#very impressionable…. sighs deeply…..

[dustbawl]

“    i    don’t    think    you    mean    that    .    in    fact    ,    i    know    you    don’t    .    ”    refusal    to    believe    his    version    of    apparent    truth    ,    denial    radiating    as    she    keeps    her    gaze    on    him    .    “    why    are    you    lying    to    me    ,    right    now    ?    ”

open to : fems .

                    ❝      ...      doesn't      matter      what      you      think     ,      when      it's      just      not      the      truth     .      ❞      a      pause     ,      intaking      deep      breath     .      ❝      i'm      over      it      ―      over      you     .      ❞

[deathmetalunicorn1]

Child reader watching telenovelas after not being allowed to watch her mystery shows

I’m gonna use the Secret Life of Pets drama for this!!

-Adam and Odin had both been looking for you, wanting to apologize, as you had been quite upset when they wouldn’t let you watch your detective show for a while, finding it too impressionable on you.

-They heard you gasp deeply from the living room and walked in, seeing you and Loki sitting next to each other, your hands intwined together as the TV was playing a telenovela, “Maria- your face wears a thousand sorrows- what is wrong?!”

-Adam sighed softly, a hand coming to cover his eyes as Odin rolled his one eye, “Really?” Loki shushed him loudly, “Shut up~~ we need to know what’s wrong with Maria!!”

-The actress, who was very over the top, posed dramatically, “I’ve come face to face with the worse thing imaginable- loneliness!”

-You and Loki gasped as if someone had died, hearing what your beloved Maria was dealing with- this was terrible as you cupped your cheeks, “Maria you need to go after Filipe! Manolo doesn’t love you!!”

-Odin went for the remote, “Y/N doesn’t need to be watching garbage like this.” Loki snatched it out of his reach, comically hissing at him, “No way! You took away our cop drama- you’re not taking this!!”

-Adam went over and just unplugged the TV as Jorge was inspiring Maria to go after her true love and you and Loki were quickly collapsed to your knees in anguish, “NOOO!!!!”

-Odin pinched the bridge between his eyes, a deep sigh leaving him, “Can’t you two just watch a nature program or cartoons or something?” You were pouting again, “I like watching Hard Boiled and Passionate Hearts! Cartoons are for kids!”

-Adam ruffled your hair gently in passing, “You are a kid Y/N. You two can watch TV, but no trashy dramas or cop shows.”

-The two of you sighed dramatically, collapsing back into the couch as Adam chuckled softly, seeing you two being so over the top.

[azertyrobaz]

I decided to innovate a bit and write something different than usual for Day 2. I've been completely taken by The Wild Robot lately, so here's a small story about Fink and Brightbill.

As always, prompts are here if you want to have a look! I will also be creating a collection on ao3 as soon as possible for everyone to use if they want. :)

************

“Can we go say hi to Paddler?”

Fink’s day was ruined. Ruined. He’d intended to go hunt for some tasty eggs away from prying impressionable eyes and nagging robotic voices, but he’d just been relegated to babysitting duties. For 4 hours. FOUR HOURS. This was the ridiculous amount of time Roz needed to recharge her batteries. The sun had just appeared in the sky after several long grey and rainy days during which the robot had drained all her power.

“Nothing a goose expert shouldn’t be able to handle,” she had said. And was that sarcasm he’d heard in her usually no-nonsense voice? The robot was clearly spending far too much time around him. But he had detected something else in her tone – worry. And not just because her lack of resources meant her voice had started to sound wobbly and faint. Fink knew very well she had no one else to ask. Sure, Pinktail would have been a smarter choice – a saner choice – but with 7 kids of her own and an understandable knack for forgetting their names and current locations, Roz had rejected the idea.

Which meant she’d chosen him. Deliberately. Consciously. No one ever chose Fink. For anything. Least of all to protect another life. And yet…

“Yes, let’s go see Paddler,” he replied, and the still incredibly small gosling jumped on his back with a happy tweet. And so they went to see Paddler and agreed that yes, that giant tree wasn’t going to fall today. Or tomorrow. Or probably even this century. After that, the kid wanted to go say hi to the rabbits. The mice. The bloody raccoons. Those damn squirrels.

“Bonjour! Guten Tag! Hujambo! Hola!”

He never tired of saying it – he greeted everyone they came across. And at first he never seemed to grow sad when he barely received any reply. He was the monster’s son after all, and Fink was just…well, Fink. The fox did grow restless and snarled a couple of times, ready to pounce on anyone who would dare not show a modicum of kindness to that sweet though deluded kid. But Roz had entrusted said kid’s wellbeing to him. As much as he wanted to bite and punch and yell at those thoughtless invertebrates, he couldn’t lose his cool. Not yet, at least. Nothing was stopping him from returning later to get his revenge.

This was made especially clear when Brightbill sighed deeply and mumbled “Why does no one want to be my friend?”

“They’re morons,” Fink replied automatically, which earned him a small smile.

“That’s a bad word, mom says bad words should be avoided.”

“Well, your mom isn’t here, and this one can’t be avoided. They are morons.”

Brightbill laughed whole heartedly this time.

“Can we go see if there are some fresh berries behind the old oak?” he asked, and Fink agreed.

Funny, saying yes to everything was proving easy. Telling the truth, too. Which went against everything in his nature. His programming, Roz would say, and he realized he was missing the robot a little. More than a little. Surely she would be recharged soon.

“What is your mommy like? Is she like Roz?”

“Is she a robot, you mean?” he replied quickly, deflecting. Perhaps telling the truth wasn’t actually always so easy or so wise. There were things Brightbill didn’t need to hear.

“No,” the gosling chuckled, “but she must have been good at telling stories, you tell good stories.”

Fink paused in his foraging. They had found so very tasty raspberries.

“They’re better than mom’s, but don’t tell her!” the child added.

“My mother wasn’t very nice,” Fink eventually admitted, because for once he didn’t feel like lying so much. “And my siblings bickered a lot and didn’t really like me either.”

“Oh,” Brightbill said in a small voice, and looked up at him with those big sad eyes that always managed to unravel something deep inside of him. Something he wasn’t sure he wanted to touch. Ever.

“But it meant I got very good at other things,” he went on with more assurance. “Like reading people and knowing how they will react in any given situation.”

“Which made you good at telling stories!” the kid concluded, and he certainly wasn’t wrong there, even if Fink had never looked at things that way.

“Exactly,” he agreed, because why not.

“And good at finding the best spots on the island for berries.”

“That, too.”

Brightbill went back to eating, and Fink took a deep breath in – this had gone much better than he had expected. And that uneasy feeling inside him had morphed into something much nicer. Much warmer.

“Can we go see if mom is awake now?”

“Yes, let’s go,” Fink agreed immediately.

[ladyhallen]

The Unintended Seduction of the Nidaime Hokage

It wasn't spite, entirely, that motivated Haruki.

She was just...differently motivated, if she really was pressed about it.

And she was pressed, the first time Senju Tobirama-sama, Nidaime Hokage, Head Officer of the Research Division and her long time crush asked her about it.

“It's not polite to eavesdrop,” she muttered, feeling a bit trapped as he sat her down in front of his desk and waved off all the AnBu.

He raised one eyebrow. “It wasn't eavesdropping if you were both having a really loud conversation outside my door, Haruki-san.”

He crossed his unfairly wonderful arms and stared at her. “And apparently, eavesdropping is the only way I would know of your eternal vow to remain my secretary until I die. Among other things.

Haruki blushed bright red, cursing her sisters big fat mouth and the embarrassment she could feel creeping up on her. Already, the sweat was dripping down her back.

Well, in for a kunai.

“Look,” she said, resigned to maybe not leaving her house until a year and he forgot about this conversation. Unlikely. “I was an impressionable thirteen year old and that time, Shodaime-sama had just left us and then Madara-sama. And I looked around the chaos and thought, wow we would all be in deep trouble if Tobirama-sama went away too.”

He looked surprised but Haruki would honestly faint if she kept looking at his handsome, perfect face. So she stared at his just as distracting forearms and continued, “I snooped around. I asked. I observed. And I realized that you just kept working. And that's not good. Either you weren't being given rights to grieve, or you were too busy to do so. No one was helping you.”

He coughed. “So you, at thirteen, made a blood pact in front of Inari-sama's shrine that you would devote your life to me so that Konoha would remain standing.”

At least, Haruki consoled herself, she couldn't blush any deeper. “My sister was supposed to keep that a secret until I killed her or she killed me,” she muttered under her breath. Then, in a louder voice, “My family is deeply religious, Nidaime-sama. My sister took that as seriously as I did. That is, she has been in deep trouble with my father since he has been pushing me to get married. Which I can't.”

“Because of the blood pact.”

Haruki nodded. “Because of the blood pact. She's been secretly burning the letters my father has been sending me.”

“And she's here because?”

Haruki sighed and covered her face. “Because apparently, she thought I was taking too long seducing you.”

Someone made a sound deeply like a cackle. It was disguised as a cough, but it was very obviously a cackle of laughter. Some AnBu had disobeyed orders and stayed.

Fuck.

Haruki really was wondering if she could invent a jutsu to just. Stay underwater. Maybe live there. Uzumaki's were nice, maybe they'd pencil in this request for some experimental jutsu invention.

After a moment's fidgeting, the anxiety was too much and she couldn't take it anymore. She looked up and caught sight of his face and almost fell off her chair.

Nidaime-sama, scourge of the Research Department interns, most efficient and fastest man alive, was blushing.

Inari-sama preserve her, he was blushing. And it was so cute. He always looked fetching in red. Haruki was going to die.

“Uhm,” she coughed. “Nidaime-sama, am I in trouble?”

Tobirama-sama sighed deeply. “No. AnBu Crow, if you don't want to be assigned to work in the sewers, leave and keep your mouth shut.”

Immediately, the giggles disappeared. Haruki felt strangely terrified.

“I am remembering everything you've done for me,” Nidaime-sama said, tone even and quiet. His eyes were on her and it was very intense. Haruki needed something to hold or squeeze. She can't take this much pressure. She would explode.

“Eight years of birthday gifts, medicine when I'm sick and a lot of clothes that you made yourself. If I'm also right, you planted my favorite flowers and placed them around my house.”

Inari-sama bless him. He remembered.

“I also clean your house when you have missions and keep your files sorted so it doesn't give you a strain to find them again later.” Haruki muttered, unable to help herself.

He smiled at her. “And you do all those things for me, yes. Without asking. I thought you were simply a very efficient secretary until I realized that all the other department heads have been trying to poach you for years. Then I wondered what was going on until eavesdropping answered all my questions!”

Haruki had seen those letters indeed! She puffed up in indignation. “I made my vows to you, not to any other,” she said seriously.

Tobirama-sama finally laughed. It was a kind laugh. She had been privy to a lot of things being his secretary and he had never laughed so nicely before. Haruki was melting.

“Ah, Haruki-san, you can tell your sister you've succeeded. You have very definitely seduced me. No one has ever worked so hard at it for eight years before!”

“Nidaime-sama?” she asked in a faint voice. Haruki was surely poisoned and hallucinating?

“You can call me Tobirama,” he said, standing up and plucking her straight out of her chair. “Is my schedule clear for today, Haruki-san?”

Reflexively, she said, “You had a meeting with the Elders at three and afternoon teatime with Mito-sama.”

He growled out, “I'll send them a note,” before whisking her away with a hiraishin.

.

I had worldbuilding notes but like, AO3 is down and I don’t really remember wtf I wrote. But like, y’all should go to AO3 when it’s back anyway because I think I edited some stuff there better.

[xruiningth3sh0wx]

Those eyes.

 

Those glowing, mako blue eyes and that head of spiky blonde hair.

 

Part of him wanted to not tell this…this shorter compatriot of his…whom he had grown to love so dearly, so deeply…that none of this was right. That none of this was the path to heroism and honor those bastards had drilled into their impressionable brains. Poisoned their minds with lies upon lies, making them march lockstep with whatever bullshit they had planned next to ruin the planet, kill off anyone who resisted, and drain the very life force of the entire world. All for that unending corporate greed, and wanton lust for more. More and more and more, until it all crashed and burned and there was nothing left but old schmucks living in bunkers in the desert of a dead celestial body. Why? Why would he go back on all of this, even though his heart, his soul, was dead set on taking him, the two of them leaving, and never looking back, to resist this overfed menace to the very end? Because it would break the shorter guy’s heart. Just like how it was breaking his own. Fueling an existential crisis he had no time at all to process.

 

He, enamored by the stories, and his…his friend (though, really, the ravenette wanted to be able to definitively say they were more than that), also wide eyed at prospects. But while the blonde was a failure, the ravenette was a success story. And here they were.

 

Two unwitting fools, realizing both far too late and just soon enough, that the whole thing needed to burn to the ground.

 

Forget their ecocidal, tyrannical, warmongering masters. Forget the wishes of those old men and women who wished to use them as mere attack dogs. Forget the leashes and chains that bound them.

 

“We gotta get outta here.” The ravenette hummed, sighing softly. Who was he kidding? Couldn’t back out now, after cutting down so many grunts. Deserters being pursued by the grunts…yeah, right. With all the shit they’ve both been hopped up with? Good fucking luck.

 

Here they were. Giving the middle finger to the scumbags in the most over the top manner. They were products of that wretched company, destined to be nothing more than programmable weapons. And what they were stealing was…themselves. Their natural born rights to be people. To be alive.

 

The blonde nodded, his hands sliding easily into the ravenette’s. Squeezing lightly, mako blue eyes flitting up to this lips. Wanting to wrap his arms around his friend’s neck and…

 

It was a gesture that soothed the anxious, socially awkward, pretty boy’s nerves (and so very pretty he was). It was all so nerve-wracking. To be faced with the realities of what…what all this meant. What he had done. What he would continue to do. It ate away at his gut. Never meet your heroes, his mind sometimes cruelly echoed. Look around you, it spoke venomously. The reasons for joining had failed him several times over.

 

And sure, he could never return home, but…

 

Well, that silver haired bastard had taken that away from him. Besides, home was right here. In the presence of this tall, dark haired, drop dead handsome fellow who seemed always so optimistic, even in the presence of certain doom.

 

Besides, he supposed there was a silver lining. He had met this ravenette, whom he loved. And adored. Who treated him like a friend, and…maybe something more, he hoped. Gods, he couldn’t spit it the hell out. Neither of them could. Perhaps neither would be able to. Or maybe the pair would get over their blushing and stuttering and come out with it. Who knows.

 

“Yeah, good idea.” He hummed, feeling the taller male’s hands squeeze his own back, reassuringly. Making him smile, albeit shyly. With barely concealed trepidation. Taking one last look at the defeated expendables lying all around them. Course the corporation would continue lobbing bodies at them. Got to tell themselves they’re doing something.

 

The pair slid easily onto the ravenette’s bike, with the blonde wrapping his arms around the taller man’s waist. Chest pressed to his back.

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

Hello, I hope you are well! I was thinking that the reader has a friend and one day they meet at her house and y/n meets her friend's mother (Marilyn) and ends up liking her (there can be smut if you want) I'm sorry if you don't understand what I wanted to say

Yesss!! I hope you like it, and sorry about the language mistakes.

How I seduced your mother

Pairing: Marilyn Thornhill x Fem! Reader

Warnings: slightly implied smut, nothing explicit

Word count: 2,970

Summary: You didn’t know you friend’s mother, but when you do it, you can’t stop thinking about her.

N/A: Requests are open!!! I love you all!!

“Where did you say your house was?” You asked, looking around you.

“(Y/N), you don't have much sense of direction,” your friend told you. “The green mailbox.”

“The green mailbox,” You repeated in a mocking tone, looking for something that matched that description. “Oh, okay, I see that.”

It was a Friday night, which meant “girls night” to you and your friend Becca. That day there was going to be an important novelty, this time it was going to be at her house, and not at yours, as always. Becca always made excuses not to go to her house, but by force of insisting and insisting, she finally confessed to you that her mother was a bit weird, and that she didn't want you to get a bad impression. Nonsense, in your opinion. You didn't think there was anyone on Earth weirder than you.

You went up the small stairs, finally hanging up the phone and rang the bell.

“I'm coming!” a voice that wasn't your friend's said from the other side.

The door opened and you had to blink twice. A really beautiful woman was there, smiling and wearing what looked like gardening gloves.

“You must be (Y/N), I'm Marilyn, Becca's mother,” she said, playfully removing one of her gloves and offering you her hand.

“Gla, glad to meet you,” you said, shaking it politely. You deeply wished you hadn't blushed, you were a very impressionable girl, and women of a certain age were your biggest obsession.

“Please, don't stay there, come in, Becca is in the shower,” she told you kindly. You nodded and entered the small house.

“Yes, I think I haven't left her alone, I couldn't find your house,” you said, trying to sound amused in a slightly clumsy way. Marilyn smiled at you, putting the glove back on and going to a strange plant that she had on a table.

“Wow, that, is that a carnivorous plant?” You asked, trying not to create an awkward silence. The redhead looked at you and nodded, gesturing for you to come closer. “I've never seen one of these up close.”

“Well, people don't usually plant them in their garden, I guess not everyone likes them,” she told you, looking at the plant. You watched it too, quite interested.

You knew that she was a botany teacher at an academy, but that woman, was a complete stranger to you.

“I like it,” you whispered. You were breathing too fast. You expected to find some strange, eccentric or too sappy woman, but nothing like that. Marilyn was a kind woman, and she seemed quite normal to you, among other things…

“Do you want to feed it?” She asked you. You doubted when you saw a glass with living worms, but your curiosity was stronger than the disgust that those bugs gave you.

“Okay, okay,” you stammered. She nodded and gave you one of her gloves. With care and a bit of reluctance, you reached into that jar and pulled out one of those disgusting worms, and left it where she indicated. You watched as the plant closed in an almost hypnotic way, but you weren't sure if that emotion you felt was precisely because of that.

You didn't usually notice the first woman that passed by your side, but sometimes, for some reason, you fell in love at first sight.

“Hey, (Y/N).” Your friend Becca came down the stairs and greeted you.

“Hi Becca,” you said, coming out of your thoughts a bit.

“Mom, are you already bothering (Y/N) with your plants? It didn't take you ten minutes, huh?” She reproached her. Marilyn just sighed and winked at you. You felt the imperious need defend her.

“It wasn't her fault, B, it was me who asked her,” you said, winking back to the redhead.

“Okay,” your friend said, pointing to the stairs. “Let's go upstairs, I bought pizza.”

“You mean I bought pizza,” her mother said, amused, earning a furious look from her daughter.

You went up the stairs to your friend's room, where you took off your shoes and left your backpack on the mattress on the floor. You began to talk about your stuff soon , about the university, about the desperate love of your friend... But in your head there were many questions, and all in the same direction.

“Hey, B, why did you say that your mother was weird? She seems quite normal to me,” you asked, drinking your soda. Becca raised her eyebrows and looked at you with a shrug.

“Well, that's because you don't know her, she's always with her plants, sometimes I think she loves them more than me.”

“I'm convinced that's not true,” you said, trying to hide your curiosity.

“Well, maybe I’m overreacting. Ever since she broke up with her girlfriend, she has been more aware of them, I guess she does that to forget. That woman was an idiot anyway, I never tired of repeating it to her, but she is too innocent. They always do with her whatever they want.

You choked on that new information, which on the other hand you were unaware of. Becca didn't have any secrets from you, but for some reason she had that one kept under lock and key.

“Did you say girlfriend?” You asked, lowering your voice a little.

“Yes, girlfriend,” your friend repeated, somehow annoyed by your insistence.

“Wow, you hadn't told me that,” you said, giving her a nudge. Becca turned to face you and frowned, like when she was going to threaten you about something.

“Of course not. I'm not crazy,” she told you seriously. You smiled, not understanding why so much secrecy. “I know you, (Y/N), I know your tastes, and unfortunately my mother fits them. So don't even think about it.”

“Do not think about what?” You asked, pretending to be clueless.

“Don't play dumb with me. My mother is untouchable , okay?” She asked in a truly serious tone. You were such a good friends that you couldn't even hide that this woman did catch your attention. You decided to joke around a bit, as usual.

“Well, that's for her to decide, right?” You said with a seductive voice, knowing that you were starting to make your friend nervous.

“(Y/N), I'm going to say it once: Don’t, come closer, to, my, mother,” she told you, narrowing her eyes. You stuck out your tongue at her mockingly, and she responded by throwing a pillow at you, which led to an absurd fight.

After two horror movies and endless talks, it was time to sleep. You had a good time, but the new information you received left you a little indecisive. You didn't usually break your promises, but you liked that woman from the first moment. You had been with a few women of that age, but none of them had caught your attention that much. You were curious, and knowing that there was a remote chance that she would notice you made you set a goal for yourself. You weren't going to get close to her, thus keeping your promise to your friend, but maybe you could somehow get her to get close to you. You liked those kinds of games, it was your favorite hobby, and if your friend was on the lookout, much better.

You fell asleep right away, but the next day you would put your plan into action.

The vibration of your phone woke you up. Becca was snoring in her bed, but the early morning light was already streaming in through the window. Now all you had to do was sharpen your ear for her. Soon your wish came true, and a shower sounded softly somewhere in the house. After a while, footsteps came down the hall. It was the time.

“Great,” you whispered to yourself, getting up off the ground, trying not to make a sound. You always slept in your underwear and a tank top. You made a move to get dressed, but the panties you were wearing seemed enough, and besides, the longer you stayed in the room, the greater the risk that Becca would wake up.

Tiptoeing you got out of the room and went down the stairs. Marilyn was there, already dressed, watering the house plants. Looking up at you she freaked out a little, and she jumped.

“(Y/N), you scared me,” she said with her hand on her chest and a shy smile. You put on the face of a good girl.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to,” you said, pretending to rub your eyes. Through the holes left by your hand, you looked at her, which for a moment ran through your body from top to bottom. A small smile appeared on your face.

“I haven't woken you up, right?” She asked you innocently. You shook your head, taking a few steps forward.

“I always get up early, I like to see the sunrise,” you whispered strangely. She smiled tenderly and continued watering the plants.

“Do you need help?” You asked, moving closer until you were right behind her. Marilyn stopped and turned slowly to look at you, surely surprised by how close you were.

“Um… Well… Well, if you want to finish watering, I… I can make some coffee,” she said, stuttering, avoiding looking at you directly. She had gotten nervous, it was a good sign.

“Perfect,” you said, dragging your words, and taking your hand to hers to take the watering can, but not before caressing her hand, "by accident."

She went to the kitchen so fast that you couldn't help but laugh. Becca was right, it wouldn't be hard to seduce her.

You finished your task and went to the redhead, who was quietly making coffee. You rested your elbows on the island and leaned over, leaving a good view of your breasts for whoever wanted to look.

“How do you like your coffee, (Y/N)?” She asked with a cup in her hand. When she turned around, she was blocked, unable to avoid looking. You were hiding, looking at your phone.

“I like it black…” You sighed, ignoring the fact that she had looked directly at your cleavage. You didn't think she would fall so fast. Marilyn shook her head and cleared her throat, looking away from your prying breasts.

“I can make a tit for you... A, a tea if you prefer,” she said, her face red with shame for that little big lapse.

“Coffee is okay, thank you very much, Marilyn,” you said kindly, but without taking your eyes off her.

“You, you’re welcome.”

That coffee was one of the most tense moments of your life. She was smiling, yes, but she was nervous, restless, surely because of your little provocations. Becca hadn't gotten up yet, so you could still make her mom even more nervous, but don't going overboard. She took her mug from and set it on the sink, not wiping that smile off her face. You got up from the stool and took yours, leaving it in the same place, but touching your body with her on purpose. The redhead made no attempt to move away from her and let you brush up against her. It could have been coincidence, but you didn't think so. Still, it couldn't be that simple. You were her daughter's friend, 17 years younger. Nobody would think it was a good idea to be seduced by someone like you. When you put the mug down, you made a risky move, gently stroking her arm. She turned suddenly, and opened her mouth to say something, but the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs seemed to dissuade her.

“Good morning,” Becca said, yawning.

That interruption told you that you should stop your advances, at least for that day. You weren't sure if you had managed to get her attention, but you had a good feeling.

The following week, Becca told you that she was going away with her boyfriend for a couple of days. It was the perfect moment, the unbeatable opportunity to make your fantasies come true, or at least to try.

You went up the small stairs again and, biting your lip, you rang the bell. After a few seconds, the door opened, and Marilyn seemed very surprised to see you.

“(Y/N), hasn't Becca told you that she's gone with Jack?” She asked, faking a smile. It was clear that your presence made her uncomfortable, but you didn't know in what way.

“I know, I've come to see you,” you said naturally. She raised her eyebrows and sighed, pointing to herself.

“Oh, me?” She asked, puzzled.

“Yes, I've thought about putting some plants in my apartment, and I came to ask your advice, but if you're busy…” You said, turning around, feigning disappointment.

“Wait, wait,” the redhead told you, grabbing her arm. “Yeah, sure. I'd love to give you advice, please come in.”

You smiled victoriously and turned around, pretending a normal face.

You spent a while making up an excuse, and listening to what seemed like an endless symposium about plants. It wasn't boring, and it also helped you see that you had some things in common, apart from Becca, of course.

“Which one do you choose?” She asked.

“I think that the cactus is the best for me, I'm very clueless,” you said amused, placing a hand on her leg, casually.

“It's, it's a good choice…” She said, starting to get nervous again. You did not withdraw your hand, what's more, you began to raise it little by little. Marilyn got up from her chair, startled, and her gaze turned serious.

“(Y/N), enough,” she told you. “What are you doing?”

You played clueless again.

“What do you mean?” You asked, at the same time that you got up too

“I think you know what I mean.”

“I have no idea, Marilyn.”

The redhead smiled nervously and she shook her head, as if she was hallucinating. It was time to move token. You were getting closer to her little by little, and she was backing away, until her back collided with a wall.

“Do I make you nervous?” You asked, changing your tone of voice and approaching her ear.

“A, a little. I, I don't know what you want from me, but I don't…” She said, hesitating, avoiding to look into your eyes.

“I want you, Marilyn, you're the sexiest woman I've ever seen,” you said directly. Becca wasn't there and you decided to stop being nice, you had been thinking about her all week.

“Are you crazy, (Y/N)? I am, I am your friend’s mother.” She said, with a less surprised tone than you expected.

“So? She's not here right now…” You whispered, shamelessly putting your hands on her waist.

“I don't know what you may have imagined, but I didn't…” She murmured, stopping when your body got too close to hers. “I think, I think you should go.”

She was lying and you knew it. You noticed how her cheeks were flushed, her pulse was racing and she avoided looking into your eyes. It wasn't the first time you'd seen someone in that state.

“Did you like my breasts?” You asked, causing the redhead to widen her eyes, shaking her head profusely.

“What are you talking about?”

You laughed mischievously, seeing how, as much as she was protesting, she made no attempt to remove your arms from her waist.

“I saw you looking at them the other day… I bet if Becca hadn't shown up, you would have ended up taking me right there,” you hissed in her ear.

“I… I don't…” She sighed, unable to continue speaking. You got very close to her lips, without touching them. Her breathing was rough and her whole body began to tremble, as if she were holding herself back.

You finally kissed her slowly. It was a short kiss that didn't last more than two seconds, but it confirmed that you were right. She moved a little away from you and shook her head again.

“No, (Y/N), this is not right... You are, you are my daughter's friend,” she said, moving her hands towards your face, as if that absurd resistance she had with herself was gradually dissolving.

“Tell me I should stop, and I'll do it…” You said, now going to her neck, without her doing anything to stop it. Marilyn closed her eyes, enjoying your kisses.

“(Y/N)…” She gasped, kissing you unexpectedly. That kiss was passionate, hungry. You smiled triumphantly as you saw her defenses fall and you deepened the kiss, caressing her entire body with your hands.

Her hands began to move as well, getting under your hair and caressing your clavicle.

“Oh, my God… This is wrong…” She said between kisses. “This is so wrong…”

“Shh,” you said, putting a finger on her lips. “Let yourself go.”

Your jacket fell to the ground as desperate gasps began to fill that house. Marilyn grabbed your hand and walked up the stairs, dragging you after her. You entered her bedroom, without leaving a second to breathe. You laughed and fell on the bed, looking suggestively at the redhead.

“Get naked, (Y/N),” she ordered you. You raised your eyebrows at that sudden change in attitude, but you obeyed with delight. You only left your bra and underwear. Marilyn climbed on the bed and was on top of you, looking at your body in an almost disturbing way.

“Do you like what you see?” You asked defiantly. Suddenly, she slapped you on the cheek, not very hard.

“Shut up, silly girl. Tell me, (Y/N), do you like to go around provoking people?”

You smiled. You liked those kinds of games, but you didn't expect a woman who looked so sweet to have those kinks.

“ I only provoke the people I like,” you said defiantly.

[starmanskywalker]

in the thick of it • anakin skywalker/reader

politician!au featuring the one and only anakin skywalker. this was written and rewritten a thousand times buttt i hope you enjoy it anyway. smut. dni if you're a minor or you'll be blocked <3 this is made for +18 eyes only!

some mentions to codywan in this one

tw for a completely unhealthy, unbalanced and dubcon-ish relationship between boss and employee. will i ever write a fic where anakin is a good guy? i dunno unbeta'ed. and as always - my askbox is open for feedback and prompts! i wanna hear you ❤️ 

summary: Anakin does whatever it takes to have you whenever and any way he wants.

word count: 4.630

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

"Hello?" Your voice is still groggy from sleep.

"Y/N, sorry for calling you so late at night." Anakin's tone is more serious than usual, his voice a little husky too. "Were you awake?" You're sure he doesn't really care if you were already awake or not. 

"Yeah. I was. It's okay."

"I need to talk to you in person. May I go to your place?"

"Anakin--" your reluctance is palpable. Your neighbors might hear and notice he's seeing you outside of the work environment. "It's not safe."

"I just need to talk. Nothing else."

"I didn't presume anything else," you sigh. "Did something happen?"

“A minor inconvenience.” He won’t elaborate, to your utter annoyance. “Nothing serious, I handled the situation already. But you should know it happened."

"Can't you just tell me over the phone what it was then?"

"No. See you in 30."

"See you."

It's quite interesting how the tone of the words he shared with you changed throughout the years, along with the character of your relationship.

When he thought he got it all figured out on the path to his election, and he met your glossy, impressionable and eager eyes for the first time as you assumed a role as a volunteer in his campaign, he always spoke to you in a place of barely there conceit; Skywalker was a people pleaser, his dream job expected him to be one, but in the few times you were alone with him you could sense an aura of superiority that could eat him alive in the campaign, even if you believed in "the chosen one" as ardently as his growing base of voters. 

How couldn't you?

He was the golden, gifted child raised by a single mother in an inhospitable hometown, who made something out of himself in the middle of life's greatest adversities, gave his mother (bless her!) a nice life and wanted the entire country to have one shot at that, too, while being well aware of how different starting points are in people's lives. 

Anakin Skywalker might’ve been a bit of a conceited cunt sometimes, but just because he knew how good the cards that were dealt to him in that race were. 

You eventually got his respect as he noticed how good of a marketing strategist you were. He started listening to you more, being less stubborn in his ways - you see, when someone is used to being praised a lot, to making things their way their entire life and it works as well as it did for him, they become a bit rusty in listening to other people's advice. But who could blame him? What you knew for certain is that victory would suit him like a glove, and you work so very hard to make it happen. 

Then, some months after he's elected and you're part of his team for real, he starts confiding in you. About his fears, his struggles – there was a man inside the expensive suits, inspiring speeches and dashing smiles, after all. A deeply flawed man.

You've become essential to him, the most loyal ally he could've ever found. You found yourself living for the two of you, yet that didn't overwhelm you as you kinda knew what you signed up for the moment the campaign ended and you felt that working for Anakin Skywalker was working for something greater than yourself. 

So you learned to deal with the late night messages, the outbursts, the pile of paperwork and enough bullshit in the system to drive one crazy. You knew you needed to be strong. You became a blank canvas for him to paint all of his feelings in everyday, usually the worst ones. 

At one point of your journey, you felt like you were prepared for absolutely everything. 

Until the fateful night a familiar Rolls-Royce stopped by your apartment with a very drunk Anakin Skywalker inside. 

Obi-wan betrayed me, Y/N, he screamed, I'm gonna fucking kill him!

You tried your best for your neighbors not to hear his outburst. You cannot pinpoint the exact moment things got out of control as you were trying to conjure a plan to get back at Kenobi without involving death out of thin air - but you eventually gave in. Perhaps in an attempt at pacification, as the air thickened between the two of you and this pent up tension within him seemed desperate to go somewhere, anywhere, you let him lay his rage on you in yet another way, and ended up the night with his hips grinding firmly against your ass, Anakin caging you between his body and the walls of your flat as he pulled whimper after whimper from your throat. 

You don't know if your concession was out of pity. You don't know if was your stupid, blind devotion that called you to him. You weren't exactly comfortable with the concept of fucking your boss or a public figure as known as him (Anakin ticked those two boxes, for fuck's sake!). You strongly disliked being under the watchful eyes of his opponents, nosy journalists and jealous coworkers; you missed how simple things were when people didn't notice you. 

However, it was quite the conundrum: you also couldn't forget how good he made you feel by driving into you hard, fast and rough, making you feel like no other man ever could that night.

Things changed drastically between you two after that. His words were curt, his eyes eerily attentive to your every movement. You knew just by looking at him that whenever you were reporting something to him, his mind was 100% somewhere else. And you knew that you both wanted it again.

But you did your best not to make it that clear. There were plenty of other things at stake.

As a statement, the only thing you do in order to make yourself more presentable is brush your teeth, not even changing from your PJs. You scroll mindlessly through your Instagram feed as you hear a subtle, punctual knock on your door. It's him, moving like a ghost through your building so he's unheard and unseen by your neighbors. It's impressive how impeccable he looks at this time of night - he's got a penchant for waking you up at odd hours while looking good. 

"Kenobi knows," he whispers right as you close your door, aware of how thin your walls are. "But let's say I got a collateral."

"What are you talking about?" You lower your tone to match his. 

"He knows about what happened between me and you. But he's fucking Cody, too, and I got proof." He says with a devilish smirk on his face as he takes a pendrive out of his pocket. 

Your hand covers your mouth instinctively in shock. "What? How could he possibly… I didn't…"

"He's been spying on you for a while, something I also advised him diplomatically to stop doing. But if he leaks anything to the media, I leak 66 pictures of him and his precious assistant. Satine would be so pleased, don't you think?"

"Anakin… fuck. I swear I didn't tell a soul. I'm sorry." You were terribly afraid. 

"I know you didn't," he answers, cupping your cheek tenderly, so overly confident of how important he and his well-being are to you. "It's all taken care of. There's nothing to be sorry or worry about."

"We shouldn't…" you mutter pathetically as his hand doesn't leave your now burning cheek.

"No one will ever try that again. Everyone has similar, or worse, skeletons in their closet."

"How could you know that?"

"I just do."

He turns around and moves towards your bed, sinking in it. You're still in shock, yet you manage to stammer, pointing to the flash drive in his hand: "Do you… want me to keep it?"

"No, this will stay with me."

"Is that really all you came to do?"

"I thought you would be less on edge." He props himself up on his elbows.

"You just told me your biggest enemy is spying on me! And that he found out I fucked you!"

"And that he's not telling a soul because I've got worse dirt!"

"He could leak it and say your collateral's a deepfake."

"He won't risk it because it's real and he knows it. That's all that matters."

He motions for you to sit by his side. You do as you're told, albeit reluctantly. He notices it: "Why are you so afraid of me?"

"I'm not afraid of you," you scoff, almost insulted. "I can assure you that."

"Then why are you so nervous just talking to me? You know me so well."

You refuse to meet his gaze. You know it's hungry.

"I don't know what to say." A pause as you choose your words very carefully. "I'm afraid of the repercussions."

"I already told you there won't be any."

"The more you speak the more I know this little visit of yours wasn't just a newscast."

"And what if it wasn't?"

"Are you sure you don't wanna do this anywhere else?"

"You indeed know what I came here for, then." he chuckles darkly. "There's no safer place in this entire country right now, Y/N. I want you. Couldn't sleep thinking about you." He grabs your chin delicately, his gaze now deep into yours. His eyes are so fucking blue you forget how to breathe. "Something needs to be done about that."

You close your eyes, joining your legs tight almost instinctively trying to contain the wave of heat that is sent to your core at the sound of his voice. Feeling your arousal mounting and your breathing hitch, he goes on in a husky whisper as his fingers make way for his lips to travel through your cheek, your neck, your collarbones. "I know you feel it too. You're desperate to cum around my cock again," the visual, and the memories, are enough to drive your core body temperature up another few degrees. You're tense and stressed and exhausted and sweating and does his voice usually sound this breathy? You shiver in anticipation. A bit of fear, too. "I went to hell and back just to assure we would do it again and no one could say a single… thing." he punctuates this last word with one especially lascivious kiss in your skin and you are unable to hold back the tiny pathetic moan that escapes your mouth. "Won't you value my efforts?"

Skywalker is emboldened by your wordless, audible encouragement, diving both of his hands inside your hair and pulling you for a kiss, which you reciprocate in the same eagerness though in a little less desperate way than last time. Hopefully, no one will know, and he's laying his desire on you instead of his anger, so it's natural that things go a bit smoother this time. As one of his hands keeps you in place and his tongue glides deliciously against yours, the other traces the inside of your flimsy shirt exploringly. It's the first time he's touching you without the wrath, a thought that exacerbates the heat swirling over your mind and senses. Anakin's hand encircles your chest, slipping beneath your blouse and palming at your tits, his lips muffling yet another little moan that action draws from you. He has to comment on it, the smirk on his face making you blush.

"I missed hearing those little sounds of yours, baby."

He looks like he could eat you alive in the brief seconds your lips spend apart. "I will value your efforts, sir." You don't care if your answer comes out a little late. And you know the effect proper formality has on him.

That opens the dam.

The moment your lips meet again, the kiss deepens. You move further up the bed and he follows you, wolfishly, doing his best to undress himself and you gradually, you helping him. He touches you everywhere, as if you're about to disappear at any given moment; as if it was possible for two humans to fuse into one. Tonight he wants unlimited access to you, wants to take you in any position he can all while your neighbors sleep soundly just the other side of the wall.

You’re so wet as he slides his first finger between your folds that he can’t help but mutter depravity after depravity under his breath, marveling at just how good you feel. You bite down on your lip as he works on you, hips rolling against his hand in a desperate attempt to get him deeper inside you.

The duvet crumples in your fist as you clutch at it, trying to keep quiet as he pleasures you, Skywalker taking a great amount of joy in just how much you’re struggling already. You can see how hard his cock is and how it's throbbing, and you can't help but wonder how long it’ll be before he gives you what you really want. If his smugness will wear off once he’s fully inside you and biting back the urge to drill into you until you both scream. He never had been a patient man. His breaths grow louder up in your ear as he works his way deeper inside you, your toes curling and fidgeting under the covers as you try and keep quiet. He presses open mouthed kisses against your neck as you bury your face in the covers, letting his tongue trail along your skin. His lips smother all over your tits, licking and sucking and kissing wherever he can get to. A shiver runs down your spine at the feel of his tongue featherlight against your nipples, spreads out across your entire body so that every hair stands on end.

You can feel his hot breath against your skin as he works his way down your body, breath caught in your throat at the anticipation of his mouth against your folds. He makes you wait for it. Has you fidgeting and writhing in the sheets beneath him as you hang on his every move.

“Please,” you whisper, so quiet he almost misses it over the sound of his breathing.

You share intense stares as he teases you first, kissing and sucking at the skin on your inner thighs, moving closer and closer to your center until after a couple minutes of that sweet agony his lips graze across that aching part of you. He flicks his tongue delicately through your folds, playing with your wetness. The way his hands caress your thigh so delicately while his tongue inscribes poems to your clit is something that makes your stomach flutter - he’s doing his best to fuck you up, gradually setting a rhythmic pace to his movements with the intent to release the spring now starting to coil tightly low in your abdomen.

“Jesus, Ani—f-fuck. Fuck.” You whimper, breathlessly, while simultaneously suppressing a moan when he delves his tongue even deeper in your core, your fingers instinctively curling and closing a fist on his hair, making him groan. You buck your hips against his lips and you can feel sweat beading on the backs of your knees, heart threatening to jump out of your mouth by how fast it’s racing.

As he sees how badly he’s affecting you, he starts fucking you with his fingers, and they move, stroke, curl inside of you in delightful ways while his tongue begins to work your clit in tight little circles. You could feel him moaning against your sex, he really liked this. And fuck, he was good at it. He slips one more finger into you, his ring finger, making your pleasure soon explode into a trembling climax. You couldn’t stop the sound you made and he kisses your thigh in reply while you lazily ride your orgasm in his hand. “You’re fucking delicious,” he whispers. “Think you still have another one in you for me?”

“God,” you reply weakly, “I don’t know.”

“Let’s find out, then.” Moving up, he nudges your thighs apart and hovers over you, his pelvis cradled by your hips and his hands planted on the mattress near your shoulders. 

You glare at him like a petulant child, and he finds your slight resistance oddly arousing, mainly because you still unconsciously stick to it even after losing yourself to his mouth. Not that he wants to overpower you, necessarily. He just wants to convince you that you want to be overpowered. His hand slides underneath your chin, tilts your head up just enough that he can lean down to meet your lips. They’re soft against your own, gentle in a way as they move against you. You open your mouth to him, feel his tongue caress your bottom lip before it meets your own. The taste of him mixed with yours is like ecstasy, making your body come alive quickly once again. Whatever part of you was holding back is gone as you knot your hands into his hair, pressing your body impossibly closer to him. You can feel him smiling beneath your lips, his hands finding a home underneath your ass as pulls you closer to his naked body, your legs wrapping around his hips.

He then pins you down to the bed in a swift motion as if scolding you for your eagerness - what does that fucker want? - and, with his other hand, jerks himself off slowly, watching the way your eyes are fixed on him as he does so. He places a hand under your chin, tilts it up so you’re forced to look at him, to peel your eyes away from his cock. “Are you gonna be a good girl for me?” His voice is breathy as he works on himself.

You nod against his hand, fingers on either side of your jaw, batting your lashes at him while you wait.

“Yes.”

The moment he presses inside you and feels you clench around his shaft is like heaven. You’re warm and wet and tight, everything he loves, and he can only sigh at the feel of you, his long, drawn-out breath warm against your neck. All the waiting, all the stress, all the guilt you were surely going to feel tomorrow morning, was worth it for the feel of him inside you. It feels like an eternity until his hips meet yours, until he’s fully submerged in your warmth, your bodies entwined in the most intimate of ways.

“God you’re so fucking tight—” he hisses, placing a hand on your hip as he withdraws from you, only to press into you again, harder this time, so a cry escapes from your lips. “Tight little pussy just for me.”

He spreads kisses along your neck, your jaw, licks into your mouth as he works up a rhythm, hips rocking into yours with building pace. You submit to him fully, letting him do as he pleases with you, because god, does it feel good. You’re grateful for the kisses he presses against your mouth, the way he uses his hand to press your face impossibly closer to him, because at least it muffles the constant stream of moans from your mouth. A muddle of curses, breaths and mentions of his name, over and over like a broken record. And he loves it, you can tell. The way he fucks into you, almost furiously now, so much that you can hear the headboard banging against the wall, drowning out the sounds the two of you were making.

“Bet no one ever fucked you like this, huh?” Anakin grunts, leaning back to watch your face, the way your brows pull together, hair fanned out around you on the pillows.

You shake your head, unable to do anything more in the moment, your mind filled only with pleasure.

“Answer me,” he demands, planting a sharp slap across your cheek.

The sweet sting of it is hot against your skin, and you smile at the sensation. You didn’t know what that felt like before him, how it was to have a lover who could truly push you to your limits.

“No! Only you baby--”

“That’s right.” He fucks into you harder as if to justify his point, his hands firm on your hips as he ruts into them.

You look gorgeous, lying there and taking him like that, the pillow princess that you are. He palms at your tits as they bounce with the motion of his thrusts, the whole bed seeming to shake with the power of his hips. “Every time you touch yourself, I want you to think of me,” he grunts breathlessly, “of how fuckin’ good I make you feel, of how deep I am in this pussy.”

The sound of his gruff voice and the pounding of your hips has you panting, gasping for breath as you feel the knot in your stomach growing tight again, your orgasm not far off now. Maybe if you were in a clearer state of mind, you’d tell him you already thought of him that way.

 “Yesyesyes!” You pant. “Fuck, I’m so close sir, I—”

“You don’t come until I tell you to, understand?” He grips your jaw, forces you to look him in the eye as he speaks.

You nod, knowing you’d only be in for a punishment if you didn’t do as he said. Not that you’d mind, of course. You were willing to let him do whatever he wanted with you for as long as he wanted it. He’s damn-near red in the face with the exertion of fucking you. The sweat beginning to cause his light locks to stick to his forehead, making his chest glisten in the dim light of your room. His muscles flex in his arm as he grips you, veins thick against his pale skin as he holds you in place. The sheer sight of him like that would be enough to steal the breath from your throat – if you had any left. You try to save that image of him in your mind, store it for when he undoubtedly left you again.

 “Please Anakin, please I…” you’re pleading now.

It was cruel of him to tease you like that, to know you were so close and keep fucking you at the pace he was, thrusting into you so deep you wondered how he didn’t rupture something.

 “You want to come? Is that it?”

There are tears in your eyes as you nod, because you’re sure you might burst, might explode all over him if he doesn’t say yes, doesn’t give you permission to succumb to the pleasure. His hips slow as he drags his cock in and out of you at an aching pace, making you feel every inch of his length. If it were anyone other than him, you’d be embarrassed at the noises coming from your pussy, how it squelches around him, paints him with your juices. But you can see that he’s smiling, enjoying the way you’re writhing beneath him, hanging on his every word. He pulls his cock all the way out of you then, and somehow that’s worse, leaves you feeling empty in his absence.

“Promise me you won’t fuck any other guy ever again.” He demands.

He knows exactly what he’s doing as he says the words, know you’ll agree to anything he says if it means you get to finish, but there’s part of him that wants you to bite back. To say something other than yes, just so he can punish you. He watches as you smile, try to keep the words from tumbling out of your mouth like you know they inevitably will. But you wanted to fight them, so you bite down on your lip, watch as he eyes you eagerly, dark eyes searching your expression.

 “Don’t make me tease it out of you,” he warns, trailing a finger along your folds, grazing it against your clit for just a second, making you yelp.

You whisper a very fragile yes, knowing you were basically selling your body, mind and soul entirely to him. His lips then press to yours roughly as he rolls you over onto your side, never breaking the kiss as he slides himself down behind you, raises your leg up in the air with his hand. You press yourself back up against him, hear him grunt as he lines himself up with you, the first feel of him back inside you making you whimper.

He curses under his breath as he begins to rut into you, his lips buried in your neck, one hand on your hip, the other reaching under you to clutch at your tits. He loved to have you like that, to cradle you while he fucked you, whisper all the dirty things he was thinking right into your ear. And it works just as well now as it did before, your toes curling as you try and hold on to the sensation building in your core. He feels impossibly deeper inside you from this angle, his balls against you with each thrust. You can feel his hot breath as he works you back up towards your orgasm, the sweat on his chest sticking the two of you together. Every word from his mouth is amplified in your ears, and you can tell he must be close to finishing too from the way he rambles, rattling off every word that comes to mind.

“This pussy’s all mine… feels so good— shit,”

His hips are increasing pace now, the sound of your ass slapping against him and ragged breaths filling the room. Your face is half-buried in the pillow, moans muffled as he nips at your neck, bites down on the skin in an attempt to hold off his own orgasm a little longer. Though he can feel you clenching and tightening around him, your own finish not far off now.

“Fuck,” he’s panting now .“Holy shit, baby-mph— please come for me.”

You’d never heard him beg like that. Beg for you. You wish you could tease him, make him beg some more but the feel of him pounding you is too much, his hips going into overdrive now that he’s given you the permission to finish. You clutch desperately at his thigh, feel the muscles beneath your fingertips as your eyes screw shut, clenching around him. You can feel him twitching inside you, hear his grunts getting louder, a little more exasperated, his thrusts erratic. The knot in your stomach is so tight, so close, and you whine as you feel your orgasm finally surfacing, spreading out across your entire body.

Your thighs are trembling, your moans cutting off into silence as he fucks you furiously through your orgasm, each pound of his hips against yours amplifying the sensation. You feel it in your toes, your fingers, the pit of your stomach, every inch of your body on fire as he loves you. He’s only a moment or two behind, a garbled moan spilling from his mouth as you feel his warmth of his come gush inside you. His thrusts slow as he lets his head fall against your shoulder, his chest heaving out of sync with yours as you lie there, overcome with the bliss of it all.

Only when you’re both splayed out on your backs, pulse no longer hammering in your ears and your breaths just beginning to stabilise, does you start to speak. “I wonder how diplomatic your conversation with Obi-wan was in order for him to keep quiet. I’m pretty sure people heard us tonight.”

“Very diplomatic.” He limits himself to say. “I’ll do anything to have you like this, baby, whenever I want.”

[notanotherreidgirl]

Ruin Me

Summary: Spencer has been very needy and bratty so Reader teaches him a lesson

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+, handjob, edging, degradation, exhibitionism/public sex, ruined orgasm, mommy kink

Word Count: 1220

A/N: I combined this request with this one. This is part of the Mommy Kink Collection

You were gripping your wine glass in your hand so tightly it was a miracle it didn’t shatter. Saying you were mad was an understatement. Furious would be more accurate or maybe livid. Spencer would have a thesaurus full of descriptors for your current mood but if anyone asked you would settle for pissed. 

You were absolutely pissed and it was taking everything in you not to grab Spencer and drag him out the door. But you were in Strauss’ home in heels with half the department milling about talking about recent cases and budget cuts so you plastered on a smile and did your best to make small talk. Spencer popped another hor d’oeuvre in his mouth and shot you a cheeky smile from across the room, turning back to the gaggle of female agents fawning over him. 

He was trying to get back at you for denying him all day. He had been insatiable - constantly touching your arm, your waist, your hand. When you left the BAU he had slipped into the elevator behind you, pulling you in close enough to feel his prominent arousal. But you were resolute in your denial, pointing out that you were already running late and reminding him of how Hotch had reacted the last time you had skipped a departmental mixer. 

But he wouldn’t stop. Trying to get in the shower with you, pawing at you while you got undressed, kissing you while you put on makeup (nearly ruining your eyeliner), and whining when you pulled his coat on and ushered him out the door. But Spencer, ever the magician, had a few tricks up his sleeve. As soon as you pulled in he produced his glasses from his jacket pocket, smirking a bit as he put them on and slid out the car. Those stupid, beautiful glasses that perfectly framed his doe eyes and turned your brain to mush. Strike 1

To make matters worse he stayed away from you for the entire party, suddenly becoming a social butterfly and talking up every impressionable agent in his vicinity. He regaled them with stories of cases, filled their drinks for them, stood much too close for comfort. He was even doing magic tricks for god’s sake!

Nonetheless you kept your cool, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of a response. That was until one of them reached up and plucked his glasses from his face and put them on, striking a little pose and smiling up at him. His eyes darted over to you, knowing this was a step too far but he made no move to take them back. You held his gaze as you set your glass down and made your way to him. Despite his trepidation, you could make out the triumphant look in his eyes. The look that meant his plan had succeeded. Strike 2

You grabbed his arm harshly, pulling him to you and practically snatching the glasses from the poor agent’s face and tossing them in your purse. “I think Dr. Reid has forgotten something”

He stumbled a little. “Um I-I don’t think I forgot anything”

But you were already hauling him into an empty room and closing the door behind your back. “Really? Because it seems to me that you’ve forgotten who you belong to”

“And who’s fault is that?” he clamped his mouth shut as soon as he said it. Strike 3

You stalked forwards, forcing him to back up against a desk. “Watch yourself, baby. I will fuck that attitude right out of you” 

You expected him to launch into one of his well-practiced apologies but he only bit his lip, holding your gaze. It seemed your boy was committed to being a brat tonight. You gave him a sly, indecipherable smile as your hand drifted downwards. He whined, desperate to relieve the tightness in his pants and the ragged sigh he let out when you freed him lit a fire in the pit of your stomach. “Is this what you want? For me to stroke your little cock with the Director of the FBI in the other room?”

“Y-yes, Mommy. I want you so much. Wanted you all day” he squeezed his eyes shut, barely stifling the soft moans slipping out from his throat. There was no trace of his earlier arrogance in his voice now, just the desperate pleas of an exceptionally disobedient little boy. His hips bucked into your hand in anticipation of his growing release but you withdrew your hand at the last moment. He let out a low whine as his orgasm was extinguished. “No, no, no. Mommy please. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean to be bad. I promise I’ll never do it again just please let me cum”

You pretended to consider his offer, tilting your head to the side. “Hmmm, you promise?”

He nodded his head emphatically. “I promise, Mommy!”

You grasped him once again, collecting the precum that gathered at the head and spreading it down his length. He threw his head back, knowing that his release would be doubly powerful as a result of your earlier denial. You pumped him faster bringing him closer and closer to the edge until he started to tremble underneath you. Then without warning you pulled away.

For an agonizing second, Spencer thought he had been denied once again but then reflex took over. The electricity running down his spine petered out at the very end for an inadequate finish, leaving him deeply unsatisfied and feeling completely wrong. His cock spasmed pathetically, devoid of any stimulation, and a weak stream of thick cum leaked out. His mouth fell open soundlessly, a whimper caught in the back of his throat. He was still hard. If anything his erection demanded more attention than before but he didn’t dare touch it, knowing that he was much too sensitive.

“You said I could come” His voice was thick with emotion. A spark of pity ignited in your chest but you were quick to recall the image of Spencer flirting with those agents earlier, effectively squelching any possibility of mercy. 

“And you did, didn’t you?” It wasn’t the same. You knew it wasn’t but you gestured to the cum on his boxers all the same. He wanted to protest further but he wasn’t willing to risk more punishment. Instead he watched wordlessly, wincing slightly as you tucked him into his pants and pulled him to his feet. He shifted uncomfortably, already feeling the cum soak his underwear and begin to run down his leg. He looked at you, face etched with worry. “Are we going home now?”

“Nope. Mommy’s got work to do.” Your earlier anger had prevented you from doing any networking but that wasn’t a problem anymore. You fished his glasses from your purse and slipped them back on his face. “Do you think you can be a good boy for me now?”

He glanced down at his pants and nervously twisted his hands together. His mind whirred, calculating how long it would take until his situation became noticeable while trying to deduce how long you were planning on making him walk around a house full of profilers and skilled FBI agents with his boxers full of cum. “Yes, I can be good”

“That’s what I like to hear”

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[spectral-musette]

Hey! I hope you’re feeling better :) Could you do some older Obi Wan and Satine in an AU where they both live, The Emperor doesn’t get away with his craziness and we just have a happy Obitine living out the rest of their lives? :’)

Hey Anon, we all love some happiness AU now and then.<3 I wasn't sure if you meant fic or art, so I did a little bit of both? (And by "older" i wasn't sure if you meant like "transforming into Alec Guinness" older, but the ficlet (~1500 words) ended up set just a few years after the end of the war.)

. . . . .

“So early?”

The sun hadn’t yet risen above the jagged Coruscant skyline, and the pink morning light softly illuminated the room as the city lights began to wink off. Satine pushed her hair out of her face to better observe the lovely man sitting up next to her in her bed, bare-chested and lightly freckled, his own hair charmingly disarrayed as well.

He bent, kissing her temple, his beard soft against her cheek.

“I promised Cin I’d lead a saber workshop this morning.”

Satine rolled onto her back, reaching up to smooth his hair as he straightened. “Then I shan’t try to entice you to stay. Since you gave your word.”

“Your very existence entices me to stay,” he countered, smiling a little. “Always.”

“Oh, very nice. Early morning flattery.”

“Genuine,” he protested, making a show of looking wounded.

“Always?” she challenged, raising an eyebrow at him. “That’s a bit difficult to swallow in light of your 15 year absence from my company.”

“Believe me, I was very enticed,” he promised, kissing her again.

“You might have to convince me. But later, I suppose.” She heaved a sigh.

“I can probably get away in time for a late brunch,” he offered.

She shook her head slightly, pushing herself up reluctantly from her comfortable nest of pillows. “Padme wants me in a meeting at midday.”

“And the Chancellor must be obeyed.”

“Well. This one, anyway,” Satine said, with a twist of a wry smile. She meant no offense to Padme’s direct predecessor in the office, the Prince of Alderaan, but, even all these years later, they all still lived in the shadow of what Palpatine had nearly done to the Republic.

“I’ll see you this evening, then.” He pulled his undertunic on over his head, and Satine smoothed his hair again.

“I suppose, compared to 15 years, that’s not so long to wait.”

“It will feel like an eternity, I assure you.” He gathered her into his arms.

“If you keep that up, you’re going to be late. And what will you tell all those impressionable padawans if they ask what kept you?”

“They wouldn’t dare. My dear Satine, our relationship is the absolute worst kept secret in the Jedi Temple.”

“Worse than Padme and Anakin’s?”

“At this point, I think so. The arrival of the twins rather disqualified them from ‘secret’ status.”

“How is the new training system working out?”

“What, letting the Skywalkers go home with their father at the end of the day? It certainly hasn’t seemed to impede their progress compared to their peers. A few other families are trying it as well. A couple from Lothal just brought their son to us on a similar schedule and will be living on Coruscant for a few years at least.”

“I’m looking forward to learning about the process in great and personal detail when we are also no longer able to maintain the pretense of secrecy.”

He hitched up her chemise, resting a hand against the large scar below her sternum, pale even in comparison to her fair skin. If it hadn’t been for her long recovery from the damage to her spine, the Skywalker twins might already have a playmate. As it was, it was only about a year since she’d been healthy enough to consider trying to conceive.

“As am I,” he promised, his touch tender as he settled his hands on her waist and kissed her forehead.

“It does seem strange to watch the Jedi Order bend,” she pointed out when he picked up his outer tunic from the floor. She wasn’t above goading him a little, now and then.

He shook his head, taking it serenely, as usual. “We do change. It usually takes a bit more time, but with our ranks so thinned by the casualties of the war, relaxing the requirements for initiates only makes sense.”

“And ignoring the amorous exploits of Jedi Knights so that they make more initiates?” She ran her fingertips lightly over his face, leaving a lingering touch on his mouth.

“We more or less always did that.” He kissed her hand.

“I recall being a bit more discreet in the past.”

“That was for your sake, not mine,” he pointed out. “I might’ve had some official censure for being indiscreet, but I expect most of my cohorts were more likely to congratulate me on having the good fortune of catching your eye.”

“Well, the Mandalorians couldn’t deny that you’re handsome and a fine warrior, but, indeed, the situation would’ve been rather disagreeable at home if we’d been exposed, at the time,” she agreed.

“Do you miss it?” he asked softly.

“What, the ugly, hateful rhetoric and death threats from Mandalorian extremists?”

He shook his head. “Home. Sundari. Mandalore.”

“Sometimes,” she admitted. “Bo is doing well, though. She’s wiser than she used to be. Sometimes I wonder if it shouldn’t have always been her on the throne.”

“She’s ruling what you rebuilt. Do you think there would’ve been anything left if it had always been her?”

“More flattery.”

“Also genuine.”

“I like that you think that, anyway,” she admitted. “Hadn’t you better go?” she asked, regretful.

“I could skip breakfast,” he offered, leaning in to kiss her neck.

“And go to teach while you’re hungry and cross? I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she countered, giggling a little.

“I would not be cross,” he denied.

“Well, not at first. Anyway, I like that you suggested it, but you’d better not.”

“Actually,” he said, drawing back and giving her a twist of a smile. “There’s plenty of time. Workshop’s not till midmorning.”

“Then why all this pretense of getting dressed?” she demanded, indignant.

“One doesn’t like to assume. You might’ve wanted to go back to sleep.”

“My dear Obi-Wan, when have I ever preferred to go to back to sleep rather than…”

She didn’t have time to finish her sentence before he kissed her deeply.

. . . . .

(Evening...)

. . . . .

Satine wrapped her arms around his chest, nuzzling against him until he suddenly winced, breath hissing between his teeth.

“Old injury or new?” she asked, stepping back and looking him over critically.

“New. Nothing serious, I just think I overdid it at the saber workshop today.”

She circled him, running her hands over his shoulders.

“You’re all in knots,” she scolded. “Get your tunics off. Do you think you pulled something?”

He moved to oblige, flinching again. "I hope it's just a muscle cramp."

“Oh, let me.” She nudged his shoulder so that he turned to face her again, then ran her hands along the familiar lines of his tabard down to his waist, working at the fastening of his belt. “I don’t see why you didn’t go see the Healers.”

“It only just started to really trouble me.”

“Is that entirely honest?”

“You mean, I didn’t want to give some young upstart the satisfaction of saying he’d sent Master Kenobi to see the Healers? You think I’m that vain?” he asked, as she proceeded with divesting him of his tunics. He could afford a little vanity, she reflected, admiring the graceful lines of musculature of his lean form and leaning to plant a light kiss between his collar bones.

“I think you are… mindful of your reputation.” She couldn’t help smiling a little.

He snorted softly. “Perhaps I am … a little vain.”

“So who can I blame for this injury?”

“Me. Showing off,” he confessed. “I could’ve just held my ground, but I gave it a little flourish to make it a good show. I ought to have known I was getting too old for that sort of thing.”

“And did you win?”

“This time.”

“I understand that you enjoy teaching these workshops, but I don’t see why it has end up in an all out duel against opponents half your age.” She pulled him down to the bed with her, running her hands over his back carefully to gauge the sore spots.

“Is that meant to suggest that they have the unfair advantage or I do?” He rolled his shoulders under her touch as she started the massage.

“I’m sure both are true, in different ways.”

“Very diplomatic,” he assured her. “I suppose they want to test their mettle. I know I did, at their age.”

“And did you challenge the reigning swordmasters?”

“Certainly. And got soundly trounced for my trouble.”

“And now it is your duty to do the trouncing?"

“It is.”

“Can’t you leave it to Anakin?”

“Anakin does his share.”

“So who was it that almost beat you?”

“Young Dume. Depa’s apprentice.”

“Yes, I met him when he escorted Senator Syndulla’s daughter to the Chancellor’s office. He seemed like a sweet boy, I suppose I can forgive him.”

“Don’t be so quick to pardon. One of these days, he’ll win. Or Suduri will, or half a dozen others.”

“And then will you go see the Healers?”

“Why would I need to, when I can get such fine care here?”

She shook her head even as she smiled, leaning down to kiss the back of his neck.

[illumilu]

“there’s only one bed” - hisoka morow x reader

a/n: a very stereotypical cliche for fanfics, but, yk what? i roll with cringe. so here, have my drabbling of what would happen if you were to spend an unwanted night in the same hotel bed as the adultrio. i feel like i may have made this a bit too long, but who cares?? i have time, you have time and an incandescent loneliness to fill, so let’s get into it!

summary: you arrive at the hotel with hisoka, but to your horror (wink wink), there’s only one bed. this is part one of a three-part series, with the adultrio. illumi and chrollo will be coming soon!

warnings: no particular trigger warnings, lowercase intended, a lot of fluff! and cuddling! i’m afraid there’s no nsfw here... keep in mind it’s hisoka - i kept it as pg as possible... may be ooc i’m sorry :)

hisoka morow:

- you arrived at your hotel room, tired from the trip there, not quite sure what to expect. you stared at the single bed placed in the middle of the room, aghast. there must have been some kind of mistake. except there wasn’t. the room had been booked out of simplicity, with no specification on the number of beds, or anything else for that matter.

- and, of course, the man you had booked this room with was none other than hisoka morow.

- otherwise known as the most flirtatious man on earth.

- a little bit of backstory; as your strictly professional colleague, hisoka was always taunting you with his charming little phrases, treating you like his little toy whom he could mess around with.

- “oh, y/n! whatever will we do~?” 

- you sighed in frustration. out of all the people you could have been stuck with on this trip, it had to be hisoka.

- hisoka sighed and pouted - not from worry or anguish - but, rather, to mock you. you shot him a dirty look.

- “my my, y/n... why so serious? it’s not like i’ll do anything~”

- the playful lilt in his voice suggested otherwise.

- while hisoka went off to take a shower, you busied yourself with your latest objective; making sure he couldn’t pull anything. being inventive as you were, you gathered all the pillows from the bed (which, for some reason, there were many of), and built a wall separating the two sides of the mattress.

- you got changed promptly, and lay on the left side of the bed, waiting for hisoka to come back. however, his shower ran for longer than expected, and soon enough you felt yourself becoming drowsy.

- just as you were about to fall asleep, you heard hisoka’s voice come from the other side of the room.

- he chuckled. “y/n, what do we have here? your latest invention~?” he teased, ridiculing you.

- “i don’t trust you.” you stated plainly, staring up at the ceiling. you couldn’t see him from across the strangely high pillow wall you had made, but you could feel him smirking. 

- “...and for good reason, y/n..” 

- he extended his arm and lazily ejected his bungee gum to attach to the pillows, knocking them over in an instant. damn. you thought you had made a pretty good structure. 

- you rolled over lethargically to see him standing there; what a sight.

- honestly, you didn’t mind hisoka. it was just... he often became... annoying. as much as he irritated you, you had to admit he was quite pretty. striking amber eyes, streaky plum hair that fell across his face, soft lips and an overall impressive facial structure. not to mention his unique fashion sense that somehow accentuated his toned body. porcelain skin, with his childish paint, which was so often called on by you - “hisoka, do you put that on every goddamn morning?” - he was a fine man. 

- but, when that bastard opened his mouth.

- what a contrary tale.

- he waltzed closer to the bed and eventually sat down with his legs crossed, like a child in a classroom - except, he was staring down at you, who was scowling at him.

- “hisoka. don’t pull anything. i’m going to sleep.” you ordered, rolling to your other side so you were now facing away from him.

- “oh y/n... but how could i resist you~?” he joked, lying down on his back, unnecessarily close to you. you tensed up. 

- “hisoka.” you warned. except you didn’t really sound like you were warning anyone. some undertones in your voice urged you to let things happen - for an uncertain millisecond, thoughts of letting hisoka do what he wanted plagued your mind.

- the millisecond passed soon enough.

- the jester turned to his side, so you were both facing the same direction and began whispering in your ear with a smile. why was his voice so... smooth? so succinct and mellow? that was not the type of person he was. so why did you want to melt into him? he giggled childishly. 

- “so... y/n... you wouldn’t mind if i did-”

- “-this!”

- all of a sudden, hisoka was embracing you, cuddling you and shoving his idiotic face into the crook of your neck.

- “HISOKA, YOU HAVE FIVE SECONDS TO GET OFF ME.”

- “oh, but if you wanted me off, couldn’t you simply give me a little kick~?”

- bright idea, madman. bright idea.

- you kicked him in the stomach, which invoked no painful reaction, but prompted him to roll to the other side of the bed, letting you escape from his clutches. 

- “ah. y/n, that hurt~” he exhaled tiredly, feigning offence; it was more of a hum, which escaped his mouth like golden honey pouring from a dipper.

- “good. don’t come near me again.” 

- “if that’s what you want, darling~”

- “don’t call me that, morow.” you glowered.

- “how scary... good night, y/n.”

- despite trying to hide it underneath his complacent ego, hisoka was beginning to worry. the man was attracted to essentially everyone, but something pulled him closer to you especially. you had a certain magnetism about you that he found increasingly attractive. why did he find teasing you so... enjoyable? why did he long for you to reciprocate? thoughts such as these had been swarming his subconscious since the beginning of the trip. he had pushed away such speculation, for it didn’t suit him.

- a man like him, a man who killed so depravedly, a man whom nothing was known about, an enigma of sorts; surely a man like that didn’t deserve to truly love. 

- meanwhile, your brain was a motor engine; what had just happened, and why did you let it go on for so long? you had the reflexes of an expert nen user; so why did you let him stay there, nuzzling into you, before socking him in the gut?

- what a conundrum, for the both of you. looks like this cliche is reaching its peak, hm?

- you fell asleep soon enough; after all, the trip had been long and you were tired. not only physically, but also emotionally. hisoka wasn’t helping your case.

- hisoka himself often had trouble sleeping, which many people didn’t know. most nights, he just lay there solemnly, thinking of new card tricks or enticements for new victims.

- lately, however, he had been thinking of you.

- which he didn’t like at all.

- time passed as his mind whirred while he contemplated who you were, and why you made him so impressionable. suddenly, he heard something.

- he had his back turned to you but heard a shuffling of bedsheets. what time was it? 1am? 2am? he couldn’t tell, but he came to the conclusion that you moved around when you slept and left it at that.

- that was, until, he felt someone cling around his back and reach across his chest firmly, wrapping around his waist with their leg.

- that someone was you.

- if only you knew what you were doing, you would be appalled... maybe a little grateful... but for the most part, appalled.

- your soft breath brushed hisoka’s back delicately, making his nerves transform into an quivery yet arrogant smirk. your arm was wrapped around his chest and your leg was draped across his side. you were obviously deeply sleeping. he couldn’t see you from the way you were embracing his back, but he could have easily woken you up at any given moment.

- so, why didn’t he wake you up?

- maybe it was because he could tease you about it in the morning. yeah. that seemed reasonable. that seemed alike to what hisoka would usually do.

- or maybe it was something else, something he didn’t want to come to terms with, something panging within his heart, something festering inside of him, something that was a victim to his ignorance of emotion. 

- much like he had done to you earlier, you burrowed into his shoulder, sighing contentedly, blissfully unaware of what was going on.

- blissfully unaware of the way you were ruling over hisoka, the way you were confusing him and making his emotions a tumultuous mess.

- surprisingly, you clinging to him helped him sleep, and within 15 minutes, hisoka was out like a light. though neither of you were conscious enough to experience it, those few hours you spent embracing each other felt tranquil. it almost felt normal, or like something that should have happened long ago, but never did.

- as peaceful as those hours were, the moment you woke up, everything crumbled into chaos. complete and utter mayhem - at least, on your part.

- you woke up calmly enough, as one usually does, without realising where you were or what you were doing. but, as soon as you registered that you weren’t hugging a pillow, but in fact a person, your reflexes triggered and you abruptly let go, jolting backwards and upright.

- oh my god. 

- not just a person.

- hisoka morow.

- you stared at him dozing away, like the little jerk he was.

- what had he done to you? had he put you under some spell? no, that wouldn’t make sense. he was a transmuter, not a manipulator. the bastard probably didn’t even know how to manipulate. then, what was it? was it his dumb bungee gum? your mind was racing 100 miles per hour, so you sat on the left side of the bed, sullen and confused.

- your side of the bed. the left side. the side you had so protectively proclaimed as “your side”. yet there you had been, on his side of the bed, cuddling him? what type of sorcery had he used to make you embrace him so passionately? 

- facing the wall, you rationalised yourself. hisoka wouldn’t have done anything, right? but neither would you. right? right?

- “awake, are we?” 

- hisoka interrupted your disarray of thoughts. you stood up and turned to look at him. he was propped up on the header of the bed, staring at you composedly. with those amber eyes. what was he on? why was he doing this to you?

- “you...” you began accusing him but couldn’t finish. looking at hisoka, he seemed... well-rested for once. did he even know what had happened? was he waiting for you to admit something?

- “i...? i what, y/n? use your words~” he cooed mischievously.

- oh, the jackass. he definitely knew.

- you glared at him, unable to compile your thoughts into words. you watched as he stood up and walked toward you, until he was standing opposite you, gazing into your eyes. he smiled knowingly at you, causing an surge of emotions to rush up your throat, inciting you to say something, to do something, anything. 

- “did you...”

- “no, y/n. it was you.” he simpered.

- oh.

- he raised his hand and pat you on the head, a sly and righteous smirk ceasing to wipe off his lips. he left to the bathroom, leaving you standing there, mouth agape, eyebrow twitching in annoyance. or perhaps, better said, in confusion. when did you start clinging to people like that? 

- why... did you feel so at home? when you first woke up, something had been different. some sort of warmth had enveloped you, in your heart. it had felt nice to have someone to lie close to. 

- in the meantime, hisoka was also seriously mulling over his emotions for you. so many questions invaded his mind, each popping up quicker than the last had been answered. 

- sometimes, he felt as if it would be better to keep everything about you tucked away. underneath his charming, intelligent mask was years of emotion and love and hatred and all things deemed merely human, but too human for him to ever “deserve”.

- as the jester stared at his dazed reflection in the cheap hotel mirror, he came to this conclusion; it wasn’t a matter of what he deserved, or his entitlement. he had to confront the obvious truth that had been bugging him for so long.

- he would tell you he loved you, but not for himself. he would do it for you.

- let’s just say this was the start of something new.

hey so i thought it’d also be good to mention that this is my first time writing a fic on here... to be honest, it’s more the format of a drabble, but i hope you enjoyed! the word count was 2084 words, so i’m super sorry for rambling on too much - i feel like i got a little too deep into hisoka’s character at the end there. illumi’s and chrollo’s version will be coming when i have the time!

either way, likes or reblogs or whatever are super appreciated, but don’t feel forced to or anything! either way, i feel like no one’s gonna see this with my reach LMAOO but anyways thank you for reading, if you made it here! feedback and tips for writing on here are always helpful :) 

[hb-writes]

For Old and Young Alike - Pt. 2

{Part 1}

Summary: 1913 in the Little Lady Blinder universe. Clara has saved up for the perfect Christmas gift for her family and it’s almost time to show it to them. She’s just got to fetch the gift and wake everyone for the Shelby family Christmas breakfast first. 

Inspired by this anon request: What about a little blurb set around Christmas time when Clara is younger maybe just before the boys go off to war, she has been saving her pocket money for ages to buy all her siblings and polly a little gift and she’s so excited to give them to her family x

Featuring: Tommy Shelby, Ada Shelby, Finn Shelby, Polly Gray, John Shelby, Martha Shelby, Arthur Shelby, Charlie Strong, Clara Shelby

-----

When Clara rose from the bed she shared with Finn, it was still much too early, the sun not yet up and the house very much silent. She checked on her siblings and aunt, listening outside of Ada's and Tommy's and Polly's rooms for telltale signs of their slumber, deep even breaths heard through each of the closed doors.

She couldn't stop herself from admiring the tree as she came down the steps, the few gifts there under the lowest branches visible even in the rather dim light meaning Father Christmas had already been to number six. Clara didn't linger there on the steps long, far more focused on the gift she'd purchased for the others than any of the boxes sitting beneath the tree.

The gift had been wrapped and labeled and hidden with Freddie's help, stowed high and away from prying curious eyes. It hadn't crossed Clara or Freddie's minds that she'd need someone similarly tall in order to get the package down when the time came.

Clara was smart enough to know she'd not be able to get it on her own, not with the help of a stool and not by standing on the tips of her toes. She'd need the tallest person available and that person, her older brother Thomas, was peacefully asleep in his bed.

Tommy usually woke early on Christmas mornings. At one time it was him and Arthur doing the early rousing, then John and Ada when he'd become too old to show excitement over such things, and for the last few years, it had been the twins waking him, the babies synchronizing their pounces to cause the most surprise, taking precious care to knock the most wind out from their unsuspecting older siblings' chests.

He wasn't used to hushed whispers stirring him, warm breath surrounding his ear as a light pressure weighed on his right shoulder, and it confused him in his half-asleep state. Tommy snaked his arm around his sister, recognizing the presence of Clara even if he hadn't heard her little voice coaxing him along. Tommy shifted closer to the wall, pulling her under the covers, eyes still closed.

"It's alright, my girl," he said, vaguely stroking his hand through her hair. "Just a dream. Go back to sleep."

Clara didn't correct him settling under the warmth of the blanket for a cuddle even though she had her own agenda, waiting there long enough for Tommy's breath to even out, his chest heaving in a steady rhythm beneath her.

"Tommy?" she whispered once he'd begun to snore a bit.

Met with silence, Clara pushed his eyelid up with a single finger, the gesture gentle but intrusive all the same. "Wake up, Tommy."

"Clara," Tommy groaned, swatting her finger away and using the arm wrapped around her to hold Clara and her wandering arms against him. "It's not time," he mumbled. "Father Christmas hasn't—"

"But he already came, Tommy," Clara said, struggling against him. "And I—"

Tommy inhaled deeply, trying his best to hold his sister's belligerent little body still. Tommy knew Father Christmas had already come to the Shelby home. He'd come no more than a few hours earlier, just at the moment when Tommy had gotten home from the Christmas Eve dinner at Greta's, dropping the gifts under the tree after checking that the twins and Ada were asleep, or at least pretending to be asleep, in their beds. He was grateful that Polly had done the wrapping, stowing the handful of packages in the shop after they'd put the twins to sleep.

Really, Tommy shouldn't have been surprised his sister was awake this early being as they'd finished reading the final chapter of A Christmas Carol around seven, just before he'd been due to Greta's. He couldn't imagine Polly had let them stay up much beyond that.

"And if you don't go back to sleep, he'll come back and gather up anything he's left."

"No, he won't," Clara answered, "and he can't come back as I haven't been naughty."

"You're being naughty waking me up so early," Tommy mumbled, "and naughty little kids get coal for Christmas."

"I'm not naughty. I just need your help."

Tommy shushed her again, repositioning them both and pulling the blankets up as he held her to his chest. "Go back to sleep."

She ignored his words, pushing her arms up against his chest, trying to get out of his hold. "And not helping those in need is very naughty, Tommy, maybe even a sin."

Tommy snorted now, almost properly awake at his sister's words, a phrase he suspected to be transplanted from their aunt's mouth straight into Clara's. "I wouldn't want to be a sinner on Christmas, now would I?"

"I would expect not, Thomas. You'll get coal."

Tommy released Clara's arms, reaching for the pocket watch discarded on the nightstand. "And you need this help from me… right now?"

It was about half-past four in the morning and Tommy dropped the piece of metal to the bedside table as he wrapped his arm around her once again. If Tommy had his way, they'd both rest a bit longer and he'd help her with whatever it was she needed closer to six, or even better, at seven. He'd not sleep any later than that, even without the twins' traditional Christmas morning wake up call.

"Please, Tommy?"

Tommy shushed her again, wrapping the arm around her once more. "How about we get a bit more sleep and I—"

"But, it's Christmas. Please, Taaaa…mmy?" she said, drawing out the first syllable, pouting and wide-eyed though Tommy's head still tilted back against the pillow and he saw nothing but the inside of his eyelids.

That long opening syllable, the Taaaa he'd not heard with any regularity for a few years, his name usually so rushed as it came from her lips, the pieces of it mushed together as she uttered it only as a hasty introduction or conclusion to whatever she wished to tell him, the other content more significant than whatever sound she whirled at him to gain his attention.

The reappearance, whether she'd done it purposefully or not, pulled at something in him and Tommy released his sister, opening his eyes as he looked to her.

"You're a little devil, Clara Shelby."

"I am not!"

"You are and you don't even know it, which makes it all the worse."

-----

Tommy looked up to where Clara pointed, to the brown paper package on the very top of the cabinet, hidden just behind the decorative edge. It'd been there for weeks now but he hadn't noticed it.

"You pulled me out of bed for this?" he asked as he pulled it down. "What is it?"

"A surprise," Clara answered, pulling the box from his hands as it came within her reach and holding it to her chest.

"Alright," Tommy answered, rubbing his eyes. "We'll put it under the tree then, eh? Open it in a few hours? Give us all the gift of a bit more rest?"

Clara nodded as she took a step away from him, stopping suddenly at a lone creak on the stairs.

"Father Christmas come yet?"

Ada yawned, wrapped up in a robe, her hand clasped around Finn's as the pair tentatively traversed the stairs.

"Finn wants to know," Ada offered to Tommy's raised eyebrow. "I'd have liked that gift of a few more hours you've just mentioned."

"I imagine you would," Tommy said. "What time did you get in last night, Ada?"

"Not very late," she answered. She'd been back before Tommy, just barely, though. He'd seen light in her bedroom window from out on the lane. "Not that it's your business what time I get in."

"And where were you 'not very late' last night?"

"Molly's," Ada answered. "Though, again, not really your business."

Tommy sighed. He'd hoped to simply get his sister back to bed for a few more hours, or at the very least, he hoped she'd allow him a bit of rest on the couch. He'd planned to ask after Ada's whereabouts later, without quite so big and impressionable of an audience. He knew she hadn't spent the whole night with Molly Evans.

"So did he come, then, Tommy?" Finn asked.

"He did," Clara said to Finn, "and he left us presents and drank all the whiskey."

"Big surprise there," Ada said.

Tommy rubbed his face once again, willing his body to accept that sleep was something long behind him, willing his body to not punish him too much for drinking Father Christmas's glass of whiskey and then some.

"We best wake John and Arthur if we're doing this now."

"And Aunt Polly?" Clara asked, already on the second step.

Tommy lifted her into his arms. "Let Finn go wake Aunt Polly. You help me with our brothers. Ada can put the kettle on," Tommy said. "I'd tell you to start with breakfast, but we don't want to burn the place down, eh?"

Ada scoffed. "It was one bloody time, Tommy. It was just a bit of smoke."

He raised an eyebrow as he glanced at the twins, both of them starting to giggle.

"Well, go on, then. I don't need an audience to make tea, especially not if it's the three of you."

"Why's she so cross on Christmas morning?" Finn asked.

"Perhaps because someone woke her up before five."

"But you're not cross and I woke you up," Clara answered.

"Yeah, well, I imagine you were a bit gentler than Finn," Tommy said. "And we know how our Ada needs her beauty rest, makes her lovely inside and out."

"Shut it, Thomas," Ada answered. "And make sure to wrap yourselves up in something. It's chilly out."

Tommy pulled a blanket off the back of the couch, wrapping them both. "Good enough for your standards, Mother Ada?"

She stepped forward, wrapping the blanket a bit tighter around her sister, tucking the fabric under her chin. "If either of you catches your death of cold out there—"

"We won't, Mother Ada," Clara said, mimicking Tommy's overdone inflection as she spoke her sister's name. "We're just going down the lane."

Ada rolled her eyes, shouting at them. "Fine! Go off and catch your colds, then!"

"See, my girl, that's why you're coming with me. You won't wake up half the lane shouting like our sister."

"Shut up, Thomas!" Ada said as she stepped through to the kitchen.

"Ada, you're not supposed—"

"Oh, come off it, Clara. Our brother deserves to be told to shut his mouth every now and then. Maybe if you said it, he'd listen."

"Now, Ada, don't go poisoning my Clara against—"

"Me? Me? You think I'm poisoning your Clara against you?"

"I won't give a second thought to poisoning the lot of you if you don't stop with all your shouting," Polly said as she came down the stairs, guiding Finn in front of her.

"I wasn't shouting," Finn said.

"I wasn't shouting either," Clara echoed.

"Yes, I know, my loves," Polly said, shifting her eyes from the twins to her other niece and nephew as she sharpened her tone. "You would never cause such trouble on Christmas morning."

Polly gave each of the twins a kiss on the cheek, offering them both a "Merry Christmas" and a smile before giving Tommy a peck on the cheek as well.

"Merry Christmas, Polly," Tommy said, beating her to the sentiment.

"Keep your sister under that blanket. Wouldn't want her to catch her death of—"

Clara and Finn both started giggling once again at Tommy's raised eyebrow, the three of them stopping suddenly as Polly cleared her throat.

"See." Ada threw her hands in the air. "Just as I've said. Tommy's always poisoning the twins against—"

"Calm down, Ada. Your brother's only doing it to rile you up. And you're only making it worse for yourself by letting him."

Ada huffed. "Unbelievable, the lot of you," she said, storming out of the room.

"Can we do breakfast first?" Finn asked, tugging on Polly's robe. "Then the presents?"

Polly opened her mouth to answer, cut off by the cursing and sound of crashing pots and pans one room over. This time Polly raised an eyebrow, smirking as the kids and Tommy chuckled.

"You alright in there, love?" Polly asked

"Fine, Polly," Ada answered. "And shut up, Tommy!"

"I didn't say anything, Ada."

"But you were thinking something or making a face or…just shut up and go get the boys."

-----

Clara snuggled against Tommy's chest, the two of them working together to hold the blanket up against the chilly air out on the lane.

Tommy directed them to John's house first, unsurprised when the door fell open with just a gentle push. They never locked up, Martha and John possessing something, perhaps an ill-placed bit of courage or comfort or stupidity that allowed them to feel protected within their four thin walls, only a barely competent door latch between them and the rest of Small Heath.

Clara released a small squeak as Tommy turned around to shut the door behind them, struggling to get out of his arms when she spotted Martha and the baby in a chair by the fire.

"Oh," Tommy said as he turned to them, allowing Clara out of his arms, her socked feet closing the distance to Martha and the baby in a few seconds. "Morning, Martha."

"I'd ask if you want to come in, but as you already have, maybe you'd still allow me to offer you a seat before you sit?"

Martha eyed Tommy for a moment before looking down at Clara, her little finger already clasped by the cooing baby.

"We didn't want to wake you," Tommy said. "Was planning to have Clara tiptoe in to steal John and the kids and let you sleep."

As little sleep as John got, they all knew Martha got even less, responding to most of the late-night and early morning calls of their babies before John even stirred.

"So you two decided to break in quietly, then?" Martha asked. "Sounds like a good way to get yourselves shot. You know he keeps a gun under his pillow."

"Where's Sarah?" Clara asked.

"Asleep with your brother. We can go wake the lazy lump if Uncle Tommy will take Joseph for a moment."

Tommy accepted the bundle of blankets into his arms, more adept and comfortable with an infant than most people would expect. He settled into the vacated chair as Martha took Clara's hand and led her up the stairs.

Martha stepped into the room first and pulled two things from the bed, the gun beneath John's pillow, which she stowed in the drawer of the nightstand, and then the sleeping toddler pulled from the spot between John and the wall. John stretched out the moment Sarah was pulled from the bed, subconsciously unraveling to occupy the space now vacated.

Martha gestured for Clara to have at it, the woman's smile further encouraging the excitement that had already budded in Clara on the way up the stairs.

Clara's words, her alarm bell greeting, shocked John's system, his hand going under the pillow in search of the missing gun before she'd even properly gotten the second syllable of 'merry' out from between her lips. Clara ran from across the room and landed with a grunt followed by bright giggles as she collided with his chest.

"Wake up, John. It's Christmas," she said between laughs.

John's heart was beating so fast and hard it took him a moment to recuperate, just lying there with his wife and sister giggling, his daughter waking to the noise, her laughter joining the chorus.

"Christmas, is it?" he said, glancing through the window to the dark street. "It's still Christmas Eve, I think."

"No, John, it's Christmas," Clara answered.

"Must be pretty fucking early, then."

Martha scolded him and John sat up, Clara sliding off his chest to sit in his lap.

"Tommy and I broke in to wake you up."

"Broke in?" John asked, glancing up to his wife for confirmation.

"Your brother," Martha said. "He never fucking knocks. Just lets himself in like he owns the place."

John raised an eyebrow at the language he'd just been corrected for and Martha rolled her eyes. "I suppose your sister has already learned it. Sarah, too. We'll try better with Joseph."

John smirked. "Clara learned it around Sarah's age. Imagine this sweet little thing sat right there at the breakfast table demanding more fucking eggs. Gave Aunt Pol quite a shock to the heart the first time she heard her say it, eh Clara?"

"I don't remember," Clara answered.

"I suppose you wouldn't," John said, depositing his sister on the covers as he pushed himself out of bed and began pulling on the rest of his clothes. "Has Pol started breakfast yet?"

-----

When their fourth set of knocks went unanswered, Tommy shifted Clara to his opposite hip and fished the key to number 57 Watery Lane out of his pocket.

The first floor was dark and silent, and Tommy kicked an empty whiskey bottle out of the way as he carried Clara towards the stairs. Clara wiggled out of the blanket and Tommy's arms and he set her down on the top step, Arthur's bedroom door angled open to reveal a heap of blankets on top of the bed.

Clara intended the same wake-up for Arthur as she'd given to John and prepared to launch herself on top of him, but Tommy caught her under the arms, pulling her back up to his hip as he spotted a delicately arched foot slip from under the mound of covers.

"Hey!" Clara attempted a whisper, but it still came out as a shout. "Put me—"

"Shush, love. It's still early," Arthur mumbled, assuming the noise came from the bed beside him. "Give me another hour of sleep and I'll give you—"

Tommy cleared his throat. "Merry Christmas, Arthur."

It startled him and the bed quickly became a mess of limbs and blankets as Arthur and the woman he'd brought home began to thrash about.

"Who's your friend, Arthur?" Tommy asked, nodding towards the woman hiding behind his shoulder.

Arthur stammered, reaching down to grab his shirt and pants off the floor and pulling them on beneath the covers.

"Ah, is that Eva?" Tommy asked. "Merry Christmas, Eva."

"Merry Christmas, Tommy," the young woman answered tentatively, pulling the covers closer around her as Arthur got off the bed.

Clara leaned forward in Tommy's arms, extending her hand. "Merry Christmas. I'm Clara Shelby."

Eva bit back a giggle, the embarrassment of the moment slipping away as the little girl looked at her expectantly, not a bit phased by finding a girl in her brother's bed. Eva pulled a hand out from beneath the covers and shook Clara's hand. "Merry Christmas, Clara."

"Are you coming to Christmas?" Clara asked, settling back against Tommy's chest.

"Oh, um…"

"Go on. Get yourself dressed," Arthur said, gathering up her things and tossing them onto the bed. "You're welcome at breakfast. The baby has spoken."

"No, no, that's alright. I've got my own family to get home to."

Arthur turned to his siblings. "Has Aunt Pol started breakfast yet?"

Tommy nodded. "C'mon, Eva. You haven't lived 'til you've had a Shelby family Christmas breakfast. If you thought Arthur could drink, you should see him eat."

"There's biscuits," Clara added. "Biscuits and candies for breakfast!"

"And everything else you could imagine," Arthur added.

"No, it's really alright. My sister's expecting me," Eva said.

"Tillie's expecting you at five in the morning?" Tommy asked.

Tommy knew the sisters. He couldn't imagine Tillie was home yet either.

"Well, I might sleep a bit more and then go over," she answered.

"Suit yourself," Arthur answered, kissing the girl before turning. "Lock up for me when you leave, alright, sweetheart?"

"Sure, Arthur."

Arthur pulled Clara from Tommy's arms, kissing her cheek as they stepped out of his room. "Merry Christmas, love. A bit early this year, eh?"

"It's Finn's fault," Clara said. "He woke Ada."

"Yeah, and you woke me thirty minutes before that," Tommy added, the three of them making their way out onto the lane.

"But we were gonna wait."

Tommy nodded. "I suppose you and Finn'll be taking naps this afternoon, being up so early."

"No naps, Tommy! It's Christmas." Clara turned in Arthur's arms twisting both ways to meet each of the boys' eyes. "Tell him, Arthur!"

Arthur laughed. "I may be taking a nap, myself, love. You two wake John yet?"

Tommy gestured ahead of them to where Martha, John, and the babies were making their way down the street towards number six.

"Let's wake Charlie, too, eh?" Arthur asked, stepping over and banging hard on Charlie's door until the upstairs window opened.

"Christ, Arthur. It's five in the fucking morning. People are sleeping."

"Merry Christmas, Charlie," Arthur said.

"It's time for Christmas, Uncle Charlie!" Clara said, smiling up at him.

Charlie sighed, rolling his eyes. "Did your aunt start breakfast, then?"

The boys and Clara nodded and Charlie shut the window without another word, appearing moments later beside them on the sidewalk. There was nothing quite like the Shelby family Christmas Breakfast.

-----

Read more Little Lady Blinder here.

{Part 3}

-----

🏷:

@beautycinders​ @buckybluebarnes @cecii22me​ @lovemissyhoneybee​ @marquelapage​ @midnight-dreams-23​ @mo-onstarrs​ @ohhersheybars​​ @pollyrepents @unicorndetective22

[lovelylogans]

the warmest hello (to the coldest goodbye)

once a spy, always a spy forever, forever the warmest hello to the coldest goodbye remember, remember -spies are forever, the tin can bros

warnings: undercover spy work, mention of weapons, drugging someone into unconsciousness/giving someone a roofie, essentially the start of an enemies to lovers fanfiction

pairings: virgil/logan, offscreen roman/patton

words: 4,465

notes: this is for day 7 of @analogicalweek! the prompt of the day is “free day” and i have decided to write a combination soulmates and rival spies au! please enjoy!

⁂

Not that Virgil would admit it, but, like literally every other marked person, he's tried to imagine how he might meet his soulmate. He just didn't ever spare any thought on what he'd do if it happened on the job.

His official cover to his friends (which was mostly his cousin Roman and Roman’s husband Patton) was that he was an analyst—he was always vague about what exactly it was he analyzed, but since neither of them were particularly mathematically inclined, and both were maybe a bit too trusting for their own good, they took him at his word.

Even when he was sent off on various unusual "business trips.”

It’s not like Virgil’s mark is very specific about when and where it’ll happen. Virgil knows that variations of "sorry about that” make for a large percentage of common soulmarks. 

There’s protocols in place, of course, but Virgil had never really paid attention to those classes while training to be a spy. The Lewis clause is the kind of thing Virgil didn’t pay as much attention to, because it didn’t seem as useful as understanding the technology or how to make a cover. The Lewis clause is what to do when someone meets a soulmate on the job—there are specifications for if the soulmate is a target, a team member, or an enemy.

Virgil hadn’t really cared at the time. He’d kick himself for that later.

Any number of meetings occurred accidentally—knocking something over, bumping into someone, or, like his cousin Roman's soulmate did, take Roman's coffee thinking it was his own hot chocolate. They got married two winters ago, just so they could serve hot beverages in cold weather.

He thinks the iteration stamped in black along his left inner arm, "I'm very sorry about this," with the addition of "oh no, it's you” tacked on at the end of his makes it likely that whatever he says will, A, likely be first, B, be somewhat unique, or unique enough to be immediately recognizable, and C, be in the aftermath of some kind of accident.

He ends up being partially right. What he says is first and it is somewhat unique. What his soulmate apologizes for is no accident, though.

Virgil does undercover work, sure, but it's very rare for him to enter the James Bond style locale he's at today, and that he’s been working for the past couple months; the marble ballroom he's circling is dripping with gold chandeliers and matching heavy, velvet curtains that accent the floor-to-ceiling windows. There’s a string quartet in the corner, barely audible over the chatter of rich socialites. Virgil, deeply uncomfortable in his white-tie attire, is circling the room in an attempt at looking like he attends charity balls all the time.

He sucks at it.

As if on cue, his earpiece crackles to life.

"How the fuck did you ever qualify to be a spy?" Janus, his tech man and eye in the sky, snickers into his ear. "Your acting skills are horrendous. If you auditioned for The Room right now, they wouldn't let you into the cast.”

"Fuck off,” Virgil fake-coughs into his shoulder.

"Christ, at least try to look like you're mingling, not like you've stalked the target here."

Unable to stop himself, he glances toward the target he's meant to be watching.

The target, who is so staggeringly wealthy it could make Virgil, who is trying to pay off his student debt on a spy's salary (not as high as one might think) burst into tears. Or, much more likely, start ranting about the myriad flaws of capitalism. If so inclined, he could honestly probably steal the amount of money necessary from one of her offshore accounts, and it would be as unnoticeable as someone taking a penny from him.

Mary Lee Truman is standing amidst a flock of suited men, like a dove amidst a flock of dour crows; her dress is slinky silk, a shade of champagne that glimmers rose-gold in the right shade of light. She’s standing leaned to one side, her hip popped out and an arm crossed over her stomach, a crystal-cut champagne flute dangling in her fingers as if she was born to hold one.

Her husband, Lee Truman (fuck if that wasn’t confusing, it was really easier to think of them by their codenames) is off by the bar, seemingly getting himself another drink. 

His eyes stray to Mary Lee again; he can tell a couple of the suits are hired muscle, bodyguards, which makes sense, as the Trumans are allegedly a massive crime family, doing their dirty dealings in plain sight. A couple of the suits he recognizes from dossiers; one is a business partner of Lee’s father, who might not even know what the Truman family really gets up to; one absolutely knows what the Truman family gets up to, as Virgil’s read his rap sheet and knows he’s been in and out of jail due to his assignments from the mob.

There’s one suit there that really doesn’t seem to fit the mold of either category.

For one thing, he’s around Virgil’s age; for another, he isn’t rippling with muscle. Not that he doesn’t look fit; his well-tailored suit shows off his broad shoulders, his biceps, his lean waist. He’s dark-haired, and pale, and blue-eyed, and he’s standing next to Mary Lee with a look that Virgil would think of as dour, but now that he’s looking closely, the blue-eyed man looks almost... calculating.

This man wasn’t in the dossier.

Almost everyone at this ball was in the dossier.

Virgil looks away from Mary Lee and the handsome man, and instead decides to start taking up Janus’ advice; he slowly moves through the room.

Well. He's doing it to get closer to Mary Lee, but sure, he can attempt to mingle.

He traverses through the room, his fancy shoes clicking on the marble floor, mindful to not step on any dress hems—he has it easy, as his directive was simply to wear his white tie with his hidden weapons, his ear piece, and his lapel pin that records everything he's seeing. The women in the room provide the only splashes of color outside of the black suits and white shirts of the men, the gleaming marble, the gold- accented glasses and dishware. Even what little art he's seen follows that color theme -- white marble busts, abstract black and white paintings in their gilded frames, a gold statue outside the front steps, as if to greet the partygoers.

But the women of the party aren't beholden to this strict color scheme. Gowns of pink chiffon, red lace, blue taffeta, deep violet velvet, Virgil passes them all, keeping one eye out for rose gold silk.

He ends up instituting himself in a ring of people listening intently to an art history professor talking about the architectural significance of his building—he introduces himself with his cover name, James Walker, to the man next to him, who Virgil already knows is a Truman cousin. He gives a fake first name too—he says his name is Alex, when Virgil knows it’s really Bruce. Okay. Something to take note of.

He listens to the art history professor talk about art deco with just one ear, the other straining to eavesdrop on Mary Lee and her suits.

“Do you think our beneficiary approaches?” Mary Lee murmurs to the blue-eyed one, the one that wasn’t in the dossier.

“Oh, I know he does,” the blue-eyed man says to her. He has a pleasant British accent, the kind of voice that would be right at home on a nature documentary calmly narrating the eating habits of wolverines, or something like that. “According to all my research, our previous beneficiary is no longer within our purview. A new one will have been instilled in hasty time. As a matter of fact, I believe I would be able to point him out to you right now.”

Mary Lee sighs, a little, and the man continues talking about their charity. Virgil’s mind races. He knows the Truman’s “charity work” almost always acts as a sieve to run dirty money through, so what would it mean, that they got a new beneficiary? A new target, maybe? A new directive?

Either way, this is almost definitely some kind of code they’re talking in. He tunes a bit more into the art history professor’s impromptu lecture—he’s taking a brief tangent into talking about Tamara de Lempicka—as he ruminates on that particular conversation between the blue-eyed Brit and Mary Lee.

Then he ends up in conversation with an elderly woman beside him, who wants to know who he is—James Walker, I run a business a state or two over, I’m interested in diversifying my assets—and if he’s been to any art museums in town. Both he and the man he is meant to be have not, but it turns out she’s a curator and has numerous suggestions for him.

He also knows this woman, Ida Kelly, has been paying into the Truman business for quite some time, and has potentially ordered hits using the Truman’s muscle.

“Madam,” a suited waiter shows up at her side, as if on cue, and hands her a small glass full of what looks like a gin-and-tonic.

“Oh, yes, thank you,” she says, taking her drink immediately.

The waiter turns to him. There is a singular champagne flute on the tray. “Sir.”

“I didn’t order anything,” Virgil says stupidly, before he realizes that almost everyone here is taking champagne flutes off of trays, and he supposes this waiter just wants to clear his before he has to double back and get more. “Oh, all right.”

He takes it. It’s a delicate, crystal-cut glass. He’s almost a little afraid that if he holds it wrong, it’ll break.

“Really, we’re doing an Impressionism exhibit, and it is positively divine,” she says.

Very suddenly, there’s a hand on his shoulder, emanating warmth through his suit and Virgil jumps, a little—he hopes whoever it is didn’t feel one his knives. Or, God forbid, his gun.

He turns to see no one, when a hand touches his opposite arm, and he turns again. It turns out to be the blue-eyed Brit, who is staring only at Ida, brushing past him, allowing his hand to trail down Virgil’s arm, touching his hand as if to say, please stay there, I do not want to bump into you.

At such a close range, Virgil can smell his absolutely incredible cologne, see his defined jawline, the way his blue eyes gleam.

Ida brightens. “Darling!”

“Ida,” the Brit says warmly. “I visited that display myself, it was simply wonderful.”

“Oh, you’re too kind,” she says, clearly drinking up the praise. Virgil looks between them, feeling even more awkward than he has all night.

“Wait a goddamned minute,” Janus murmurs in his ear, after such a long stretch of silence that it makes Virgil jump again. There’s the sound of rapid typing.

“A victory!” The man says, lifting his glass—it looks to be full of whiskey. “A toast, to your latest triumph.”

“Oh, now,” she says, but when the other surrounding suits start lifting their glasses, Virgil lifts his, as well.

“To Ida Kelly,” the Brit says. “One of the finest artistic minds to walk the earth at our time!”

Virgil takes a sip of his champagne at the same time as everyone else; another woman in a deep green gown with a shawl edged in feathers takes Ida’s arm, rhapsodizing about the Impressionism movement and the latest event that her art gallery had put on.

It takes about a minute for Virgil to notice his vision going blurry in the corners.

It takes him about ten seconds of blinking hard and rubbing his eyes, hoping to clear it, to stumble over his own two feet.

It takes five seconds for Janus’ voice to buzz to life in his earpiece, urgent, “Virgil, get out of there, get away from that man, that’s Lo—”

It takes him about two seconds after that to notice that the blue-eyed Brit is looking at him with an expression clearly lacking remorse.

It takes him about half a second to realize the finger tapping one shoulder, his hand at his hand—the same hand that had been holding his champagne flute. He hadn’t been looking at his drink. The Brit had made him turn away from his drink.

The Brit put something in his drink.

Virgil’s been made.

“Good God, man,” another suited man says, when Virgil stumbles over his own two feet, “had enough of the bubbly, have you?”

Virgil ignores him; even as his vision is growing blurrier and blurrier, his eyes are intent on the Brit, staggering towards him, and he doesn’t even really know why. He’s been made, he should be running, but—

"Did you just fucking poison me, you fucking asshole?" Virgil slurs, and his sudden lack of physical control resoundingly answers the question before the Brit can; the arms that catch him before he can full flat on his face are muscular and warm. He’s distantly aware of the crystal-cut grass slipping from his hand and shattering on the marble.

The warm, muscular arms are more pressing than that. And, for a dirty rotten criminal who has probably killed people, the man is quite handsome. His bespectacled face swims in Virgil's vision.

"'I'm very sorry about this," he says smoothly, before his eyes widen in alarm. "Oh no.”

As Virgil is on the verge of unconsciousness, he hears, "It's you."

His last three thoughts before he slips under: did he just fucking say what he thought he said, then, good God his eyes are so blue, then, fuck, I should have paid way more attention to the Lewis clause.

⁂

Virgil is aware of three things as he wakes up: one, he feels like he has a dreadful hangover. Two, he’s pretty sure he’s in a plane or train or car or something moving, which makes him feel motion sick.

Three, he’s been stripped of his earpiece and his weapons.

He blinks his eyes open slowly, squinting; it’s night time, but even the low light is making Virgil’s eyes hurt.

This is a limousine, he can tell that much off the bat; the partition is closed, the glass tinted as dark as it legally can be, the interior leather light-colored, the bar fully stocked with different sodas and crystal-cut decanters full of various liquors, which makes him wince in memory of the champagne.

He feels like shit, but when he looks over and sees the blue-eyed Brit—his soulmate—his soulmate who had fucking drugged him and was working with the mob—it makes him feel even shittier.

“Ah,” his soulmate says. He’s sitting with one ankle resting on his knee, a squat glass of whiskey in hand. He has glasses on now that he hadn’t had on before. Also, his accent is no longer British; he’s got a nice Italian lilt to his voice, now. “Good. You’re awake.”

Virgil stares at him. He doesn’t say a word.

“I’ll admit this,” he gestures between them, “rather put a cinch in my plan on how to deal with you.”

“Would you have killed me?” Virgil asks. His voice comes out a croak. “If we weren’t...”

He trails off.

The man’s eyebrow arches, before he shrugs, and rolls up his sleeve. His soulmark is in the same place as Virgil’s—stamped across his left inner arm, in the spiky handwriting Virgil only uses in his personal notes, not the more uniform one he writes reports with.

Did you just fucking poison me, you fucking asshole?!

Undeniably a matching soulmark to his.

“My parents were quite bemused by it, when it showed up,” the Brit—or American?—the blue-eyed—his soulmate says. “I suppose we have our answers now.”

“Do we?” he says. 

The man takes a sip of whiskey. Then, he says, “Your predecessor was FBI. Are you the same?”

Virgil tenses. The man rolls his eyes again.

“Please,” he murmurs. “For an organization meant to be secretive, your lot are quite obvious when you trade moles in and out. One comes in, goes out, and coincidentally someone new is knocking on the door within the week. It’s absurdly simple to pinpoint who’s reporting back to your government. So. FBI, CIA, military...?”

“Who gives a fuck,” Virgil says.

“One should know what one’s soulmate does for a living, shouldn’t they?” he says. “This is a very unique situation. I’m simply trying to find out—”

“What do you do for a living, then?” Virgil snarls. His head is pounding, his mouth is dry and it tastes dreadful, his soulmate is an asshole working for the other side, and he’s being carted off to God knows where. This day is one of the worst of his life. Why couldn’t he have had a nice little café meet-cute, like Roman had had?

The man smiles at him, not particularly kindly. “I diversify.”

Virgil pulls a face, because he knows that’s poking fun at his cover.

“What,” Virgil says, “poison people on Monday, go to Ida Kelly’s resort on Tuesday, with a fun little Friday jaunt of killing people who cross the Trumans?”

“I’ve never actually been to the museum Ida Kelly curates,” the man admits. “It was an easy way to insert myself near you, to put it in your drink. And for goodness’ sake, it wasn’t poison.”

“Roofie. Drug. Whatever.”

The man’s eyebrows pull together, in a rather petulant expression. “I designed that myself, you know.”

“Well, it’s shit,” Virgil snaps. “I feel like I have the worst hangover of my goddamn life.”

“Yes, that was part of the design,” the man says, and offers him a glass of water.

Virgil stares at him. “Seriously.”

“No trust between soulmates?” He says.

“Yeah, well. Fool me once.”

The man shrugs, putting down the glass of water into a cupholder, before digging out a sealed water bottle. Virgil takes it and places it into a cupholder near him. No fucking way he’s accepting any food or drink from this man.

His lips quirk up into a smile.

“Where are you taking me?” Virgil says, ignoring the way that smile makes his heart pound.

“That rather depends,” he admits. 

“On?”

“Well.” He says. He uncrosses his legs, planting both feet on the floor. “I’m assuming that now the man in your little earpiece—he was rather rude—is aware that you have been, what is it you say? Made?”

Virgil nods.

“Well. Now that he, and therefore your employer, knows that you are made, you won’t be poking your nose into Truman business anymore, will you?”

Virgil grits his teeth. “Not undercover.”

The man ignores that. “And I know that no matter which you work for, the Lewis clause has been adopted across every arm of that government, and as such you’ll be prohibited from any mission that might bring you into contact with me.”

God damn it. How does he know the spy lessons better than Virgil does?

And then it occurs to him: Janus knew that man. He warned Virgil to get away from him, to get away from Lo—

He rolls this information around in his head. The Lewis clause isn’t exactly a widely advertised part of being a spy; there was a whole trilogy of novels that got adapted into secret agent movies, years ago, that concerned opposing agent spies coming to face each other again and again, and the secondary soulmate agents teamed up together. Which the Lewis clause would prevent, but the public who went and read those novels or saw those movies wouldn’t know that. 

So either this man—Lo? Lo what?—either knows a lot about spies, because he’s one of those know your enemy types, or...

Or he sat down and learned about the Lewis clause the same way that Virgil did, except he actually sat down and listened. Maybe he defected, maybe he’s dirty? Or maybe Virgil’s just overthinking it.

Look. Virgil’s got a lot of questions here. Chief among which:

“Where are you taking me?”

“Away,” the man says vaguely, looking at him. “Are you gay?”

Virgil gapes at him.

“I’d be perfectly fine with a platonic soulmate, but for the sake of disclosure, I am gay.”

“For the sake of disclosure,” Virgil repeats disbelievingly, and pinches the bridge of her nose, rubbing it. God, his head hurts terribly. 

“Bisexual, or pansexual, perhaps?” He prompts. “Asexual? Or... you could be straight, I suppose.”

“Ugh,” Virgil says reflexively, then shakes himself. “I’m not—okay. Fine. Yeah, I’m gay too.”

“All right,” the man says, as if noting it. “What’s your name?”

Virgil snorts.

“What?”

“Okay, I don’t—” he gestures to the limousine around them. “Again, you just drugged me. I don’t know where you’re taking me. You probably would have killed me if I hadn’t said those words.”

The man makes a moue of distaste.

“Or had someone kill me, I don’t know,” Virgil amends. “Either way, you’re working with that family, who I’m assuming aren’t pleased at having a spy getting caught trying to work himself into your ranks, so I’d rather you not know all that much about my life, thanks.”

“It’s not like I’m asking for your,” an infinitesimal pause, as if he’s wracking his brain, trying to remember something, “social security number or anything. A name.”

Virgil stares at this man. Lo—. Lo something. Lochlan? Loyd? Or was it a codename?

“Yours first.”

The man pauses.

“You drugged me,” Virgil says.

He smiles at Virgil. “Will you hold this over my head for the rest of our lives?”

The rest of our lives. Yes, that’s meant to be the fairytale ending for soulmates, isn’t it? A nice little meeting, the swell of overdramatic violins in the background, falling into each other’s arms and forming a life together. That’s the popular answer.

More and more recently, though, people have been advocating for choice; that soulmates are not always the best person for you.

Virgil doesn’t know which camp he and this man will fall into, just now.

“Yes,” Virgil says quietly. “Yes, I think I will.” 

The man sets aside his whiskey.

“Logan.” He says at last, and his accent has changed again; it’s vague, almost indecipherable, but if Virgil had to guess he’d say Midwestern American. Virgil wonders if it’s his real one. “My name is Logan.”

Logan.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“Since discovering you’re my soulmate? I haven’t lied to you at all. Not a word.”

“Except for the accent.”

Logan laughs.

“Habit, sorry. It’s a long story that perhaps the man screaming in your earpiece will be able to tell you one day.”

Virgil jolts with surprise. “You know—?”

He cuts himself off before he can say Janus’ name.

“Reputationally,” Logan says, and, as strange as it is, Virgil believes him. In this, at least.

His soulmate’s name is Logan.

“Virgil.”

Logan smiles, his blue eyes glittering. “It’s nice to meet you, Virgil.”

There’s the sound of a soft knock on the partition, and it lowers; Virgil can’t see the driver.

“Sir? We’re here.”

“Right,” Logan murmurs, shaking himself. He reaches into his jacket and withdraws an envelope, offering it for Virgil.

Virgil hesitates.

Logan rolls his eyes. “It’s not like I’ve laced it with anything. I’m holding it with my bare hands.”

Virgil huffs, but he takes it, opening it and pulling out a thin piece of paper.

It’s a commercial flight ticket to Washington, D.C.

“Why D.C.?” Virgil says quietly.

“Most of those organizations are based there,” Logan says. “Is it too far a jump to assume that you are, as well?”

It is actually too far a jump; it’s not even remotely close, he lives in an entirely different part of the states. But. To be fully honest, he doesn’t want Logan to know the state he lives in, and therefore the state that Patton and Roman live in, until Virgil knows if he can be trusted or not.

Logan opens the limousine door from inside, revealing they’ve pulled up to the local airport.

“What, no private plane?”

“I assumed you wouldn’t trust that,” Logan says with a shrug. “The Trumans may be powerful, but you know as well as I that manipulating a flight of this nature is well outside their purview.”

Logan’s right, he absolutely wouldn’t have trusted that, but. This limo’s pretty swanky. For the time he wouldn’t have been obsessively running over every crack and seam in a private jet and interrogating the pilot, he probably would have had a pretty swell time.

Virgil swallows, looking up at Logan. “There are programs, you know? If you wanted to be a witness. Be in service to—”

Logan smiles at him in a way that’s almost pitying. “I left that life behind a long time ago.”

Virgil looks to the airport, then back at Logan.

“Will I see you again?”

Logan shrugs again, almost delicately. “Who’s to say?”

Virgil nods, once, and he says firmly, “I’ll see you later.”

Logan grins at him. “Not if I see you first.”

Virgil slips out of the limo, slams the door shut, and, with what feels like Herculean effort, manages to get into the airport without looking back to see if he can see Logan through the tinted glass.

He does exchange the ticket for another that’s an hour and a half later, though. He’s not a total idiot.

He gets through security pretty quick, and sits in one of the incredibly uncomfortable chairs, his brain pounding with his headache, the questions swirling around in his head making it even worse. Virgil puts his head in his hands.

He just met his soulmate.

His soulmate is working for a mob family.

He just met his soulmate.

His soulmate is apparently smart enough to specifically engineer a roofie.

His soulmate, though!

Janus knows his soulmate. Janus recognized his soulmate.

His soulmate knew about the fucking Lewis clause.

Was his soulmate a spy too? Was his soulmate in deep cover? Had he betrayed his organization? Was he a good person, or had the universe seen fit to hitch Virgil to someone awful?

How had Logan gotten entangled with the Trumans in the first place? Why wasn’t he in the dossier? 

Where was Logan even from? Did he like coffee? Hot chocolate? What had he studied in school? What was his favorite food? If they were normal people, would he have asked him on a date and not drugged him and dragged him off in a limo? 

Who was Logan?

Whatever the answers to his questions are, though. Virgil knows himself enough to know that he isn’t about to let this case go. Not the Trumans. Not him.

Lewis clause be damned.

[maxineswritingcenter]

You Saved Me - Derek Hale x fem!reader part 20

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

Stiles and I sat outside the ruins of the Hale House in his Jeep. It was the early morning before school, practically the crack of dawn. Derek thought it would be safer there and they could do more research in the family archives that had survived the fire. It had been a few days since the attack at the police station and to say we were both shaken up was an understatement. We had both been so helpless. He had been paralyzed and forced to watch his father be beaten and I was under control of the person who had hurt him. They had put Stiles in counseling at the school. He said it helped but I’m not sure how much I believed him. 

“Dad’s asking about you. Why haven’t you answered him?” He asked, staring straight out the windshield. Uncle Noah had called me multiple times, a least a hundred text messages, but I couldn’t bring myself to answer.

“Because I’m afraid.” I answered honestly, “You didn’t see the look on his face when he saw me with-with the claws and fangs. He looked at me like I was a monster.” 

“He’s worried about you.” 

“He’s worried about what I am, Stiles.” I looked at him, trying to hold back tears, “I’m the monster from the movies he took us to watch when we were kids. I can’t see him. Not now.” I have been crying a lot lately, but how could I not? None of this was fair? Why couldn't everything just stop? As soon as we stopped Peter and Kate a new and worse threat appeared.

Stiles sighed, “Alright, I get it.” He looked towards the house, “Derek... He treats you well, right?” 

I smiled slightly, “Yeah, he does. He tries to be protective but I’m too stubborn for that.” 

“I just...” He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, “I just wish that none of this would have happened. All this supernatural stuff.” 

“I know.” I said softly, “I’ll try to talk to your dad soon, maybe he’ll let me come home.” 

“He will, (Y/N). He loves you. I love you too.” He avoided eye contact which is something he did when he was vulnerable. I leaned forward, hugging him tightly, blinking back tears. He wrapped his arms around me, breathing in deeply. 

“I love you.” I pulled away, grabbed my bag that he had packed for me of my clothes from home and hopped out of the Jeep. After waving him off, I made my way into the house. 

Derek was in the middle of the room, looking through boxes, his back turned towards the door. 

“Man,” I said, dropping my bag off on the floor next to him, “I haven’t been here since I threw your uncle through that wall.” I smiled, leaning against his arm. He seemed off, his movements sharp and rigid. 

“What’s wrong? Where's the rest of them?” Talking about the betas in the pack.

“They want to leave the pack.” He said, flipping through another book. 

“What?” I asked, shocked. 

“I can sense that they’re making a decision. All of them.” He let out a deep breath through his nose. I took his hand in mine slowly, hoping to ease his nerves. 

“And what happens then? Is it just us?” 

His anger spiked, “Well, we don’t have any other allies. Seeing that McCall is working with the hunters. All for some girl.” He grumbled. 

“Wars have been fought for less.” I sighed, “I understand your anger. He betrayed us. He... Betrayed me. I mean they want to kill you for what happened to Argent’s wife. All for Allison who has been a little two sided of late.” Scott was my friend, and had been for a long time. I thought I knew the kid inside and out. But I guess I was still surprised by this town. Surprised by people I thought I knew.  

“He’s not Chris anymore?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Not when he wants to kill you. Besides, I don’t think the treaty he had with my father stands anymore.”

I caught their scent before they came into the room. Erica smelled like flowers and Boyd was like the deep woods. Derek closed the book he had been looking in, turning in their direction. They stood by the stairs, hardly meeting our gaze. 

“You've decided.” Derek said like he was resigned to it, “When?”

“Tonight.” Erica said timidly. 

“Everyone's gonna be at the game. We figured it was the best time.” Boyd said. I had completely forgotten about the game.

“It's not like we want to-”

Derek took a few steps forward, “What do you want?”

“Since I just turned sixteen a month ago, I wouldn't mind getting my license... I can't do that if I'm dead, you know.” Erica said.

“Well, I told you there was a price. We both did.” 

“Yeah, but you didn't say it would be like this!” Boyd said, defending their actions.

“Yeah, but I told you how to survive-- you do it as a pack. And you're not a pack without an Alpha.” Derek turned back towards the stack of books.

“We know.” Boyd said, causing Derek to turn back around quickly. They both seemed anxious.

“You wanna look for another pack? How are you even gonna find one?” Derek asked. Erica looked up at Boyd to speak.

“We think we already did...” They explained how they were running through the woods and stopped. How they heard howling. 

“Like, all of a sudden, we heard all this howling. It was unbelievable.” Erica said.

“There must have been a dozen of them-”

“Maybe more!” Erica interjected. 

“Yeah, or maybe only two.” Derek scoffed, “You know what the Beau Geste effect is? If they modulate their howls with a rapid shift in tone, two wolves can sound like twenty.”

“Look, that doesn't matter, okay?” Erica said quickly, “There's another pack out there. There's got to be. We've made up our minds.” She looked at me, “You understand, don’t you? You never wanted this for us.” 

“No one forced you to take the bite.” I looked at the both of them, they seemed shocked at how cold my voice sounded, “Sure, he changed two impressionable kids, but you could have taken the time to think it over. You heard what you wanted to hear and took it blindly.” Whatever sympathy they thought they would get from me was not something I was willing to give.

“We lost. And it's over. We're leaving.” Boyd finished. Derek didn’t feel anger, more sorrow, guilt, and betrayal. A familiar feeling. 

“No. No, you're running. And once you start, you don't stop. You'll always be running.” After he spoke, both of them scurried away. We turned back towards the books, Derek deep in thought.

That’s when I picked up a new scent. A dangerous one. 

“No...” My internal voice rang, “It can’t-” Derek grabbed a shard of glass from the table, throwing it back towards the intruder. The sly bastard caught it with one hand, the tip of the shape edge against his throat. We both turned, glaring at the man who was supposed to be dead.

“...I expected a slightly warmer welcome. But, point taken.” Peter said, almost amused. I stayed close to Derek, my eyes never seeming to find a distraction from the monster before us. Peter Hale was like a car wreck: no matter how much you want to look away, you can’t, you don’t want to miss a single movement. Derek kept an arm in front of me to shield me from any incoming attack. 

“It's quite a situation you've gotten yourself in here, you two...” Peter said, “I mean, I'm out of commission for a few weeks, and suddenly there's lizard-people, geriatric psychopaths, and Derek's cooking up werewolves from every self-esteem-deprived adolescent in town.” He looked pointedly at Derek.

“What do you want?” Derek asked irritably. 

“Well, I want to help.” Peter said innocently, “You're my nephew-- the only relative I have left. And (Y/N), I owe you an apology and I can show you how to be a true matriarch. You know, there's still a lot that I can teach you...Both of you.” He walked closer to us, Derek’s anger growing more and more. “Can we just talk?” He put a hand on Derek’s shoulder. The shoulder closest to me. 

Very bad choice. 

Derek looked at Peter’s hand, “Sure. Let's talk.” Peter was then thrown across the room into the staircase. He landed to a thud and groan, some wood from the railing falling on top of him. 

-

A few hours went by and I had received a couple messages, namely from Coach and Stiles, both wondering where I was. I looked at the time, the game would start soon, meaning I was missing Coach’s speech. It was the same speech he made every year... It was the speech from Independence Day, but I don’t think he knew any sports movies. 

Derek had been beating Peter for a couple of hours, running off his rage and mine. A groan made me look down, Peter was at my feet, panting heavily. 

"Ya know, groveling isn't gonna make me forgive you." I stepped to the side, letting Derek grab Peter by the collar and punching him in that smug face of his. I needed to figure out how I could get to the game safely. If I went, that meant Gerard or any other hunter could grab me and use me as leverage to get to Derek. That would kill us both.  

Derek growled and kicked Peter, sending him back towards the house. It was a side of the house I had only seen once or twice, when I had to run from the what turned out to be Peter all those months ago. 

“You don't actu-actually think that I want to be the Alpha again, do you?” Peter chuckled nervously, panting hard, “That wasn't my finest performance, considering it ended in my death. I mean, I'm usually more-” He sat up. Derek grabbed his collar, rearing his fist back. 

“Okay, go ahead! Come on, do it! Hit me. Hit me. I can see that it's cathartic for you!” Peter shouted, causing Derek to hesitate, “You're letting go of all the anger, self-loathing, and hatred that comes with total and complete failure.”

“Hey!” I shouted, coming around and slapping Peter hard across the face, "Watch your tongue."

Peter’s head snapped in the direction of my blow. Slowly bringing it back towards Derek, “I may be the one taking the beating, Derek, but you've already been beaten. So, go ahead. Hit me if that will make you feel better. After all, I did say that I wanted to help.”

Derek shoved his uncle back to the ground, “You can't help me.” He walked towards the main living area. I started to follow.

“You’re wearing the ring.” Peter panted, causing me to pause. I look down at the silver triskele ring, “That was my sister’s wedding ring.” This was Talia’s.... I left the room quickly, following Derek back to the main room of the house. I touched the ring softly.

Talia’s face was close to mine, a sweet smile on her lips. In the reflection of her eyes I saw myself, no older than two or three. Looking down I saw small hands playing with the many rings on her fingers, including the silver triskele. 

“You like my rings, don’t you?” She said, her voice higher and more animated, the usual tone someone had when speaking to a young child, “Someday you can have pretty rings like this.” She smiled, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

I was brought out of my memory by a text. 

UNCLE NOAH:

Stiles is playing... You should be here to see this. For him.

-

Derek sat on the steps of the stairs, looking over his bloody knuckles. I sat beside him, running my fingers softly over his back. Peter managed to stumble into the room, leaning against a doorway.

“See? Prime example right here-” He began yet another monologue, “I’m not healing as fast. Coming back from the dead isn't easy, you know. I'm not as strong as I used to be. I need a pack. I need an Alpha. An Alpha like you. I need you as much as you need me.” He spoke only to Derek, knowing how vulnerable he could be.

Derek scoffed, “Why would I want help from a total psychopath?”

“First of all, I'm not a total psycho.” 

“Coulda fooled me.” I glared.

He titled his head to the side, speaking defensively, “And, by the way, you're the one that slashed my throat wide open. But, we're all works in progress, right? So, we need each other. Sometimes, when you need help, you turn to people you'd never expect.”

"I killed you for a reason.” Derek glared, “You used mind control to kill people, you killed Laura, you tried to kill me, and you tried to force her into creating a new bloodline. 

"All for a good reason."

"And that is?"

Peter looked like Stiles when he hadn't come up with a clever comeback, "Come back to me about that." He tried a different approach, “You tried to build your pack. You tried to prepare for the worst. You weren't ready. Because of it, Gerard is winning. He's taking his time. He's toying with Scott. He's going after your wolves, one by one. He's relishing in his victory.”

“How about you tell me something I don't know?” Derek said, getting more and more irritated. 

“Oh, I'm going to, and it's gonna prove why you should trust me-- why you need to trust me. Because I'm going to tell you how to stop Jackson.” Both of our heads perked up.

“What do you mean? You know how to kill him?”

“Actually, how to save him.” He licked his lips, “There's a myth that you can cure a werewolf simply by calling out its christian name.”

Derek scoffed, “It's just a myth.”

“Sometimes myths and legends bear a hint of truth. Our name is a symbol of who we are. The Kanima has no identity-- that's why it doesn't seek a pack.”

“...It seeks a master.”

“And who else grows up with no pack? No identity?”

“An orphan.”

“Like Jackson. And right now, his identity is disappearing beneath a reptilian skin, and you need to bring him back.”

“How?”

“Through his heart-- how else?” Peter said as if it had always been the obvious answer.

“You know, in case you hadn't noticed, Jackson doesn't really have much of a heart to begin with...”

“He’s a spoiled prick.” I added.

“Not true.” Peter said, “He'd never admit it, but there is one person-- one person with whom Jackson shared a real bond. One person who can reach him. Who can save him.”

“...Lydia." We both said. 

Peter leaned down close, “Your best ally has always been anger, Derek, but what you lack most is heart.” I jerked forward, Derek grabbed my arm, bringing me back to my seat. 

“That’s why you’ve always known that you need Scott more than anyone. And even somebody as burned and dead on the inside as me knows better than to underestimate the simple yet undeniable power of human love. Perhaps that’s why you were drawn to our lovely (Y/N). She knew our secrets, yet still human.” 

“I’ll show you human-” I growled, my claws sharp and ready to swing.

“Feisty.” He smirked. My phone started ringing and I cursed. 

“Shit. I missed the game.” I slipped off the stairs, shoving by Peter on my way into the other room. Scott. 

I pressed my phone to my ear: “I know, I’m sorry I missed it. Is Stiles mad?” 

“That’s the problem.” Scott said, his voice full of dread. 

“What is it?” I asked, gripping onto the doorway. 

What he said next practically made my heart stop, “Stiles is missing.” 

”I’ll be right there.” I hung up the phone, rushing back into the room. Derek was already on his feet, catching me before I ran into him. 

”Stiles’ is missing, we need to find him. Now.” I said hurriedly. He looked me in the eye. 

“We’re gonna find him. He’s going to be okay.” 

“But what if he isn’t? What if he’s not okay and it’s because I wasn’t there to protect him.” There was a tight ball of emotions in my chest, ready to burst. 

“We’ll find him.” He said calmly, leading me out to the car. 

-

The three of us made our way into the school, avoiding Gerard and whoever else he had patrolling the halls. There were a few deputies, we passed one who almost made me gag. I could smell that beef jerky spice rub. He was one to avoid. 

We got into the locker room with ease thanks to my keys. We found Isaac and Scott in front of Stiles’ locker. Isaac was holding up a shoe.

"How come you get a shirt and I get a shoe?"  Isaac grimaced, his eyes shooting up to look at his two alphas. Scott noticed his expression, turning quickly. 

"We need to talk." Derek said. Peter walked up behind us, making a dramatic entrance. As usual.

 “All of us.” 

“Holy shit.” Scott whispered, “What the hell is this?”

“You know, I thought the same thing when we saw you talking to Gerard at the Sheriff's station...” Derek looked at him pointedly.

Scott’s eyes widened, “Okay, hold on! He-he threatened to kill my mom! And I had to get close to him. What was I supposed to do?”

“I'm gonna go with Scott on this one.” Peter said, causing us all to look back, “Have you seen his mom? She's gorgeous!”

“Shut up!” We all said. 

Isaac leaned over to Scott, “...Who is he?”

“That's Peter, Derek's uncle. A little while back, he tried to kill us all, and then we set him on fire, and Derek slashed his throat.” Scott glared.

“Hi.” Peter smiled. 

“...That's good to know.”

“How is he alive?” Scott asked. I was curious myself. 

“Look, the short version is he knows how to stop Jackson... and maybe how to save him.” Derek said, getting more and more irritated.

“Well, that's very helpful... except Jackson's dead.” Isaac dropped the bomb shell. 

“What?” Derek and I asked.

“Yeah, Jackson's dead. It just happened on the field.” Scott motioned back to the direction of the lacrosse field.

“Okay, why is no one taking this as good news?” Isaac asked, so incredibly confused. 

“Because if Jackson is dead, it didn't just happen-- Gerard wanted it to happen.” Peter said slowly. 

“But why?” I looked back at Peter.

“Well, that's exactly what we need to figure out.” He sighed, “And something tells me the window of opportunity is closing. Quickly.”

-   

Back at the Hale house, Peter and Derek were looking around for something that could help us. Scott finished getting off the phone. 

“Oh. Oh, they found Stiles.’ He sighed in relief. I let out the breath I had been holding in since he had been on the phone. 

“That kid is gonna kill me.” I leaned against the wall, a smile on my face. 

“I told you, I looked everywhere.” Derek shouted. 

Peter smirked and got down at the ground, looking under the staircase where Derek usually sat, “You didn't look here.” He removed a plank of wood and pulled out a thin rectangle. Has that always been there? Or had it been since the fire?

“What is that, a book?” Derek asked. 

“No,” Peter scoffed, “It's a laptop. What century are you living in?” He opened the dinosaur looking laptop, “A few days after I got out of the coma, I transferred everything that we had.” He closed the laptop, seeing that it was still working, “Fortunately, the Argents aren't the only ones who keep records.” He stood up with the laptop, moving into the living room area, Derek and I following behind. Scott was in the corner of the room, talking to his mother. Melissa had gone with the EMT taking Jackson to the hospital for an official autopsy. 

“Hey, Mom. I can't talk right now-What's wrong?”

“Something... Definitely something... I don't know what, but I think you're gonna want to see this for yourself.” He looked over at us. 

“Go.” I said, motioning my head towards the door, “We’ll stay here.” Scott nodded, rushing out the door. 

-

After a while, Scott called us and explained that Jackson wasn’t as dead as we thought he had been. Derek had the phone on speaker.

“They say he's in some kind of transparent casing made from the venom coming out of his claws...” He said. I grimaced at the thought of it. 

“That sounds sufficiently terrifying.” Peter said, not looking up from the laptop screen.

“They also say he's starting to move.” Derek said grimly. 

“Okay, look- I think I found something.” We both looked over Peter’s shoulders. “Looks like what we've seen from Jackson is just the Kanima's Beta shape...” Beta shape. That’s definitely not good.

“Well, meaning what? It can turn into something bigger?”

“Bigger and badder.” His voice wavered, meaning that it was definitely worse. My eyes widened as I saw the kanima’s next evolution. It was bigger and it had wings which and longer claws and would be in my nightmares. 

“He's turning into that? That has wings!” Derek shouted, looking just as terrified as I did. 

“I can see that.” Peter said curtly. 

“Are those... more tails?” I asked, really hoping they weren’t what I originally thought.

“No, those are claws.” 

“...Great.”

“Scott, bring him to us.” Derek spoke into the phone. 

“I'm not sure if we have time for that...”

“Look! Somebody actually made an animation of it. Maybe it's less frightening if we-” He played the video. A loud shriek played over the screen. Peter closed the laptop quickly. 

“Nope. Not at all.” He looked back at Derek, “We should probably meet them halfway.”

“Scott, get him out of there now. Go now!” Derek shouted into the phone, sounding more urgent than ever. Derek grabbed my hand, starting to rush with Peter through the house. Peter stopped in front of the door, stopping us from moving forward. 

“Derek, we need Lydia.”

Derek growled impatiently, “There's no time for-”

“That's the problem.” Peter interrupted, “We're rushing. We're moving too fast. And, while everyone knows that a moving target is harder to hit, here we are, racing right into Gerard's crosshairs.”

I looked up at Derek, gnawing on the inside of my cheek, “I wouldn’t usually agree with him, you know that. But he’s right.” Satisfied, Peter opened the front door and we all came out. Peter reached for the door handle on the passenger side. I grabbed his hand, pulling it off.

“I don’t think so.” I chuckled and opened the door. 

“I’m taller than you.” 

“Get in the back, Peter.” Derek shouted, glaring. Peter hummed, getting into the back of the car. 

-

As we drove, I looked over, seeing that Derek hadn’t put his seat belt on. I leaned over, trying to grab it. He swatted my hand away. 

“It's not really that important." He grumbled. I raised an eyebrow at him. 

"Not important? Tell that to the seat belt that kept me from being thrown through my car window and killing me.”

“You would have healed.”

"Derek Hale-" 

"I am a little busy worrying about a reptilian demon out for blood!" Derek said, glancing at me. Huffing, I sat back in my seat with my arms crossed over my chest. After a moment, Derek sighed loudly, followed by the familiar metal lock of a seatbelt clicking into place. Peter blew out air, followed by the sound of a whip cracking. 

Derek looked back in the rear view mirror, eyes red. 

-

We parked in the alley next to the railway depot, waiting for Scott and Isaac to arrive with Jackson. Soon after they pulled up, dragging Jackson’s body bag behind them. And after Scott and Isaac appeared Chris Argent behind them. We got out of the car, waiting around the corner and listening. 

“I think he stopped moving...” Isaac panted. 

“Where's Derek?” Chris asked. That’s when Derek ran around the corner on all four. Peter and I looked around the corner, seeing him do a flip, then land in a  crouching position. Probably flashing his red eyes. 

“Someone certainly enjoys making an entrance...” Peter mumbled. 

“Must run in the family.” I said casually, smirking a little when he looked down at me. 

“I'm here for Jackson, not you.” Chris said.

“Somehow, I don't find that very comforting.” He looked to Scott and Isaac, “Get him inside.” I stepped out to follow behind them when Peter grabbed my arm. I looked down at his hand, then him. 

“Taking my hand off.” He removed his hand quickly, “But you need to stay out of this.” 

“Why-” 

“Because you don’t remember how to fight.” 

I narrowed my eyes at him, “Don’t remember how to fight?”

“Yes, You don’t remember. You were trained by your parents and my sister. You were an excellent fighter.” He looked over my clenched fists, “But when they took your memories, you forgot.” 

“I know how to fight.” I glared. 

“No, Derek taught you how to defend yourself. You swing your claws and hope to land a blow. That’s not fighting, you’re leaving yourself too open.” 

“Look, we don’t have time for this.” I squeezed my eyes shut, taking a deep breath. My attention was brought to the voices inside the warehouse. We looked in through a nearby window. They surrounded Jackson’s body bag. 

“Where are they?” Scott asked, looking around. 

“Who?” Derek had his eyes trained on Jackson. 

“Peter, (Y/N), and Lydia!” Scott shouted. Derek shook his head, kneeling down and unzipping the body bag. 

“Whoa! Hold on a second-” Scott stepped forward, “You said you knew how to save him.”

“We're past that.” Goddamit, Derek. I’m about sick of him doing this. He knew that killing Jackson when there was a possibility to save him wouldn’t go down well with anyone. 

“What about-”

“Think about it, Scott!” Derek shouted, “Gerard controls him now. He's turned Jackson into his own personal guard dog, and he set all of this in motion so that Jackson could get even bigger and more powerful.”

Chris stepped forward, “No. No, he wouldn't do that.” He said defensively, “If Jackson's a dog, he's turning rabid, and my father wouldn't let a rabid dog live.”

“Of course not...” Gerard’s brogue echoed through the depot. “Anything that dangerous, that out of control... is better off dead.” I inhaled sharply, my whole body wanted to run into the warehouse to be by Derek’s side but Peter was keeping me back. 

“Pay attention to Gerard.” He whispered, “Look at him.” 

“I can see him-”

“Look closer. Get his scent.” He whispered. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. I could smell metal and gun smoke, but there was something else, something foul. 

“He’s dying.” I whispered, opening my eyes. I looked back at the group, watching Derek lift a claws hand to slash Jackson’s throat. That was Jackson beat him to it, stabbing his hand through Derek’s chest and throwing him across the room. 

“DEREK!” I screamed, getting out of Peter’s grip and running into the back entrance into the main room of the depot. A cocking gun made he stop abruptly, Gerard had a gun trained on me. 

“Please.” I begged, my voice shaking. Not only from watching the man I love be skewered and thrown through the room, but from the pain we shared. He only chuckled, motioning for me to join Scott and Isaac on the other side of Jackson’s body bag. I slowly stood besides them, watching Gerard and the area Derek was thrown in.

"Please get up... Please don't die on me."

“Well done to the last, Scott.” Gerard said smugly, “Like the concerned friend you are, you brought Jackson to Derek to save him. You just didn't realize that you were also bringing Derek to me.” A whistle shot through the air, and the next thing we knew, Isaac had an arrow in his shoulder. Isaac fell back, grunting. 

“Allison?” Scott sounded shocked, as if there were any other people we knew who worked exclusively with crossbows. Scott and I rushed over to Isaac, moving to get him away from her line of fire. A shot rang out, Jackson’s reptilian hiss echoed. More gunfire followed. We got Isaac behind a cement pillar. He was grunting in pain, gritting his teeth together. 

“This is gonna hurt.” I said, pulling the arrow from his shoulder. Isaac yelled through his teeth. A roar cut through the air, making us all look back. 

“Derek.” I smiled. We walked back, growing claws and fangs, ready to fight Jackson before he fully transformed. Scott and Isaac walked forward and as I stepped up, I felt a sharp pain in the back of my neck, followed by darkness. 

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

Read part 21 here!

And there is where the story takes a turn, see I told you we'd get there.

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[theelvenhaven]

I don’t mean this to be rude, but why do you stress so heavily on why you won’t abuse? I was looking through your blog and also said you won’t even write for yandere. Its fanfiction and just pretend right?

05.12.2021

-sigh- I can’t add an undercut so big warning literally:

Trigger warning: Talks of Abuse

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Okay, so you wouldn’t believe the amount requests I have received in the past that basically ask me things like;

“I want to request Reader x Character where he almost hits reader and apologizes.”

Or

“Do a Reader x Character where he does hit reader and apologizes.”

Or other requests essentially asking me to write character gaslighting reader or saying threatening things.

This romanticizes abuse and it is not okay EVER. A man or woman or non-binary or trans person should NEVER EVER EVER lay their hands on you ever. Unless it is absolutely out of self defense because you attacked them and that’s it.

In this particular case it is not sweet when a man apologizes after, it’s not a grand display of good masculinity and showing his “mature” side because he can apologize for almost hurting you or hurting you.

It is deeply disturbing and the epitome of toxic masculinity. It is not manly, it is not good or romantic or wholesome. It should never occur no matter how angry someone is with you.

And while I am marked as an 18+ blog my fics generally are not 18+, it’s the confessions that motivated me to mark it as 18+. Not the fics or headcanons. So when people are reblogging my fics if younger people were to read them, being as impressionable or naive (which isn’t a bad thing) could very much assume that is normal behavior. And I refuse to contribute to that in anyway shape or form.

It’s bad enough there are people who write YA targeted books that have included darker themes like r@p3 and abuse with heavy misogynistic themes branded as “romance”. Someone who’s impressionable and will read that and think that’s the standard or have that expectation of what a relationship should be all because he’s “hot” or “pretty” and he’s in a position of power. Him being in a position of power makes it even worse.

A friend of mine who is an author and works in preventing or stopping human trafficking, and helping abuse victims read a few of these books and did an analysis and said the content is ridiculous.

I’ve got deep feelings about it if you can’t tell.

And I refuse contribute to that very toxic theme that’s floating around and you wouldn’t believe the amount of adults and fans that defend these books as romance. As acceptable romance.

Not to mention, themes of abuse is extremely triggering for me. Not in a “I’m just throwing the word around because I can.” I’m a victim of abuse because I was the young and impressionable teenager and was under the assumption that’s what love should look like. It continued for a year.

I was lucky I was never hit, but there were constant threats and while he never hit me there were times he put hands on me to threaten me. There were times he’d threaten to kill me if I did x or x.

I’ve also been abused my “best friend” granted I wasn’t a teenager anymore and it wasn’t romantic. But still it stands that I was vulnerable when it occurred and it wasn’t okay. There were texts that made me uncomfortable and constant gaslighting even when we RPed the romantic character she put me with would gaslight me.

It’s why I can’t write Yandere and romanticized abuse. Aside from the fact that while my blog is 18+ the fics can absolutely be for much younger audiences and I won’t contribute to desensitizing younger more impressionable people. As well as people who are extremely kind or lonely and impressionable.

It is a huge trigger for me.

I also want my blog to be a very safe space for not just those that are young, but those who have been abused romantically/platonically/etc. I want for it to be an escape from those harsh realities.

I want people to read my fics and feel loved and warm and safe. And I never ever want to contribute to any confusion or normalization of being hurt.

[beauvibaby]

7 summers – j.oleksiak

a/n: this is very very loosely based on the song 7 summers by Morgan wallen, I heard the song and it gave me big inspo and a huge shoutout to abby for hyping me up so much about this fic 🥺💖

word count: 4.7k

warnings: I was too lazy to really proofread this and I wrote it in one day so

A sigh fell from your lips as you fell down on the bed beside him, trying to ignore the debate in your mind, Jamie instantly laced his fingers with yours. “I’ll be back next summer.” He reminded you, sensing the pain you were feeling. He brought your hand up to his lips. “Forever, yeah?” He reminded you, but his face fell when you didn’t repeat it. “Y/N, don’t do this.” He spoke, voice wavering, you sat up, feeling the tightness in your chest as you pulled your hand from his grip. “Baby, please.” He followed your movements, “Jamie, I can’t keep doing this.” You whispered, a tear falling from your eye, followed by another and another–until they were streams running down your cheeks. “We can figure it out, I can fly you out on long weekends, and–“ “Jamie! Just stop. Please. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.” You cut him off, standing to your feet, shaking your head when he went to reach for you. “Y/N, I love you.” He whispered, you squeezed your eyes shut, if you listened close enough, you would hear your heart shattering. You rushed over to him, cupping his jaw in your hands and kissing him deeply, “I love you too, and that’s why I have to let you go.” Your voice broke as you pulled away from him, he didn’t try to stop you, not anymore, because he knew you were right.

***

“Mommy!” You shot up at the shrieks of terror coming from your son's room, “Asher.” You whispered, springing out of the bed, “Asher!” You shouted, running down the hall towards him as he continued to scream. “Asher, honey, what’s wrong?” You stormed in there, eyes darting around, you didn’t see anything. “Mommy!” He cried, looking frozen in his spot, eyes glued to his bedroom window, looking over the front yard. “I saw someone outside!” He shouted, you looked at him oddly. You knew it was probably his little four year old mind playing tricks on him, but for both his and your sanity, you walked over to the window, peeking out the blinds. “I told you not to look out the window at night because it scares you…” you scolded him lightly, trailing off when you saw some stupid teenagers out by the road. “Stay here.” You sighed, your son nodding, arms clenched around the blue teddy bear his father had gifted him before seemingly walking out of your lives forever. You unlocked the front door and flicked the porch lights on, “you’ve got two minutes to get your asses off my property before I call the cops!” You shouted, hearing the teenagers rushing around before they sped off on their bikes. “Freaking kids.” You grumbled, shutting the door and walking back down the hall to your son who was still sniffling. “Come on, baby. You can sleep with me tonight.” You opened your arms for Asher and he bolted into them, smiling when you scooped him up like a baby.

“Mommy, I’m too old to be carried like this!” He giggled, wiggling in your arms, “Mhm, what about like this?” You teased, letting him dangle upside down, his legs hooked around you and your hands holding his to keep him from falling. “No, stop.” He managed to squeak out between laughter, his eyes already growing heavy again, the time reading midnight. “What do you say?” You tsked, “please.” He whined, sighing in relief when you pulled him back up, his arms wrapping around your neck. “Mommy?” He whispered, you bummed softly, laying him down on the normally empty side of your bed, “is daddy ever going to see the new house?” He questioned, already unable to keep his eyes open as you pulled the blanket over him, adjusting the bear in his arms, you looked at him–the constant reminder of your ex, he was a spitting image of him, brown hair, green eyes, a wide toothy smile whenever he got excited. “No, sweetie, he won’t.” You whispered, lips ghosting over his forehead, thankfully he was already asleep. You slid in beside him, letting a few tears fall as you thought of how hard this transition for him would be. You went from being in a crappy condo with his father, to you somehow finding a house available to rent just outside the city, it wasn’t easy, by any means.

If anything, it was the hardest thing you ever did. You were working as a teacher, which was a huge upside to being a single mom, you were able to have the weekends home with Asher, and when he was at school, so were you. Your parents begged and pleaded with you to move back to Canada, but you had built a life here, friends, a good enough job, and it was all Asher knew. And he loved it, every bit of Dallas was in him.

You’d gone to Florida on a trip, you were young and impressionable, just one short year after breaking up with Jamie, when you met him. Lucas–Asher’s father. He was from Texas, but vacationing in Florida at the same time as you, the two of you falling head over heels in love, quickly, and before you knew it, you were packing your bags and moving to Texas with him. You got married in the courthouse, more so you could stay legally in the states with him. Eventually you got pregnant, and that’s when things changed, you broke up, you even got divorced once Asher was born, and then back together. At the time you thought it was the right thing to do, you thought it would be better for Asher this way, but clearly, as you laid in bed next to your son, his father long gone for the past four months, it hadn’t been the right choice.

Eventually, you fell asleep like your son, dreaming of all the things you wanted to provide him with.

***

Over the next few months you fell into an easy routine, the summer flying by, and before you knew it, you were approaching Halloween already. “Mommy! Mommy!” Asher chanted running over to you, his friend Tommy in tow. “Hi boys.” You grinned, squatting down to their level, the two of them giving you hugs. You often brought Tommy home with you when his parents were working late, they’d pick him up just before dinner. “How was your day?” You asked them, standing to your full height, they each grabbed one of your hands, happily walking towards the car with you. “Good!” They answered insync, smiling up at you, Tommy was only a couple of months older than Asher, but the difference was remarkable. “Miss Y/N?” He asked, looking up at you, blue eyes shining with burning curiosity. “Yes?” You answered glancing down at him, “Asher wanted me to ask if you’ll let him start hockey with me.” He spoke bluntly, Asher gasping from beside you. “Tommy!” Your son complained, giving his friend the meanest look he could muster, but after the word hockey your mind went blank. Hockey, hockey, hockey, that’s all that went through your mind–Jamie, he plays for the stars, how could you not think of that. You inhaled sharply when Asher yanked on your hand, “can I mommy?” He asked with a pout, you knew he’d ask this eventually, he’d grown up watching the games with you on tv, and you also knew that Tommy’s family was interested in it, it was only a matter of time. “We’ll talk about it at home, Asher.” You mustered up a smile, faltering when his face fell, normally that answer meant no. But for him, you’d really consider it.

The boys played out in the backyard, while you sat at the kitchen table with Mary, Tommy’s mom, “so Tommy is going to play hockey?” You asked, she smiled. “Yes! He’s so excited, you should consider signing Asher up! I’m sure he’d love it.” She gushed, before seeing the apprehension on your face. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep.” She apologized hurriedly, “no! No you didn’t.” You assured her, glancing down at your phone on the table, you were both young moms, the only difference is she was still with her son's father. “You know that guy I told you about? The one from the summer before I met Lucas?” You mumbled, sighing when she cocked her head to the side, urging you on. “He played hockey,” you paused, and her smile fell, “oh, I see.” She whispered, “there’s more.” You groaned, covering your face. “He plays professionally.” You rushed, her eyes going wide as saucers, “a professional hockey player?!” Mary gasped, hands laying out on the table. “Oh my god, who is it?” She asked, glancing out the window at the boys who were still happily playing in the yard. You bit your lip, rubbing a hand over your face, “Jamie Oleksiak.” You whispered, and she definitely heard you. “Jamie? Oleksiak? Like, from the Dallas Stars?” She spoke slowly, reeling in this information. “Yeah, that’s the one.” You sighed, the back door opening, the boys walking in with pouts, “we’re hungry!”

***

It was Asher’s first day of hockey and you were happily sitting with the other parents, Mary and Josh included, eager to see your boys out on the ice. “So, how cool is it that they have some pros coming in today?” Josh grinned, Mary went wide eyed, shooting him a look. “What? I thought she knew.” He pouted at his girlfriend, you looked at Mary skeptically. “I was going to tell you, I swear, but then I found out who was coming and I didn’t want you to back out.” She rushed, realizing what she was saying, your face fell. “Mary, he’s not–“ you got cut off as the kids coach started speaking. “Alright, kids. Today we’ve got Jamie Oleksiak and Tyler Seguin joining us from the Dallas Stars, everyone say hello!” He clapped, and you could feel your stomach clench on itself. Jamie and Tyler skating out and over to the kids, bright smiles on their faces. You looked over Jamie, feeling the burning in the back of your eyes, he still had that boyish charm emitting from him. They both waved to the parents, thankfully in the crowd, you didn’t really have to worry about him spotting you. If he’d even remember you after all these years.

“I have to use the bathroom.” You excused yourself, seeing Jamie speaking with Asher, sending your mind into a spiral. “Y/N.” Mary tried to stop you, “Mary, please, I just need a minute, keep an eye on Asher.” You pleaded with her, she gave in, releasing your hand, Josh trying to figure out what was happening. “I’ll tell you later.” Mary sighed to her boyfriend, glancing back at you as you started speed walking to the bathroom. You locked the door behind you, letting out a strangled breath, you didn’t think it would hurt so much to see him again, you thought you moved on. But clearly, you hadn’t, not as much as you thought you had. “Y/N, Asher is asking for you!” Mary called, knocking softly. You snapped out of your daze, eyes instantly drying up, a smile plastered onto your face. “Where is he?” You asked as soon as you opened the door, “Josh is with him, he fell, it just scared the wits out of him.” She pouted, watching as you rushed out of the hallway. You rounded the corner and saw him sitting on the bench with Josh kneeling in front of him, “Asher.” You smiled, and he instantly looked over at you, the helmet on his head shaking as he moved suddenly. “Mommy.” He sniffled, Josh stood and went to join Mary as you took over in front of your son. “Why aren’t you on the ice learning with everyone else?” You questioned him, adjusting the helmet on his head. “I fell.” He explained shortly, and you raised an eyebrow, “that’s it?” You teased him, a smile coming on his face. “It hurt.” He mumbled sheepishly, “but it doesn’t hurt anymore does it? Sometimes when you fall you just have to get back up!” You reminded him with a comforting smile, he looked behind you. “Mr. Jamie, I’m ready to come back.” You froze at his words, you couldn’t bring yourself to turn and look at him, finally though, Asher moved to get off the bench, forcing you to move. “Want a hand?” Jamie asked, offering you some help off the ground, somehow you took his hand without him seeing your face. “Thanks.” You mumbled, finally having to take a glance up at him. He went blank, staring at you, his lips parted as it finally hit him, he inhaled sharply, releasing your hand, “Y/N?” He whispered. He looked over you, in shock that the first girl he ever loved was standing in front of him–the fact that you had a child hadn’t even hit him yet.

“Jamie.” You sighed, Asher looking between the two of you, “mommy, can I go now?” He whined, neither you or Jamie looking down at him, “yeah, honey go ahead.” You mumbled, waving him off. He trotted out to the ice, Tyler helping him as he eyed his teammate suspiciously. “You–wow, you have a son?” Jamie finally spoke, eyes following Asher on the ice. “Yeah, I do, he’s my whole world.” You smiled softly, looking over at the ice. “You should get back out there.” You added, he cleared his throat, “yeah, uh, would you ever want to grab a coffee and catch up?” He questioned, you froze, sputtering out a yes. “Great, I’ll get your number after?” He stepped on to the ice, “yeah, of course, yeah.” You stumbled over your words, heart beating fast in your chest, he probably thought you had a boyfriend, it wouldn’t be like that. You should just get out of your head. “What just happened?” Mary gasped whacking your arm, Josh looking quizzically between you two. “Uh, we’re going to get coffee and catch up sometime.” You mumbled, eyes fixed on the tall guy skating around with the kids, “that’s good, isn’t it?” She tilted her head at you, “it still hurts.” You finally turned to her, the closest friend you had here. “Oh sweetie.” She sighed, pulling you in for a hug, “if it’s any consolation, he keeps looking over here.” She whispered, you let out a dry laugh, “probably because he can’t believe how I’ve changed.” You groaned, your body was never the same after you had Asher, fuller than you had been all those years ago. “Oh don’t even go there.” Mary chastised you, pulling out of your hug, “you’re going to go? Aren’t you? Please.” She pouted, giving you a knowing look. “Wait, you know Jamie?” Josh finally spoke up, the kids cheering as practice ended, “she used to date him.” Mary told her boyfriend, he went wide eyed, “holy-“ “language!” You both scolded him as the kids started approaching, “sorry.” He mumbled, looking down at the ground.

“Hey, bud, did you have fun?” You grinned at Asher as he pulled his helmet off, “yes!” He shrieked, Tommy doing the same to his parents, all of you chuckling at their excitement. “So you want to keep doing it then?” You asked him as you sat him on the bench, beginning to undo his skates. “Can I?” He asked, breaking your heart, that he even thought you wouldn’t let him continue. “Of course you can, Asher.” You cupped his little jaw in your hand, he smiled widely, happily bouncing in his seat. “He did great.” The familiar voice nearly caused you to jump out of your skin, Asher giggled at your reaction. Jamie sitting beside him and undoing his own skates. You noticed his friend Tyler a few benches down, talking with some other kids. “A lot better than you used to do.” Jamie commented, your blush darkening, “you know my mommy?” Asher gasped. Jamie nodded with a gentle smile, “from a long time ago.” He smiled at your son, ruffling his brown hair up. “Woah.” Your son looked over at you, wide eyed, causing you to giggle. Jamie smiled at the sight, your eyes narrowing as the smile took over your face, just like he used to make you do. “Miss Y/N?” Tommy tugged on your shirt, “yeah?” You looked at him, seeing Mary and Josh smirking at you. “Can Asher come play with me at my house?” He asked sweetly, Asher looking at you expectantly, Jamie hoping you would say yes too. “Uh, sure, that’s fine.” You mumbled, shooting Mary a playful glare to which she winked, “come on, Asher!” She called, you slipped his sneakers on just in time, “bye mommy.” He gave you a quick kiss before running off with them, leaving you here with his pile of equipment. You shook your head with a small laugh, “coffee?” Jamie asked with a tilt of his head, “mhm, I guess my schedule just cleared up.” You joked, Jamie grinning at you, rushing to get his skates off. “Calm down, I’m not going to disappear.” You quipped, standing to your full height, Tyler approached, “you ready to go man?” He asked, shooting you a smile as you gathered Asher’s things. “Um, actually, I’m going to get a coffee with Y/N.” Jamie spoke, trying to signal something with his eyes to Tyler, and clearly he didn’t get the message as his head whipped over to you, “Y/N? Why does that–WAIT! Y/N, like the Y/N?” Tyler rambled, Jamie glaring at him the whole time, you looked between them with wide eyes. “You talk about me?” You whispered, eyes locked on Jamie now. He nodded sheepishly, “yeah, of course I do.” He muttered, Tyler took the chance to run off, “sorry!” He called, knowing he was in for it with Jamie now.

“Why did he say ‘The Y/N’?” You questioned, crossing your arms over your chest awkwardly, not knowing what else to do with them. Jamie shrugged, his mouth moving but he spoke so faintly you couldn’t even hear him. “What?” You egged him on, stepping closer, “because you’re the one that got away.” He mumbled, slipping his sneakers on, “oh.” You breathed out, unsure of if you should be happy or nervous that he thinks of you as that. “Can we still get coffee? I mean, there’s so much to catch up on.” He asked sheepishly, standing up, and even with the heeled boots you had on, he towered over you, it reminded you of the summers you spent together. “Yeah, we can still go.” You smiled up at him, “lead the way.” You stepped aside, blushing when he took Asher’s hockey bag from you. “Ladies first.” He gently directed you in front of him, smirking at the pink tint covering your cheeks.

“Wait, so you were married?!” Jamie nearly choked on his coffee as you told him about Lucas, he’s the one who asked, and you didn’t miss the smile when you said you were single. “Yeah, not for too long though.” You sighed, stirring the sugar in your cup once again, “we got divorced when Asher was a month old, then we got back together, just dating.” You paused, “then he left right before Asher turned four, in January.” You concluded your story, leaving out some details, like how you were terrified every man would leave you both again, how you and Lucas had gotten into a huge argument and you told him to leave, not expecting he would actually do it. “I’m sorry, Y/N.” Jamie sighed, reaching for your hand, “that’s fucked up, he doesn’t deserve either of you.” He assured you, rubbing his thumb across the top of your hand. You nodded, taking in a sniffled breath, “yeah, what about you?” You steered the conversation away from you and your past, Jamie easily agreed and told you some stories about his brief time in Pittsburgh, “but I’m really glad I came back to Dallas.” He mumbled, you lifted your eyes to meet his, hearing the change in his voice, he was already looking at you, the same way he used to. “Jamie–“ “Y/N, don’t do this again, don’t push me away without giving me a chance.” He cut you off, “if you’re genuinely not interested, that’s fine, but please don’t block me out of your life again, I don’t think I could handle that.” He pleaded with you, shattering your heart, you had to make a decision, to be vulnerable with the man that you truly never stopped loving, or to be reasonable and protect not only yourself, but your son.

You shook your head, “it’s not just about me, anymore, Jamie. Asher is the most important thing in my life.” You whispered, voice shaky, “I know, and that’s fine by me, I wouldn’t do anything to hurt him.” Jamie pointed out, subtly sliding his hand closer to yours. “Not intentionally.” You slipped up, Jamie’s gaze faltering, “one date, Asher won’t even know, he won’t get hurt, and if you can wholeheartedly tell me that you don’t feel anything for me anymore–then I’ll drop it. I’ll leave you alone if that’s what you want.” He bargained with you, and you couldn’t deny the excitement bubbling in your chest, the effort he was already putting in. “One date, Jamie.” You agreed, releasing some of the tension between you two, “one date.” He grinned.

***

“I love you, baby, have fun with Tommy tonight, ok?” You gave Asher a big hug and an obnoxious kiss on his cheek, “I will, mommy.” He giggled, pushing off of you, “thank you, both, again.” You thanked Mary and Josh, “it’s no problem, they’ve been wanting to have a sleepover anyways.” Mary brushed you off, “now, go get ready for your date.” She teased, pushing you towards the door, “maybe you’ll be having a sleepover of your own.” She added. “Mary!” You gasped, “I wouldn’t.” You blushed, “the look on your face says otherwise.” She smirked, “have fun!” And with that, she shut the door in your face, forcing you to leave and go get ready for this date.

You spent an ungodly amount of time getting ready, nitpicking everything you did, straightening your hair but then deciding you should curl it, which of course it didn’t hold after being straightened, so now you had this in between style going on. Then your makeup, you kept going back and forth between what to do, how much to do. Finally settling on simple eyes and a dark red lipstick to go with your dress.

The doorbell rang as you were slipping your boots on, you took a deep breath before standing up and walking towards the door. You turned the handle, slowly pulling it open to reveal Jamie, your breath hitching in your throat, the black pants and light blue printed button down hugging him just right. You had the same affect on him though, the red velvet dress falling perfectly over your body, the v neck showing just enough to be classy but still sexy, the dress stopping just before your knees. You dressed it down slightly with your heeled black combat boots, the two going better together than you would think. Jamie swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, “you look incredible.” He finally spoke, neither of you realizing how much time had passed, “thank you, so do you.” You replied honestly. “Thanks.” He chuckled, eyeing you once more, “ready to go?” He asked, clearing his throat, you nodded, grabbing your small purse, “ready.” You smiled, stepping out the door with him. “Should I be worried about you kidnapping me?” You joked as he opened his car door for you, “I should be asking you the same thing.” He retorted, the two of you falling into easy banter during the date, conversation flowing, neither of you drinking more than one glass of wine, so you knew it was genuine. You couldn’t stop the fluttering in your heart as he walked you up to your front door, his hand low on your back.

You turned to each other after you unlocked the door, “I had a great time tonight, Jamie.” You whispered, biting your red stained lips, his eyes flickered down to them. “Me too.” He murmured, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “We should do it again sometime.” You leaned into his hand, he rested it on your cheek, the other coming to rest on your hip. “Really?” He asked softly, shuffling a little closer to you, his head tipped down, “yeah.” You let your eyes flutter shut, his breath fanning over your face. “Can I?” He whispered, the patience he was practicing was only making you want this even more. “Yes.” You whimpered, his lips on yours not even a second later, you turned to putty in his hands, your hands sliding up his chest before interlocking behind his neck. His lips moved against yours perfectly, you whined against his mouth when he slid his hand into your hair. Finally you had to pull away to breathe, “Jamie.” You sighed, smiling up at him, a peaceful look on your face. “Did you want to come inside?” You asked, twirling your fingers in the hair on the back of his head, “are you sure?” He questioned, the hand that was on your hip now delicately running up and down your side. “I’m sure.” You leaned into him more, “you’re so beautiful.” He groaned, kissing you again before pushing the front door open, letting you guide him through your house. His eyes never once leaving your body as you held his hand, pulling him along.

“We don’t have to do anything.” He whispered, not moving his hands from your waist as you ran a hand along his jaw. You nodded, contemplating your decision, you wanted this, you wanted him. You trusted him, even after all these years, he was still the sincere Jamie you knew when you were a teenager. Your mind quickly flickered to Asher, how this would affect him, if it would affect him. “Jamie, I know it was only one date.” You paused, glancing away for a moment, his hand came up to your chin, gently turning you back to face him. “I don’t want to scare you off, but if we do this, it has to be all or nothing. I don’t want to be hurt again, and I can’t let Asher get attached if you’re not committed to us.” You explained, expecting him to step away, to at least take a moment to contemplate this. “I won’t hurt you.” His voice was so gentle, hands moving to cup your face. “If I do, you have permission to kick my ass.” He joked, sighing in relief when you laughed. “Ok.” You grinned, attaching your lips to his, falling into a gentle rhythm with him. His hands grazed over the tie on the side of your dress and you tensed, he pulled back to look at you. “We don’t–“ “I want to, I really want to.” You cut him off, closing your eyes for a moment, “it’s stupid, really, but I’ve changed a lot, my body has changed a lot.” You trailed off, understanding coming across his face. “Ok.” He shrugged, you raised an eyebrow at him, “I still think you’re gorgeous.” He added, shocked that you would even think otherwise.

You blushed and moved his hand to the tie on your dress, nodding for him to undo it when he looked at you hesitantly. He tugged on the strings, watching them come apart, but the dress still clung to itself, he brushed his hand under it, watching as the fabric fell open, his eyes ran over your body. The small stretch marks left on your stomach from when you had Asher, to the way your thighs stuck together, you went to cover yourself back up when he didn’t move, but then in a flash he had you laid back on the bed, smiling down at you, “gorgeous.” He whispered, going on to show you just how gorgeous he thought you were…

That one date led to many more, to Asher loving him, to moving in together, to a marriage and two more kids.

That one date led to the rest of your lives.

taglist; @vinceduhn​ @jackiesquinn​ @kiedhara​ @kempe​ @vincecdunn​ @literarycharleton​

[pluckyredhead]

What are Bruce and Alfred‘s initial reactions to each of the robins significant others? (Whom ever you ship with them)

I only really have strong feelings about JayRoy and JonDami, but I’ll throw some canon love interests in there! (TimKon is canon-adjacent and we all know it.) This is in order of relationships, not in order of Robins:

Dick

Alfred: I think young Master Richard has a bit of a crush on Miss Gordon.

Bruce: What? Impossible. Dick’s too young to have crushes. He’s seven.

Alfred: ...You didn’t meet him until he was twelve.

Bruce: He’s four.

Alfred: ...

Bruce: Babies can’t have crushes.

Dick, take 2

Alfred: Master Richard’s new girlfriend seems very polite.

Bruce: ...

Alfred: The lovely Miss Anders? Even you must have noticed her at lunch. She is very tall and has quite extraordinary hair.

Bruce: ...Computer, run probability algorithm of tall, beautiful aliens attempting to take over the Earth.

Computer: Running Kal-El Algorithm.

Alfred: ...

Bruce: ...

Alfred: ...

Bruce: Dick’s too young for a girlfriend anyway.

Tim

Bruce, deeply offended: And then she called me an old man and blew a raspberry at me before backflipping off the roof! And her form wasn’t even very good!

Alfred: ...

Bruce: “Spoiler.” Please. Here’s a spoiler for you, young lady: unauthorized vigilantes are not permitted in my city!

Alfred: ...

Bruce: I’m not that old.

Alfred: Well, I think Miss Brown is rather amusing, and I believe Master Tim agrees. He’s taking her to the movies next Friday.

Bruce: *vibrating out of this plane of existence* W H A T

Tim, take 2

Alfred: Yes, Master Bruce, I agree with you that the young Superboy is a bit...uncouth, but I do think it’s good for Master Tim to have friends his age. The boys do seem to have grown quite close.

Bruce: ...

Bruce: COMPUTER, RUN KAL-EL ALGORITHM.

Steph

Bruce: Well, I suppose you’re better for Tim than Superboy.

Steph: Rude.

Kon: I know, right?

Alfred: *sighs heavily*

Jason

Alfred: It is nice to see Mr. Harper again. He and Master Dick were such good friends when they were boys, and he’s grown into a fine young man.

Bruce: He has tattoos.

Alfred: Well, yes.

Bruce: And did you notice his ear was pierced at one point? What does he think he is, a sailor???

Alfred: ...

Bruce: I’m just concerned that he’ll be a bad influence on Jason.

Alfred: ...You do realize Master Jason kills people, yes?

Bruce: Do YOU realize that Roy was in a ROCK AND ROLL BAND??? What’s next, a motorcycle???

Alfred: You own 17 motorcycles.

Bruce: Jason’s impressionable!

Alfred: *sighs heavily again*

Damian

Alfred, so very tired: I think Master Jon is a very sweet boy, but I suppose you’ll want to run the Kal-El Algorithm?

Bruce: No, that won’t be necessary.

Alfred: ...Wait, really?

Bruce: Alfred, I can’t believe you would suggest this innocent child might be trying to take over the world, just because his father is from another planet.

Alfred: ...

Bruce: Honestly, I’m ashamed of you. Look at him! He’s baby!

Alfred: ...

Bruce: Do you think Clark would let me adopt him?