#there was a scrambling noise by the oven (right next to the fridge) and i looked over to see .

[peachcitt]

there’s rats in my kitchen but i want something from my fridge

[bump1nthen1ght]

Late Night Favor (Shadow Monster x Reader)

Genre: Fluff, Urban Fantasy

Warnings: Explicit content up ahead (18+ ONLY), Oral, Fingering

Word Count: 4000 Words

Summary: A couple of small good deeds leaves you with a late night visitor, looking to repay a debt.

Request: "You unknowingly rescue a shadow monster and bring it home with you, after a couple days of lurking in the shadows of your home and recuperating it shows you just how thankful it is." I had this idea forever ago but was never able to execute it. My opening idea was that a few kids are shining flashlights at something, tormenting it, and you swoop in to save it and chase the kids away. You thought they were hurting a cat or something, but find nothing and head home.

What do you think? Would you like to take it on? I'd be honored if you would 😊

A/N: *Throws this into the street to appease for the fact I haven’t updated Out of the Woods in THREE MONTHS IM SORRY*

It was the perfect weather for a lazy day inside. The pitter patter of the rain on your window had almost lulled you back to sleep during breakfast, and the thunder had provided great ambiance for reading. You hadn’t bothered changing out of your pajamas and we’re enjoying a soap opera binge on the coach when the peace was disturbed.

At first it was just the sound of clattering trash cans, not uncommon from the alley outside your window. But then it was followed by the raucous laughter of teenagers, rocks being thrown against the concrete, and a sharp hissing.

You hoist yourself up and off the couch, meandering toward the balcony, expecting to see a bunch of kids fucking around; Maybe using the cover of the fire escape to hide from the rain and smoke some weed.

Ah, memories.

But instead, you see a huddled group of boys pointing a flashlight into the pile of garbage right by the dumpster. One of them picks up a pebble and throws it into the light beam, causing another hiss and a jerk of movement. The boys laugh even louder, the one on the right nudging the one with the flashlight.

“Dude, do it again!”

Flashlight agrees, quickly moving the light into another corner as the one on the left throws a rock in the opposite direction. A shape of pitch black hisses again, deterred by the rock and scared by the brightness. Your brow furrows.

“Hey!”

The boys jump, looking in all directions.

“What are you three doing down there?” They finally look up at you, messy-haired and bleary-eyed. They shrug and ignore you, one even throwing another rock, bigger than before. There’s a sad yelp as it collides with the blackness.

You grit your teeth, grabbing your jacket off a nearby shelf and yell again.

“Fuck off! Leave the poor thing alone!”

They all laugh insufferably, the way most stuck up teenagers do.

“Or what?”

You shrug on your raincoat, picking up the baseball bat you keep strategically placed by your couch.

“Or I’ll come down and make you, jackass!”

You kick open your  fire escape, slippers already damp, and start marching down the staircases. The boys get the message and run away, still jeering and laughing. Seems you weren’t as intimidating as you’d like.

You shuffle down the fire escape, slowing down as you approach the poor creature. You lower your back and peak under the dumpster.

“It's okay, little guy, I won’t hurt ya.” You set down your bat and crouch, kissing your lips as you hold out your free hand. All you see is a hint of glowing eyes, nervously peering out, before the dark shape disappears completely, hidden by the shadow of the dumpster. You’re tempted to sit down and wait for it, hoping to check if the poor stray was injured, but the wet concrete looks unappealing. The bottom of your sweats are already drenched.

You stand up, sigh, and go back up the fire escape. You unlatch the dusty pet door on your sliding glass balcony and make sure to leave a hot thing of milk and some water just outside. You ponder going out to get cat food, but the well-timed weather report tells you to stay off the streets. Slumping back down on the couch, you keep on eye on your fire escape, hoping that whatever it was, it’s okay.

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

The next day is sunny, the rain clearing away any air pollution and leaving blue skies to shine down through your window, waking you up extra early. As you sit down with a cup of coffee, switching on the news before starting work, you notice the empty bowls on your balcony.

You set down the mug, walking over to the door and checking the bowls. Seems that little stray had needed the refreshment, as both were licked clean.

You refill them, making sure to add  cat food to your grocery list.

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

After a long day of work, you’re feeling particularly domestic and decide to bake some cookies. Your brain is sore after staring at a screen for eight hours straight, a simple task like this is the perfect thing to keep it from melting completely.

You open up your window, letting the cool night air into your kitchen as you check  on your baking cookies. Wiping flour off your pants, you turn on the radio and throw a glance to your living room.

You had set up a tiny blanket pallet right next to your pet door, the weatherman’s warning of another thunderstorm tonight having you worried for your stray. Hopefully a full belly of milk will convince them that your house is safe enough to find shelter in.

But the afternoon is beautiful, not too cold and not too hot, only the slight tang of metal in the air hinting to rain. With a ding from the oven, you take out the cookies and set them on a cooling tray on your window. The smell of cinnamon and sugar wafts over you as you take a sip of your tea, staring out into the city streets. Small puddles still speckle the pavement, catching the headlights of nearby cars and flashy billboards.

A quick sound, something hitting your balcony door, that jerks you out of your reverie. You set down your mug and slowly peek out from your kitchen, wondering if you should’ve grabbed  a kitchen knife. But it’s just your pet door, flapping back and forth in front of two, now empty, bowls. Aww, seems your stray took a step inside. Too bad you missed it.

The gurgle of your stomach convinces you to take a crack at the cookies. If they were too hot, you could just wash them down with a nice glass of milk anyway. Maybe even put on a sitcom while you snack.

You lightly tap the top cookie; Warm, but not unbearable. Steam rises as you break it open, blowing in the middle and taking a tiny bite.

Fuck, good job _____.

They’re perfectly done, just soft enough to melt in your mouth. You grab two more, holding them in between your fingers as you hold the other half in your mouth. Maybe you could bring the batch into work tomorrow, give your coworkers a nice surprise. That is if you didn't have 10 tonight. But 20 should be just enough-

Huh, that’s weird. There's only 19, including the one still dangling out of your mouth.

You could’ve sworn you baked 20.

Well whatever. Your coworkers can handle not coming back for seconds tomorrow.

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

“Ow! Fuck!”

You bite your lip, trying not to yell out more curse words as you rub your stubbed toe. You limp to your kitchen, fumbling for the light switch to avoid another incident. All you had wanted was a midnight sweet snack, was that so difficult? You’d thought you could navigate your apartment pretty easily in the dark, but the pain in your foot says otherwise.

The light flickers as you finally find the switch, reminding you that you’re going to need to change the bulb sometime soon. But that's a problem for another day; Right now, it’s cookie time.

You don’t bother pouring yourself a glass or getting a plate, devouring the treat in three bites and throwing back a quick swig of milk. It’s almost midnight, not like anyone’s watching-

Oh, wait.

You slowly close the fridge door, trying to make as little noise as possible so as not to wake the little stray curled up, asleep. The little ball of black was snuggled into the pallet, tossing and turning. A flash of lightning cracks outside your apartment, washing your living room with light. The ball jerks in shock, the thunder afterwards only frightening it more, forcing it to curl up even tighter.  

You take small and light steps towards the tiny bed, not wanting to approach the scared beast too quickly. The room is lit up again by another lightning strike and the little stray forces it’s body backwards and away from the window. You crouch down real low, the small bits of light helping your eyes adjust to the layout.

“How are you doing, little guy?” You whisper, mostly to yourself, tapping your fingers against your carpet. Part of you wants to pet it, but think it might be better not to. No need to startle it. “Is the lightning scary? You can come to my room if you want, I’ll protect ya.”

Midst the black, you see two little eyes, little blips of light that open with another flash of lightning. But they aren’t yellow, nor are they slitted, nor are they anything remotely animal.

They're like the headlights of a car, blinding white with no definition at all. Not even pupils. You're startled, eye’s widening as the creature lifts it’s head. A long smile runs across their face, full of razor sharp teeth.

“Oh my, that sounds delightful.” They purr, and you find yourself losing your footing and falling back on your ass. Your fingers dig into the carpet as their body slowly begins to unfurl out of a ball and stretch into a massive form, as if their whole size had been hidden away somewhere else; Like it had been literally in the shadows.

You scramble backwards, breath picking up as the creature stretches it’s long limbs, colorless eyes still locked onto you as it stands up and up. It rolls back its shoulders as it sits on its haunches, its form still towering over you even when crouched. You notice the shades of huge antlers sticking out from the side of their head, only adding to their intimidating height.

The creature still has that terrifying smile, all canines and no molars, it’s unblinking eyes still staring deep into your soul.

You’ve heard people do weird things in times of high stress, of strong emotions, good and bad. Like the wires in your brains get crossed when trying to find the right response.

“Uh, do you want a cookie?”

You think you get that now.

The creature chuckles, a soft timbre that echoes unnaturally.

“No, dearie, I have already indulged in your confections. You see,” They creature leans forward, falling to its knees to crawl towards you. If it weren’t for the overwhelming fear constricting your heart, you’d almost think it was seductive, “You’ve done so much for me these past days, I think it’d be only fair if I helped you indulge in a far-” The creature’s face looms over yours, their arms caging your sides as they lick their lips, “-sweeter treat, yes?”

Your eyes search their face, trying to find signs of trickery or malice, maybe even some demonic sense of humor.

As if I’d even know what that looks like.

“Are you-” You catch a breath, now noticing the fine musculature of their shoulders, and the definition of their arms, “Are you propositioning me, like, for sex?”

The creature laughs again, their eyes crinkling up as they throw their head back. But when they look back down at you, you can almost feel the lust radiating off their gaze, details be damned.

“Yes, lovely, I am.”

You take your eyes off their face, a little too overwhelmed to stare directly into their blistering expression. Not to mention the blinding light which has begun to put red spots into your vision.

Instead, your eyes fall upon their thick thighs, the small tail waving behind them, and how unnervingly sexy you find the way their claws are digging up your rug.

You slowly move your head, catching the creature’s eyes.

“I-uh-I guess? Yeah, yeah I guess that sounds good. Um, what was your name?”

The creature smirks, a single claw tipped finger tilting up your chin, as they whisper,

“Nocter.”

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

Well, this is definitely the weirdest way I’ve gotten someone into bed.

Nocter’s antlers brush against your stucco-ceiling as it pushes you down on the bed, their shining white eyes staring deep into yours. Their lack of pupils is almost unsettling, but when they run their claws down your chest and pinch your nipples, you find it hard to care. You bite your lip, fighting back an embarrassing whimper as they trace one finger around the bud, pebbling the skin.

“Aww, has it been a while, sweetling?” You roll your eyes, but let out another squeak as they flick their thumb across your other nipple, the palm of their hand pressing against your ribcage.

“M-maybe.” You mutter, digging your finger into your bed sheets as their hands dance across your skin. One pulls up the bottom of your pajama shirt as it nudges one of their legs in between your thighs, pushing their knee up against your crotch.

“Don’t worry,” They push the fabric up to your neck, laying a kiss on the center of your stomach, then your chest, and then your jugular. When they plant one on your jaw, they lean in real close, “I’ll make sure to treat you right.”

Nocter’s long tongue splays against your jaw, licking a stripe up your cheek as one of their hands moves from your chest to the waistband of your shorts. They slip a couple fingers underneath, lightly petting the area right above your crotch. They’re such a tease, and you love it.

Nocter pecks the side of your face, over and over, while their hand moves further and further down your body at an agonizing pace. Their hot breath sends goosebumps down your neck, washing over your face as they exhale with every kiss. You catch them off guard when you turn your head toward them, catching their lips-mid peck and eagerly sticking your tongue outward. They purr with delight, their thin almost-lips quickly devouring you.

A long string of saliva connects the two of you as you detach, taking the time to shimmy out of your shirt. You pull them closer, your hands digging into their shoulder muscles and fingers just brushing over the long ridges on their back. They chuckle once again, pulling their fingers out your shorts and merely digging their palm into the fabric of your crotch.

“Eager, huh?”

“Shut up,” You mumble in between kisses, “This is for me, isn’t it?”

“Ohoho,” kiss, “Someone’s showing their feisty side a little early.” kiss, “What happened to my benevolent, saintly saviour?” kiss.

You pull away from their lips, quickly latching onto the crux of their neck and taking a nip. “S’not fair.” You say, taking a deep whiff of their skin as you suck and bite. They smell like brimstone and a bonfire, not quite what you 're expecting, but not unpleasant. “You can’t tease me like that and not-” Your cut off as the pad of one Nocters fingers presses up against your entrance, the fabric only amplifying the sensation as they begin to tease it.

“Deliver?” Nocter finishes, sinfully smug. You throw them a glare. “I’m a good guest, scout’s honor.”

You roll your eyes right before they lock you into another kiss, rubbing the pads of their fingers up and down your crotch. They use their hand to push you backwards, sinking deeper into the mattress as they situate their knees under your thighs. One they pull back from the kiss, your face and lips thoroughly debauched, your legs are splayed up on their pelvis and they easily slip off your bottoms. Nocter takes a whiff of your underwear, the crotch now slightly damp, giving you a wink before they throw it over their shoulder.

You jerk your hips slightly upward, and Nocter tuts.

“Patience, sweetling.” They roll a hand down your abdomen, fingers splaying onto your stomach, nails just teasing the skin. With a kiss to your inside calf, Nocters hand ghosts across your entrance. You can’t help biting your lip, the heat and their touch sending your mind into a frenzy.

They continue a path of kisses down your leg, now pressing their finger right up against your hole. They only pause to suck on their index and middle fingers, coating them with a heavy and blue-tinted saliva. Once they’ve reached the middle of your thigh, nipping at the apex, they sink into you.

Nocter’s fingers are long, articulated and move with sure movements. They start off slow, scissoring you open, simpering as you dig your nails into your bed sheets. The pads of their fingers push against your walls, just grazing sensitive spots as they make a slow ‘come hither’ motion. Your hips jerk forward, humping into their palm. They smirk against your skin, nipping another love bite as they retract their fingers until only the tip remains. You catch your breath, holding it until they sink back into you, shoving their fingers forward with far more force.

You whimper as their fingers pull back, only to follow with quicker thrusts. Nocter’s aim is pin-point in finding the most pleasurable spots inside you, the feeling only amplified by the pinpricks of their teeth into the fat of your thigh. The tip of their tongue licks hot trails of spit tantalizingly close to your hole, which clenches around their bony fingers. The slick sound of your juices, the skin of their palm slapping against yours, is downright pornographic.

Your legs try to clamp around their shoulders, the overwhelming stimuli triggering an instant reaction, but Nocter pins your right leg down to your bed easily, never losing focus on fingering you. The tips of their claws trace the inside of your leg, the hard edge of their wrist digging into fat.  Your fingers reach to grip around something, anything to keep you grounded as the knot in your stomach grows tighter and tighter. They find their way around Nocter’s left wrist; You’re almost afraid you’ll leave bruises, before remembering how sturdy every part of their body seems to be.

You let out a whimper as the crests of an orgasm seem to overwhelm you, nearly gasping as Nocter quickly removes their fingers. In any other state of mind you might have made a comment, look down and wonder why they’ve stopped. But the heat in your belly compels you to grip their wrist tight and to throw your hips upwards. With a desperate breath, you plead,

“P-please! Please, don’t stop.”

Nocter doesn’t chuckle, doesn’t make a sly remark about your neediness or your lewd movements. They lean forward, giving another kiss right below your navel, and pet your wrist.

“Of course, dearie.”

With a wink, they lean down a lick a long stripe up your hole, giving one last kiss to your leg before plunging their tongue inside.

You didn’t think it was possible for them to reach even deeper inside you with their tongue than their fingers, but the sparks which fly in your core say otherwise. The ridges of Nocters tongue brush against your walls as they flick the appendage back and forth, the tip pressing forward with controlled motions. It doesn’t thrash back and forward haphazardly, but reaches for those sensitive spots and plays with them.

“Oh, f-fuck!” You yelp, feeling an icy-cold liquid run down your ass. From the sound of smacking lips and muffled moans, it must be Nocter’s saliva. They let out a groan, pushing their jaw forward as their eyes clenched shut. The hand on your leg pinches skin as it tightens up, the other pressing your hips down, but the pressure they apply is phantom at best. Nocter seems to revel in your pleading humps for more, meeting each movement with a thrust of their jaw, the base of their tongue stretching you open.

The two of you keep that rhythm for what feels like an eternity, but is probably only a couple of minutes. Sweat drips down your chest and off of your belly, your legs muscles on fire as you continue to push upward and into Nocter’s face. You start feeling that impending wave begin to crest again, with your limbs shaking and your throat hoarse.

“Nocter, I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna-I’m so close!”

This time, Nocter doesn’t let up on their pace, reaching one hand down to deliver a hard slap on your ass and forcing a yelp out of you. Your speech devolves into slurred curses and your hands move to touch them, to find some grasp in reality. Nocter continues to suck and tongue-fuck your hole as your thighs clench around their head. Your humps are tiny and weak, your lower half barely holding itself up.

The knot gets tighter, a firecracker fuse about to blow in your abdomen. In the heat of the moment, your hands find their way to Nocter’s scalp and grab onto the base of their antlers. Their moan rumbles through you, right before you yank their head forward, their tongue hitting the deepest part of you as you shutter and-

“I’m cumming!”

Another moan vibrates against your hole as your body shudders and jolts, your hips still pressed firmly against Nocter’s face. But in the next moment, a heavy weight falls over your body, slumping you down onto the bed. Your chest heaves, eye’s fuzzy as Nocter’s tongue ‘pop’s out of you.

Your gaze wanders over your stucco ceiling, droplets of sweat rolling down your neck as you try and catch your breath. You can feel Nocter’s large hands rolling a massage into your thighs, their own heavy breathing brushing over your crotch.

A fuzzy shape of pure black comes into your vision as Nocter hovers over you, their body hovering just an inch above yours. They give you a small peck on the cheek.

“Feel good?” They whisper.

All you can do is nod, your shaky hands wandering over their back. There’s no sign of sweat on their skin, but you can feel the heat running off of it as they nuzzle into your neck.

As your fingers dance over the ride of their back, you can hear the rumble of a low purr coming from their chest, but they stay hovering over your body. You press your hands into their back, applying weak pressure to encourage them to relax.

“It seems I’ve repaid my debt.” Nocter murmurs into your ear, pushing themselves up onto their hands, pulling even farther from you as their eye’s look around your room. You keep your hands wrapped around their waist, stopping them from fully getting up. They look back to you, white eyes slightly widening.

“Would you-” You take another deep breath, “Want to stay? For the night?”

Nocter stares at you, the black void of their face almost unreadable. But when they run a claw down the side of your face, it burns with affection and longing.

“Would you want that?”

Your room is nearly pitch black, only the lights of the street peeking in between your curtains. Nocter’s body seems to absorb all light near it, their hot body like a heating pad. But their eyes are so bright, so full, so mesmerizing; Like a full moon on the dark city sky.

“Yes, I would.”

Nocter’s nods, their expression barely changing, but you think you can see a hint of a smile amidst all the black. They let their body relax, pressing their chest against yours as they sink into the sheets and nuzzle back into your neck.

You can smell the sweat coating your body and feel the way you stick to the sheets. Frankly, the both of you kind of smell.

But it doesn’t stop you from snuggling into Nocter’s body, eye’s heavy as you peacefully fall into sleep.

[drprettyboyspence]

Father’s Day Tradition

Chris Evans/reader

Summary: Reader has been married to Chris Evans for the last seven years, she and their five year old son, Tommy, have made a cake for him for the last three Father’s Days. Reader feels incredibly grateful for her boys on days like these. 

words: 1.4k 

warnings: this is so fluffy, no warnings to my knowledge! :) 

a/n: It’s Father’s Day and I can't stop thinking about Chris Evans’ dad energy after watching Defending Jacob soooo I wrote this, hope you guys like it!! 

“No honey! Make sure to crack the eggs over the bowl every time! You don’t want the egg to be wasted do you?”

“No, Mommy! I’m sorry!” your five year old son says, grabbing another egg to break into the mixing bowl. It’s the night before Father’s Day and as tradition has it, you and your son are making a cake for your loving husband and Tommy’s amazing father, Chris Evans. You and Chris have been married for seven years now, and you’re so incredibly lucky to have him. He’s incredibly lucky to have you as well, and you never let him forget that. A crack followed by a plopping noise breaks you out of your thoughts, looking down to see a cracked egg on the floor. “Mommy, I’m sorry! It wasn’t me! It was Dodger!” You laugh despite yourself, you’ll never get tired of hearing your son’s excuses, most of them involving Chris’ adorable dog. 

“Oh honey it’s okay, let’s just clean it up quickly so we can continue making this cake for daddy! How does that sound?” 

“It sounds awesome Mommy! I love making cakes for Daddy, when I grow up, I’m gonna be a cake-maker!” 

“Yes you will be Tommy, and you’ll make lots of cakes for Mommy and Daddy won’t you? Please?”

“Dodger too!” Tommy says cheerfully, running to hug the mixed-breed boxer. Now that the eggs have thankfully been cracked and added to the bowl, always the most precarious part of baking with a five year-old, you begin adding one egg at a time to the butter in the mixing bowl. 

“Hand me the flour bowl Tommy!”  You say, you and your son together adding 1/3 of the flour mixture, then pouring milk in, and repeating the process until the batter begins looking like the right consistency. 

“Mommy, you have flour on your nose! It’s funny!” Tommy says laughing. 

“I do?” Tommy reaches up and touches your nose quickly before laughing even harder, 

“Now you do!” You can’t be annoyed, you start laughing too and pull your son into a big hug, feeling incredibly grateful that you’re here baking with the funniest little boy on earth to celebrate the world’s best father and husband. Once the cake has been put in the oven to bake, it’s time for Tommy to make a card. He draws a big heart on the biggest piece of paper the two of you can find in the house. “I’ll write I love you so much Daddy! Happy Father’s Day! Is that good?” 

“That’s perfect baby, can Mommy write something on your card too? Just a small thing?” 

“Fine I guess, but make sure daddy knows this is from me!” 

“Of course, I would never try and steal this amazing card, even though I am a little jealous of it.” You say teasingly before writing, Happy Father’s to my loving husband, Love you forever, Y/n. 

The sound of the oven timer alerts you to the cake being finished, along with the delicious smell filling the house. “Okay Tommy do you remember what we use to take things out of the oven to be safe?”

“We use the oven gloves mommy! So we don’t get burned!” You pull the cake out of the oven. “Is it done?” Tommy asks. 

“Well Tommy I’m going to tell you a super secret grown-up fact, do you promise not to tell anyone?” Tommy eagerly nods before you retrieve a toothpick and place it into the middle of the cake, it coming out clean. “See how it came out clean? That means it’s done!” 

“That’s like magic Mommy! Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me!” You giggle quietly, oh how you love toddlers. You have to wait for the cake to cool but you and Tommy mix up the frosting, excited for the most fun part, decorating! Both of you grab spatulas and begin spooning frosting onto the cake, assembling the two layers you have baked. You carefully write Happy Father’s Day on the top before letting Tommy write Daddy in big letters, then you place jelly beans on the top of the cake, remembering how much Chris loves jelly beans. 

“Alright honey, the cake is done, it's time to go to bed now, remember, we have to wake up early to surprise Daddy! So make sure you go to sleep.” You place the cake in the refrigerator and follow Tommy upstairs, tucking him in and kissing him goodnight. You then make your way into your shared bedroom with Chris, seeing him sitting up in bed with a book, looking adorable but somehow sexy with his reading glasses on. 

“Hi baby, how’d it go?” Chris says teasingly, wiping off the trace amount of flour still left on your nose. Of course it’s meant to be a secret, but Chris would have to be an idiot to still be surprised, this being the third year we’ve done this. 

“Oh shh, Mr. Evans, it’s a surprise! I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about!” You get ready for bed, both you and Chris turning off the lights before you take your signature spot in his arms, feeling extremely safe in the arms of your husband. “Goodnight baby, I love you.” 

“I love you too, Y/n.” He says placing a kiss to your forehead. 

BEEP BEEP BEEP 

“Ughhh, five more minutes.” You groan out and hit your phone a little too hard, causing it to fall on the ground, still blaring. 

“But sweetheart, Tommy will be so mad at you!” Chris says groggily, rubbing his eyes. You remember immediately, it’s Father’s Day. 

“Oh right of course, Happy Father’s Day babe, see you soon.” You say before rushing out of the room, where Tommy is sitting in front of the door looking extremely impatient. 

“Mommy!” he whisper-yells, “you’re 11 minutes late!” 

“I’m sorry Tommy, let’s go! Before Daddy wakes up!” You grab Tommy’s hand and walk downstairs. First, you take the cake out of the fridge to let it soften a little bit. Next, you make enough scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon for the three of you, letting Tommy crack the eggs again of course, you can’t have cake for breakfast without some actual sustenance! You also brew some coffee for both you and Chris, milk for Tommy. 

“Is it time yet? Are we ready?” Tommy asks impatiently. 

“Is your present ready? What about your card?” You ask him and he nods eagerly. “Then yes, we’re ready!” You place the coffee on a tray with the breakfast and allow Tommy to hold the cake, warning him that he must be extremely careful. You push the door open very slowly saying “Wake up Daddy!” Giving time for Chris to pretend to wake up for Tommy’s excitement. 

“Woah! Look at all this! I’m so surprised! Did you make that cake all by yourself buddy?” Chris says to Tommy. 

“Mommy helped a little bit, but I did most of the work!” You get on the bed and carefully place the tray down safely. Tommy places the cake down safely before yelping suddenly and running out of the room, coming back seconds later with the card and watch you had ordered online for Chris. “I almost forgot your present! Mommy said that since we have to stay inside it’s better to order things online! Is that true!” 

“Sure is buddy, don’t you know Mommy’s always right?” 

“Oh you are a flatterer Mr. Chris Evans, no wonder I married you.” You say lovingly, sinking into Chris’ arms with your cup of coffee. The three of you eat the breakfast, much to Tommy’s disapproval, wanting to eat the cake right away. You fight off Dodger’s advances while eating bacon. “Tommy, why doesn’t Daddy open his presents now!” Tommy grabs the card and gives it to Chris. 

“Wow, Buddy this is awesome! This card is so big!” 

“I know! This card is from me by the way, not Mommy!” 

“Oh of course, thank you so much!” 

“The watch is from Mommy, but she said I can give it to you too!” 

“Well that was very nice of her wasn’t it bud? Can we say thank you Mommy?”

“Thank you Mommy!” Tommy says before hugging you. 

“Thank you for the watch Mommy, and the rest.” Chris whispers to you and hugs you as well. 

“Alright boys, I think it’s cake time!” 

“Yay!!” Chris and Tommy yell at the same time, it’s so easy to see the resemblance in moments like this. You cut pieces of cake for all three of you.

“This cake is delicious Tommy! I think it might be the best cake I’ve ever had!” Chris exclaims, high giving Tommy.

“I told you Mommy, I’m going to be a cake-maker when I’m old like Daddy!”

“More cake for us!” Chris says, locking eyes with you as you look at each lovingly. The three of you sit together, laughing and enjoying the hot June Massachusetts morning. It’s times like these you feel the most grateful for your two boys, Dodger too of course. 

[city-of-spooks]

There is a Selkie in our bathtub.

A short story about casting off your skin, fishfingers and a dog called Dennis.

She’s quiet now, but usually, you can hear her moving about because the water splashes over the rim and Dad goes mad about the floor.

“Fish don’t pay the deposit,” he says.

“Miss McColl says seals are mammals, not fish,” I explain.

We had a lesson about animals and their families at the beginning of term and there was a whole bit on seals. They raise their pups on milk, like people do, and the mums look after them until they are ready to go out and swim on their own.

Dad does not find this helpful. His mouth goes all thin when he’s unhappy, like someone has pulled on the other side of his beard. A lot of it is grey, now.

The couple on the bottom floor has a big dog that always sniffs my pockets, with fur like silvery wire. It’s called Dennis. Sometimes he comes and watches me tie my laces in the morning, eyes like jawbreakers. He just sits there. And then the lady will whistle for him and he pads home, big paws slapping like welly boots.

•

I think Dennis might have been a person.

Sometimes I dream about things like that. My mouth opens and bubbles come out, floating towards the ceiling, and the blankets go soft and slippery. You can pull them over you like a cocoon. My bones go to jelly inside my skin - but it’s a good thing. It makes sense, somehow.

Then I wake up and I feel even weirder; like someone has bundled all of my left shoes into a bag and dumped them off the pier.

“I don’t know where you get all this shite from,’ says Dad.

I try not to talk too much when he gets back from work, so mornings are the best time to ask him things.

How big can the waves get? Big.

Why doesn’t Gilly sink? Good boats don’t sink.

Do you have to go? I needed this shift. The old woman said she’ll have you.

Hmm. What’s the weirdest fish you’ve ever fished? It wasn’t a fish.

•

Dad doesn’t like talk after work. He’s always quiet. Angry, I think. Always smells like fish and salt and the sticky seaweed that gathers under the pier. He used to get straight into the shower and stay in there for ages, coming out all red and scrubbed like a shiny lobster.

I don’t think flannel ‘once-overs’ are helping because he still stinks of Gilly.

Dad still goes straight into the bathroom, but he can’t use the tub because it’s got… her in it. Sometimes he goes in with a bucket full of glassy-eyed fishies.

It always comes out empty. No bones in the plughole.

I eat my tea in front of the TV, leaving four fish-fingers in the oven for Dad.

The volume has to be loud to drown out Mr Kinney’s radio upstairs - but sometimes I can hear him talking in the bathroom. It echoes. His voice is low, rumbly. There might be a splash, the taps running, buckets being filled and brought out onto the landing. I brush my teeth there and spit into the toilet next door.

When I’m feeling brave, I can hold my breath and push my ear to the wall.

Thump. Murmurs. Low. Dad. Thump. Quiet. Splash. Thump. Quiet. Dad again. Thump. Thump. Thump.

I’m there for ages. A lot longer than I thought, because I’m getting sleepy and my toes are going all stiff in the cold from under the door. Then... a click. It’s loud and I scramble into my bed, thinking it’s Dad turning the light switch.

It isn’t.

•

He doesn’t eat his dinner. He talks to the tiles all night.

I’m not supposed to tell anybody, but Dad says not to especially tell Granny about the Selkie.

She’s not my real Granny, she’s actually the old lady who owns the flats, but she’s been here for as long as I can remember. Her eyes are watery like milk and she smells like smoke, but she always stops to give me these little chewy toffees whenever I see her on the stairs.

Dad says I shouldn’t take sweets from strangers, even Mrs Keeley. He doesn’t like me calling her Granny. His nose wrinkles like he’s smelt something off.

Once she came and hammered on the door really loudly when I was in bed, yelling about lots of things. Dad’s weird hours and the water pipes clanging when she’s trying to watch the news. She’s always watching the news.

Sometimes she braids my hair when I stay over. Her fingers curl where they shouldn’t, but they still manage to brush out the tangles Dad can’t get when we’re rushing for the bus.

“You’re really good at that,” I say. My mouth is full of peppermint chew.

I don’t take my shoes off, sitting with my school bag tucked between my legs. I want to curl around it like seaweed.

“My Lorna was always head sore.”

Mrs Keeley sounds like she’s smiling.

“I had to get her hair done quick or it wouldn’t get done at all.”

She ties off my plait with a bow. Blue ribbon. Her fingers hold onto the ends of it like she doesn’t know when to stop - and the jelly-bones feeling comes back, just for a moment.

“You never lose it.”

•

When I go back upstairs to our flat, Dad still isn’t home.

If this happens I’m meant to go back to Mrs Keeley and stay with her a bit longer, even though her rooms are always a bit too warm, like she’s trying to heat the entire place up from top to bottom.

Our bit is quiet. And cold.

I want to show Dad my hair and how pretty it is - it looks like how Shauna’s Mum does hers. Sometimes I stare at it when I’m in science.

The tap drips. Once, twice, three times.

I’m supposed to be in bed, but if I’m hungry the fridge has those leftover fish-fingers from the other night. But I’m not hungry. My stomach is full of peppermint chews.

When I pass the bathroom, my foot catches the spot where the carpet has rolled up. The floor is squeakiest there - and it groans when I go to catch myself from falling. My hand loudly slaps the landing wall. Ouch.

Water hits the tiles on the other side of the wall, a huge spray clattering against the old shampoo bottles and soaking the shower-curtain. I can almost feel it under my stinging palm, and just know that Dad’s going to be really angry about the floor this time.

But I don’t care. I want to see her. Selkie.

My voice comes out all wobbly.

“It’s me...”

I don’t want to scare her, even though I sound a lot different than Dad.

She still hasn’t seen me yet - but knows I exist. My name gets passed around the taps during those late-night chats. I think that’s enough.

•

Dad was in a rush that morning. He went to bed angry and woke up groggy, nearly putting his foot in the sink-that’s-actually-a-bucket. I think everyone had weird dreams, even if we didn’t dream the same thing.

I dreamt that the bedroom was full of water again. Fish swam in shoals through the wardrobe, picking at Dad’s thick mariner’s socks and hiding in the blankets. My shoes floated past me, hitting our bobbly ceiling with a thunk.

I looked down at the bed, the pillows billowing like jellyfish, mattress lifting from rusty springs.

Something is there, right at the edge-

•

I take a deep breath and open the bathroom door. It’s cold, smelling of fish and the underbelly of the pier. Buckets are everywhere - some full of water, some with half-eaten fish guts sloshed up the sides. I feel a bit sick.

Now, our bath is pretty deep. It’s very old, the kind that takes up the whole boiler if you let it, so we have to top it off with pans heated on the stove if it runs short. I can’t peer into it from the doorway, but I can see long, browning lines painted on the tiles. We have those markers on my classroom wall, groups of five scrunched together in a weird pattern.

I think they’re called tally-

A CLICK sounds from the bottom of the tub, the noise loud and sharp.

I drop my bag.

The oily blanket stuffed at the bottom tumbles out of it, along with my sandwich crusts, landing by one of the buckets with a thump. I’d go to reach it, but my feet won’t move.

Jelly-bones again. The world has gone quiet. All I can hear is my heart thumping loudly and the grumble-rumble of Mr Kinney’s radio. Dennis is barking from the bottom flat. Someone is yelling outside.

The tap isn’t dripping anymore.

I step closer to the tub and my mouth flops open, like one of Dad’s biggest catches.

Dead fish. Hook-in-lip.

Stoppered in the spout is a toe, with silvery webbing connected between each one. There’s a long foot, leading up to a shaky knee crisscrossed with streaks of pearly white. It’s hard to make out over the mottled brown patches blooming across her skin, but it’s a very pretty pattern. Like Mrs Keeley’s swirly carpet and-

“Coira.”

•••

Author’s note: I could have ended it there, but I am a slut for the poetic and always over-egg my stuff - especially when I’m stressed. So here’s a Director’s Cut finish.

There’s nothing else to know.

I’m older - and yet younger than I’ve ever been.

My home is spread over miles of water, mountainous waves and my stomach is full of fish.

I have siblings now. A whole colony, rookery and herd of family. We go by many things.

Sometimes the men in the boats call us a ‘Bob.’

It’s a name that hurts the back of my head but the memory always slips away before too long, for I am coated in an oil-slick. Soft and sleek. Quick.

We spend our days playing in the long weeds, hunting, playing, nudging - sometimes we even stretch out onto the beaches and soak up the sun. Children come to watch us, their sticky fingers reaching to pull at our coats but the parents always steer them away.

They never let on to what they really know.

On a handful of nights, when the moon is full and bright, we walk on the shore. My skin is bundled up and always kept within my sight, tucked behind a stump of the old pier.

It’s been years since I’ve seen myself like this. Longer legs, thick thighs and stomach to keep warm in the winter currents. The brown and white mottles running up and down my skin are less graceful on me, more abstract.

I think of a painting made with fingers - maybe mine? - from many years ago. It hung on the fridge for months, until it got swallowed by angry red letters.

But we continue to dance. My eyes, which can see through shifting silt and roaring tides, do not search beyond the beach. I simply spin faster and the seagrass tied in my hair shimmers in the moonlight.

Sometimes I feel a person or two watching us.

One of my sisters laughs and it cracks through the silence like a bark, more voices rising with it until the calls of early morning gulls are drowned out.

It’s the darkest moment before dawn. In this light, the seagrass looks like a dark blue ribbon.

[fightevilandthengetblownup]

FIC: The bright lights, the merry go

---

Sitting at the kitchen table, she let out a quiet soft sigh to herself as her thoughts continued to buzz quietly in the silence surrounding her. There was the occasional plinking sound as the kitchen tap let out slow, irregular drips, and the whirr from the refrigerator motor humming quietly in the space, and a soft noise as the oven slowly brought itself up to temperature. Jo had turned it on earlier, uncertain as to her plans for the day, but as she’d pottered around the house aimlessly her interest in baking in the empty house had fizzled out, and upon slumping into the seat at the table she hadn’t had the energy yet to get up and turn it back off.

It was one of those rare mornings that the other was out doing what he needed to rather than taking the morning to catch up on the sleep he missed out on, staying up playing his games and on hand to soothe away the nightmares that plagued her. As soon as the nightmarish voices had faded away and her body returned to herself, Jo’d caught up on a few kisses despite her protests of morning breath and been teased as she’d changed into her running gear to take their baby out while Grey’d pulled on a clean hoodie and his sneakers before departing for whatever hunt was on his agenda that morning and might let him be home by the afternoon.

Jo had gotten back from her longer than usual run with their fluffy baby, and spent a good while pampering the happy dog with a good brushing and cuddles before going for a soak in the bath with a copy of the latest Madeline Miller book to while away the cloudy morning. It was peaceful, if overly quiet, and gave her the time to relax but as she’d gotten out of the tub and dried off with the fluffiest towel she could find, Jo could feel the boredom - or at least that’s what she was thinking of it as - sinking in at being home alone.

She’d first tried to distract herself with some television but found herself starting and stopping new episodes of six different shows and channel surfing even the shopping network before giving up that idea. Her book was her next port of call, but even that just led to her shuffling about the house trying out different places to sit - one too cold near the window, another too far from the light far from it, the bed she couldn’t find a comfortable way to lay or perch, and sitting at the kitchen table to read her book felt strange. Jo tried working in her study next, pulling books that Harry had managed to locate from a contact in Mexico with a Spanish-English dictionary beside it had taken up about half an hour before she’d called quits on that as translating the words started to add to the headache she could have sworn had been developing all morning.

That was when the idea of baking had struck, her stomach growling for a very late breakfast as she moved down to reheat one of the cinnamon buns left in the fridge from the weekend and put the kettle on for her first cup of green tea of the day, but even as she sat at the table tearing at the bun and sipping her drink as the sun’s rays only just busted through the grey clouds to shine through the window - Jo couldn’t find the motivation to get up and do that either. Everything was just too heavy lately, after tearing her psyche apart recently and the hard work of stitching herself back together was still underway - it was too hard to do anything on her own again while she was still struggling to work her way through all that.

Nana had walked in after a little bit, burrowing her nose into the joint behind Jo’s knees and looking up at her with those big soulful eyes until she’d gotten a few bites of the warmed cinnamon bun for her own lip-smacking enjoyment. The unconscious movement to comply with her baby’s wishes were so rote at this point that Jo barely realized that the last perfect mouthful had been handed to the joyful pup before the smart dog noticed the empty plate and made off down to the lounge room with a happy wag of her tail leaving Jo slightly at a loss all over again to her thoughts and inadequacies to do anything. Everything was too hard to do, and now she hadn’t even gotten to have the middle circle of her bun.

“Balls,” Jo muttered quietly to herself under her breath as she stirred mindlessly at her tea before sighing into the silent room. “...Fine.” Grumbling to herself, she got up finally and moved towards the oven to click it off before slumping down onto the floor, resting her back against the warm oven door with a soft sigh as she closed her eyes for a moment.

That moment seemed to be a lot longer than she’d thought, as the next thing she knew was the sound of pounding paws on the hall floors and the warm baritone greeting the pup and that the oven behind her was no longer warm to the touch as she thunked her head back silently.

It took another few seconds before Jo tried to scramble quickly to her feet at the approaching sound of footsteps. It wouldn’t do at all to be found like that, it’d just worry her love too much. He shouldn’t have to worry about her very weird brand of crazy. Struggling, Jo let out a loud cry as she accidentally hit her head on the oven handle as she struggled up to her feet, rubbing at the sore spot. “Fuck! Bollocks, motherfuckin’ bullshit, crap!”

“Jo? Are you okay?” The panicked tone from the other was exactly what she’d tried to avoid, but as Jo finally got to her feet, the ache at the back of her head seemed to disappear as she looked into the warm and concerned blue eyes staring back at her as Grey rushed to her side. His hands were in her hair and gently placing pressure against the sore spot that had been throbbing painfully before, and all she could see was concern and love as his fingers massaged the area gently and his eyes danced between each of hers. “What happened, pretty one? Oh, that egg feels bad-”

“It’s not so bad-” “Jo, that feels like a bad bump.” “I just banged it a bit, I’ll be fine.” “Of course you will, let’s get you seated, hm?”

Jo found herself nodding gently without dislodging that comforting touch as she was gently guided back to her seat. She felt herself blushing however as the other picked up her now cold mug of tea before moving to put the coffee machine on instead as he poured the cold liquid down the drain without comment. Letting out a quiet groan to herself, she slumped back down again, resting her cheek on the table and rubbing at the sizable bump on the back of her head gently without worrying much about hiding that it hurts now there was no point to it.

“You want a coffee, Jo?” Grey asked gently as he rinsed out her mug and moved towards the fridge. Jo could tell he was looking at her in concern even as she let her eyes close and gave a positive-sounding groan in response. “Did you need anything else - pain killers, some chocolate, something?”

“I’m sure the coffee’d be just fine. Maybe…” “Maybe what?” “Maybe another cinnamon bun possibly.” “Coming right up then!”

Her cheeks felt hotter all over again as she rolled her forehead against the table before lifting her head to look at the confused and concerned yet adoring look she was getting in response. Grey was chewing on his bottom lip as he took not only the milks but two of their remaining cinnamon buns from the fridge to be warmed through in the toaster oven on a tray to catch any errant cream cheese frosting.

“I was tryin’ to decide what to do today, and I have no ideas,'' Jo mumbled out as an explanation, rubbing at the back of her head gently as she dropped her gaze down. Her head was already feeling better, but that was probably just her elation at the other being home so quickly. “I… I was almost thinkin’ of cleanin’ the oven, actually. I was that bored.”

“You, bored? Oh, we can’t have that.” The other smiled warmly as he came over with two mugs of steaming coffee - perfectly poured and balanced with their individual milk preferences and as Jo took a sip the pleasurable taste of caramel got a pleased groan from her in surprise - and sank into the seat beside her before reaching out to rub at her head instead. “What did you get up to while I was out to be so bored already, pretty one?”

“I tried some television but everythin’ was borin’. And I’d already taken Nana on a run and read some while in the bath that I didn’t want to do more of that. Otherwise?” Jo shrugged a shoulder, leaning into his touch with a sigh. “Didn’t know what to get up to. Was thinkin’ of bakin’ but I just… I guess I just wanted some company.”

“Well,” Grey’s smile was so soft and inviting and felt like a warm blanket wrapping around her in its soft embrace as she looked back at him, the tiny crease in his brows the only showing of the concern at her words that she could see. “If my company is what you want, then that’s what you get today.”

“But-” “No buts.” “Grey…”

“Nope, we are doing whatever catches your fancy today, my dearest pretty one,” Grey shook his head, smiling softly at her before he leaned in to kiss her gently for a moment. His touch was so comforting to her, and leaning into the kiss, Jo barely held back the whimper at the loss as he pulled back. The smug smile she got as she blinked her eyes open made her feel flushed all over again. “Now, you’d said something about wanting to do some baking?”

“Mhmm.” “Baking it is then. Not that I’m anywhere near as good as you.” “That’s not true at all.” “Oh yes it is, your baking is a thing of beauty.” “Hunny-” “No fighting me, not about your amazing baking, Jo.”

There was a pause as Jo opened her mouth to argue more before letting out a sigh instead and leaning her head back into his touch instead. “If this is the hill for you-” Jo let out a small giggle, shaking her head gently not to dislodge him before adding cheerfully. “Bakin’ it is I guess.”

Grey gave a decisive nod at her words, leaning in for another long kiss that would’ve made her knees buckle if she’d been standing before pulling back again and hopping out of his seat at the beep of the toaster oven. Jo chewed on her lip thoughtfully as she tried to think about what she would like to do together. They had almost anything and everything on hand given they’d done the groceries the day before, but also it wasn’t like the other wouldn’t fetch her any ingredients they were missing if she longed for them. If she wanted some vanilla fresh from Madagascar or some fancy French chocolate or milk straight from some Jersey cows, she was certain it would be in her hands with a moment’s notice. Whatever her heart desired, she knew without a doubt she’d have it.

“So, what do you think we’d make?” Grey asked cheerfully as he slipped into the seat beside her again and sat the plate with two warmed buns between them. Jo shrugged a shoulder as she watched him for a moment, before letting out a small giggle and reaching a finger out to wipe the melted cream cheese frosting that clung to the corner of his lips after he’d taken a big bite before licking it off. She blushed red to the roots of her hair at the heated gaze she got in return before dropping her eyes down to the other bun, tearing a bit for herself rather than acknowledge the electric hum in the air between them at that moment. There was a pause before the other added, voice thick and husky but fighting through it to speak nonchalantly. “If I recall, you had promised to teach me some things.”

“Oh yes, many a thing.” “Did you want to try some of those?” “What? Like the doughnuts or puff pastry?” “Yeah, exactly.”

Jo thought for a moment, chewing the mouthful of her bun and taking a sip of her coffee careful to avoid looking up at the other as she was unsure what she’d see reflected back at her. She had the most patient man in the world, but even patience would wear thin one day - especially when they both bucked against it equally but equally uncertain as it was. She couldn’t face if he was disappointed with her, focussing instead on gently nibbling on the warm, soft bun before eventually shaking herself free of those concerns and turned towards the idea of doughnut-making instead.

“Hmm, well, we’ve definitely got what we need for some typical glazed doughnuts,” Jo hummed to herself thoughtfully as the pair continued to eat their belated breakfast and sip their coffee. “Could do some custard-filled ones but I’m not the biggest fan.”

“Agreed,” Grey replied quickly, smiling softly at her over the rim of his mug as Jo tapped a finger to her lips thoughtfully. There was a pause before he set the drink down and reached out instead to rub gently at the bump on her head gently. “Did you have any other ideas? Or is there something else we could make with the dough instead of just the glazed doughnuts?”

“Hmm.. We could make some fried fritter things?” “Oh?” “Yeah, like, get some soaked raisins or fruit of some kind-” “We just got some apples yesterday?” “Oh yes! That’s a great idea!”

“So, doughnuts and apple fritters are the plan?” The other asked gently, his fingers soothing what little pain still radiated at the back of her head away as Jo finished her second bun of the day and tilted her head into his skillful hand. “That sounds like a fun way to spend the afternoon.”

“Well, late mornin’ and afternoon!” Jo giggled, quirking a brow back at him as she got a rueful grin in response. It was barely morning, it was true, but it amused her to correct him as they both looked at the oven clock showing that she was right for the next two minutes. The bemused look she got in response brought on another round of giggles as Grey shook his head at her and those last moments of the morning disappeared as he finished his cinnamon bun and she finished her cup of coffee.

As they finally finished, Jo reluctantly finally pulled back from the calming touch to push her chair out and get to her feet with an over-done flourish of her hands and far more energy than she’d felt earlier. “Let’s get started on the teachin’ then, hey hun?”

Grey nodded his head, getting to his feet as well and picking up the plate and their mugs deftly with a smile. She could see the concern underneath the amusement in his eyes, but with him there Jo doubted she’d be feeling forlorn or even a little bit of the throbbing pain she might have otherwise. “So, where do we start, pretty one?”

“Well, I’ll get the ingredients out if you help clear off the table so we can have a clear work surface?” “As you wish.” “Thanks, farmboy.”

The laughter that filled the kitchen was so much better than the oppressive quiet that it had been before - and Jo found herself humming along quietly to a tune she didn’t quite recognize as she pulled the dry and long-life ingredients out of the pantry. That song suddenly filled her ears from the speaker in the corner as she moved towards the now cleared table and spotted Grey’s smile from the corner where he was likely putting together a playlist with an eclectic mix of both their favorite songs. Smiling to herself as she bobbed along to the song, Jo pulled out a few mixing bowls as well as the milk, eggs and butter they’d need to start with.

Once everything was assembled, Jo let out a bright giggle again at the feeling of arms wrapping around her waist before she looked down to notice the half-apron wrapped about her and Grey’s head pressing into her shoulder and neck as he tied the bow at the back for her. “Thanks hun!”

“No worries, Jo, can’t get you getting all covered in flour. Actually, that might be very cute, ignore my silly idea.” Grey chuckled against her shoulder before pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. He shifted to move the chairs from their side of the table and then leaned a hip against the tabletop with a grin at her, one brow raised curiously. Jo grinned widely in response, taking in the way he had chosen to wear the dark blue apron instead of the frilly yellow she had on. “Well, what’s our next step, oh baking goddess?”

“First things first - dough!” “Nut!” “Hunny…”

Jo found herself giggling again as she caught his cheeky grin, twisting to peck his grin away quickly before turning back to their ingredients - pouring the necessary amount of milk for a double batch of dough into a heat-proof container. “Like I said, first things first so we’ve gotta get the yeast started. Can you warm the milk up a little and I’ll get the yeast separated out for the doughs?” She barely had to wait for the nod before tipping the yeast into each of their bowls and pushing them aside. Once the milk was heated, Grey poured it evenly between the two bowls and set the heating jug aside on the table out of their way. Jo glanced down at the rest and gave a quiet sigh before pulling over the flour to start sifting into another bowl to get rid of the lumps. “I hate siftin’ flour-”

“Well, how about you give me that job and you do the next bit then?” The other asked gently, reaching for the setup and then giving her a hip-bump to move out of the way as she relinquished the task for him. Grey smiled gently at her before giving the flour an extra shake. “I don’t know why you’d not like this task, Jo.”

“Ugh, it’s just so boring to do but you always need to. Stupid recipes requiring sifted flour!”

That got a laugh from the other as Jo moved to check on the yeast before moving to grab the jug and put the butter sticks in instead to heat in the microwave. By the time that was melted through and she’d poured in the apple cider, vanilla and salt into that jug, Grey had finished sifting the flour and the yeast had formed a foamy, bubbling top in the respective bowls. Jo gently instructed for some flour to be added to each bowl but the remaining bulk left in the sifted bowl for now before she handed Grey a wooden spoon and picked one up herself to gently fold and wet the flour in the yeasted mix together.

“Alrighty, the annoyin’ bit is whisking in another bowl now - can you separate eight egg yolks into this bowl here and I’ll get the whisk and sugar?” “Absolutely, Jo. Any plans for the whites?” “Hmmm, save them and we’ll have egg white omelets for lunch?”

Grey peppered her cheek with kisses and praise for creative thinking for the unnecessary bits before he moved to crack and separate the eggs as requested. Jo tipped the right amount of sugar into the same bowl and started to whisk as he added each yolk before handing the whisk over to him to continue as she poured the butter and other bits mixture in with the creamed yolk and sugar mixture, followed by the remaining flour. Once combined, Jo poured it into equal measure back into the two bowls with the yeast-mix and each picked up their spoons to mix together the dough.

“Oh, they look about ready to knead now too-” “Yeah? Not too sticky?” “Doughnut dough is supposed to be stickish.”

Grey nodded thoughtfully at her claims, smiling across at her as Jo put a layer of flour down in front of both of them so they could start kneading their mixes gently. It took about three minutes before Jo’s dough had formed together into a lovely ball that was taunt and sprung back at a finger prodding. As she wiped out the bowl that had held it before and then gently oiled it before plopping her ball into the base of it, Jo smiled happily to herself before turning to see how Grey had gotten on.

“Oh my god, hunny!” Jo cried, eyes wide and shocked as she looked towards the other. “What on earth did you do to that poor dough?!”

Grey flushed a deep red as he unsuccessfully tried to free his hands from the extremely sticky dough-like mix that was stuck mostly to his hands and the table but didn’t resemble the consistency at all that Jo’s had achieved at that point. “I, uh, I don’t think I was prepared for how sticky it was.”

“You don’t say!” The blonde let out a loud laugh as she looked on at his futile attempts to free himself, before Jo shuffled in under his closest arm. “Alrighty, let’s see if I can help you rescue it, huh?”

“Saving things, it’s what you do best.” Grey’s words ghosted over her ear as he peered over his shoulder from behind her as Jo’s hands dove in alongside his to try to free them and wrangle the mess into some sort of dough.

It took another few minutes for the sticky mess to start to come together and begin to feel like a proper ball of dough - still the stickiness needed for the doughnuts but no longer attached like concrete to the tabletop or either of their hands - and Jo let out a little laugh as she could feel the other’s hands finally getting the hang of the pull and push motion needed to work the tricky dough into submission.

“You know, this is where the playlist should start up with Unchained Melody.” Jo quipped quietly as they slowly worked the dough together and she moved her hands to help coax Grey’s into the different cupping-and-rolling motion needed to roll the dough into a cohesive ball ready to be returned to the bowl. “And I’d be behind you, of course.”

“Oh, so you’d be Swayze in this situation?” “Well, dah. I am the one that knows how to make it after all.” “That’s very true. And I definitely feel safe in those arms of yours, pretty one.”

Jo blushed something fierce as they finished the dough and moved to plop it into it’s bowl beside the other and Grey grabbed up some tea towels to cover them before they moved each bowl to a warm sunny spot to rise. Scrubbing at her cheek, she let out an embarrassed giggle at realising she’d just rubbed flour all over her cheek before sighing.

“Here, let me.” Grey picked up a spare towel and started wiping off her cheek before pressing a kiss to the same spot and then drawing her in for a gentle yet deep kiss for a long moment. Pulling back, he pressed his forehead to hers and sighed softly. “Thanks for the lesson, Jo, I was…”

“Stuck?” “Absolutely.”

“You’re welcome, hun.” Jo giggled again, pulling back a bit to press a peck against his forehead before turning her attention back to the table. “Alrighty, can you put away the flour and milk and stuff while I clean up the mess and then we can start on the apples and stuff?” She got a nod in reply, and working in tandem the mess was cleaned up in no time with the dirty bowls set in the sink and her wiping the table top down with a damp cloth to get any leftover flour up.

The sound of running water surprised her, and looking over, Jo couldn’t stop the soft smile growing as she noticed the other start of cleaning the bowls and spoons and other pieces rather than leaving them to sit. Grey’s shoulders weren’t slumped forward like she had worried they might after a bit of a failure making the dough on his own originally, and she could hear him humming along absentmindedly to the song on their playlist despite it being one of the songs she would class as hers. It was such a small gesture but made her stomach twist, and untwist again and the gentle look that was thrown over his shoulder towards her.

Shaking her head, Jo ducked her head down before moving towards the counter top to pull out the chopping board and set the apples from the fridge down as well as a heavy skillet out. Butter went into the skillet on the stovetop to start browning up on the lowest setting as she started peeling the apples absentmindedly with a knife.

As she finished the last of the apples, Jo blinked and let out a surprised noise to notice Grey had moved over and started to dice the peeled apples and add them to the skillet as she’d zoned out. Setting down the paring knife, she moved to add some cinnamon and brown sugar in with the apples before leaning her head against the other’s shoulder at the closeness. It felt so warm and light in the kitchen right then, in a way that the heated oven hadn’t felt before, warm and comforting and like home as the smell of the apples and butter cooking was mixed with the faint scent she knew was uniquely her love’s as she pressed her nose against his arm.

Jo let out a quiet sigh as Grey moved to put the last of the apple in the pan and press a kiss to her neck right over her scar. “Hey, I’ll get started on lunch while you do that, yeah?” The other waited all of a moment before pressing another kiss to the same spot at Jo’s nod of approval and he turned to start assembling the omelets for their lunch and likely a little bit for their darling girl once she’d eventually wake up. The apples simmered down softly and were moved off the heat in time for Grey to claim control of the stovetop for their lunch as Jo bounced about instead to reset the kitchen table and consult a few food blogs on her phone to decide on exactly the best way to form their doughnuts and apple fritters later.

After a quick lunch - egg white omelets with spinach, tomato and cheese which Jo pronounced to be delicious even though Grey denied that it was any good after he kept changing which technique to use to fold the omelet over on itself so each of theirs looked different - Jo suggested they watch some television as the dough still needed another half hour to rise.

The half hour came and went though, both tucked up on the couch with their girl laying across their laps and Jo’s head resting heavily against Grey’s shoulder as she snuggled into his side under his arm. It was warm and comforting and felt so good for her to be pressed up against Grey. Jo stroked through Nana’s fur gently as she watched the show, and found herself grinning gently to herself to realise that Grey’s fingers were just as absentmindedly stroking through her own hair as well. Everything felt so right in that moment, and when her phone beeped the minimum resting time had passed, Jo snuggled in closer and decided to wait for the end of the next episode before suggesting they get up.

“So, you never answered my question.” Grey chimed out softly as the episode finished and he clicked around to just put some background noise on instead of starting a third episode for them, raising an eyebrow at her when Jo made a quiet whine. “C’mon pretty one, what did you get up to that was so boring, hmm?”

“Nothin’ really-” “Jo?”

It took a moment and for her to cuddle in and rub her face against his chest for a moment before replying, cheeks red and mumbling quietly at how ridiculous she felt acknowledging it. “I was just… I missed you. I was missin’ you so everything sucked and I didn’t..” Jo let out a sigh, turning her head to look down at their pup as Nana tossed her head back for a moment before clambering to her feet in a swish of her tail and obvious disgust that she could tell her mommy and daddy were about to get up soon enough. Shaking her head, Jo gave a soft smile to herself before flushing all over again. “I’ve just been exhausted lately, emotionally, so like.. I just didn’t want to do anythin’ without you, hun.”

There was a pause, and Jo wasn’t surprised at all when there was suddenly a hand under her chin, tipping her face up towards his, and then gentle lips on hers. It was exactly the response she wanted somewhere deep inside, so leaning into the kiss with a quiet squeak. Grey’s hand shifted softly around her jaw line into her hair with his other hand and she found herself shifting into his arms and lap to kiss him back harder. It took more than a few minutes before their kisses slowed and stopped with a tiny groan from both of them as they moved back reluctantly. Her heart was pounding, but as much as part of her wanted to make any barriers between them disappear in his arms - a larger part was still mixed up and unsteady that she wanted nothing more than to cuddle in tighter and feel the comfort and stabilising impact of the other’s arms to keep her safe against all those concerns.

Grey gave a quiet groan under his breath before he kissed her again, softly and gently and so sweetly, before he shifted to set her back on the couch beside him with a tight hug. “I missed you too, pretty one, and I’m sorry I left this morning then-”

“No, no. You had to go and do-” “I could’ve waited though.” “Maybe, but you would’ve had to go sometime, and by goin’ you got to be home earlier!”

“Well, you’ve got me there.” Grey gave a chuckle, and Jo could feel it reverberating through his chest for a moment before he finally pulled back and got to his feet with a blush at his moving to readjust for a second, before holding out a hand to help her up “Do you think the dough is ready yet?”

Jo nodded, rubbing at her flushed cheeks as well as she got to her feet quickly with Grey’s help, before grinning widely. “Oh it definitely should be - would’ve been ready an episode and a half ago.”

“We should’ve paused-” “Oh fuck no, cause why would we stop mid episode?” “Then we shouldn’t’ve watched the last episode-” “And not finish an arc?”

“You just have an answer for everything, don’t you?” Grey grinned back at her widely, and Jo smiled back hearing the laugh before letting out a yelp at the playful tap she got as she passed him by towards the kitchen. There was another laugh from both of them as Jo hurried down the hall and danced just out of reach from the other as he took off after her, giggles and laughter filling the hall and kitchen as they reached it with teasing kisses and hugs before finally sobering up some.

Jo gave a final tap to the back of the other’s head for a second before she moved over to their aprons and handed them out as she looked over for their dough bowls. “Wow!” Looking in the bowls as she pulled the tea towels off and reset her apron around her waist, Jo’s eyes widened at just how much the dough had risen before letting out a laugh. “Well, those got big.”

Grey exclaimed likewise as he came to look at Jo moved the bowls onto the clean kitchen table. “Are they supposed to grow that much?”

“Maybe not, but they should still be nice doughnuts.” “Fingers crossed.” “Could you put a pot on the stove, fill it with the new oil in the pantry and put it on low while I get these ready?” “Of course, Jo, easy done.”

Jo smiled softly as she looked over her shoulder to see the nodding head of the other as he moved around to get the cast iron dutch oven out of the cupboard and set it up with enough oil for their frying. Turning back to the table, Jo spread out a thin coating of flour in the two spots they’d be working to make the doughnut shapes, before moving to get the cooled apple mixture.

“Did you want to do the doughnuts first and then we can start on the apple fritters?” “Sounds good. Which dough is which?”

Jo chuckled, grabbing one of the bowls and then tipping it out onto the floured space before her and then split it in half with a bench scraper she grabbed from a drawer right then at realising they’d need it. Plopping one half of the mix in front of Grey instead and pulling out the rolling pins, Jo smiled softly as she watched him prodding cautiously at the slowly deflating dough in front of him. “Okay hun, time to roll carefully and then we’ll shape them and set them over on a baking sheet. Did you want to cut the holes out and cook the doughnut holes too, or do the more bagel-like finger poking?”

“Well, one way we get doughnut holes that maybe someone could have with coffee for breakfast tomorrow like some other time, hmm?” Grey quirked a brow at her as he spoke, reaching out to tug on the end of a strand of hair for a second before tucking it behind her ear at the light giggle she gave. “With some fruit of course.”

“But of course!” Jo chirped back with a smirk, well aware that the suggestion of doughnuts for breakfast was of course a conscientious decision from the other to give her something for whatever he thinks she must have been missing that morning with his being away. Shaking her head with a smile, she waved a hand to the other. “Okay, can you grab the really big circular cookie ring as well as a smaller one from the cookie cutters? I think they should be easy enough to find in the third drawer-”

“I’m allowed in the famed baking drawer?” “Only with my permission of course.” “Well, of course.”

The banter got a laugh from her, and as the other moved back over with the two cookie cutters she double checked the sizes and gave a decisive nod at them being just right. Of course Grey would pick the perfect pair.

It took a few encouraging comments and soothing words from her as they moved into rolling out and then cutting the doughnut shapes that he wasn’t rolling them too thin or that the slight tackiness to the dough was to be expected. Jo had to remind him three times about coating his rolling pin with flour, and was rewarded with a flick of the white dust towards her that settled on her cheek and in her hair with a laugh from both of them. Eventually the first bowl worth of dough was successfully worked and cut out into sixteen doughnuts and sixteen corresponding doughnut holes. There was even just enough dough that Jo rolled them out and cut out two little bone-shaped doughnuts that they’d not cover in any icing to be saved for treats for their darling girl.

At that, Grey noted it was almost Nana’s dinner time, and as he moved off at the pup’s whining cries to be fed, Jo moved to check on the oil and dropped a small handful of the doughnut holes into the glistening oil to check and test for the temperature and cooking times. The colouring was slow, but eventually the golden colour came to the bottom side and they were gently flipped with a metal spider as she moved to set up another tray lined with paper towel and then a cooling rack on top for them to cool and avoid getting too oil logged as they’d cook the rest.

“Those look beautiful, Jo.” Grey said gently as he came up behind her, hands wrapping carefully around her waist into a tight hug as Jo carefully lifted the balls out of the oil and set them out on the drying rack. “And you’ve already thought ahead to the cooling rack!”

“Can’t have them sitting in the little oil to get soggy!” “Of course not.”

Giving him a grin, Jo handed the metal spider to him as she pulled out of the hug. “Well now, your turn to cook some too, huh?”

Grey gave her a wide eyed look of surprise before nodding, and with only a few jokes he’d gotten two of the large doughnuts and one of the little bones floating and bubbling away in the oil under his careful watch. Jo smiled affectionately as she watched his cautious checking on the color changing on the underside of the doughnuts and stayed by his side as they waited to see how long they’d take to cook. The way they didn’t split or puff up any more as they cooked was a good sign that they’d cook well.

“I feel a lot more comfortable seeing how these are doing,” Grey remarked with a grin, flipping over the last of the doughnuts for them to start on the second side. He held the strainer carefully in his hand and pushed on the top of one of the bobbing doughnuts to watch it pop back up after a moment with a smirk. “I get the feeling that those Try Guys would have had an explosion or seven by now-”

“Oh no, Eugene’s beer doughnuts would have been a horrible wet mess-” “But somehow win in the end.” “Exactly!”

They both laughed at the ridiculousness before their attention was drawn back to the bubbling golden pastries. It was another minute before Jo gestured and Grey pulled them out to drain and started on a few others. “Okay, in a minute when they’ve cooled a bit can you check if they’ve cooked through? I’ll get started on the fritters while you handle the doughnuts, my padawan. I trust you with this.”

“Of course, I’m your best pupil after all.” Grey chuckled quietly but leaned over to give a press of a kiss to her cheek with a cheeky smile before Jo moved back to the table to work on the fritters. She heard their sound system start back up and an approving nod from the other calling out that the doughnuts appeared cooked through as the songs started up - one from her current favorite album lilting through the speaker and the soft voice of the other singing along to the male pieces as the song slowly built up - while she moved to dump out the remaining bowl of dough.

Singing along softly under her breath - “A universe away” - Jo moved to roll the dough out to an adequate thickness before spreading half of the apple mixture into the centre third of the dough rectangle she had made. Folding either side over in a booking-fashion, she slowly rolled it out again, again and then a third time until she had another apple-studded rectangle before doing the same again with the remaining half of the apple mixture. As she did another book-fold and then rolled the dough through to the original shape and thickness after another few turns, she used the bench scraper to cut the dough into three long thick strips, and then cut each strip into matching triangles with quick, sharp cuts. Each triangle fritter was set out on a third tray, and as she finished those, got a damp cloth to wipe up the remaining flour on the table and cleared the bowls into the sink with a smile.

She moved the tray of fritters over beside Grey’s mostly empty tray of uncooked doughnuts with a smile, and shared an affectionate hip bump when he acknowledged her arrival. Though the smile dropped from the other’s face as he noticed her moving to start on the dishes as he was stuck holding the strainer to take the cooking doughnuts out.

“Hey, you leave those Jo.” “Huh? Oh no, I’ll do the wash up today.” “No, no no. I’ll take care of that and the lunch dishes once I-”

Jo turned slightly, her hands planted firmly on her hips as she looked across at him as he impatiently flipped one doughnut too early and splashed a bit of oil out onto the counter top while the color was only just a pale yellow and not yet golden brown. Raising a brow as she glanced between it and Grey’s defiant yet uncertain look, she quirked the other brow up as well. “I don’t think so. You’ve still got doughnuts to fry and you clearly need to keep practising to get that timin’ right.”

“Jo-”

“So, you keep on cookin’ those and then the fritters, while I do the washing up.” Jo finished firmly despite his interruption, shaking her head at the aborted snort of disapproval from the other as she filled the sink with water and suds. Sure, she wasn’t a fan of washing dishes, but she wanted to do it - Grey didn’t always have to do all the washing even though he tried to. “And then we can work on the icin’ afterwards.”

“Isn’t it just a royal icing? Icing sugar and water or milk?” Grey asked, a small frown on his face as he flipped the slightly under-done doughnut back over and continued to cook the other two as if nothing had gone wrong. “Or you doing something special?”

“Was thinkin’ a chocolate glaze given it’s just the icing sugar, milk and some cocoa powder and vanilla.” “That sounds good, pretty one.” “Maybe I’ll also make a small amount of pink and we can drizzle some extra decoration?” “Artistic, huh?”

Jo giggled at that, nodding as she washed the dough bowls and the cast iron pan the apples were cooked in. The lunch dishes were just as easy as well, and doing them as well as drying the dishes and putting them away took her all the way through the last of the doughnuts and doughnut holes being fried and right up to the start of the apple fritters. Jo warned carefully that the extra water content from the apple mix might cause some splattering, and Grey cautiously grabbed the splatter guard from it’s hidden spot to cover and avoid any flying oil hitting either of them as he slid three of the fritters into the oil. They did splutter right away but it calmed down as the dough became more and more golden before doing it all over again as he flipped them to the other side.

Jo herself moved towards making glazes for both different types of doughnuts - mixing a glaze out of the milk, vanilla, icing sugar and cocoa powder as well as some without the cocoa powder but a few drops of red food coloring instead into two bowls quite quickly, and then a third glaze for the fritters with the milk traded out for a dash of apple cider instead and the vanilla for a pinch of salt to give a salty sweetness to those fritters instead. They were all clearly easy to tell apart from one another, and as Grey called her over to check if the first fritters had cooked through properly, Jo was so proud to see how good and fluffy their work appeared to be.

They traded off then, Jo taking over the metal strainer and getting a sweet kiss in return, as Grey saw the time and moved to start working on dinner for them - leaving the remaining fritters to Jo’s attention and frying. The songs shifted but neither minded if it was a song she liked or a song he liked as they each enjoyed the quiet domesticity as Jo finished off the last apple fritters and Grey moved to put the tray bake of vegetables and some roasting chicken marylands to cook over the next hour for their dinner.

Jo moved the trays of finished doughnuts and fritters over to the collection of glaze bowls, and let out a laugh noticing a fourth bowl filled with melted butter and a fifth with a cinnamon sugar mix that she hadn’t put there before. Smiling softly, she dipped some of the doughnut holes into the melted butter and then tossed them gently in the cinnamon and sugar in preparation for them heated through in the morning - thinking to herself how sweet the memories of coffee, fresh fruit and soft doughnuts brought back to her from many times she’d been given the treat. Turning about, she grabbed a tupperware out to store them in as she kept moving through the doughnut holes as she could hear the other pottering about behind her as she finished off the last few doughnut holes.

“So - ready to finish these off, hun?” Jo asked quietly, turning to look over her shoulder where she could see Grey taking care to stir what would eventually be likely a gravy with dinner, raising a brow. “Or are you busy with dinner?”

“Just setting this to simmer down for a while and then I’m ready to get back to it, teach.” Grey smiled back at her as he stirred the sauce a few more times as she moved to pop the cinnamon doughnut holes in their airtight container off into the fridge to stay for the next day. He dusted off his hands as he moved to turn the heat down to a gentle simmer before moving over to the table. “What now, Jo?”

“Now it’s time to make them pretty.” “That’s a lot of pressure.” “Pretty like a Pollock then?”

Grey grinned ruefully at that, bumping his shoulder against hers as Jo stuck her tongue out at him, before letting out a yelp at his leaning down to kiss her before she’d pulled it back. Laughing, Jo tapped a finger against his nose as they both turned back to the doughnuts and fritters.

“Okay, easiest job is to just roll the fritters in the apple glaze, so I’m goin’ to let the artist do the careful chocolate dippin’ instead.” She smiled up at Grey for a second before she lifted up one of the perfectly golden brown doughnut rings to demonstrate the twisting technique to rightly coat and avoid drips as she dunked one face of the pastry into the chocolate glaze and lifted it quickly with a twist and jerk of her wrist to stop the coating from leaving an obvious drip-trail. “See? And if you do get any drips it’d be artistic rather than a fuck up like mine!”

“Yours would not be fuck ups, Jo.” Grey shook his head slightly as he looked down at her, and she found herself glancing down to focus on setting the coated doughnut down back on it’s previous resting spot rather than face the obvious meaning to the other’s words or the emotion she knew would be in his eyes. “Well, I better give this a try then…” He sounded uncertain for a moment, and Jo found herself reaching out to hold alongside him as he dipped his first doughnut before doing the twist, guiding him through the movement and hearing a chuckle from the other as there was only a small drip down one side as they set that doughnut back down. “Is that artistic enough for you, pretty one? You sure I should do these and not the fritters?”

“Practice makes perfect!” Jo chirped back at him, tapping a finger with a little of the dripped glaze to his nose before giggling at the mark. Shaking her head, she laughed louder as Grey swiped a hand over the offending mess and licked it off the top of his hand rather than let it go to waste. “I bet by the time these are all coated, you’ll be a pro at it.”

“I can try, I guess.” Grey chuckled back as he shook his head and picked up the next doughnut to be dipped.

Jo tried not to watch too obviously as she picked up the apple cider glaze and began to toss and coat the fritters in the bowl before fishing them out to rest. It wouldn’t help with the pressure if Grey thought she though he couldn’t do it or that she was watching him closely, but at the same time she liked to glance up and see the slow and then fast improvement as he got the hang of the motion and by the last half a dozen was perfectly coating the doughnuts without a single bit of overspill or wasted glaze. It was easy to finish her fritters without concern seeing just how great the other’s technique had gotten - and as she finished her last three fritters rolled about at the same time Grey finished the last of his chocolate doughnuts, Jo exclaimed happily. “See, what did I say?! Those look fantastic, hun.”

“I mean the last few maybe-” “No, no, all of them look really good.” “Even that one that I dropped and got half of the doughnut overall covered in glaze?” “Are you complain’ about the idea of more glaze?”

Grey seemed to consider for a moment before laughing. “Okay, true. I call dibs on that one.”

Laughing her agreement, Jo smiled widely - teethy and tongue pressed up sharp against them - as she moved to set the two used and empty bowls of glaze into the sink with a little water.

“Can you grab an extra fork or spoon for the pink icin’, hun?” “Sure - how are we doing this?”

Jo moved back towards the table with a roll of paper towel, and quickly slid and covered the table around the row of doughnuts on their drying rack before waving a hand at the other tray of apple fritters for Grey to move them out of the way before she covered that open spot with paper towel as well. Moving the red icing bowl, Jo added a splash of extra milk to loosen it up again from how it had started setting before she dipped the fork Grey held out into it.

“I said Pollock, didn’t I?” Jo gave another toothy grin before she pulled the fork free and then gently flung it down towards the nearest doughnut, leaving strands of red icing to cover it in splatters and lines. There was a surprised noise from next to her, and paying no mind she dipped the fork again before doing the same thing over again - mottling the top of the doughnuts under her fork’s path with splatters and lines of a soft pink across the shiny brown surface. “See?”

“That is… That is definitely very Pollock like,” Grey agreed with a slight grin as he moved to pick up the spoon at her gesturing. “Very deliberately not-deliberate, right?”

Jo nodded, smiling widely as she moved to dip her fork again and that they both began splattering and drizzling the light pink glaze over the doughnuts together, giggling and laughing and teasing the whole while. No single doughnut looked the same, and they were all the prettier for it. The one that Grey had called dibs on, Jo even leaned down secretively to draw a very lumpy heart on it as she giggled quietly to herself, and she was unsurprised as soon as he’d noticed it that more hearts started to be added across the other doughnuts all claimed to be for her dibs instead. Shoulders bumped and arms reached over each other and the whole time made Jo feel so light and airy, so different to the heavy aching emptiness from earlier.

They finished their rather ridiculous art project as the pink glaze ran out, and Grey bundled up the paper towel that was splattered and kept everything else clean while Jo moved to rinse out and soak the icing bowl and utensils with the others. Packing away the apple fritters but leaving two out after Jo had batted her eyelashes until Grey finally agreed that one fritter before dinner wouldn’t ruin their appetites, she moved the two onto a plate as Grey grabbed the containers necessary to store the other doughnuts for later once the icing had dried for them to be stored.

“Dinner’s still another hour away, right hun?” Jo asked innocently as she fiddled with the plate as the other moved to get some drinks from the fridge.

Grey hummed in agreement as he collected a can of soda for each of them - more likely both for Jo as she always finished hers first in no time - and turned to look at her mischievous look. The smile on his face twisted into disapproval and then a grin as Jo smirked back picking up one of the heart covered doughnuts that wasn’t his and took a giant bite out of it, giggling loudly. “Jo! We agreed on one!”

Jo took another two large bites quickly, her mouth pulled into a tight lipped but cheeky grin - cheeks full of sweet, fluffy doughnut sticking out like a chipmunk - before she chewed quickly and cheekily mumbled out - “One fritter!”

The disbelief and them affectionate shaking of the other’s head was all the answer she did expect, and she had to focus on chewing carefully and swallowing her mouthful despite the wide grin she knew she had as Grey’d moved over to take a big bite of the doughnut himself before tapping her on the nose with the end of it as he wrapped an arm around her. This was what she’d been missing as she was pulled into a sugary sweet kiss that was softer and made her feel lighter and airier than even their perfect doughnuts before they set off to the lounge for another episode of Doctor Who before dinner.

Following after him, their banter light and freeing in it's playfulness as Grey started to compliment how good her dough was and Jo equally batted back that his dough and frying was so much better, she couldn't help but feel like things were righting themselves again. That heaviness of her troubles fading away, soothed and teased and gently coaxed away under the caring gentle treatment and the sweet attentions. The way she had felt a gaping hole inside after she'd worked so hard to cut away those feelings that held her back was being filled in again - slowly - with those gentle touches and sweet remarks that made her heart ache in all the best ways. This, this was how she would feel light again.

---

[mostlyjustwhump]

Gunpoint

Chapter 2 of Lucky’s story.

Things do not go as planned.

TW: Verbal abuse, physical abuse, blood, gun, death threats, BBU, human trafficking, modern slavery

Taglist: @shapeshiftersandfire @slaintetowhump

By the time Tyler came home, Lucky was antsy with anticipation. He strained against the chain as soon as he heard the car pull in and the door open. Tyler laughed when he opened the bathroom door.

“Hey Luck! Eager to get going tonight?”

Lucky nodded vigorously. “Yes, sir!”

Tyler unlocked the chain, and Lucky scrambled to hug him. He laughed more, hugging Lucky back. “Missed me that much, huh?”

“Mhm!” Lucky wondered when a good time to ask his question would be. He knew he still had to wait a bit more—Tyler was probably still a bit frazzled and burnt out from work. He’d get a much better shot later. Lucky unwrapped himself from Tyler’s arms and picked up his water bottle and the remains of his lunch. “How was work?”

Tyler shrugged and sighed melodramatically. “Work was work. My coworkers were a pain, but at least the workload itself wasn’t bad.” 

Lucky nodded sympathetically, despite not being able to relate in the slightest. He wished he had coworkers to talk to throughout the day. Even annoying ones would beat staring at the bathroom wall and pretending to have a person’s life all day.

Tyler straightened, loosening his tie. “Anyway. I was thinking we could have linguini for dinner?”

“Right on it, sir!” Lucky scrambled to the kitchen. He put the water bottle in the sink, and threw out the remains of his lunch. What else could he do to make Tyler more likely to agree with his idea? He picked up a pot, filling it in the sink. The sound of running water relaxed his mind as he explored the possibilities. Some garlic bread on the side of dinner, maybe? Tyler liked garlic bread. He could even make a special dessert! Chocolate pudding would be easy enough to prepare, especially if he used the microwave.

He put the pot on the stove, salting the water and pouring the pasta in. A few rooms over, he could hear Tyler flicking through news channels. Lucky half listened as he prepared the sauce and garlic bread.

When he was putting the bread in the oven, he heard news that made him freeze. 

“Tonight, a lost pet was found injured on the side of the road,” the local news anchor proclaimed in a nonchalant, almost chipper, tone. Tyler wouldn’t skip past this one. In the year or so Lucky had been in the house, Tyler had never skipped past the ones about bad things happening to stray and runaway pets like he skipped past the ones about wars, injustices, and the rare case of pet abuse that made it on television. Tyler turned up the volume. Did he know Lucky listened?

The microwave beeped, and he ran over to take the pudding out. The newscaster prattled on. “The pet, referred to as Reese, was found a couple miles south of his home. He sustained a few broken ribs and internal injuries.” Lucky put the pudding in the fridge to set, listening intensely. “Fortunately, his owner was quick to report his disappearance and law enforcement was able to find him before his condition could get any worse. His owner, an esteemed member of WRU’s marketing department, is shaken but relieved. I imagine I’d be relieved too if my company had such a good pet insurance policy after something like that!” The newscaster stopped to laugh at her own joke before returning to a more serious tone. “Police advise owners to install protective measures to keep pets from wandering off. Even if you feel your pet is well-behaved, it never hurts to be safe!”

Lucky let out a shuddering sigh. He wished Tyler wouldn’t play stories like that. Tyler worried about him running away so much, even though he’d never even had the chance to. It was unproductive to worry about himself ending up dead or hurt in a ditch, so he tried not to think about it as much as Tyler seemed to.

He started to plate the food, giving his owner a noticeably bigger portion. There was no time to feel sad over the news. He had a goal to accomplish, and if it involved being perfectly cheerful to placate Tyler’s worries first, that’s what he’d do.

“Dinner!” Lucky called, bringing out the plates to the dining room and sitting down. The TV shut off. 

Tyler walked in, stopping to smell the air. “Smells good in here.” He looked at the food and his eyes brightened. “Wow! Looks great, too.”

Lucky smiled. He thought it looked pretty good too, especially after he put in the effort to put the flaked parmesan on top and garnish it with a few herbs. “I felt like doing something extra good tonight.” 

Tyler sat and took a bite, nodding. “You’re on a roll today, Luck.”

Lucky could barely contain his excitement. It was working. Tyler would definitely be more open to listening to him now. He squirmed happily in his seat, starting to eat his own food. He wondered when he should bring it up. He figured he should at least wait until he brought the pudding out, otherwise the extra effort to make it would have been pointless.

Tyler shook his head. “Terrible what happened to that pet, huh?”

Lucky forced a bite of pasta around the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. “Yes, sir,” he said in a small voice. He had stopped thinking about it. Why did Tyler feel the need to bring it up?

“Wouldn’t have happened if he didn’t feel the need to run away. You’re too smart for that, huh, Luck?” Tyler looked at Lucky expectantly.

“Of course, sir. I’d never do that to you or myself.”

Tyler smiled. “Atta boy.”

Lucky’s mood brightened a bit again. He said the right thing! Not only that, but he couldn’t remember doing a wrong thing all day! If he asked the right way, this just might work. For the rest of the meal, he mentally reviewed all the ways he might possibly bring up his idea.

When all the food was gone, he stood up to collect the plates. “I made dessert too!”

“Wow, really? Awesome! What is it?”

“I made pudding! We can eat it when we watch TV!”

“Alright!” Tyler pumped a fist into the air, then laughed a little self-consciously. “I’ll wait for you and the pudding on the couch!”

Lucky went to the kitchen, humming a jingle he heard on TV. He put the plates in the sink and walked to the fridge. It was almost time! A sudden spike of nervousness struck him. Oh, gosh, it was almost time. He stopped, one hand on the refrigerator handle. Did he really want to do this? What if it went badly? What if Tyler took it the wrong way? He shook his head and steeled himself. It was a great idea and he knew it. It would benefit both of them, including Tyler, so Tyler would have no reason to say no.

Still, Lucky put whipped cream on the pudding before carrying out, as a last touch. Just in case that made a difference.

The living room was almost a relaxing area, with a worn couch across from a large flatscreen, but since it was the room closest to the front door, Tyler kept a gun attached decoratively to the wall above the couch. The gun effectively made the room unsettling to any guests that Tyler invited, but Lucky loved it. It was the spot he felt closest to Tyler, the spot he watched the people on TV with their better lives, the spot he almost felt normal.

Lucky settled in next to Tyler on the couch and handed one of the pudding bowls over, Tyler eagerly accepted it, putting a heaping spoonful into his mouth.

“Mmm!” Tyler picked up the remote and flicked through Netflix, looking for something to watch.

Lucky stared into his pudding bowl, using his spoon to poke at the dessert. He took a deep breath. Now was the best time.

“Hey, um, sir?”

“Yeah?” Tyler barely seemed to be listening.

“I was thinking… so, um, some people bring their platonics to work to help them with disabilities? I think, um, I think we should maybe do that.” Lucky hadn’t looked up from his pudding once while he spoke. Tyler was completely silent, so Lucky went on, hoping to fill the tense silence. “I mean, you wouldn’t have to worry about being scared at work, and—”

“Is this not good enough for you?” Lucky cringed into the couch. The spoon kept clinking against the bowl in his shaking hands. No, no, no, no… this wasn’t how it was supposed to go!

He forced words out of his frozen mouth. “Of… of course not, sir, I just think it would be good—”

“Bullshit!” Tyler slammed his pudding bowl on the coffee table so hard, Lucky cried out at the noise. “I’m the owner here! I know what’s best! Don’t you dare forget which one of us is in charge!” Tyler grabbed Lucky’s hair, yanking him forward. Lucky yelped in pain, dropping his bowl on the ground. It broke. Tyler yelled louder. “Now look what you’ve done!”

Lucky reached down, trembling, to pick the pieces up. “I’m, I’m sorry sir, but you’d be less scared, and I—”

Tyler shoved him onto the ground. His arms were cut on the broken pieces of the bowl, pudding staining his shirt.”You what?” 

“I don’t want to be locked up all day!” Lucky blurted. The reality of what a damning thing he said hit him, and he started sobbing, choking out more words around his cries. “Please, sir, I...I can be useful...let me clean, at least… please…” 

Tyler stood up, face twisted in harsh fury. “You know.” He raised his voice. “You know why I keep you there, and you still insist on leaving?” He laughed, but there was no humor in his voice. “I want to protect you!”

“I, I know, I’m sorry—”

“Do you want something bad to happen? To wander off, get lost, and die alone? To be murdered if robbers break in? To be stolen and hurt? Is that what you want, huh?”

“No—”

Tyler laughed again, voice rising hysterically. “Well, if you have such a death wish, why don’t I kill you right now?” Lucky tensed, horror rising in him as Tyler took the gun off the wall. “I could do it, you know. No one would care. You aren’t as important as you think you are, Luck.”

Lucky tried to force his voice to remain steady. Tyler was right—if he were shot right now, no one outside the house would care. Most likely, no one outside the house would even find out. “Sir, please—”

Tyler swung the gun to point at him. Lucky whimpered, curling up on himself. His heart hammered so hard he felt like it was going to burst from his chest. How had this gone so wrong? It felt like the room was closing in, leaving him no escape. He vividly imagined bullets blowing him to pieces, and curled up even tighter.

“Oh, so now you’re nice and obedient. It’s too late for that, you know.” Lucky looked up at the man who was going to be the end of him. His vision was blurred by tears, but Tyler almost seemed to be smirking.

Lucky tried to force himself to beg, but all that could escape his throat was the word “please”. He said it again and again, barely above a whisper. He raised a weak, trembling arm, trying to put a hand on Tyler’s foot. It was over. He was going to die. Oh god, he was going to die.

“You’re getting blood on my socks.” Lucky recoiled his arm. It was covered in smeared blood from his cuts. He curled back into himself. Begging had only made it worse. All he could do now was wait.

He mentally detached himself from his body. A heart still pounded somewhere, but it didn’t feel like his heart. Eyes watered, but they no longer felt like his. Even the bleeding arm felt disconnected from his existence. He’d mentally run away like this many times in the Facility, but this time would be his last. The ability had served him well, anyway. He waited outside himself for the fatal shot.

It never came.

Suddenly, Tyler was carefully pulling him back up on the couch. Lucky’s head spun. What was happening? He blinked, glancing around. The gun was back in its place on the wall, as if nothing had happened. Tyler gently held him, running a hand through his hair as he cried. He was such a helpless mess, sobbing, covered in snot, blood, and pudding, yet Tyler, still well put together, was pretending not to notice.

“Shh. Shh. You didn’t think I was really going to shoot you, did you?”

Lucky couldn’t respond. He couldn’t even think clearly enough to string together a coherent sentence. He simply buried his head deeper into Tyler’s shoulder, sobbing out his fear and confusion.

But he couldn’t believe Tyler. He was certain that Tyler really might have killed him, no matter what reassurances he was muttering now. He knew what had happened, even if Tyler didn’t want to admit it to himself. He was sure of it.

[oh-mother-of-darkness]

Tim left his room and went downstairs for the first time in days. The manor was quiet, sunlit by the afternoon light coming in through the windows. To an outsider, it might have seemed peaceful. 

Tim knew better. They weren’t peaceful— they were grieving: Dick and Tim for their father, Alfred for his son. 

Tim stopped in the foyer for a few moments to breathe in, breathe out, pull himself together before he headed down to the kitchen. If he didn’t eat now, he never would. 

He pulled up suddenly when he saw Damian standing in the hallway, studying the wall of family photographs. What was he still doing here? Wasn’t he going to leave?

Tim continued walking. “Damian,” he said flatly on his way past. 

“Drake,” Damian shot back. 

Tim made it all the way to the next door before Damian sighed softly from behind him. Tim turned backwards and found Damian still absorbed in the pictures. He might not have realized he made a noise in the first place. 

Tim turned around and walked back down the hallway. Damian didn’t react to that at all, just reached out a hand to touch the frame of one of the larger photographs. 

“That’s Bruce and me in Chicago,” Tim told Damian. “We went to a conference there, then down to the lake for the beaches. We stayed for a week. It was good.”

“And this one?” Damian asked, pointing towards another.

“Dick, Bruce, and Jason, back when Jason was young. I guess they went skiing.”

Damian nodded and moved down the wall to the next set of pictures. He turned to Tim with a questioning look. 

“Cass and Barbara before a party. Dick’s high school graduation. Bruce in France.”

The last was a framed picture of Bruce in a garden, seated on a bench and looking over his shoulder, solemnly, at the camera. 

“I took that one,” said Tim. “He always brought me with him when he had to leave. I loved that about him.”

Tim did love that about Bruce. He’ll be back, Tim reminded himself. You can still get him back. 

He knew better than to say it out loud. 

“When I was young, my parents were always gone on trips. I would get postcards from them in the mail, and I always wanted… Well, Bruce did that for me. He took me with him.”

They stayed quiet for a few minutes, then Damian broke the silence. 

“I didn’t know he was my father until I came to Gotham.”

“Wow.”

“Mother said I would meet him when I was ready. I fought for years to be ready, and now…”

Damian sighed again. He looked awfully small. “I didn’t know him. I never will.” 

“That’s hard.”

“Yes,” Damian agreed, “and made harder by your presence. Weren’t you going somewhere?”

Tim stared at him. 

“Fine,” said Damian. “That was… unnecessary. I apologize.”

“It’s fine. I don’t really care.” Tim thought for a moment, then gestured Damian down the hallway to the kitchen. “Come on. Let’s go.”

Besides the two of them, the kitchen was empty. Tim started the oven, then pulled a batch of Alfred’s biscuit dough from the fridge. He looked over at Damian. 

“Soft biscuits or crunchy?”

“Soft.”

“Okay. Come make tea while I do scrambled eggs.”

Damian hurried over to the tea cabinet. “Find a spice you like for the eggs while you’re over there,” Tim told him.

The two of them made breakfast in silence, then sat down at the table with tea, eggs, biscuits, and jam. Realistically, the biscuits were a little past soft, but Tim had tried his best. 

“Did you ever see his persona?” Tim asked. “Bruce’s public face?”

“Through a camera once,” said Damian. “Not in person or up close.”

“It’s terrifying. He laughs a lot.” Tim heard himself hop tenses again and forced himself back into the past. “He could turn it on in half a second, and then real Bruce was just… gone. There was this charismatic, loud man there instead. Can you imagine?”

“No,” said Damian thoughtfully, “I can’t. Was he ever like that at home?”

“Never. It was always a front to throw off anyone that might guess his identity. Didn’t always work, obviously.”

“You guessed.”

“Yeah. A long time ago.”

“I only ever met Batman.”

“You met Bruce then,” said Tim, “not because, I don’t know, ‘Batman’ is the only thing inside him. He’s not… His identity isn’t some man that lives in the darkness and swallows criminals whole. He’s not an assassin or a soldier or whatever. He’s not a nightmare.” Tim ran a hand through his hair. “He’s a person. It’s just… Batman is the same person.”

Present tense. Tim tried again. 

“Bruce is— was— forget it, I don’t care anymore. Bruce is—”

Damian shrugged in what was maybe a poor attempt at scorn. He took another plateful of eggs and motioned for Tim to go on. 

“Bruce just feels everything: anger and pain, yeah, but those aren’t the only emotions. There’s compassion and empathy and hope for the city. He loves this city.”

Damian nodded. 

“He just…. wants everybody to be okay,” said Tim, in the full knowledge that he wasn’t okay, not even a little bit. 

That wasn’t Bruce’s fault. 

Bruce never left Tim. He just didn’t. 

Damian looked at Tim with eyes that might have been full of pity. 

Tim hated it. 

He spread jam over another biscuit. “I don’t know what you think of him,” he said. “Maybe Bruce is just some cold, legendary fighter to you, but that’s wrong, and I know it. We’re his family.”

Damian cocked his head to the side. “We?”

“I guess.” Truthfully, Tim had meant himself, Dick, Cass, and Alfred, plus some others when you looked at it the right way. But Damian was Bruce’s son too. Tim supposed he counted. 

“Yeah,” Tim decided. “We.”

Damian thought about that. “Thank you, Drake. I will take this under consideration.”

He got up from the table and left the kitchen, leaving Tim by himself with the plates and the kettle. Tim rolled his eyes. 

He piled the plates together and went to do the dishes by himself. 

[for-a-flower]

Substitute

             Just outside the lab a wave of intense heat overcame the child.  Air rippled as heat rose from lava pools scattered in the area.  As he casually moved onward, Frisk took out his phone to check its new features.  Some things weren't labeled but were marked by symbols.  He figured out how to call and text though.  That was all he needed for now.  He put the device in a pocket along with the noodles.  He increased pace down the dry path, which seemed to lead through an industrialized area.  Massive, red hot chains rose from pools of lava to the dark rock above.  Frisk could see flaming torches along rock walls and a conveyor on the path ahead.

           "Are you going to fight, or will you keep playing the role of a coward?" said a voice.

           Frisk slowed and lowered his head, eyes narrowed.  "You know what?  It takes courage to do it this way.  Leave me alone."  He continued walking and crossed the conveyor.

           "You can't get rid of me," said the voice.

           "Then I won’t listen.  I know how I want this journey to end and I'll make it happen without killing anyone else."  Frisk's phone beeped as soon as he passed the conveyor.  He took it out.  There were two messages notifying him that Alphys' had made status updates on the social network.  Frisk read them.

           "Just realized I didn't watch Undyne fight the human.  Well, I know she's unbeatable.  I'll ask her about it later."  The next read, "For now, I gotta call up the human and guide them.  Gonna do that in a minute!"  Frisk resumed the pace deeper into Hotland.  He couldn't wait in the heat for Alphys to get courage to call.  Besides, the path ahead was clear.

           During several minutes to follow, Frisk encountered some strange monsters, which he tried to calm down but ended up running from fire attacks instead.  He passed through a laser security system and took some burns in the process.  He crossed two conveyors and lept over breaks in the path that had melted away.  The child was overheated.  Alphys updated her status every other minute, so Frisk stopped to turn off phone notifications.  Alphys had called to check up on him as he traveled.  She helped him pass some puzzles and unlock doors.  She was nice, just a bit awkward at times.

           Frisk stepped into a dark room, stopped, and glanced around.  He couldn't see anything.  His cell phone rang.  "Hello," he answered.

           Alphys' voice responded.  "Hey.  It's kind of dark in there, isn't it?"

           "Yeah.  I can't see an exit."

           "Don't worry!  I-I got this!  I'll hack into the light system and brighten it up!"  A moment later, lights flashed on to reveal a kitchen-like film set.  Frisk looked over it with confusion.  There was a large counter just to the right.  "Oh no," said Alphys.  Frisk lowered the phone and accidentally hung up.

           Mettaton rolled onto set dramatically.  “Oh yes!” he said.  He waved at a camera that lowered in front of the counter.  Frisk’s eyes darted left and right nervously.  He couldn’t locate an escape.  "Welcome, beauties, to the Underground's premier cooking show!"  A buzzing sound behind them got Frisk to look back and shutter.  There was a glowing sign on the wall that read, Cooking with a Killer Robot.  "Preheat your ovens, because we've got a very special recipe for you today!  We're going to be making . . . a cake!"  Mettaton turned to face Frisk.  "My lovely assistant here will gather the ingredients.  Everyone give them a big hand!"  Mettaton clapped as a flurry of confetti dropped around Frisk.

           "Alright, let's begin.  We'll need sugar, milk, and eggs.”  He motioned toward the back of the set.  “Go for it, sweetheart!"  Frisk turned around.  He wasn't as nervous this time.  What could possibly be deadly about cooking?  He went to the back wall where there was a stove, sink, fridge, microwave, and counter with drawers.  The ingredients were laid out on the counter.  Frisk grabbed the eggs, milk, and sugar, struggling to hold them in his arms.  Maybe he shouldn’t have taken them all at once.  He waddled back to the front counter and dumped the ingredients in a pile.  The eggs ended up on the bottom, mostly destroyed.  Frisk gave the robot a grin.

           "Perfect!  Great job!  We've got all of the ingredients we need to bake the cake!"  Mettaton glanced over the ingredients.  "Milk, sugar, eggs . . . oh my!  Wait a magnificent moment!  How could I forget!?  We're missing the most important ingredient!"  The lighted screen of Mettaton's face turned red.  He reached for something under the counter and lifted a chainsaw.  "A human soul!" he said.

           Paralyzing panic overcame the child.  The chainsaw activated with a terrifying, motorized whir of noise as Mettaton approached.  Frisk found strength to move, adrenaline feeding the flight instinct.  He spun around and ran back the way he had come.  He bumped into a magic field that threw him back.  The child hit the floor and cringed as Mettaton continued closer.  Frisk scrambled to his feet and backed away.  The human pressed his back to the wall.  He was cornered.  “Wait!  Stop!” he begged.  No response.  Frisk closed his eyes, his body trembling.  He wasn't prepared for this death.  The ring of a cell phone somehow out did the chainsaw’s whirring.  Mettaton paused and lowered the chainsaw, which turned off.  Frisk opened his eyes.

           Mettaton answered his phone.  "Hello?  I'm kind of in the middle of something here.”

           "Wait a second!" said Alphys.  "Couldn't you make a . . . couldn't you use . . . I mean . . . couldn't you make a substitution in the recipe?"

           "A substitution?  You mean, use a different, non-human ingredient?"

           "Yeah."

           "Uh . . ."  Mettaton stared at Frisk, who was still in a panic.  "Why?"

           "Uh . . . because what if someone's . . . vegan?" said Alphys.

           "Vegan . . ."

           "Uh, well I mean . . ."

           Mettaton easily tossed the chainsaw through the set’s back wall.  "That's a brilliant idea, Alphys!"  Frisk sighed, though his heart still raced.  "Actually, I happen to have an option right here!  MTT-Brand Always-convenient Human-soul-flavor-substitute!  A can of which, is right over on that counter."  Mettaton directed Frisk's attention to the opposite wall.  There was a small table with a red can on it.  "Well, darling?  Why don't you go get it?”  Frisk slipped around Mettaton and bolted toward the table.  Upon his approach, the thing wobbled then its legs extended upward, lifting the can out of reach.

           Frisk jumped for it but it was already too high.  He frowned.  "Really?"

           Mettaton rolled up beside him.  "By the way, our show runs on a strict schedule.  If you can't get the can in the next minute . . . we'll just have to go back to the original plan!  So, better start climbing," the robot added.  A rocket booster unfolded from behind Mettaton and launched him upward.

           Frisk's phone rang so he answered.  "You have a plan, right?”

           "Well, there's not enough time to climb so we'll have to do something else," said Alphys.  "Fortunately, when I was upgrading your phone, I added a few interesting features.  You see that button that says, Jet pack?"

           Frisk looked over the device.  He found a button on the side and wondered how he missed something so obvious.  "Yeah," he said.

           "Press it and watch."

           Frisk pressed the button.  His phone vibrated and floated up from his hand.  Somehow two large flaps unfolded from either side and the phone expanded into a jet pack.  Frisk smiled and slipped it on.  "Wow.  How did you even . . ."

           "Eh, magic," said Alphys.  "It doesn't have a lot of fuel so this is a one-time use.  You should have just enough to make it to the top."

           "I hope so."  Frisk looked up and activated the jet pack.

           "Just get up there!  Hurry!" said Alphys.  Frisk took off, squinting as he blasted into the dark after the rising table.  Mettaton laughed as he flew across Frisk’s path and dumped the carton of eggs.  Frisk swerved back and forth to avoid the falling objects.  One of the eggs hit his head and splattered.  Frisk scowled.  Time was ticking.  Mettaton flew over again, shaking out a bag of sugar.  The child swerved left and avoided the cloud of sugar.  Just a little farther.  Mettaton passed once more and poured out the milk.  Frisk swerved again.  He avoided most of the liquid, though some had splattered against his striped shirt.

           Frisk could see the table top.  He slowed the thrust and came down for a sloppy landing on the table.  He almost lost his balance but caught himself and reached to grab the can.  Mettaton was hovering nearby with a built-in rocket pack.  "My, my," he said.  "It seems you've bested me.  But only because you had the help of the brilliant Dr. Alphys.  Oh, I loathe to think of what would have happened to you without her!"

           "Me too,” said Frisk.

           "Well, tootles!"  Mettaton flew out of the scene without accepting the can.

           "Wait, what about the substitute?" Frisk called.

           Mettaton paused and turned around.  "About that . . . haven't you ever seen a cooking show before?  I already baked the cake ahead of time, so forget it."  He continued out of sight.  Frisk dropped the can on the table.  He activated the jet pack again and lowered to the ground safely.  As soon as he touched the ground, the fuel ran out.  The jet pack dropped to the ground and folded back into a phone.  Frisk picked it up just as Alphys called.

           "Wow!  We did it!  We . . . really did it!" she said.

           Frisk sighed.  "That was disappointing.  I don't feel like I did anything."

           "You survived, didn't you?  So you succeeded at that!  Great job out there, team!"  Frisk glanced down.  "Well, uh, anyway," said Alphys.  "Let's keep heading forward!  We still have a ways to go before reaching the Core."  She hung up.

           Frisk put the phone away and continued through a jagged opening into another large open cavern.  The human stared into the distance from a narrow path.  In the midst of a lava lake beyond, loomed an ominous, metallic structure.  Frisk’s face was covered in sweat and his brown hair and had bits of egg in it.  He didn’t like being so messy, but there wasn't much he could do about it.  Powerful thuds were heard inside the structure in the distance, like something big moving, pumping, or churning lava.  Frisk listened for a moment.  Blasts of hot steam and air shot out holes in the pipelines every so often.  What was it?  Some kind of generator?

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[bittys]

dads slutty new shorts are really a bear magnet - seirei - 1/3

READ ON AO3 

Pairing: reigen arataka/serizawa katsuya 

REBLOGS > LIKES 

Summary- Reigen decided to make his new highly attractive neighbor a pie as a "welcome/thanks for waking me up at six in the morning/sorry for your ugly house" gift. And it was a good idea at first, he thought, it coming out of the oven lopsided could have been the only problem. Until it turned out that the new neighbor, while highly attractive, was also allergic to almonds. Yikes. Seriously, who doesn't consider nut allergies?

...At least he gets a date out of it.

   Saturday morning, Reigen awoke to the sound of a buzzing truck engine and soft laughter. The frame of his bed was vibrating softly with the noise, the first time it had moved with such expeditious energy in a while. He groaned. It was early, he could tell as he carefully slid his eyelids open to the bronze sunlight that peaked underneath the cracked window and brought in the smell of last nights rain and early sunrise dew. He lolled his head over to the clock that shone in red, 6:37 A.M.    Who was awake, causing this much noise, at 6:37 in the fucking morning? Oh how he’d love to meet the bastard.    He rolled back over to the empty space next to him, stared for a moment, and then swung his legs over the mattress. There was no use in trying to sleep again, not with the constant vibrations of the truck parked but yet to be shut down out front. Beside the noise that seemed to come through louder when his bedroom door shut, the rest of the house was silent; Absent of the screaming, annoying kids that he loved so dearly. He shoved the curtain at the window by the front of the door aside, and squinted past the sun rays that painted across the pink and orange horizon, to see a large moving truck.    The house that been for sale since they had moved into the neighborhood six months ago had finally been sold, apparently, with a cost that wasn’t the absurdly high mortgage price. It was downright ugly. At first, Reigen had thought that it perhaps had been haunted or something, it couldn’t of been that bad. But the more he had to live next to it and look at the damned thing when he was parking, the more he realized that even the dead had to have taste. The dreary green topped off with the growing moss on the shutters was enough of a sight to make him want to go over and paint and clean the entire thing himself.    There was only one simple moving truck outside, the name of the company printed in bright orange on the side. A few movers came back and forth from the house to the truck, doing what you’d think they’d be doing, carrying boxes to-and-fro. But absent of the generic beige outfits the movers wore, was a taller man, thickened around the edges of his body, wearing a pair of track pants and a white sweater. By the ruffle of his dark hair and the shadow on his face, he looked as equally as tired as Reigen.        But hell, if he wasn’t attractive.    Reigen pulled the curtains shut and turned to the kitchen with a sudden need for a cup of coffee.    He poured his cup. Straight black, as always. And he sat on one of the leather stools at the island. The house was quiet without the kids up to make trouble. It made him shift awkwardly in his seat, like he didn’t know what to do with himself. Usually, when the kids weren’t up to bother him, he’d be talking with Ekubo, or sharing smiles, or ignoring the chatter on the television because they're too distracted with their own gossip and gentle kisses. But in the end, he did what he did best and left the house with a deafening silence. Reigen sipped his coffee.    He thought about the new man living next door. Perhaps he should strip his bitter mood with a bit of sweetness; he could make the new neighbor a pie. That wasn’t something he’d normally do… and hell, did neighbors even welcome each other with sweet pies and casseroles anymore? He wasn’t sure. But he was sure of the thoughts of disgraceful men in his head, how tired he was, and how maybe a bit of good karma would help him out. It didn’t have to be of good nature, did it? As long as he made it with kindness and love, he could totally write in pink icing: Sorry about your ugly house! Or say something along the lines of: Thanks for waking me up at six thirty in the morning and ruining my entire day! Whilst handing the man the pie.      Okay, so Reigen didn’t know much about how that worked. And that man was far too attractive to get something with such ill-mannered intentions. But he did know that there was an overwhelming amount of strawberries growing from his and the kids’ strawberry bushes planted in the pots in the backyard, and a package of almonds he’d bought a few months ago before he realized he absolutely did not like almonds. The kids could pick the strawberries, he could make the pie and bring it by during lunch later. It was a rare, yet good, idea.    For the good karma, not the hot men. Of course.    He pushed himself up from the barstool, leaving his coffee half-drunk. He pulled open the pantry door and located what he needed: Flour, sugar, salt, cornstarch, extract, shortbread cookies, and of course the opened bag of almonds with only one almond missing. He towered them in his arms to carry to the island and lay them out in the order they’d need to be in— not including the refrigerated items. He then slapped his hands together to brush off the stray flour accumulated on the bag and transferred to his hands from carrying, and turned to the fridge to do the same with the rest of the ingredients: butter, milk, and whipped cream.    It was 7:16 A.M by the time he began baking, and 8:40 A.M once the boys had awakened from their slumber. They came padding out of their shared room, eyes lazily half-lidded. “Smells good,” Mob mumbled as he rubbed a small fist against his eye.   Breathing in the sweet scent of the almond crust, Reigen pulled out the pie pan from the oven. The crust was baked a perfect golden brown, small cracks around the curve of the pan but smooth over the thick bottom. “Pie!” Reigen exclaimed, twisting to place the pan on the counter. He pulled off his pink mitts and kicked the oven shut with his foot. “Do you boys wanna go pick some strawberries for me? We’re gonna go visit the new neighbor today and I need it for the pie.”    “Only if we can have a slice,” Ritsu responded. He was already walking to the back door to flip the lock.    “If he offers it, sure. But don’t be spoiled,” Reigen said. “Mob?”    Mob shrugged. “Sure.”    Reigen gave them a smile and watched as they left to the backyard. It was a small deck surrounded by the limited greenery of the yard, but it was enough to carry a few medium sized planters pots for their growing fruits and vegetables. They didn’t get into the gardening hobby until Ekubo left, leaving them with less funds for food and outdoor activities like beaches and parks. Despite that, it was fun and good for bonding. So far, they had plenty of cucumbers, melons, tomatoes, strawberries, and other sorts of foods that they enjoyed better than store-bought.    They came back inside a few minutes later with strawberry stained fingers, pink around their mouths, and handfuls of dark red strawberries. They release them onto the counter, watching them roll across the surface before losing interest and scrambling up onto the barstools to watch Reigen instead. The both of them are in sync, leaning their cheeks onto their tiny fists. Reigen collected the strawberries off the counter. In the cup of his hands, he rinsed them of the soil and— a contribution from the children— stickiness, cut the leafy green tops off, and threw them into a bowl. He mashed them, poured sugar and a couple other ingredients in, and stirred.    “We have a new neighbor?” Ritsu asked. “Do you think they have kids?”    There only seemed to be a man present, but Reigen wasn’t sure. He found himself hoping that there weren’t any kids, that it was just a single man living on his own in an ungodly green house. “We’ll have to find out, won’t we?” He said as he poured the mixture on top of the crust. As soon as the mixture emptied the mixing bowl and filled the pan, apart of the crust crumbles. “Shit.”    He frantically tried to push the crust back into place with the tips of his fingers, but he was far too shaky and the crust was already too hard to shape. He sends a prayer to the Gods and simply covered it with the strawberry mixture and a spoon.    “You messed it up, Daddy,” Mob pointed out. Reigen rolled his eyes and shoved it into the oven, annoyance prickling at his chest.    “I did not. This is fine. It’s fine.” He clicked the button on top of the oven to start the baking again.        Brunch went by quickly, and the house was beginning to fill with the scent of bitter sweetness. After he cleaned up his mess, he poured himself another hot cup of coffee, and made bacon and eggs for the boys and himself. They ate with some chatter here and there, but it was mostly a comfortable silence until they finished eating.        “Will you marry the new neighbor, daddy?” Mob suddenly asked.    Reigen almost choked on the sip of his coffee. “Not in the foreseeable future,”    “But you’re making him a pie~” Ritsu chimed in, a song to his voice.    “Why don’t we go get dressed and decide on that when we bring it by?” Reigen set down his cup and smiled awkwardly, a tight grip at the sides of the stool to push himself down. The kids jump out of their seats with a clap to their feet as they run to their bedroom, apparently delighted by the idea of another marriage.    With Reigen’s own luck, the man is going to wind up married with five children. Or maybe 70 years old with a great skincare routine.    Reigen rinsed the plates and set them into the dishwasher, then retreated into his own bedroom to pick out clothing. It shouldn’t of mattered what he wore, but he found himself pulling things out of his drawers carelessly until he decided that nothing was right for the matter of occasion. He decided simply on a t-shirt and a pair of new pink shorts that reached barely mid-thigh. He’d recently bought them on sale at a thrift store. The kids didn’t hesitate to make fun of him for them. They exposed the coarse hair that rose to his thighs, and the fact that he never really went outside.   Mob and Ritsu are dressed when Reigen leaves the bedroom. They’re bouncing excitedly on the couch.    “Are you ready to go?” Reigen asked as he moved to the kitchen to pull the pie out of the oven. The thickly filling had seemed to cover the collapse for the most part, but it was still evident in the way the red leaked out and snuck between the crust and the pan. Yikes.    He pulled it out, wrapped the pie in foil, and they left the house.        The sun beamed down on their skin as they walked. Reigen was already sweating by the time they were half way down the sidewalk, an uncomfortably damp residue beneath his armpits. The moving truck was gone, and the outside of the ugly green house was absent of any other person. There’s a couple of small boxes on the concrete patio.    They walk up the dusty pathway, Mob and Ritsu trailing behind. Reigen used his hand free of the intense heat seeping through the tinfoil to ring the doorbell. The walls of the house are thin enough to hear the echo of the ring from the inside, and the sound of approaching footsteps. He straightened his back and checked the tinfoil that covered the pie to make sure of no flaws like a rip or a hole.    The doorknob twisted and the door swung open.    No woman or small child, it was the same man that he had seen out front earlier. This time dressed down to a white t-shirt, and the same tracksuit pants with white lines at the sides. He looked more rugged up close, but daringly attractive at the same time. His hair was a sweaty, ruffled mess. His beard far more lighter and sparse than what it looked to be through the window, and there are prominent bags under his eyes that could not have been visible from so far away.    “Oh! Company. Hello!” The man smiled through his tired look.    Reigen swallowed down the dryness working its way up his throat. The resent for his early rising was suddenly gone, replaced by heat buried deep in his chest. “We’re sorry to bug you, you must be busy unpacking and stuff. But we made you a pie to welcome you to the neighborhood.” He shoved the pie outwards with a lopsided grin. A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead. With the short pause in the conversation, Reigen scrambled for a grip on his introduction that was being pulled away by new infatuation. “Reigen Arataka, by the way. These are my two sons, Mob and Ritsu.”    The man looked down at the tin foil, then up from Reigen’s pink shorts to the two children behind him. Under the glaze of the sunlight, a flush creeped up his cheeks. “It smells great, thank you! I’m Serizawa,” He paused just as Reigen did, and then, “Katsuya. Sorry, Serizawa Katsuya. Hah, It’s been a long morning moving in this heat all alone.” He scratched the back of his neck.    Reigen doesn’t want to think it, but, score!    “If you ever need any help, I live right next door.” He doesn’t exactly mean the offer, because really, who willingly moves and unpacks boxes unless there was something in it for them like money— or in his case— an attractive man.    Serizawa Katsuya reached out and grabbed the pie carefully. The thicker tips of his fingers brush over Reigen’s as he did so. “I think you’ve done enough already, nobody would ever do this in Tokyo.” He gestured with the pie. “But if I may, would you like to come in and help eat some of this? I live alone, it wouldn’t be respectful to let it go stale…”    While Ritsu did tug on the back of Reigen’s shorts as if to say yes, yes! he’s already hastily accepting the offer. They followed Serizawa into his home.      It was nicer on the inside than it was on the outside, with a similar layout to their own home. Boxes were strewn out across the living room, some opened, some still sealed. The couch, a mustard color with a soft looking texture, sat covered in plastic in the middle of the room. There was a television already on a glass stand, unhooked. But besides that, unopened boxes, and a few paintings hung on the white walls, the place was practically empty. Nobody else was around, it seemed. The house was just as quiet.    They were lead to the kitchen. There were two chairs already pushed underneath the island, a different colored marbled top than their own. Serizawa set the pie down and began dismantling the tinfoil. Reigen’s heart skips a beat or two. If only he could turn back time for a few minutes and bake the pie just two minutes longer. It wouldn’t look like the lopsided mess that it was now.    “Ah… The pie is a bit…crumbled. Amateur here.” He stared down at the way Serizawa’s hands slow to intricate movements across the foil, nails sliding carefully underneath as so not to cause more destruction.    “No worries,” He got most of the foil off but kept it beneath the glass pan to rewrap with later. “Do you bake a lot?”    “Sometimes. The kids and I garden, so we have lots to make sometimes.” Serizawa bent down into an open box, and pulled out four glass plates and a wrapping full of utensils. Apparently, the utensils were more important than the glass dishes. He set them out on the island. The kids each grabbed a plate and held it close to their chests, eagerly awaiting a taste of their fathers baking.    He doesn’t bother with the collapsed side as he cuts it, and Reigen doesn’t feel the slightest offended. The strawberry filling floods over the sides and collects in a puddle at the bottom of the glass, steaming with a sweet sent. “So is it just you and the kids?” Serizawa asked and then stopped his movements, “Sorry, that was rude.”    Reigen opened his mouth to speak, but proving to be listening, Mob chimed in. “Daddy is thinking about marrying you! You can be our new dad also!” Ritsu slapped him on the arm. “Ow.”    Reigen’s eyes widened, heat flushing across his cheeks to match the newfound coloring on Serizawa’s.    “O-Oh.”    “No, no, no, no!” Reigen waved his hands in front of himself frantically. It suddenly felt hot in the room, all across his body. He wanted nothing more than to slap the shit out of his child. Or maybe himself, because he did say that in a way. “No. I did not say that oh god—Mob!— I am so sorry. K-kids, you know?”     Beneath the island looked far more comfier than beneath the sight of surprised eyes. But then, he laughs and goes back to cutting. “Oh gosh, that’s okay. I can take that as an answer to my question, yeah?”    With a quick nod, Reigen grabbed himself a slice. He considered not giving the kids a slice so not to fulfill their hyperactivity again, but Serizawa placed each of them a sliver of a piece before he could object. “Thank you, Mister,” Ritsu said.    They ate in silence. It’s unsettling to not know if it was because his kids had big mouths, or there just wasn’t much to talk about. At the very most, the pie was delicious. A smooth filling, bitter but sweet with the soft chew of melted down strawberries. Serizawa threw a few compliments his way, and that made up for the lack of conversation until their plates were empty with leftover crumbs and jelly-like spots. Eating was a great first date, because you didn’t have to talk through the awkward parts. You could simply just fill your mouth with savory foods until you pile up your dates bill and leave, or find something else to talk about. But this— to Reigen’s misfortune, anyway— wasn’t a date, just a welcome made awkward by a seven year old. The idea, he supposed, still counted.    Serizawa was on his last bite when he coughed out the barely chewed forkful. It landed disgustingly on his plate, a splat. Was it really that bad? He dropped the fork next, his hands flying up to his throat.    The kids jumped up from their squeezed spot in the chair and run to Serizawa. They pull on his shirt.    “Woah, woah. Are you okay?” Reigen followed behind and started clapping his hands against his back.    He struggled. His shoulder blades quivered beneath the frantic touch of Reigen's hands. As his own hands awere wrapped tightly around his throat as if to help the choking somehow, he managed out, “What was in the pie?”    Ritsu let go of his shirt and looked at Reigen accusingly. “Dad, did you poison the pie?”    Reigen pressed his eyebrows together. “What? No. There’s uh…” The memories of the ingredients fall short in his memory. He didn’t do good under pressure. “Uh, strawberries…sugar…almonds…butter-“    “Almonds!” Serizawa choked. “I’m- a-allerg-“ He coughed more. He didn’t need to complete his sentence for Reigen to realize what was happening. He dealt with it all too much when Mob was little. Fish, peanuts, you name it, he couldn’t have it. He was having an allergic fucking reaction, all due to his shitty, sloppily made pie. Who makes things with nuts on the first day of not knowing someone? That was purely idiotic, a thought that had escaped him due to the need of wooing a man.     He stopped and pocketed his cellphone to dial an ambulance.    The hospital waiting area was stuffy, the air carrying an undertone of strengthened bleach. The few people that sat in the dull grey chairs didn't look like they needed to be there— one had a cough, the other sat on their phone, bored with half-lidded eyes. Quick moving nurses took Serizawa immediately. By the time the ambulance had arrived, his face had grown purple and puffy, and disregarding of the thousands of fumbled apologies Reigen gave while they wheeled him out.        Mob and Ritsu played at the small children’s corner with a bead rollercoaster and a couple of small toy trucks, when a nurse came out. She was pretty, long black hair tied into a ponytail, with the same dull look on her face as the people in the waiting room. “Mr. Serizawa seems to be holding up okay. He’s awake and has been treated. You’re free to visit him now if you’d like. Room 203.” She explained before she walked off to tend to another, her ponytail flipping onto her shoulder.    Reigen nodded as if she could see him and he walked over to claim Mob and Ritsu.    They walked down the hallway, where the scent of bleach only grew stronger. It had about as much personality as the rest of the hospital; opened doors exposing bored-stricken sick patients, dull blue floors and dove walls with paintings of oceans and lakes and trees. The place certainly isn’t run by risk-takers such as Reigen, baking pies for people with nut allergies, and he guessed he should be grateful for that.    Amongst the various slates with numbers besides the doors came room 203. Reigen knocked gently and twisted the knob. The kids stumbled through the cracked doorway into the room, excited to see Serizawa in all his swollen glory.    Except, he looked rather fine now.    “Hey, Serizawa…” Reigen cracked an awkward smile.    Serizawa lay covered by the thin hospital sheet, a pillow perching his head up to view the television, turned to a news broadcast. His face, unlike before, was slimmed down again with only a flushed tint around his eyes.    “Reigen,” He greeted. He pushed himself up, sheets falling into a bundle atop his lap. The kids moved to sit on the two visitors chairs pushed against the wall by the counters. “Thanks for following me here,” He sounded sincere, not sarcastic.    Reigen perched himself on the mattress with precision as to not sit on Serizawa’s feet and cause even more damage than before. “I’m really sorry, this has been an awkward meeting from start to finish. I hadn’t considered the possibility of an allergic reaction…I-I—“    Serizawa cut him off. “Oh, Reigen. Don’t worry. I’m fine! How could you of known? You did the right thing, I don’t even have an Epipen in my house.” He chuckled nervously and scratched the back of his neck.  “It could have been worse, really.”    “How can I make it up to you?” Reigen ran his hands down his face.    Glancing from the kids to Reigen, a soft pink blush matches the red around his eyes. “Tomorrow,” He said, “You can take me on a date.” 

[mookybear12404]

A House, A Home: Chapter 3

Rating: T | Fandom: Mob Psycho 100

<Previous | Next> | Read on AO3 | KoFi

Reigen stood at the front of the restaurant, staring into the dark abyss behind the doors of the closed building. Rain rolled off his umbrella and pattered against the concrete below.

He glanced back down at the clock on his phone again. It was almost midnight.

“Ah! Reigen-san, I’m sorry I’m late!”

Reigen looked over his shoulder to see the client running through the rain, hood pulled tight over his head.

“Ah, Matsumoto-san!” Reigen said, stuffing his phone into his pocket. “I was beginning to worry you had forgotten.”

The man muttered a hasty apology as he scrambled to pull the keys out from his pocket.

“I had trouble finding a taxi that was willing to drive me so late at night. Here- come in! Come in!”

Reigen closed his umbrella as he entered into the restaurant. Matsumoto flipped the light switch, bathing the room in an unnaturally white neon light. Most of the chairs had been placed upside down on the tables, the floor still glimmering from when it was washed. The whole room smelled an odd mixture of cleaner and grease.

Matsumoto led Reigen to the kitchens at the back of the restaurant. Rows and rows of industrial grey machines crowded the room, each illuminated by the neon lamps above them.

“Here,” Matsumoto said, pointing to the refrigerator standing nearby. “This is where I saw it happen.”

Reigen knelt down, placing his hand under his chin as he inspected the contents of the fridge through its clear, glass door. There were rows of boxed milks, teas, and juices, but nothing that seemed out of the ordinary.

“I see. And to which direction did the drink float?”

Matsumoto pointed towards the back of the kitchen.

Reigen nodded, and continued his search in that direction. He’d never really seen the kitchen of a fast food restaurant before, so he wasn’t really quite sure what it was he was looking for. He didn’t see any ectoplasm or bloodstains, which he figured was a good sign. There were, however, quite a number of grease stains.

It’s quite possible there aren’t any spirits involved, Reigen thought to himself.

For all he knew, the whole thing could simply be caused by a very skilled kleptomaniac and a customer with a hyperactive imagination.

Reigen was surprised to find himself hoping otherwise. Non-supernatural cases were certainly easier to deal with, and they paid well enough...

But they were also boring.

“Alright!” Reigen yelled, clapping his hands together. “It looks like we’re just going to have to wait around until the spirit comes. You got anything to eat? I’m starving.”

Matsumoto blinked at Reigen in confusion

“I’m, I’m afraid all of our food is packed away right now. Can- How about I get you an oolong instead?”

Reigen sat in the dark with his knees pressed uncomfortably tight against his chest. His body was stuck in the fetal position, crunched between a washing machine and the side of an industrial sink. A plastic trash bin had been placed so as to block his hiding spot from view. The chill from the cold metal sink behind him was beginning to seep into his back.

Matsumoto sat across the way from him, placed much more comfortably between the milkshake machine and an oven. His round face was dimly lit by the smartphone he held in his hands.

Reigen, who did not have the same luxury of a smartphone to play with, tried to relieve his boredom by sipping from the straw of his empty tea carton. His flip-phone was stuck underneath him in the back pocket of his pants, so he wasn’t able to tell what time it was, or how long he’d been there.

He was beginning to thoroughly regret taking this job.

Reigen peaked his head around the corner of the trashcan. “Got any more tea?” he whispered to Matsumoto

“SHHHH,” Matsumoto whispered harshly, pointing over to the fridge.

Don’t talk, or you’ll scare away the spirit, was implied in his gesture.

Reigen sighed, and bit down on straw in his mouth. His brain, sensing something cigarette-shaped between his teeth, pleaded with him for the sweet rush of nicotine.

Reigen silently banged his head against the sink behind him. He’d heard in a documentary somewhere that it was possible for a person to get brain damage from under-stimulation. Perhaps that could happen to him?

He bit down on his straw again.

What had he been thinking, taking this job? It was probably just the work of an ordinary human, and he was squeezed in this cramped space for nothing.

Then a creak came from behind.

His heart leapt into his throat. Reigen snapped his head around, but he couldn’t see anything with the washing stations obscuring his vision. He carefully placed his tea carton onto the ground, and reached for the bag of salt he had placed by his side. Trying his best to stay quiet, he repositioned himself so that he was crouched on his knees.

Matsumoto, from across the walk path, was frozen like a statue. His hands gripped his phone so tightly that his knuckles were white.

Reigen leaned his head forward, peering out into the walkway.

He glanced left, towards the back of the store where the noise had come from. Nothing in particular seemed out of the ordinary. Then again, it was pretty hard to see anything in this darkness.

He glanced right, and his heart stopped.

The refrigerator was opening. Slowly. Silently. Reigen could only watch in horror as one of the milk cartons gently lifted itself out of its row, and began floating its way down the kitchen aisle.

“That’s it-That’s it! THAT’S IT REIGEN-SAN!” Matsumoto mouthed, his pointed finger trembling.

Yeah no kidding!

Reigen shoved aside the trash bin, and it hit the floor with a clatter. He leap out into the aisle, tore open the salt bag, and flung a fist-full of the stuff at the floating milk carton.

The white grains scattered all over the floor. The carton of milk bobbed up and down in the air, and fell to the ground with a thud.

Reigen stood over the fallen milk carton, which had burst on impact. Matsumoto gingerly rose from his hiding place, and began to inspect the growing puddle of milk.

Reigen thrust his thumb into his chest. “See! There’s no spirit too powerful for the great Reigen Arataka!”

Reigen spoke with as much confidence as he could muster, but if he was being honest with himself, he hadn’t been expecting the exorcism to be that easy.

“W-w-wow you really did it!” Matsumoto exclaimed.

Suddenly, another clattering noise came from behind.

Reigen spun around, just in time to see the flash of a figure disappearing.

[thegreenfairy13]

Dog Sitter Part 10 - Friends, At Last

A Gobblepot fanfic. When Oswald loses his dog Ed, Jim Gordon finds it and does an excellent job when it comes to taking care of the mobster’s furry friend. Read it on Ao3 here.

Oswald wakes later than usual. Yawning, he turns onto his left side and hugs his pillow close. He’s still so very tired and utterly exhausted.

“We’ll have cereals for breakfast,” he grumbles into his blanket, waiting for his son to protest, insisting on a sumptuous meal instead.

The complaint never comes and despite better knowledge, he hopes his boy is still sound asleep beside him. After yesterday's events, Martin insisted on sleeping in his own room but crawled into his father’s bed sometime in the middle of the night. Oswald had been glad for it - he had slept better himself knowing his kid was safe and sound and breathing steadily only a few inches away from him.

He yawns again and rolls around. His eyes protest vehemently when forcing them open against the bright light of another sunny day in New Heaven. He stares at the empty space beside him and swallows down a rush of anxiety.

Martin is still safe, he tells himself. He simply woke up and is probably sitting in the living room, watching his cartoons and pestering Jim.

Jim!

For a moment, he completely forgot about the GCPD’s Captain sleeping on his couch. Hissing in pain when dragging his aching limbs out of bed, he puts on a robe and starts hobbling downstairs. He should really consider installing an elevator he thinks when gripping the handrail tightly and jumping down the stairs on his one good leg.

When finally reaching the living room, the panic returns full force. There’s neither a trace of Martin nor Jim and even Ed is nowhere to be seen. Oswald already wants to scream his boy’s name on top of his lungs when hearing Jim’s voice drifting over from the kitchen.

Spinning on his heel, he limps closer as quickly as possible.

“I swear it tastes good,” he hears the other man say then, sounding more than just slightly pleading.

Pricking up his ears, Oswald decides to hide beside the door instead of simply entering. After all, Cobblepot is known for his curiosity. Also, he’s dying to find out what his little one might have possibly done to make the great Jim Gordon sound so desperate that early in the morning.

“My dad never puts maple-syrup on bacon,” Martin states in return and the black-haired man smiles, bemused. His little one is a picky eater. Good luck, Gordon, he thinks, baiting his kid into trying new food.

“I’m not putting it on it,” Jim objects. “I’m caramelizing it,” he explains quietly. “It improves the taste.” Oswald gapes. He wouldn’t have thought it possible a man living on hot dogs and hamburgers even knows what that is.

There’s a short pause after that, probably because Martin is considering the cop’s words.

“That doesn’t sound right,” the little boy judges determinedly.

Suppressing a snicker, Oswald leans against the door in order to hear them better.

“Tell you what,” Jim replies with all the authority he’s is able to muster, “you’ll try a tiny piece of the bacon. If you like it, we’ll serve it that way. If not, I’ll start from scratch and even use a new pan.”

“If you are indeed using a fresh pawn, I’ll accept your offer,” Martin answers hesitantly and the mobster has never been prouder. This low, gruff voice is able to send shivers down the most hardboiled criminals’ spines while the little prince of Gotham isn’t even affected.

Oswald hears some shuffling afterward and what he assumes to be breathless tension on Jim’s part.

“It’s not bad,” the kid answers thoughtfully. “You think dad will like it?”

Jim snorts. “Wouldn’t have suggested it otherwise,” he tells the child and then there’s the sizzling sound of more bacon being dropped into a pan followed by a smell that makes the slim man’s mouth water.

“So what’s next then? Scrambled eggs meet your approval?” the cop asks expectantly.

Oswald assumes Martin must have nodded in response cause moments later he hears some more clattering.

“I prefer to whisk the eggs in a bowl first. Makes them fluffier,” he explains. “Gimme some butter, young man.”

“Dad uses olive-oil,” the kid objects.

“Yeah, but you wanted me to help you create your very own signature-breakfast for your dad. So we gotta do it a bit differently than him but still tasty, right?” Jim counters easily.

The little one makes a skeptical noise in response.

“Look, I learned how to make scrambled eggs in France and they are known for their excellent food.”

There’s silence after Jim’s last statement and Oswald wonders what might be going on behind the door. He imagines his kid and his cop being caught in a staring contest neither of them is willing to lose. Also, when would the cop have been to France? Jim Gordon anywhere else than in the United States? He has a hard time believing that statement.

“Same procedure as with the bacon?” Jim proposes and then the clattering finally continues.

“It’s good,” Oswald hears Martin say after a while, sounding entirely flabbergasted. The gangster has to bite his fist else the pair would hear his chuckle.

“Told you,” Jim sing-songs proudly. “Did anyone ever tell you, you’re even bossier than your old man?” he asks teasingly.

“Dad isn’t old,” Martin mumbles angrily.

“It’s just a saying,” the cop replies placatingly. “So, what else do you want me to do? Shall I dance for your father while you serve him breakfast?” Oswald almost chokes at the image.

“I can’t imagine you’re any good at dancing,” Martin answers thoughtfully. “You don’t have the build.”

Jim chortles. “That’s very rude, young man,” he tells him politely.

“I’m just being honest.”

“Well, that’s a good trait,” Jim ends their argument placably. “So, we gonna need some bread with that, too. Any suggestions?”

“We have dough in the fridge,” Martin answers. “I’ll start the oven,” he decides.

“Ah, stop,” Jim interrupts. “You’re not coming near anything that’s hot, sharp, or in any matter fit to hurt you.”

“I can operate the oven. And dad taught me how to handle knives.” His son is clearly miffed with the cop.

“I’m sure about that,” Jim mutters. “But if you hurt yourself while I’m around, I’m pretty certain your dad’s gonna feed my bones to a lion.”

“We don’t have a lion.”

Jim considers those words. “Still.”

“Fine,” the little one huffs at last. “You’re dad’s lackey after all.”

The mobster behind the door cringes. A little chat about decent behavior seems in order. He already dreads Jim’s opinion on that last sentiment. On the other hand, he’s pretty satisfied with his boy. After all, Martin is dealing with Jim Gordon. Most people getting into an argument with the cop don’t even have a slight chance of winning that game. His little Martin is a true Cobblepot after all.

“I’m not your dad’s lackey,” Jim sputters in response.

“Sure you are,” the kid states matter of factly. “You’re a cop. And dad has all cops on his payroll.”

The mobster’s heart almost stops when hearing his kid’s words. That’s really not a topic he wants Martin to discuss with the unruly lawman. After everything that happened with Pyg, Jim firmly believes his colleagues returned to being incorruptible. Which, of course, is a huge lie. Jim’s still pretty much fighting his war alone, blind to the system and nature of their beloved city. On top, his good friend Harvey had been the first to take bribes from the Penguin again once things returned to normal - well, as normal as things can get in Gotham.

It takes a moment for the policeman to compose himself. “Well, I’m not getting paid by your father,” he replies at last.

“But you take care of Ed. And you came to protect dad yesterday. So you have to be one of his lackeys. Why else would you do that?” the kid challenges and Oswald is torn between barging in on them and hearing Jim’s answer.

“I, I like dogs,” the man stammers lamely and the mobster wants to scoff. But he really needs to know how the rest of their conversation unfolds now.

“That’s all?” Martin sounds incredulous. “Dad would pay well, though” he adds smugly.

Oswald wonders if Jim is sweating profusely at this point. He is for sure.

“I’m a cop, boy. I can’t take money from a man running…” At this point, the policeman is struggling for the right words. He’s clearly not quite certain how much Martin knows about Oswald’s less legal activities.

To his credit, he doesn’t continue. Jim’s behavior gives him a little stab to the heart. He remembers when the cop met his mother. How he pleaded with him not to tell her about his career as a mobster. Jim indulged him back then. Now, he’s not giving him away either. For all the times Jim went behind his back he at least never sold him out to the people he truly cares about.

“You mean you can’t take money from a gangster?”. Martin interrupts the cop's musings. “Cause that’s what my dad is. The king of all gangsters,” he adds proudly and Oswald almost stumbles through the door.

“That’s not what I wanted to say,” Jim replies, entirely lost now and the man behind the door pales.

“Dad told me about you,” Martin continues. “He says you think you are better than anyone else in Gotham. He told me you did bad things to him in order to do good and made everything worse.”

“Is that so?” he asks, taken aback.

“You locked up my dad,” he accuses and Jim doesn’t protest.

“Why do you think my dad is a bad man?” the kid challenges, sounding every bit as infuriated as his father shortly before throwing a tantrum.

“I, I don’t think your dad is bad man,” Jim replies, obviously confused. “I just think he occasionally does bad things. I’m sorry, though” he finishes barely audible and Oswald finally decides to save him from his misery.

Putting on his most cheerful smile, he opens the door and marches in. “There you are!” he announces with false enthusiasm when three pairs of eyes are being directed at him.

Ed gets up and practically flees the kitchen while Jim sighs a breath of relief. He’s pretty sure the man has never been happier to see him.  

“What are you doing?” the gangster asks innocently. Bending down, he presses a soft kiss to his child’s forehead.

Jim merely rolls his eyes. “How long have you been standing behind that door?” he asks while turning off the oven and starting to serve their meal. “There,” he grumbles while pushing a plate into the pale man’s hands.

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” he retorts sweetly. “Thank you, that looks delicious,” he adds, a small grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Thank your son,” he scoffs grimly. “He made breakfast.” Oswald doesn’t miss the wink Jim directs at his kid.

“That’s wonderful,” Oswald states cheerfully. “We’ll have to talk later,” he whispers then, for his son alone to hear.

Shaking his head, Jim sits down with them and starts chewing. Up close and in the harsh morning light, the cop appears to be more worn down than ever. He’s still wearing yesterday’s rumpled shirt, a short stubble started growing along his jaw, accentuating his bruises even more. The color beneath his eyes hasn’t improved either. Sometimes the crime-lord wonders if only his job is draining his sometimes foe, sometimes ally.

“You don’t happen to have a spare toothbrush?” the cop asks him between two sips of his coffee.

“Are you asking me for a favor?” the gangster suggests jokingly and Jim’s face darkens. Oswald could kick himself. Teasing the good Captain isn’t worth ruining their breakfast.

“There’s a guest-bathroom upstairs. Second door on the left. You’ll find everything you need.”

“Thank you,” he answers quietly, leaving father and son alone.

Uncomfortable silence spreads between the pair of them while Oswald is debating with himself how to tell his boy he should treat that special cop more delicately.

“I like him,” Martin passes his judgement once he has finished his orange-juice.

Everything Oswald wanted to tell his kid suddenly leaves his mind. Despite his young age, he looks ridiculously earnest. He can’t help himself and starts laughing heartily.

“And why’s that, my little prince?” he demands to know, wiping his eyes.

Martin shrugs. “Most of your friends tried to kill you. I don’t think he’ll try to take you away forever.”

At that statement, the gangster’s heart breaks a little. His son shouldn’t be constantly afraid for his father to die. And he shouldn’t like people simply for not trying to kill his dad. But it had been him to teach him never to trust anyone, so why is he surprised? For the thousandth time, he wonders if he did right when adopting his boy and bringing him into his crazy life. All he ever did was teaching his kid to fear the world and to make himself feared. There should be more, though. His son deserves stable relationships, not fear. Even if fear keeps him alive.

Heaving a sigh, he leans back against his chair. “I like him too,” he confesses quietly. “Now eat up. Butch is coming to pick us up soon.”

To Oswald’s utter amazement, their Sunday continues to be a quiet one. He would have expected Jim to start bickering with him the moment he wakes up. Instead, he takes Ed for a walk once he looks mostly human again. Afterward, he settles back down in the living room and watches cartoons with Martin while Ed is curled up in his lap.

It’s an unsettling feeling how well the cop fits into his little family - and how well it feels having him around. For all his mistakes, Oswald is pretty certain the cop would die trying to protect an innocent kid and his furry baby. He can finally calm down now with his silent guard occupying his living room.

When Butch arrives to tell them the jet is ready Jim doesn’t object when Oswald offers him to take him aboard while the thug drives his car back to Gotham. For the second time today he wonders if there might be something seriously wrong with the cop.

Even on the flight back he stays uncharacteristically quiet. They don’t talk much but now and then Jim glances fondly at the little boy sleeping beside the gangster.

“What?” Oswald demands to know, slightly annoyed with the man’s stubborn silence.

“Nothing,” Jim replies. “I just thought he’s your perfect image. If I wouldn’t know, I’d never guess he’s adopted.”

Thoughtfully, the criminal runs his fingers through his kid’s hair. “He’s much more,” he admits quietly. “And I very much hope the world will treat him better than me,” he adds, looking the cop sharply in the eye, meaning not the entire world at that moment but Jim alone. For he can only appeal to him right now.

He looks away, ashamed. “I’ll try,” he replies softly after a while. “I told you before, I don’t want him to become an orphan.”

Oswald considers the sincerity of those words but as ever, he can’t rely on words or promises alone. He needs commitment - something Jim had never been able to give.

“How can you promise that?” he asks. “You dedicated your life to chasing and hunting down criminals. So why should I believe that changes now?”

“It doesn’t,” Jim agrees. “But I learned my lesson with Sofia. I won’t try to bring you down again unless you leave me no other choice.” And it’s true. His efforts to bring him behind bars have lessened after that whole ordeal yet that doesn’t mean the man has come to his senses.

The mobster sneers as he shifts beneath his boy’s sleeping form. “You always had a choice, Jim,” he reminds him. “You just choose to make me your enemy number one.”

Staring down at his hands, the cop doesn’t reply. “Just don’t make anything horrid enough for me not to look away,” he mutters, averting the criminal’s eye.

If not for his son the Penguin would have probably exploded. What Jim is offering is the height of insolence - even if it’s more than he would have ever thought possible.

“So you are saying,” he drawls, “you’d arrest me only if my actions violated your sensitive set of morals. Congratulations, Jim. That would make you the most crooked and most hypocritical cop in the history of Gotham. Wouldn't it simply be easier to accept the generous offer I already made your colleagues and finally play by the rules?”

“No,” Jim protests firmly. Scooting his hand desperately through his hair Jim stares pleadingly at the mobster.

“And where would your limits be?” the Penguin urges. “How far would I be allowed to go before you come chasing after me again, hmm? Threatening to kill a man is obviously not far enough. What could I do before you hunt me down like an animal? Go on, tell me how your morally justifiable system of corruption would work. I am what I am. Nothing more, nothing less - and that won’t change.”

“I, I don’t know,” Jim utters softly. “The only thing I know is that I am continuously expanding those limits since I met you. I can’t kill you. I can’t get rid of you. I can’t take a child’s father. Not again,” he admits brokenly.

“Do you mean Mario Pepper?” the kingpins asks, half mockingly, half seriously.

Jim nods. “I can’t do right in Gotham. No matter how hard I try….” His voice trails off. “It seems every good deed is being paid with pain and suffering. I can’t stop doing what I’m doing or being who I am. But I can…” The cop is wringing his hands, unsure how to continue the sentence he started.

The kingpin knows Jim went as far as possible. He can’t promise any more, not without the man he is ceasing to exist.

His morality, his quest to fight all evil, his wish to build a better world, those are the things which had attracted the mobster in the first place. Ironically, he’s drawn to the man for all the reasons he should have stayed away from Jim. It seems he’s attracted to anything able to ruin him. But now he’s got more to live for than his own megalomania. He has a family to protect.

“It seems like we should come to an agreement,” Oswald decides at last.

Looking up sharply, he gestures for the gangster to continue.

“I think it would be best if we stayed as far away from each other as humanly possible. In order for you to be able to keep your promise.” The wolfish grin he directs at the cop is hardly able to hide his sadness  - yet what must be done, must be done.

“I can drink to that,” he retorts drily and the kingpin gestures for the steward to bring them a glass of champagne.

“I suppose that makes us friends, at last,” the mobster states and for once, Jim doesn’t protest.

[notsoevil]

I’ve Loved You Before

It had been exactly a week since Arthur ‘rose from the dead,’ so to speak. Truth be told, Merlin had not expected Arthur’s return to be so troublesome, and while he was happy the king was back, he found the whole situation to be weirdly bizarre. Merlin had secretly hoped the reunion would be profound and beautiful, maybe even romantic, but never would he have imagined Arthur turning up at his doorstep in the middle of the night, shivering from head to toe in the chilly January air, muttering out a barely there, “Merlin.” The sorcerer had just enough time to catch Arthur as he collapsed, grunting under his weight. Not the Saturday night he had planned. 

Now they were sitting in Merlin’s living room, Arthur curiously inspecting the TV remote for at least the twelfth time in the last seven days alone, while Merlin sat on the sofa next to him, knees curled up to his chest, contemplating what they should do next. The radio was quietly playing in the kitchen, which song, Merlin had no idea, but it provided a nice background noise. Merlin perked up once as the radio host said something about snowstorms, but quickly returned to his thoughts. Arthur had come back, so that meant Avalon was was in desperate need - only there was no more Avalon.

Arthur let out a small huff as he placed the remote on the couch next to him. The brunet looked over at him, raising an eyebrow.

“Merlin, I’m bored. Entertain me.” 

“Hmph,” was Merlin’s short reply, before he stared at a certain spot on the carpet that had caught his attention. He wasn’t in the mood for silly antics, and besides, he had better things to do.

Arthur stood up and stretched, letting out an exaggerated yawn. The sorcerer heard him pad into the kitchen and open the fridge. Seconds later he closed it again and groaned.

“I’m hungry Merlin! Do we have any of that peculiar bread from last night left over?”

Sighing, Merlin stood up and joined the king in search of food.

“It’s called pizza, and no, you finished it for breakfast this morning.”

“Oh.” Arthur opened a cabinet above the stove and peered inside. 

“What do you expect to find in there?” Asked Merlin. “I don’t keep food in the house, you know that. Nothing but pure necessities.” 

“I know, that’s the problem!” Said Arthur, frowning. 

Merlin let out a small laugh and shook his head. “I’ll take you to the store tomorrow, then we can buy some. If you’re hungry now, I can make you some scrambled eggs.”

“That would be nice.” Arthur hopped onto the counter next to the oven as Merlin took two eggs out of the fridge, turning on the stove and cracking the eggs into a bowl to whisk them. 

The radio host announced the end of commercial break and a familiar tune started playing. 

Merlin smiled and murmured, “I like this song.” 

Arthur reached over to the windowsill and turned up the music, just as the first lyrics started playing. 

When I think of how you know me,

No doubts no thinking twice.

“What song is this,” queried Arthur, as Merlin hummed along.

“I’ve Loved You Before by Melissa Etheridge, I believe.”

“Ah. I like it.”

Merlin grinned.

We were lovers in an army,

Marching all for Rome.

The king hopped off the counter when Merlin took a step away from the pan, turning down the heat to let the eggs simmer. 

Arthur grabbed Merlin’s arm and prompted, “Let’s dance.”

The latter just had time to wonder, “Wha-“ before Arthur pulled Merlin into the open space between living room and kitchen, placing his right hand on Merlin’s waist and grabbing Merlin’s right hand with his left. Having no other choice, Merlin put his free hand on Arthur’s shoulder and they started swaying together.

Did I hold you in my arms,

As you were taking your last breath?

The two men locked eyes, and both suddenly seemed to realise the position they were in. Arthur was about to pull away, apologising, but Merlin pulled him back in, linked his hands behind Arthur’s neck and whispered, “Stay.” Arthur placed his hands back on Merlin’s waist and once again started moving to the song’s rhythm.

Did shout to all the gods,

That I would love you beyond death?

I swear I’ve loved you before.

Holding Arthur just that bit tighter, Merlin carefully let his gaze drop and bumped foreheads with the king, hearing Arthur let out a shallow breath. Listening to the lyrics, however, he started frowning, remembering how he held Arthur close in his last moments, in a position similar to the one they were in now. Only this time, Arthur was holding on just as tightly as Merlin was, and rather than an atmosphere of fear and darkness, they were surrounded by an air of peaceful content. 

An accidental touch,

Did we ever take the chance for more?

Merlin glanced up at Arthur through his lashes, and found that he was looking back at him, a smile playing on his lips. 

“I think I understand why you enjoy this song.” As Arthur spoke, his breath mingled with Merlin’s. 

Merlin grinned and sarcastically replied, “Hm, I wonder why.” Arthur laughed airily. Merlin couldn’t help but think of all the times they had cracked jokes together, so many long years ago, and was filled with a glowing warmth at the realisation, that finally, finally, they might go back to how it was, whatever that might mean. 

And every time I found you

It’s you eyes I know for sure.

“Has anyone ever told you, your eyes have the most beautiful, unique colours?” Asked Arthur, his voice barely above a whisper, blushing slightly in the pale light from the kitchen.

Merlin’s breath hitched. “No, I don’t think anyone ever has.” Arthur hummed at that, lowering his gaze, and Merlin did the same.

Both of them were acutely aware of every inch that touched the other, from their hands to their necks to their chests that were just barely brushing. 

When your smile can be so soothing,

A familiar paradise.

Merlin didn’t think before he mumbled, “I missed you.” Arthur lifted Merlin’s chin with his forefinger, and they once again locked eyes, only this time a thousand words seemed to pass between them at once, silent accusations and apologies, ‘I missed you’s and ‘where have you been’s. 

Arthur moved slowly closer, until his nose was bumping Merlin’s and he murmured, “May I kiss you?” 

When there’s no one else that makes me whole

I am never wanting more.

Rather than answering, Merlin leaned up just enough for their lips to graze each other, and Merlin heard Arthur’s breath hitch before he held onto the back of Merlin’s head and deepened the kiss, hands tangling in brown hair. It was tentative and slow, but it conveyed so many messages at once, that it overwhelmed them. They got lost in each other, years of love, friendship, loss and pain blurring into one big rush that travelled from where their lips met, all the way to his toes, leaving him lightheaded and feeling like he was floating. Arthur’s lips were soft and careful, and Merlin placed a hand on Arthur’s cheek as they pulled apart, panting, just as the last lines of the song started playing.

I know I’ve loved you before

I’ve loved you before.

Arthur grinned as he broke the silence first by saying, “I’m still hungry, Merlin.” Merlin laughed, tipping his head back.

“Well, the eggs should be done by now.” He pulled away, but took one of Arthur’s hands in his own, pulling him towards the kitchen. 

They still had so much to figure out and an immense pile of things they had yet to understand, but in this moment they were happy and content, and for once Merlin let himself get lost in that feeling. It wasn’t everything, but it was something. 

————————————————————————

Inspired by this post by @brolin-truelove

Constructive criticism appreciated! I hope you liked it 😊

[chokefriends]

Pit-town Strays Ch.3

Kidlaw softness and redneck shenanigans in a northern mining town. Everything’s fucked but whatever.

Rated T, no warnings. 

Ch. 1 - Ch. 2 - [Ch. 3] - Ch. 4 - Ch. 5

Read on Ao3 too, I’m Ossicle

The next morning was a comfortable jumble—coffee, laundry, and UFO ‘documentaries’ playing in the background on the big tv. Kidd thudded around in his boxers, yelling at Nami to put some actual clothes on for once, and burning toast in the oven.

“If your toaster wasn't being a radio, you might get toast out of it,” Law pointed out.

“Ah fuck that. I got a laptop with a broken fan that runs hot enough to burn the table… I can probably rig that up and it'll work. Hm.”

Law shook his head. “Whatever. Towels? I'm gonna shower.”

Kidd waved a hand as he dug around in a kitchen drawer full of tools. “Use whatever one, they're all pretty clean.”

Law found the stack of clean towels, and locked himself in the bathroom before going about his usual, highly involved routine. It wasn't like either of these tar-pit kids cared if his nails were trimmed or stuff like that, but he liked feeling put-together in the details, even if he'd slept in his clothes and had kind of a hangover.

He got out of the shower to find Nami sitting on the counter, chewing a toothbrush.

“Nami! The door was locked!” He hid behind the shower curtain and grabbed his towel.

“Yah.”

“That means don't come in!” he emerged with a towel around him and tried to shoo her out.

“What is it that?” She pointed at his skin.

“Tattoos.”

“Tattoos are hurt?”

“No, they're fine. Out.” He picked her up and set her outside the bathroom door, then closed it.

“My toothbrUSH!” she screeched.

Law cracked the door enough to stick the toothbrush out, then closed, locked and latched it. But the doorknob fucking rattled again like two minutes later.

“Nami, WHAT,” Law shouted, then scrambled to hide when Kidd responded.

“Nami says she needs Band-Aids! I dunno what for, but...”

“There's some on top of the fridge! Go get those!”

“What? No there's not.” The doorknob rattled again.

“Yes there is! Fuck off, I'm fucking half dressed!” Law called from behind the shower curtain.

“Oh, I don't mind—”

“I do!! Just go look on the fridge and let me dress!”

“...taking all fucking day in there…” Heavy footsteps went off the hall.

Law sat down wearily in the tub, letting out a deep breath. He rested for a minute, letting his eyes wander over the black spots drawn onto his jeans with sharpie. All his clothes ended up like that—he doodled the spots whenever he was bored in class or hanging out by himself. Just his thinking-patterns.

He shook off the thoughtful moment and reached one hand out of the shower curtain to grab his t-shirt and hoodie. He finished dressing in the shower.

“My turn yet?” Kidd grumbled when he finally reappeared.

“Oh, you do wash?”

“Haha. Go to hell.” He belched and grabbed the towel from Law.

---

Things were calm in their chaotic way throughout the rest of the morning. No more texts came from back home, and Law let that issue settle to the back of his mind. Nami seemed happy, though she started pointedly ignoring Kidd as soon as he made motions to leave for work. She focused instead on sticking band-aids to Law's shirt.

“The hell is she doing?” Kidd wondered. “Nami, the hell are you doing? Stop wasting those. I can only get the animal ones when the old blind lady's working the cash.”

“She saw my tattoos and decided they were boo-boos,” Law grumbled. He watched disapprovingly while Nami carefully patched up the sharpie spots on his jeans too.

“Ohhh, heh. You got tats?” Kidd looked him over quickly, but they were all covered up.

“Yeah, a couple in blackwork. They're kinda personal so I don't really show em off.”

“That's fuckin sweet, I wanna get some but they're so expensive. The piercings, I can at least do myself.”

Law shrugged. “Yeah, I got a friend with his own machine who does it for me.”

Kidd watched Nami, a little smile sneaking over his face. “Aw, that's actually pretty cute…” He took out his phone and held it up for a picture.

Law tensed. “Uh! I don't like pictures of me.”

“No? Kay I'll just get one of her then.” The phone made an obnoxious fake camera snap sound.

“...Great.” Law slouched in his chair with his head propped up on one fist.

“What you wanna eat later, any takeout requests?” Kidd asked.

“Whatever.”

“Chicken bucket?”

Law shrugged.

Kidd waited but just got more silence. He tried his sister. “Nami: chicken?”

That one was definitely ignoring him. Kidd gave up with an impatient growl and left for work, stomping his way outside with extra force.

“Ah fuck…” Law regretted his terseness as soon as the other had gone. Now he felt bad. “Nami, stop. Kidd said don't waste those.”

“Haha… yah.”

“Nami. I said stop.”

She startled at his harsh tone, and started to cry. Law sighed in frustration as she tried to climb up into his lap for comfort.

“Law, you hug me. I'm Nami and you hug me.”

“Law doesn't like hugs, Nami.”

She insisted, “Kidd is always hug me and give me a band-aid.”

“Kidd lets you have what you want too much,” Law observed.

But he picked her up to sit on his lap. She applied a final tiger band-aid to the middle of his chest, and he scoffed and massaged his temples.

“Nami, a locked door means don't go in. Okay?”

“Hmhmhn.” Now she was ignoring him and humming to herself. She picked up the pencil on the table and started adding her own designs to Law's stats assignment.

“Nami.” He took the sheet away and she looked at him in outrage.

“No!” she scolded him.

Law scolded her right back. “Hey! Listen! Closed door is no.”

“NO.”

“NO,” he said even louder. Great, now he was getting in a shouting contest with a toddler.

Nami wasn't having it, though. She slid down off his lap and went to go damn well do her own thing. A moment later, she came back and took the band-aid right off his chest before leaving again.

He shook his head in disbelief. “Damn, that's cold.”

---

Law brooded at the table for a while, staring past the little pile of photocopied practice sheets he was supposed to be working on and coloring his nails black with sharpie. A chair scraping the floor next to him brought him back to reality. Right… he was babysitting.

Nami climbed up on the chair and handed Law a little jar of something. Black nail polish.

“Heh. You think black nails are pretty, Nami?” Law smiled and accepted the peace offering.

“Yah.” She watched him shake the jar and inspect the contents. Her own nails were an even, glossy black—the product of Kidd's steady hand.

“I think it's nice too…” Law started on his left thumb, trying to match Kidd's technique.

“Our’s dad is say no, it's haggy.”

“Haggy?”

“Yah.”

“What's that?” Law could mostly decipher her toddler-speak, with all its fumbled f's and chubby-cheeked babble, but sometimes it took a minute.

She paused and thought. “Hm.”

“Haggy…” Law thought, and then got it. “Oh… fuck. Nami don't say that to anyone, that's bad.”

“Is bad?”

“Well… it's not bad to be, uh, that. But it's mean to say it to someone. It hurts.” He paused and looked at his hand, half-painted and definitely messy. He bit his lip and stubbornly went about doing the rest too. “Anyway, black nails aren't bad, they're babely. Especially on guys. Like your brother.”

Nami seemed satisfied. “And witches too and mermaids?”

“Definitely. Babely and not bad...”

She watched Law move onto his right hand, fumble it, and make a blob. “You do it bad.”

She dodged Law's attempt to give her an even bigger blob, and ran off screeching gleefully. Law gave up the task with a sigh and picked up his phone instead.

---

You: cheese fries.

Kidd: cheese fries??

You: cheese fries

You: or whatever you want

You: its your money

Kidd: cheese fries!!!!! !!; ✓✓✓

---

Kidd got back earlier this time. Law looked out the window, surprised to see it was still daylight, but a little relieved. Nami had been an on-and-off terror again that day. The little hellion signaled her joy at Kidd's early return by running up to him and screeching like a banshee.

“That’s a great new noise,” Kidd winced.

Law wasn't listening. He was looking at the message that had just popped up on his phone.

Bellamy: dad asking where u is……..

You: just tell him I took off early this morning

You: friend's place

You: back really soon

Bellamy didn't reply and Law swallowed a surge of panic. “I think I gotta go,” he mumbled.

“Cheese fries,” Kidd countered, holding up a brown paper bag.

“My dad’s home, and he'll want me to check in…”

“Cheese fries and I drive ya.” Kidd kicked off his boots and headed for the kitchen.

Law fiddled with his phone for a moment, but there were no more messages, and he'd asked for cheese fries, and hey, what was another few minutes anyway. He sat at the table with the two unruly redheads, both talking with their mouths full and shoveling down the fries without pausing to swallow. Kidd cracked a beer but took it slow, catching Law's glance. Nami quickly stuffed herself and fell asleep under the table with a blanket. They let her be while they ate.

“It’s the municipality's depot shop, so yeah, crooked as hell, but good-crooked, hahaha,” Kidd was explaining his new job around a cheesy mouthful.

“Oh? What kind of corruption is the good one again?” Law stirred his own fries into a mushy mass.

“Kind that pays cash and don't ask about certifications.”

“Oh, heh…”

Kidd shrugged. “Yeah. Little lax on the health and safety, but least it's not the Pit.”

“Yeah.” Law replied vaguely.

His strange host finished his greasy gravy-and-cheese mess and leaned back in his chair, stretching as much as he could in the small space. The black nails and metal-studded lips were such a weird contrast to the prissiness of the room—dusty lace valances and bonneted geese painted on the tile backsplash. The long-limbed boy just seemed so ill-fitted here; almost crammed in.

“So you got yourself a mess there, eh.” Kidd started, delicately.

Law sighed. “Yeah, well it's not really a ‘mess’. I'm probably overreacting. My Dad's just a little nuts about rules and family responsibilities… of which I seem to have the greater share…”

“Yeah, that's shitty.” Kidd chewed thoughtfully on a toothpick. “I wasn't tryna pry.”

“It's cool.”

“I meant your mani, though,” Kidd gestured with the toothpick at Law's left-handed paint job.

“Oh! Yeah that? Mess.” Law gave an embarrassed laugh. His left hand was okay, but his right was just a blobby attempt at two fingers.

“Want me to…?”

“Uh. Yeah. Maybe. Just if you want to,” Law laughed again, a little too loud.

“Yeah definitely. There's remover in the bathroom,” Kidd suggested.

Law went and cleaned off the smeared black on his right hand and returned. Kidd shuff-shuffed his chair over to Law's and shook the little vial of polish.

“Okay, gimme your uh…” Kidd noticed Law's flinch as he went to grab his hand. “Or actually, just put your hand on the table, here?”

Law placed his hand in the table, fingers spread, and Kidd went about his art. He somehow did each finger with only two strokes, leaning in close to execute the little flicks with peak precision. He laid his head right on the table, pillowed on an arm, to complete the thumb from up close. Law watched him frown in concentration.

“Nice. Don't move for ten minutes.” Kidd grinned when he'd finished. He blew lightly on Law's fingers with a pwfff to dry them.

Law put his head on his arm too, settling in across from Kidd. “Thanks.”

“Pfffwww.”

“Pffffffw,” Law puffed back at him.

“Haha, weird,” Kidd admitted.

“Mhm…”

Law drummed his painted fingers and didn't say anything for a couple minutes. Kidd let the silence stretch on, watching him as they both rested their heads on the table.

“...You worried about going back, huh.”

Law lifted his eyes to meet the other's, but then looked down again. They were too direct, felt like lasers.

“Doesn't matter. I’m needed back home,” he mumbled.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Or ‘required,’ I guess.”

“Hm,” Kidd mused.

“We don't got a mom, so.”

“She gone, or?”

Law shuffled and scoffed. “Well she was never my mom. She divorced my dad before I was ever adopted, and left their two sons with him. Went off somewhere. She comes back sometimes but she's like, a rich brat. I think she's actually very minor royalty in one of the shittier parts of Europe?”

“Heh, screw her then.”

“Definitely. So anyway, someone needs to make sure shit is in order. And watch my brothers,” Law explained.

“They're grown up, though, right?”

“Well, Dellinger's thirteen… and a little special… But actually, yeah, he's fine by himself. Way more than Bellamy was at that age.”

“Well, so you can just keep staying here!” Kidd decided.

Law laughed and rolled his eyes. “I can't just stay.”

“Yeah you can.” Kidd countered, honestly, and Law didn't really know what to say. Kidd pressed on, “Why not?”

“Don't think people around here like me much.”

“You think they like me here?” Kidd snorted. “They don't matter anyway. Nami likes you, and she never likes anyone.”

Law smiled to himself, thinking of the animal band-aids. “She's a good kid.”

“Just around you.”

Law withdrew back into silence, though he didn't make any move to get up, or to shake off the way their fingertips were lacing together loosely. He kept his head on the table and chewed his lip, looking at their matching fingernails instead of at Kidd.

“I kinda do too.”

“I... probably gotta go, for real,” Law responded after a flustered moment.

Kidd sat up with a casual shrug. “Yeah. I'll take you on the bike.”

“But, yeah, um… Maybe I could just come by sometimes, like after class, and, study here or just hang? Would that be cool?”

“Yeah!” Kidd's grin was so fierce and genuine it was impossible not to grin back.

---

They took off on the bike past all the tar-paper houses. Their windows were lighting up as the sky dimmed into grey dusk. Here and there firepits and packs of noisy kids sent up flurries of light and activity.

“The carpool again,” Law yelled to Kidd as they drove.

“Not all the way home?”

“Not unless you wanna run into my dad…”

“I don't mind,” Kidd shrugged.

“I mind.”

Kidd pulled into the carpool, stopping under the orange glow of the streetlight just as it flicked on. Law pulled off the helmet and dismounted with a little flutter in his stomach.

“So uh. Tomorrow?” Law leaned a casual hand on the bike handlebars, trying to be all smooth as fuck.

“Yeah…” Kidd watched him with a little smile.

Law leaned in, an answering smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. He didn't rush it—it was kinda nice to be the one looking down at Kidd for once.

But then something pinged the back of Law's awareness: A sound that sent all his internal alarms off. A car he knew… and not the old Volvo.

“Shit…” he looked up and down the highway.

“What, something up?” Kidd looked around too.

“Uh.” Law listened another frozen second, and then took off in a flat run for the trees.

“Okay cool see ya,” Kidd called to his back.

“Yup!”

---

Kidd sat on his bike and kicked his heels into the gravel for a moment after Law had taken off.

“Whatever,” he decided. Weird guy could go be weird or whatever. Not like Kidd cared. He fit the helmet onto his head and the lingering scent of hair oil and cloves struck him, close and unexpected…

Kidd felt his face and neck heat up again.

“...fuck,” he grumbled. He crossed his arms and looked around, staying hidden in his helmet and waiting for the stupid whatever feeling thing to pass. It didn't. “Fuck!” he told the streetlight.

He revved the bike and tore away onto the highway, weaving around the recent-model Caddy that was making its stately way past. It honked sternly.

“Fuck off, hippie!” Kidd yelled at it as he speed away.

[pendragonfics]

Family

Paring: Jim Hopper/Reader

Tags: female reader, adopted children, family dynamics, journalism, domestic fluff, spoilers for Stranger Things 2.

Summary: Sometimes, family isn’t nuclear, with the happy little American love story where it’s all good and well. Family is two adults who found each other in their times of need, and a miracle child.

Word Count: 2,355

Current Date: 2017-11-03

It’s dark when he comes home, but you’re awake. You’ve been awake for almost fifteen hours, and despite sore eyes, an aching headache, and sore limbs, you’re sitting up, to see the door open, and close very slowly. To see the way Jim takes off his shoes, peels off his socks, puts his hat upon the rack by the window. He looks as tired as you feel – in the moonlight through the window, you can see the lines above his eyebrows, beside his eyes.

Jim’s barefoot and stifling a yawn, working on undoing the buttons on his uniform. You watch as he walks toward you in the kitchenette, but as he turns the paraffin lamp, he jumps a little, but still quiet. You’re sitting on the bench, beside the sink, legs dangling like a novelty made-at-home dolly, wearing one of Hopper’s holey old shirts and boxers.

“You scared me,” he says, low, quiet. “What are you doing up so late?”

You shrug, gesturing to the cup of tea growing cold beside you. “Story came to me, couldn’t stop, and then couldn’t sleep.” You take a sip from your cold tea, and wince, “Why are you home so late?”

There could be a myriad of answers. Kids egged a house down on an avenue in town – perhaps he’d helped an elderly lady at the grocery store pack her bags into her late husband’s station wagon, maybe the paperwork wasn’t done on time and Flo stopped him until it was completed. But there wasn’t any egg on his wrinkled uniform, nor groceries in his arms, or ink on his hand.

“Found a kid walking around town, all alone. Drove them home.” His smile wan, he moved past you, flicking the stove on heat up the soup you made earlier for yourself and El. “Flo wanted to know how the story’s coming along.”

You make a noise. “Slow. Be better if I didn’t screw up my last typewriter.” You hummed, showing your hands to your boyfriend, hands that were covered in pen scratches and ink transferred from the paper.

“________, those things don’t come cheap,” he mutters, taking his dinner from the fridge, shoving it in the microwave.

“Ellie went to bed happily again.” You change the subject, tapping your bare foot lazily on the cabinets.

Jim raises an eyebrow. “Ellie?” he asks.

You shrug, drawing a knee to your chest, watching as the screen on the magical microwave oven counts down the seconds until it pings! “She doesn’t like me calling her Jane, and you know I feel funny calling her a number. She’s a teenager, Jim, Ellie suits her, I think.” You pause, and sliding down from the countertop, you add, “She was kind of bummed she didn’t get a goodnight kiss from her dad.”

The clock on the wall clicks over to the new hour, reading the hour that the witches come out to play. Or at least, that’s what your mother used to tell you back home in Boston, before the split as a child when your dad moved you to Hawkins.

“She called me Dad?” Jim asks, just as the sausages and gravy are ready.

You nod. “Right before nodding off. Said she missed your scratchy kisses.” You grin, eyes scrunching up like there’s no greater happiness in the world than seeing the person you love described so simply. “I missed your scratchy kisses too.”

Jim takes his meal to the table, smiling to himself. You stand there in the kitchen, still, swaying. It’s almost like you’re caught between being awake, and overtired, or perhaps you’re imitating a ghost caught between this world and the one beside it, swaying in the breeze of life. But you snap out of your moment when Jim’s fork clanks against the table, and carrying the paraffin lamp to the table, you sit opposite, silent.

While you’re not as important in your workplace as Jim; you’re just a journalist at the local newspaper, writing the little things that happen around the place. The editor in chief had a ‘real’ writer for the larger stories, saying you were second rate because you were more creative, and wrote things that weren’t real (or maybe because you were a woman). One day you’ll be published, a shiny hardcover in the hands of the nation – but until then, you wrote about the effects of the weather on chicken farming in the outer-regions of Hawkins.

It was a strange paring, your father said – you, and Jim. The divorced recluse of a police chief, and the daydreaming old maid who wrote. But you hadn’t talked to him in ten years, so what he thought didn’t matter to you. You weren’t that old. Thirty-five was just a number. Hopper insisted you were young – but then again, he’d gone to hell and back, fought in the war, lost his first family. He thought he was as old as the mountains themselves, and at the best of times (as well as the worst) doubted why you loved him as much as you did.

“________, you’ve got the thousand-mile stare.” Jim hums, and you’re brought back to the moment, instead of inside your head. He glances to his dinner, almost all eaten, and says, “What about you head to bed, and I follow?”

You nod, too tired to speak. But when your head hits the pillow, you’re gone, consumed by sleep’s touch.

---

You’re standing before the mirror on the basin, hairbrush in hand. Except, it’s not your hairbrush, and you’re not checking out your reflection in the mirror. Instead, you’re carefully carding the tines through your adoptive daughter’s hair, trying to get her in the habit of brushing her unruly locks. El’s face is composed of unadulterated joy, eyes bright, mouth stretched wide with excitement.

“Big day today,” you say, running your fingers through the last bit, untangling a knot the size of your thumbnail. “First day of school.”

She bounces on the balls of her feet at the sound of the word school, meeting your eyes in the mirror. When you first met El, she’d acted all shy like a woodland creature, then, after time went on, moody like a storm about to break. That was before all the commotion with the Hawkins lab and the passing of Mr. Newby. Now she’s sunshine in a bottle, threatening to explode.

“What was your…favourite?” she asks, selecting the right words.

You beam. “I loved the library. They have books on everything there.” You fluff out her head of curls with both hands, the hairbrush tucked under your arm, and add, “But my favourite class was where we read the books.” You peer out of the bathroom, seeing where Jim is lacing his boots, a piece of toast between his teeth as he rushes out the door, “Your dad liked it more in gym.” You remember the way he looked back in high school in the uniform, and you chuckle.

“Gym?” El asks. “Mike said it’s hard.”

You shake your head. “You’re not Mike, though, are you?” You ask her, and moving before her, you kneel, pushing the hair from her eyes away, you add, “Hey, Ellie,” you see your reflection in her eyes, a hesitant smile now on her lips. “You’ve got this.”

“I’ve got this.” She repeats.

“Okay, time to go!” Jim calls out from the other room. At this, El runs around you, her new overalls sliding down her legs, curls bouncing. “________, have you got the keys?”

“Yeah!” you exclaim, jangling them from your pocket. “Have you got Ellie’s bag?”

“I’ve got it!” She shouts, the sound of the sheriff’s wagon door slamming followed suit. You’re almost out of the door, and from the backseat, El makes the horn toot and hollers out the open window, “C’mon! I don’t want to be late!”

She’s not late – in fact, when you two walk her into the administration building with her, she’s run away as her class schedule is handed to her, off to walk to class with Mike, Dustin, Lucas, Max and Will. Mr. Clarke stills her running, and from the window in the wall, you see her smile is big, group of friends even bigger.

“Your daughter seems excited to be here, Mr. and Mrs. Hopper,” the older office lady smiles, handing you a copy of El’s class schedule.

You glance to Jim, and he to you, scrambling over your words, until you manage to say, “We’re not – I mean, we’re just –,”

She raises an eyebrow, and goes on to say, “School ends at three, and if we have any trouble, I’ll make sure to get Principle Coleman call.” She smiles once more, and looks at your hand, holding Jim’s, “Are you sure you two aren’t married?”

---

You’re at work, staring at the typewriter that’s screwed to the desk, waiting for the fingers attached to your creative soul to pick up something and translate it to words. But sitting there doesn’t help, and when you return from the coffee machine, you’re face to face with your boss, whose fingers are pawing through your reporter’s journal, eyeing the notes you’ve made over the last six months in its pages.

“Saw you were stuck, ________,” he places your notebook down, the cover thwacking the desk very un-quietly. “You’ve been all over Hawkins, and still, found nothing worth writing about.”

You nod, cradling the cup of hot coffee close to your chest. “That’s right, sir.”

He hums. “Maybe what you need to consider is something a little closer to home?” He asks, and with that, goes off on his way by Debbie the copier for his regular demands of the poor P.A.

You still. Closer to home? You think about how boring your home life is, until you realise how un-boring it is, and inspired, you sit, and over the next four hours of the work day, manage to churn out and edit something that could be read by the people of Hawkins.

---

I grew up alone. I suppose we’re never alone; we have a mother, a father, a community. My parents left each other when I was young, and my father worked nights when I was at school. People didn’t want to be my friend, since I was a loner. I had my books, I had my mind, I had my mind to write the passages for books to come.

When I was at college, my boyfriend was fighting in the end of the Vietnam War. When I was starting at the newspaper, my boyfriend was married to another woman. When I re-met my boyfriend, he had acquired the position of sheriff at Hawkins Police station. He had lost so much in his life, and when we met, not for the first time as gangly teenagers who wanted so much more than what fate would give us, but when we were adults, hardened by life in our own ways, brought into moulds by our own hardships, there was something there. That feeling of loneliness.

This was not a conventional love story. I never wanted to grow up to be in a cul-de-sac, to do what any of my relatives could have done. I am a woman, making decisions for myself, loving a man who can make decisions for himself. And together, we love our girl, who can make decisions very well for herself. Sometimes, family isn’t nuclear, with the happy little American love story where it’s all good and well. Family is two adults who found each other in their times of need, and a miracle child.

You see, together, you are not without hope. You just can’t be – two heads, two hearts are better than just one. Since this we have solved mysteries buried deep beneath the dirt under Hawkins, Indiana, and found something that wasn’t loneliness to bond ourselves.

“It’s, uh, pretty feminist,” your boss commented, glancing up from the type-written paper near the end of the working day, “Is this what you’re willing to submit?”

You nod.

“It’ll be printed for tomorrow.” He slides it into his pile, extinguishing a cigarette in a cup on his desk. “Keep an eye out, ________.”

---

You’re waking up slowly, gently, when there’s what feels like an earthquake. But no, there isn’t another disaster falling over Hawkins – instead, it’s El, bouncing on the bed, wearing the Star Wars t-shirt that you bought her when you took her to see Return of the Jedi. In her hands is a crumpled newspaper, scrunched by her hands. You glance beside you, to see what Jim makes of this morning tyranny, but he’s not beside you, snoring as usual. Instead, he’s behind El, watching the both of you.

“What is this, a bouncy house?” you ask, pushing yourself up from the covers. “What’s the news, Ellie?”

Her grin widens. “You’re famous, Mom!”

You’re caught on the word famous, and peering forward to see what your daughter has, you almost miss the word mom and you feel overwhelmed. But then you see on the newspaper page caught between El’s pre-teen fingers your name, and beneath it, your words. You feel faint suddenly, even though you’ve been awake for all of two minutes, and let out a breathy laugh.

“I’m famous?” you ask, pretending to peer closer at the page, and instead, take El in your arms, and tackle her to the bed. “How about I’m the luckiest lady in all of Hawkins!” you laugh, tickling your daughter’s side. She squirms, laughing, and from the doorway, so does Jim. “Come on, let’s have a big family hug.”

El laughs, and before you know it, you’re all sitting on the bed, cuddled up like you’re hiding from a snowstorm, but instead of it being bad, you’re all in a fit of laughter. When El excuses herself to call Mike on the walkie-talkie, Jim leans into your ear, whispering, “You have no idea how much I love you both.”

You raise a brow at that, replying, “I’m pretty sure you do, Chief.” You kiss his cheek, and glancing to the door, where El could appear any second, and murmur, “She called me Mom!”

[stareiiez]

It's Too Damn Hot For This

Red Team x Reader

Heyyy, look at that! I finally posted, miracles do come true! I really plan to keep on updating my blog and clear out my draft folder, because yikes there’s a lot.So look forward to some, hopefully, well-written RVB reader inserts.  

 Anyone that experienced summer knew the rising temperatures, people sunbathing long enough to look like they were made out of leather. Others would go out to vacation in other tropical places of the world to frolic on white sandy beaches and eat exotic foods. It was paradise for people that lasted for 2 or 3 months, only to return to the busy lives of everyday life. If only that were the case for you and your team of soldiers that were stuck in some godforsaken canyon in the middle of nowhere. The various shades of red colored armor didn’t help you with the heat problem either. It only made you feel like your body was thrown into a thousand degree oven that was set for twenty-four hours. What was worse was the little fans built inside the helmets short-circuited when you first experienced the hot temperature the first year you arrived in Blood Gulch. You thought that in a year or more your happy red ass would get shipped out, and then go back to living in an air-conditioned lifestyle.

Now cut to four years later, and the blistering heat had still affected you no matter what. Sprawled in red base’s tattered living room with Grif and Simmons, with the shittiest fan blowing luke warm air on the three of you, it was absolute hell. Your head rested on Grif’s lap and your legs were laying upon Simmon’s, while the two men were sitting on the old couch, a mere groan had threatened to escape your mouth. Thier overwhelming body heat, along with the stifling temperature was sure enough to melt your skin off your body. Although the thought of rolling yourself right off and upon the cool steel flooring seemed optional, comfort played a valid role in keeping you right where you were. The red team’s armor of you three was thrown haphazardly around the room as if you couldn’t wait any longer to shed yourself of the scalding hot metal weighing you down.

The only person that the summertime atmosphere could not bother, was Sarge. Not even thirty elephants that lined up just to run him over, could not stop the gruff man from leading his team to defeat the Blues. His voice had been going non-stop to Lopez, for a few hours about his “no good army that cowered under a little sunshine.” or how he “would show you what hell on earth really was when his foot goes into your ass.” Not only was it repetitive and growing only louder by the minute, but his rambling was annoying as hell. Even though you loved Sarge and respected him, there were points in time where he really wanted to make you rip your eyes out.It was as if the colonel knew this, and was standing at the base of his door loudly complaining to a Mexican robot who ignored everything instead; only for Lopez to repeat ‘kill me’ over and over again.

Not to mention the annoying men you were sprawled upon. Grif didn’t seem to miss an opportunity to complain or whine about anything in his life and now that it was hot, this weather gave him a big chance to complain all he wanted to. Whether he was complaining about Sarge’s drawing words about his ‘worthless’ soldiers or to the never cool air blasting on his body, the orange-clad trooper never shuts up. Simmons was not so much help either. With his head lazily thrown back on the cushion of the couch, his hands had pulled at his shirt frantically back and forth as if to give himself a minor cool down.

 “This is bullshit! Are we that worthless that command can’t give us a decent air conditioner?” Grif suddenly burst out, as his hand soon shoved your upper half of your body off his lap without warning. The ever-annoying ring of childish whining laced into his complaint once more.

With a disgruntled yelp, your head almost clashed with the floor if Simmon’s hand had not shot out to grasp at your shirt and yank you back upon the couch, and all while not even moving from his place on the couch. He wordlessly cast a glare upon Grif’s stance as he pushed himself to his feet, with a scowl of his own painted upon his features.Your hand had shoved Simmon’s sweaty, pale hand from your damp shirt riddled with faded red letters on the front.

What also didn’t help you all cool down was the warm air pouring out of the base’s kitchen, with Donut whipping up any food the fridge held. That was the one thing that Grif did not whine about. Not a big shocker there.</p>

 “Grif, shut the fuck up. We are all hot and pissed, go into the kitchen and bother Donut.” Simmons finally snapped as his head raised to hold his now weak glare up at his teammate. 

You could only shake your head at your teammates before pushing yourself up from the ratty-ass couch and up to your feet. With the lower half of your armor still clinging to your sweaty form, you ran a hand through damp (h/c) hair. It was too hot to listen to your team go on and on about the most idiotic things for a while now. Sarge with his training, Lopez with his 3 worded response on repeat, and Grif with his never-ending whining you were sure to go out of your mind.

“That’s it.” You snapped harshly. Venom laced in your two words while you stomped into the kitchen.

Your gauntlet covered feet nearly shaking the floor as you made way to the kitchen. Although it didn’t look much like a ‘homey’ kitchen it still that the amenities to keep the red team alive and its food cool or hot. Donut hadn’t even heard your pissed steps, while he hummed a song under his breath and swayed his slim hips back and forth. Week old ’ meat’ and squishy vegetables had laid next to has he worked over a pot that bowled over a blue flame. You quickly opened and slammed steel cabinets until you found what you were looking for. A large spoon and an equally large bowl. Flinging the steel freezer door open in the fridge, the tiny icicles of permafrost slung from its grip on the freezer walls. Grumbling under your breath you started to scoop the freezing cold crystals of frozen water into your bowl. Steel turned glacier cold and left your finger imprints on the surface while you nearly cleaned out the freezer. You were almost shocked how your burning skin hadn’t melted to the bite of the now below temperature bowl.

With the object full you slammed the door closed and jogged into the living room. Hell if you started walking back, then for sure Grif or Simmons would peek their nosy asses in the doorway of the kitchen to see what was causing all the noise. Somehow you hoped both boys were still whining or trying not to melt into the upholstery of the couch. Maybe miracles worked or not because Grif and Simmons were almost panting like dogs everytime a blast of warm air from the crappy fan hit them.

“Alright, you whiny ass babies. Time to shut the hell up and freeze.” You yelled loudly and held the steel bowl over your head. Fingers turned a numbingly red color as your voice caught both boys attention.

Pairs of brown and hazel eyes looked up at you, with a mix of confusion and utter alarm. You must have had a dark smirk on your face or the sudden put burst caught them off guard because the two men scrambled up on the couch. Grif’s mouth had started to open as if to ask a question about your sudden mood change or what you were doing before a sudden yell escaped him instead. Cold nasty tasting ice chunks hit his open mouth as well as his sweaty body. 

Mouth agape from the sudden onslaught of cold, the orange soldier blinked rapidly just as Simmons cried out in shock, although his voice cracked enough to nearly shatter glass.

“Y/N!!” Grif yelled as he jumped to his feet, his hands were frantically trying to brush off the melting ice and spit out the freezer ice crystals, that were now freezer flavored water, from his mouth.

The ginger-haired soldier, on the other hand, felt like his heart stopped beating. The cold had blinded him since it covered his glasses.

“What the hell!?” Simmons’ voice squeaked out while his pale freckled cheeks flushed from the biting cold of the ice.Although this shocked voice was slowly drowned out by peals of laughter, or chuckles that caused your body to shake. 

Your fingers let go of the now empty bowl and wrapped your arms around your stomach. The sight of the ‘intergalactic super soldier heroes’ were now soaked to the bone and quite frankly shocked. It was too damn hot for the constant whining and the never-ending same of mantra Sarge repeated to himself outside in the sweltering heat. It was however not too damn hot to find a better way to cool some of your fellow red soldiers off and keep their mouths shut, yet with the now dark look in their eyes that slowly overtook their once shocked expressions, it may be different for you.

“Get ‘em.” Grif muttered before all three of you started up a long chase that ended up in a more messy base. 

Deafening shouts of Grif, Simmons, and now Donut who was caught up in the act of chasing you down for disturbing his cooking. When in reality he was chasing because Grif let out something along the lines of ‘beating your ass’ when he catches you. Maybe it was too hot to do a lot of things distracting your teammates from the heat in order to chase you was all worth it in the end.

[bestfriendforhire]

Children of BFFH, Entry 63

 I woke up in a room I didn’t recognize.  Where was I?  Looking around, I realized that my cousin, Crystal, was next to me.  Was this her house?  Searching nearby for anything that seemed threatening, I blinked in surprise when I recognized the stairs in the distance.  This was Crystal’s home.  I had stayed the night here?  That was weird…  At least, I was fairly certain that hadn’t happened before.  Crystal preferred staying over at my home.

 I cast a quick cleaning spell on myself, and looked around.  Where were my glasses?  Mila would know why I was here.  Frowning, I considered where I would probably place glasses.  In my room, they’d be on the desk to my right every morning, but there was a window on my right here.  Were they on the window sill?  Carefully stepping over my cousin, I checked all around the window, and then on the end table.  Noticing a sofa table behind the sofa, I checked that too without any luck.

 Sighing, I gave up the search, hoping Crystal would know.  Unlike me, her memory was normal.  I frowned again when I realized that I needed to keep focus on my wait, lest I’d forget that I had already given up searching.  That really wasn’t a memory I needed to keep, but maybe I’d at least remember this layout of the living room?  Why had they changed it?  Wait wait.  I’m done searching for my glasses.  I’m done searching for my glasses.

 There was no chance of me knowing how much time had passed when Crystal finally rolled over, but I did find my glasses.  She had squished them in the night.  Had I loaned them to her, or had she planned on keeping them safe for me?  Reaching around her, I carefully collected the pieces and tried wearing the broken frame to see if there was still a connection.  Sadly, there didn’t seem to be.  I stopped telling myself that I wasn’t searching for my glasses and started telling myself that my glasses were broken… Then I started wondering if I’d wake every day thinking that my glasses were broken if I remember that they were broken.

 Hearing movement on the stairs, I grinned and hurried over to greet Uncle Tom or Aunt Jamie, casting a quick spell to keep my movement muffled, because Crystal was sleeping.  Wait.  No spells here.  I cancelled the spell as I arrived.  There were far too many things that I was trying to remember at the moment.  Realizing there was something in my hand, I looked down only to find that my glasses were broken.  Great.

 “Good morning, Ella!  I always forget how early people wake up in your home.  Is Crystal up too?” asked Aunt Jamie as she gave me a hug.

 Shaking my head, I stopped trying to remember that she was sleeping.  There was little chance that I’d make too much noise.  “Umm… My glasses are broken.” I confessed, holding them up for her to see.

 “Do you have a spare pair in your backpack?  Your parents seem to give you spares of everything.” she reminded me.

 “Oh!  Where’s my backpack?” I asked hopefully.

 “Up in Crystal’s room.  Need me to show you the way?” she questioned, looking concerned.

 Shaking my head, I told her “No.  I have good memories here.  I’d only forget if you redecorated.”

 “That explains the living room.” she told me, frowning.

 “What about it?” I asked, a little worried that they had changed it.

 “Nothing to worry about, dear.  Go get your glasses from the backpack in Crystal’s room before you forget.” she told me.  “I’ll start getting breakfast ready.”

 “Oh!  Let me help when I get back!” I exclaimed excitedly.

 She looked up over my head for a second with a slightly worried expression, sighed, and said, “That’d be lovely, but try to remember to be quiet.”

 I nodded, focusing on being quiet and that I needed to get to my backpack for glasses.  Then I hurried past her and up the stairs.  Finding my backpack only took a moment, and retrieving my glasses took even less time.  “Momma Mila, mind reminding me to be quiet and to help cook breakfast when I get downstairs?”  Reminders instantly appeared on the lenses, along with notifications that I had messages.

 One message was from Mommy, reminding me that I was at a sleepover.  She had probably forgotten too.  Another was from Aspy, showing what he and Dea had done last night in Ancient Tribes of Earth.  Then there was one from Daddy, telling me that he’d drop off another spare pair of glasses on his way to a job today.  I wished I could hug him already.  Noticing the reminders, I quickly hurried downstairs while trying to be quiet.

 “You found them!” whispered Aunt Jamie.

 “Found what?” I asked, feeling a little confused.  Was I supposed to bring something to her.  Thinking of the plurals I could see on my person, I doubted I had gone for socks or pants, so maybe my glasses had gone missing?  I was very glad to have those.  Aunt Jamie would worry about me forgetting them, so that made sense.  “Glasses?” I guessed aloud.

 She nodded, smiling at me.  “I remember your mom telling me that you do some cooking as part of your schooling.  What do you feel comfortable doing?”

 Looking at what was on the counter, I told her “Looks like you’re making waffles.  If you have a pie crust and we have an hour, I could make a quiche.  I know many scrambled egg recipes.  If you have avocados, we could always stuff an avocado with eggs, bacon, breakfast sausage, and/or ham.  Maybe put some chives on top as a garnish?  Then there’s…”

 “Whoa-whoa.  You remember how to make all of that?” she questioned in surprise.

 “Umm… I know all of those can be made with what’s here, and a little extra for the quiche.” I replied.  “There are plenty more ideas too if you’d prefer something fancy.”

 “Does Mila teach you cooking?” she asked.

 “Momma Mila acts as the primary sous chef in the kitchen, but Chef Marco does most of the cooking lessons.” I explained, surprised she didn’t know.

 “All of you kids are trained by Marco?” she repeated, still sounding surprised.

 “Yes.  Why?” I questioned, not understanding what was wrong.

 “Mind if I watch you make breakfast?” she questioned, stepping around the counter to sit on a stool.

 Shrugging, I said, “No.  I don’t mind.  What would you like?”

 “Surprise me.” she told me with a grin.  “And let me know if you need anything.”

 “Okay.” I replied with a nod.  Then I said, “Momma Mila, please note all of the ingredients for me.”  I checked the fridge, freezer, and pantry to let her get a view, and smiled as I read through the itemized list.  After discussing time allowed and being reminded for how many I was cooking, I had Mila start the timer, glad she reminded me why I didn’t have my chef’s hat.  We were having cinnamon rolls as waffles with Chef Marco’s third frosting recipe.  Then there would be a simple egg scramble with potato wedges, bacon, sausage, peppers, and onions.

 “That smells delicious!  Ella, you can cook?” questioned Crystal, surprising me.

 “Of course.” I told her, quickly turning back to the food I smelled cooking.  There was a simple egg scramble almost done… and I also smelled…  Checking my glasses, I saw a timer for what had to be cinnamon roll waffles.  Keeping my focus was harder than normal with Crystal and Aunt Jamie talking about me, but I managed.

 Just as I took off the 3rd waffle, Uncle Tom came into the room, saying, “You’re letting Ella cook?  Did she do all of this?”

 All of what?  I looked at the stove and counter, and didn’t really see that much happening.  Had he not seen a kitchen at work before?  Compared with home, this was barely any food.  Wondering if I should apologize, I got the final waffle started and  prepared the plates, carefully spreading the frosting mix on each of the waffles.

 As I handed over the first plate, I said, “Sorry if the waffles are slightly cool.  I usually use the warmer to keep things the right temperature, and the oven may have dried them a little, but I’m hoping the frosting will bring enough moisture.”

 Crystal laughed as her parents stared at me, but I went back to finish the last waffle.  Oh.  This one was for me!  The notification was blinking on my glasses with the last few seconds counting down.  Once the plate was set, I stuck it in the oven as I started the initial cleanup.

 “Ella!  Don’t worry about cleaning.  You’ve done plenty!” insisted Aunt Jamie to my surprise.

 Chef Marco’s words about the importance of a tidy kitchen nearly escaped my lips, but I managed to instead say, “Thank you, Aunt Jamie.”  Thanks to Mila, I even remembered where my food was.

 “No, thank you, Ella!” exclaimed Uncle Tom.  “If we had known you were this good at cooking, we’d have been asking you to come cook for us occasionally!” he teased between bites while Aunt Jamie nodded in agreement.

 “Don’t I have the coolest cousin around?” asked Crystal after swallowing the cinnamon roll she had been chewing.

 “I doubt it.” I told her honestly, thinking about my friends at home.  While she rolled her eyes and laughed, I found myself wishing I could show them more, but even I remembered that they were safer without knowing about magic.