheelbarrow for someone else to put away.

As she was doing that, she hummed softly, some anime theme song or another. Scout had asked her about anime before, and Stacy had resolved to show her some whenever she could break her out of the studio. So far she couldn't, as Daisy expected to literally be handed Scout each time the girl left. But, eventually, Daisy would forget, hopefully before a weekend, and Stacy could make a break for it with Scout.

So she was stuck making plans that wouldn't be fulfilled, at least not for a while. But still. it made her happy to think of such things, and so she continued as she helped to reset everything, getting it ready for next week's episode.

Soon enough it was almost time to leave. Most of the others had already left, leaving just her and Danny waiting for Mary to finish up whatever and come get them. She spent the time straightening the props while Danny played with Scout. Stacy had no clue what they were playing, but they weren't being loud so she left them alone.

However as she worked, she missed the approach of a Puppet on a wheeled stand, though in her defense the wheels were made to be silent. He watched for a moment, hidden around the corner of a "building" so as not to scare the girl. He stayed quiet, watching as Stacy carefully put things into position, and thought 'Yes. She is perfect for this.' He then came out of his hiding place, clearing his throat. The girl turned around and stilled when she saw him, a half formed smile frozen  on her face.

They stared at each other for a long moment, but the second the Puppet tried to speak he was physically assaulted by a flying blue blur.

"Nick!" Screeched Scout as she launched herself onto his face. He caught her as she slid off, and spotted how Stacy grabbed Danny, holding the boy back. Unfortunate, but it made sense. Obviously she wouldn't want her brother around them, however safe they might be. Scout babbled on without a care as the girl shoved her brother behind her.

Tension now broken, Nick allowed himself to indulge in a small smile, looking Stacy right in the eye. "Miss Stein, I have a job for you."