#i discovered that he has a butt line while looking at the shot closer

[mynamesnotdahlia]

butt spotted

[queensoybean0724]

Succession Chapter 3 (Karl Heisenberg/female reader) Resident Evil Village fanfic

Here’s chapter 3!  I hope you enjoy it!

Title: Succession Chapter 3

Characters: Karl Heisenberg, female reader

Rating: PG-13 for language and possible kidnapping trigger warning (this is a slow burn, but it will get sexy and spicy later on)

Summary: you discover a long lost relative has died and made you his sole beneficiary.  While flying to collect your inheritance, you crash in a village in Romania.

Author’s Notes: I do not own the characters from Resident Evil Village.  This is a work of fiction.  Anything remotely similar to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter 3

“Stop squirming!” Heisenberg growled as you kicked your legs and bucked your body.  Uttering a curse under his breath, he slung his hammer to the ground, whirled your body to face him, and threw you over his shoulder, picking up the hammer and dragging it in the snow.

You did not know where he was taking you.  It felt as if he had been carrying you for a good fifteen minutes.  The scenery going by was the same as what was at the crash site: nothing but snow and dead trees.  You pushed your hands to his back and tried to look around desperately for another person to call for help.  Unable to find any source of assistance, you did the only thing you could...kick your legs and beat your fists against his back.

“You’re a feisty one, aren’t you?” Heisenberg laughed, his grip on your legs tightening.  His voice held such confidence and self-assurance that you wanted to slap the fuck out of him.

You looked down to the ground and noticed that the snow and dirt gave way to cobblestones.  Looking around, you saw that he was walking across a bridge.  To your left were mountains with a cascading waterfall.  The wind caught sprays of mist and you felt the ice cold stinging your face.  

“Home sweet home, pussycat!” Heisenberg bellowed.  You heard the opening of a gate as you tried to turn around to see where he was taking you.  

“Put me down!” you shrieked, swinging your leg forward and kicking him square in the stomach.  A loud oomph rushed from his mouth and he lurched forward, dropping you forcefully on your ass.  Pain shot up your body.  You squirmed and cursed as you grabbed your butt, rubbing the pained area.

“Come on,” Heisenberg said, grabbing your arm and pulling you up, “you can’t just lie on the ground all day!”  

You tried to dig your heels into the ground to stop him when you looked up and saw the building before you.  A bleak factory with tall smoke stacks stood like a monstrosity with the snowy mountains in the background.  An array of scrap metal littered the grounds around the building.  Heisenberg pulled you towards a pair of sliding doors in the front.

Despite the fact that you and Heisenberg had yet to reach the building, the doors opened on their own.  The distant sounds of chains and metal could be heard deep inside of the factory and you wondered if there were others working.  Maybe someone would feel sympathy towards you and help you escape or call for help.  He pulled you over the threshold and into his factory.

With a sudden quickness, you jerked away from his grasp and tried to make a break for the doors.  They swiftly shut and trapped you inside.  You looked around wildly as Heisenberg laughed before you, knowing that you were stuck.  Not one to give up so easily, you spotted stairs going down to the lower level and you ran towards them.

“Ugh...I don’t have time for this shit!!” you heard Heisenberg yell behind you, but you were already halfway down the stairs and rushing to get as much distance between you and him as you could.

Your adrenaline was pumping as you turned a corner and ran down a dark hallway.  You couldn’t hear the man behind you, which had you hoping that you were able to hide from him and come out once the coast was clear.

The steel stairs and walkways were a labyrinth as you looked for an open door that led to an empty room.  There had to be someone in this place that you could convince to help you.  Hell, you were so close to becoming three million dollars richer...if they helped you, you could reward them handsomely.  But not before having this psychopath Heisenberg brought up on kidnapping charges.  

“Pussycat…” you heard in a sing-song voice coming around the corner, “...please come out and play…”

Your heart hammered in your chest as you ran down the hallway towards a door.  You opened the door and before you stood a metal walkway suspended in the air.  It went on for several feet before stopping at another closed door.  Slowly shutting the door behind you, you turned and started running across, your hands on the railings.  

Movement along with the sounds of cogs turning and chains rattling brought your attention to your left.  Your feet came to a halt and your eyes widened.  

Were those...bodies?

Lifeless bodies were hanging from a large metal wheel, turning around and around.  More bodies hung suspended from hooks as they moved along on an assembly line...lines that went up and down, right and left.  There had to be hundreds of bodies in this place.

“Jesus Christ!” you murmured, your hands gripping the railing.

“How do you like my army?”

Your head whipped around to find Heisenberg slamming the door shut behind him, slowly making his way towards you.  “Ah, yes...hundreds of men...waiting to become unbeatable, glorious works of art…”

“What the fuck is this place??” you spat at him, walking backwards.

Heisenberg looked at the bodies, his gloved hand sliding across the railing as he walked closer to you.  “You have no idea where you are, darling…” he responded, turning his attention to you, “...this place...well, perhaps death would have been better for you…”

“Stay away from me,” you muttered, turning around and running as fast as you could towards the door on the other side of the walkway.  You could hear the steady stomp of Heisenberg’s boots as he got closer and closer.  Gripping the door handle, you pulled as hard as you could, but the door did not budge.  You cursed and yelled, pulling and turning the handle.

Heisenberg’s arms went around your body and pulled you away from the door.  You kicked and screamed, struggling to get away.

“You are becoming quite a pain in my ass!” Heisenberg bellowed, pulling you back across the walkway, “should I have left you shivering in the snow, fresh meat for the lycans?”

“Let go of me!!” you screamed.  The two of you were back at the first door as he hauled you against his side, grunting as he carried you down a different corridor.  Your fingers tried to grip at his arm, pulling at his trenchcoat.  You swung your arms up towards his head, but he was quick to dodge your limbs.

He came up to a door and kicked it open, slinging your body inside.  You fell to the floor and rolled into the room.  “Sit tight, doll face,” Heisenberg grinned, “I’ll check in on you soon…”  And before you could get to your feet and run towards him, he closed and locked the door.

“Let me out!” you screamed as you banged your fists on the door.  You were met with silence and with a huff, you turned around.  The room wasn’t large.  A cot was against the wall.  There was a stall on the other side with a toilet.  Two metal chairs sat side by side against the wall to your left.  To your right was a metal sink.  You went to the sink and turned on the water.  Upon close inspection, it seemed clear and clean.  Leaning down, you gulped mouthfuls of water.  You didn’t realize until that moment just how thirsty you were.

You stood and gasped for air.  What the fuck is going on, you thought to yourself.  Your plane crashed, you were chased by werewolf-like men and a mutant hunchback, and now you were locked away in a factory by some hammer wielding psychopath.  Would you ever be able to escape?  If anyone located the crash and saw that there were no survivors, would they just suspect that you were one of those dead and not come looking for you?

For the first time since the crash, you allowed the weight of the world to flow over you.  And as you laid down on the cot, you finally allowed yourself to break down into quiet sobs.

*

The sudden opening of the metal door woke you and made you sit up straight on the cot.  Your heartbeat instantly accelerated as you looked and saw Heisenberg standing in the doorway with a tray of food in his hand.

“Rise and shine, darling!” Heisenberg greeted in a jovial tone.  He walked over to the sink and rested the tray across it, turning his attention away from you.  Standing from the cot, you watched as he took the empty glass from the tray and filled it with water from the tap.

Without thinking, you made a break for the open door.  Your focus was on escape and you didn’t notice when Heisenberg’s left hand made a twisting motion, the cot flipping onto its side, and swinging around the room, sliding between you and the door.  You yelped and halted your retreat so as not to run straight into the bed.  Your eyes flew between the cot and Heisenberg, not able to believe what you just saw.

“Don’t you think for one second you can stop running and just sit the fuck down?!” he growled as he turned to face you, “here I am, bringing you food, making sure you are well taken care of, and you can’t rest for two seconds!!”

“How did you do that??” you asked.  Heisenberg shut the door and uprighted the cot, pulling it back to where it was.

“Magic,” he muttered under his breath, “seriously...Y/N, is it?  I’m sure you’re starving.  Just sit and eat something…”  He picked up the tray and placed it on the cot, patting the mattress beside it.  He walked past you towards one of the chairs and sat down.  You moved in time with him, moving closer to the food...but only in order to keep space between the two of you.

The smell of the stew hit your nostrils and your stomach growled loudly.  It did smell nice and you had to admit that you were incredibly hungry.  You begrudgingly moved to the bed, sat down, and brought the tray to your lap.  You picked up the spoon and dug in.

As you ate, your eyes moved from the bowl of stew to Heisenberg and back again.  You watched as he reached into the inner pocket of his trenchcoat, pulled out a cigar, and lit it with a lighter he took from another pocket in the coat.  He puffed on the cigar, leaning his head back and expelling a cloud of smoke up in the air.  The aroma wafted through the room.  

You didn’t say anything, but you always thought the smell of cigar smoke was intoxicating.

Heisenberg rested his arm across the other chair next to him and lifted his leg, putting his foot to rest on the opposite knee.  His eyes never left yours.

As you ate quietly, you took in your captor.  His boots, his clothing, the hat, and the sunglasses.  Gloves covered his hands.  His hair was long, coming to rest at chin level.  His short beard was the same shade as his hair, brown with hints of gray peppered in between.  If he hadn’t kidnapped you from the wreckage of the plane, you might have found him attractive.

Once you finished eating, you placed the tray on the cot next to you and finished your glass of water.

“How was it?” Heisenberg asked, motioning to the tray with his cigar.

“Good…” you mumbled, “...why am I here?  And how did you move this cot??  What the fuck is going on??”

Heisenberg puffed on his cigar again before standing from the chair and walking towards you.  “All will be revealed in due time.”  He took your arm in his free hand and pulled you from the bed and towards the door.

“Now where are we going?!?!” you asked, feelings of fear, dread, and disbelief surging through you once again.

“You have proven you can’t be trusted on your own,” Heisenberg said, “you’re staying in my living quarters with me…”

[qqueenofhades]

Fivan + 2 please ❤ in your modern au or in canon, idc

2. “Stay here tonight.”

It is the night of October 25, 1917, in the Old Style, and outside the windows, the streets of Petrograd are in total chaos. The telegraph lines of the Winter Palace have been cut, even as Vladimir Ilyich Lenin's proclamation, To the Citizens of Russia, clatters across the wires to every corner of the country, proclaiming the overthrow of the Provisional Government established in February and the total victory of the Bolsheviks and their Military-Revolutionary Committee. Fedyor Mikhailovich Kaminsky is one of the few soldiers still at his post, even though he knows that it's only a matter of time. He can hear the distant, surging roar of the revolutionaries coming closer and closer, the boom of the cruiser firing shots in the harbor, the song of angry men. They will be in here before the night is out.

His hands are slick with sweat, but he holds his gun as tightly as he can. The cabinet of the Provisional Government is closeted within, leaving a scanty force of soldiers, officers, Cossacks, and cadets to resist the imminent invasion, but it's clear they will have to flee, as Tsar Nicholas II and his family have already done. There are already whispers among the men that they should do the same, turn their coats and join the victorious rebels. Fedyor hasn't decided where he falls. He has a duty here. He can't just leave it. And yet.

The roar comes closer, something living and furious and savage, the crash of breaking windows and rattling iron, as the forty-thousand-strong Bolshevik mob surges against the gates of the Winter Palace and breaks them down. Minutes later, they're inside. There follows almost three hours of confused fighting among the glittering hallways and under the chandeliers where grand dukes and princes whirled their wives and mistresses by the bejeweled hand, in all the decadence and splendor of the imperial court. Priceless paintings are ripped to shreds, glass and woodwork smashed. Fedyor fights messily, hand to hand, whichever of them he encounters. Until he comes around a corner, runs straight into one of them and is caught clean off guard, and the next moment, backhanded viciously to the floor.

As the Bolshevik raises the butt of his rifle to smash Fedyor's face in, he discovers to his disgust that he is in fact, at the end, a coward more than he is a loyalist. "Don't," he begs. "Don't kill me. I surrender."

The Bolshevik stares at him grimly down his long nose, from a face that seems made for the express purpose of scowling. At this close range, Fedyor can tell from the insignia on his collar that he is a member of the Red Guard, the paramilitary people's organization drawn together to support the establishment of a supreme soviet socialist republic. In other words, the most dedicated and ruthless of all the Bolsheviks, and Fedyor has no reason to think this one will show him mercy. He squeezes his eyes shut and waits for the end.

It doesn't come. He dares to open his eyes. The Red Guard is still glaring at him, but in frustration. Then he snaps, "What's someone like you doing here? How old are you? Twelve?"

"Nineteen." Fedyor bristles. To judge from his speech, this newcomer is from Siberia, which has probably been a fertile recruiting ground for long jeremiads about the excessive luxury of the urban elite, and Fedyor does not intend to be judged by some cowpoke. "If we're asking that question, why are you here? Hasn't anyone ever told you that it's treasonous to overthrow the government?"

To his surprise, the Bolshevik snorts, as if he didn't want to laugh, isn't used to laughing, and is slightly annoyed that Fedyor made him do it. "Get out of here," he advises tersely. "Or turn your coat and join us. I might not have killed you, but someone else will."

This is, in all respects, a fine idea, but something still makes Fedyor hesitate. "I, uh," he says awkwardly. "Thank you for, you know. Not doing that. I suppose."

"No honor in killing boys." The Red stares at him, flinty-eyed and imperturbable. This is not the moment, it really is not, to notice that he is rather handsome. "I said. Get out."

Fedyor mutters a prayer for the Almighty to forgive him, if God has not been asleep in Heaven for quite a long time now when it comes to Russia, and the devil, in the person of Grigori Rasputin, has been ruling instead. Then he dodges through the chaotic corridors, clambers through a broken window into the palace grounds, and makes his escape, with no idea what to do or where to go. All around him, the night resounds with sound and fury.

He finally finds somewhere in a side alley to dodge out of sight and await the inevitable. Just past two AM, he hears the bells ringing across the city, a sign that the revolutionaries have fully seized control of the Winter Palace, and it's done, it's over, his side has lost. Perhaps he should feel more upset about this than he does. It is abstract.

Fedyor spends the next two days adrift in the shattered sea of Petrograd, everyone completely agog and afraid and with no idea what will happen to them now. He sells his soldier's coat with its brass buttons for food and a blanket, reduced to no better than any other of the terrified refugees. He can't go back to the Winter Palace, and the revolutionaries are blocking any train he might take home to Nizhny Novgorod. He sits near the dock as the third evening is falling, shivering and hungry and scared. What now, what now, what --

"What are you doing here?"

He jumps out of his wits at the angry hiss, nearly drops his blanket in the water, and startles to his feet. It can't be, but it is, the Red Guard who spared him in the assault. They stare at each other. The Bolshevik looks like he has been on patrol, rifle on his back, and while it's not the wisest thing to say to such a terrifying-looking fellow, it comes out anyway. "Are you ever," Fedyor says, "going to ask me something besides what I'm doing somewhere? Such as my name?"

The humorless Red bastard scowls at him. Then he demands, as if he would in fact like to know the answer and is very annoyed about it, "So what is your name?"

"Fedyor." Fedyor folds his arms. "Fedyor Mikhailovich Kaminsky. You?"

"Ivan." It comes after a long, reluctant pause. "Ivan Ivanovich Sakharov. You should get off the streets."

"I don't have anywhere else to go."

Ivan Ivanovich acknowledges that with a terse nod. He debates with himself, then thrusts out a hand. "This way."

Fedyor follows him warily, not sure if he's being lured off to be shot in the head like the rest of the White Russians, but Ivan leads him to a tiny hovel in the working-class districts of Petrograd, a small room lit by a gaslamp. "You can stay here tonight," he says brusquely. "Just one night, do you hear me? After that, I can't help you."

"All right." Deciding not to look a gift horse in the mouth, Fedyor warily sits down. "And you? Where do you sleep?"

"Since you are there -- " Ivan jerks his chin at the narrow bed -- "on the floor. Do not be mistaken. I do not like you. As I said. It is only a matter of honor. Even rebels have it, you know."

Fedyor isn't sure, but he doesn't want to disagree. He lies down and folds his hands on his chest, staring at the garret ceiling, as Ivan Ivanovich settles on the frayed rug. And so -- it is strange, impossible, but no more than anything else in this new world with no rules -- side by side, imperial soldier and Red revolutionary, they sleep.

[imagine-loki]

Blushing in His Colours, Chapter 30

TITLE: Blushing in His Colours CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 30 AUTHOR: fanficshiddles ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki being a Daddy Dom, his adores and loves his little, worships the ground she walks on. She has vaginismus, but he couldn’t be more supportive with her. RATING: M

Mia rushed into the car and breathed out in relief when the doors locked.

Reporters were rushing at the car, trying to get her to talk. Asking what it was like dating Loki, since speculation that the drone footage was of Loki saving his girlfriend had spread like wildfire.

She had just gone out for a bit of shopping, but had to cut it short when she was recognised and started getting hounded.

When she got back home, she flopped down onto the bed face down with a groan.

‘Are you alright, sweetling?’ Loki asked with a chuckle as he sat down on the edge of the bed and rubbed her back.

‘Blooming reporters. Again!’ She huffed and turned her head to the side to look at him.

‘I’m sorry, love.’ Loki sighed, frowning.

‘Not your fault. They’re just annoying.’ Mia laughed and moved over closer to him. He was just out of the shower, so was butt naked. Not that Mia was complaining, not at all.

‘They are indeed. Perhaps you should consider what Maria suggested.’ Loki said, stroking her hair.

Mia humphed as she moved closer to his thigh, and she bit him playfully. But still hard enough to leave teeth marks.

Loki gasped in surprise and his mouth opened wide in mock shock. ‘Did you just bite me?’

Mia started giggling and she attempted to roll away, but Loki grabbed her and started tickling her.

After fooling around for a while, Mia spoke to Loki at length about what Maria had suggested. She decided it was probably best, to get it out of the way and hope that it would calm the reporters down when she was out and about…

So that afternoon she found herself in one of the interview rooms at the base, a reporter from one of the biggest news outlets was there to interview her.

She was so nervous, she didn’t want to do it. But she knew she had to, or she would be dealing with reporters continuously.

Loki picked her hand up and kissed the back of it softly. ‘Ill be right outside if you need me, love. You’ll do great.’ He assured her.

‘Thank you.’ She smiled up at him.

Loki glanced at the reporter, narrowing his eyes at her briefly before heading out. A silent warning to be good to his girl.

The interview started off ok, Mia was asked a few questions about herself and her position with the team. And how she met Loki, when they first got together.

‘Have you ever been scared of Loki? Knowing how strong he is?’

‘No, not at all.’ Mia answered confidently.

‘What about during the big fight, it must’ve come as a surprise seeing him like that?’

‘Well, yeah. It did. But he wouldn’t ever hurt me, I know that.’ Mia smiled.

The reporter nodded and smiled too. ‘What is it like, dating one of the most powerful beings in the world?’

‘It’s… well, just dating him is incredible. Whether he is super powerful or not. I love him and he treats me so well, like a princess.’ Mia said honestly.

There was a few more questions along the same lines.

‘And to finish off… Aren’t you ever worried that he might find someone else now he is getting so much more recognition? He has a huge fanbase, which working in social media I am sure you know, many women trying to gain his attention and steal him from you. Are you worried that one might catch his attention?’

Mia was slightly stunned at that question. She was amazed at the balls of the reporter.

Loki was of course listening in through the door, he was about to burst into the room, but then he heard Mia’s response. Making him freeze.

‘No. I’m not worried in the slightest. Because he’s mine.’

It took all of Loki’s strength not to barge into the room and bend her over the table and do unspeakable things to her. But he waited, not so patiently, for the reporter to thank Mia and pack up her recording equipment. The reporter was impressed with Mia and really liked her, even with her questions she threw at her.

As soon as she left, Mia was about to leave the room but Loki rushed in and slammed the door shut, locking it with his Seidr.

‘Loki!’ Mia squeaked when he pounced on her, turning her around and bending her over the table.

‘I heard everything, my little sweetling.’ He said as he smoothed her hair out of the way and started sucking on the back of her neck, making her whimper.

Sliding a hand into her hair, he held her tightly down on the table. He nipped on earlobe as he spoke so sinfully, she almost came straight away. ‘Getting possessive over me, hmm?’

He flipped her dress up and shoved his hand inside her knickers, slowly starting to stroke her.

‘I like that.’ He growled. ‘You did so well. I am so proud… But don’t forget, Daddy is the one in charge, little sweetling.’

Mia moaned loudly as his fingers glided over her clit, he teased her for a while, then surprised her by spanking her a few times. That riled her up completely.

He had her favourite dildo appear in his hand, he took his time to prepare her with his fingers first and make sure she was properly aroused, then he slid the dildo into her and used his Seidr to take control of it. Meaning he could thrust his cock between her ass cheeks, in tune with how he made the dildo move within her. His fingers dug into her hips as he rutted against her.

Mia was first to cum, the urgency and rather animalistic way of it all had cumming in no time. Loki was next to follow, spilling all over her ass as he growled hotly in her ear. ‘Mine. Forever.’

-

After the interview that Mia did, she found that reporters did back off. Luckily. She discovered that some fans were quite ruthless, yet most of them were kind about Loki’s girlfriend. Which she was glad to see.

In the following week, Mia managed to use the final dilator. She was so excited, Loki was so pleased too, especially with how excited she was about it.

‘I told you we’d get there, sweetling.’ Loki kissed her softly. She was sitting on his lap, with the dilator in for ten minutes, just to get used to.

‘You were right.’ Mia grinned.

‘As always.’ Loki winked at her.

‘Well… sometimes.’ She teased, making Loki chuckle and squeeze her sides playfully.

‘I uhm… I am still a little worried. I mean, you are so much bigger than this dilator. What’s the next stage?’ She asked, a little bit worried.

Loki smiled and stroked her cheek. ‘We use this dilator for a while, keep your body used to it. We keep playing and exploring, maybe try out some other toys. Then when the time is right, we take it very slow. Spend a whole day doing foreplay, then try penetration.’

Mia put her arms around his neck and hugged into him. She was so excited that there was a plan, that Loki had been thinking about it and knew what to do. That he was guiding her through it all.

But he had certainly been right back at the beginning, it would happen in time and there was always ways to make it work. Ways to make her fantasies come true in the meantime.

[sleepychai-fics]

Overhaul x Male!Reader N*FW- Dirty Thoughts for a Clean Man

Request: @weird-fandom-loser ; Ayy man. back again. could you maybe do an nsfw one shot (or headcanons) for a bottom overhaul with male s/o? 👉👈😗

Late again with posting but wheres the surprise in that? I would love to get back into the swing of nsfw one shots. Thank you for giving me this request! Im not exactly confident with how it turned out so feedback is GREATLY appreciated

Pronouns: Male

Words: 1975

Buy me a Ko-fi? ←(link in bio)

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Kai’s golden eyes glaze over the sight of you as steam rolls out of the bathroom and lingers around you.

A hand ruffles through your still damp hair, a few strands falling over your face. Your other hand holds the towel that hands around your waist, keeping the lower half of your body hidden whilst the top half is shown off bare.

Kai can’t help but stare at you. The way the muscles move beneath the skin of your arm as you mess with your hair, the gradient shadows that decorate your skin, the way the droplets of water run down your body, sinking past the towel that hangs at your hips.

The towel is a tease, Kai thinks. It hides the most valuable part of you.

He knows that valuable piece of you like the back of his hand. Well, more accurately the palm of his hand. He knows the texture of it, knows how it tastes, how it feels when it’s buried deep inside him.

He feels completely drunk from the sight of you, not that he would ever admit that aloud to someone.

He wants to feel you all over him. Wants your freshly cleansed hands roaming across his chest, teasing his nipples before sinking below his waist to take hold of him. Want to feel the pleasure that ignites within him as you pump him.

“You know,” Golden eyes snap up to meet your own pair of sparkly (e/c). “For a clean man such as yourself, you are quick to think dirty.”

For a second, Kai stands there confused. It isn’t until he feels the tightness building underneath his pants does he understand your comment.

Feigning annoyance, Kai scoffs. “I have no idea what nonsense you’re going on about.” With that, he turns away and takes the few strides to the bed.

Taking a seat at the edge of the bed, Kai begins to unlatch his mask, setting it gently on the bedside table. Just as he slides his jacket off his shoulders, you step in front of him.

He gasps as your arms come to cage him against the bed, your face mere inches from him. Instinctively, Kai leans back, afraid to be too close to you.

“Come on Kai, you and I both know you’re aching for me to ram you into this mattress.” Your voice is low and vibrates the back of your throat.

What you said was in fact true but there was no way Kai would admit it out loud. It was then that he made the mistake of looking further down your hovering body, only to discover that the towel around your waist had disappeared, revealing your hardening cock. He has to bite his lip to stop the moan that wants to escape past his lips.

He leans away from your as you lean in for a kiss. “Y-You’re filthy.” Oh how badly he wants to slap the stutter out of him.

You merely chuckle at his excuse, lips nibbling at his ear. “I just had a shower, there’s no need to worry about that.”

He can’t deny that, he can smell the custom made shampoo from you.

“You’re going to get me filthy.” For some reason, his own words turn him on more, causing even more strain against his pants.

Hooded eyes glaze with lust as you smirk at him. “Then I guess I’ll have to clean you up afterwards.”

And just like that, the ruthless, violent, and merciless leader of the feared Shie Hassaikai falls into submission.

With a growl of defeat, Kai leans up to complete the kiss. You smile into the kiss as you slowly push him to lay on the bed. He gasps as his back hits the bed. However, the need to be clean is easily overwhelmed by the need for you to be in him.

He welcomes your tongue inside his mouth, letting you explore all the crevices behind his teeth. The kiss only lasts a few more seconds before you pull back.

In utter frustration, Kai snarls. “What are you doing?”

You laugh at his annoyance. “Stripping you down of course.” Fingers glide down his dress shirt, buttons coming undone as they make their way down. Your lips ghost by his ear. “I’m sure you’d like to be fucked butt naked.”

Eagerness washes over Kai, pushing him to sit up, shoving the shirt off. He then hurries to undo his zip but your hands stop him from pulling them down making him choke out a groan.

“Little impatient are we?” You chuckle as you help him remove his pants, freeing his hard cock from it’s tight confines.

Kai throws his head back, mouth wide open in a silent moan as you begin to palm him through his boxers. He lifts a hand up to his chest and begins to pinch and roll his nipple between his fingers.

You groan as you watch him intently. “That’s it handsome, touch yourself for me.”

“You’re taking too long to-” Kai begins to retaliate but a squeeze to his cock stops him and rips a loud moan from him.

“Sorry, what was that? I couldn’t quite understand you.” You sneer as you lean down to engulf Kai’s other nipple in his mouth.

You press the flat of your tongue against his nipple, teeth barely touching skin. All while you drag his pants and boxers down with one hand and pump his cock with the other.

Kai is in bliss. It’s overwhelming but he loves it.

After a few minutes, you lift off of him, standing above him, eyes hazy over the sight of Kai breathless and sweaty.

It only takes a few seconds for him to be annoyed at the loss of contact. “Why did you stop?”

You shrug. “Just admiring the view.” You smirk at the faint blush that paints his cheeks. Turning to the bedside table, you open the drawer. “Besides, I think it’s time we get you prepped.” You pull out the bottle of lube, lifting it up for him to see.

Kai grunts at the spark of pleasure that shoots through to his dick. “I don’t need to be prepped. I can take you raw.”

Clicking your tongue, you shake your head. “No you can’t.” You open the cap and coat a generous amount onto your fingers. “Don’t worry, I’ll prep you nice and good. Stretch you out for my cock.”

Kai fucking whines. He doesn’t mean to but it’s out before he can stop it.

You chuckle, leaning over him with your lubed up fingers tracing the rim of his asshole. “I’ll take that as a ‘Please do it’.”

As you press in one finger, Kai moans, throwing his head back and closing his eyes in pleasure.

“Look at that. Your ass is sucking up my finger. You’re so needy aren’t you?” You say as you pump your finger in and out, curling it to scrape against his walls.

“Then why don’t you add another finger if I’m that needy.” Kai grunts.

“So bossy. You’re lucky I want to bury my dick inside you so much.” You reply, slipping in a second finger.

You continue your treatment, setting a comfortable rhythm. Soon enough you begin to scissor him, stretching out his hole. Kai bucks into your fingers, desperate for more of you.

By the time you add the third finger, he is painfully hard, beads of pre-cum dripping down his vein-popped cock.

“Look at you. Such a mess.” You say as you peer over his spread out body. He wriggles underneath your stare. “I think you’re ready for me now.” You pull your fingers out, leaving his ass clenching around nothing.

Kai wraps his arms around your neck, pulling you down to his level, and presses an open mouthed kiss to your lips. He licks along your lips, diving between them as you open with a smirk.

Kai pulls away after a few lingering seconds. “Just fuck me already.”

“What if I want to stop? Leave you here without fucking you. Leave you squirming in the bitter cold.”

His eyes widen with fear. “Please don’t.”

You burst into laughter at his expression and quick reply. “You’re lucky I’m feeling generous today.”

Without another breath wasted, you line yourself up with him and thrust into him, burying yourself to the hilt in his ass.

Kai chokes out a loud moan, back arching into you as he clenches around your cock. You dive down to kiss his exposed neck, hips taking off with a steady pace.

Hands come to grip on your biceps, nails digging into your muscles. Kai clenches his jaw, moans coming out as seething breaths.

“You love it when I fuck you hard, don’t you?” You whisper to him, increasing his pace.

Kai can’t think of anything to say back. He can’t think to begin with. The only sounds that come from him are the breathless groans and the occasional open mouthed moans as you hit the sweet spot inside him.

“Look at how dirty you are.”

Kai can feel how dirty he is. He feels sticky with his precum drooling to his stomach. His cock is wet and sticky and he can feel bits of it drying up. Despite all these gross sensations, he loves the feeling of you. The way you continuously pound into him with such ruthless force it feels likes he’s being torn apart. The sensations clash against each other and makes him feel conflicted.

“Why don’t you take a firm hold of your cock baby? Pump it for me.”

For a hot minute, Kai forgot about his cock. He was so busy with the feeling of you that he forgot himself. He barely hesitated to reach down between the two of you and grab his cock tightly. He grimaced at the sticky feeling of his cum before he fought through it and began stroking his cock in time with your thrusts.

“That’s it Kai. Just like that.” You praise him whilst increasing your already ferocious pace.

Kai groans at the building pleasure, his hand increasing its grip on his dick, sending more electrifying pleasure to his brain. Desperate to go over the edge, he begins to move his in time with your thrusts.

An animalistic growl leaves you as you lean down, teeth latching onto his clavicle.

The room is filled with the sound of skin slapping and breathless moans as you continue to piston your hips into Kai, driving the both of you closer to orgasm.

Kai is the first to cum, hips lifting off the bed, the grip on his cock loosening as thick ropes of cums shoots out, splattering all over your stomach and dribbling onto his own. His muscles twitch in the aftermath, body relaxing as you desperately chase your own end.

You groan into his neck as your hips still, filling him up with your cum. Your hips spasm for seconds after your release before you slowly slip yourself out of him, falling to lay beside Kai.

For a minute, neither of you move, besides your chests as they rise and fall with each breath.

Kai turns to you, hair slick with sweat and sticking to his forehead. He grimaces. “You’re filthy.” He eyes the drying cum on your stomach.

A stream of laughter bubbles out of you. “This is your cum.”

Kai snarls in response. With a deep breath, he sits up. “We need to clean up.”

“Are you sure you can stand?”

Kai glares at you with a vicious glare. He ignores you and stands up from the bed. Regret immediately washes over him as his knees shake beneath him.

You leap up beside him, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Fucked ya’ real good didn’t I?”

Kai groans but leans against you.

“Come on big boy, I’ll help wash you up.”

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

feedback?

[real-jaune-isms]

RWBY Volume 8 Chapter 2 Review/Rundown

Cr

I feel like this about sums up the general reaction after this week. So let’s dive into how it got out of hand so fast.

We open, a little surprisingly, on a shot we saw at the end of last Volume: Qrow looking at Clover’s bloody badge in his hand. We hear Robyn ranting and raving at someone about how this situation is all their fault, how all she wanted was to bring people together. She’s pacing in her cell, and at first you worry she’s turned on Qrow and hates him for fighting Clover and getting them both arrested, but no. She’s berating Jacques, and thank god someone is. He quotes his daughter in Volume 1 and claims he is a victim, but it was more endearing and memorable coming from the Ice Queen. He continues to assert his innocence, saying Watts used him and his power for diabolical purposes. Sure, he is guilty of many things, but he should not be held responsible for this. And at least his charges don’t include murder. That gets Qrow’s attention, since it was of course a dig at him. That quells Robyn’s fury rather quickly, and she does defend Qrow’s innocence. But she hops right back on the flame train and (while wonderfully insulting his mustache) says she’s not about to agree with the words of an accomplice to Watts’ sins against Mantle. Sure enough, the man of the hour is also in an adjacent cell, and he’s resigned himself to being stuck here like the rest of them. We get a look at where exactly “here” is, a 2 by 2 grid of square cells whose walls are Hard Light Dust shields. It’s a room that’s otherwise rather empty, and the Dust walls seem to be the only source of light. A very makeshift appearance, all things considered, and I worry about Watts being in a cell surrounded by Dust tech he might be able to manipulate. Then again, they took his rings, but he’s got to be pretty resourceful. Meanwhile, Jacques has all the confidence of a spoiled rich brat put behind bars for a misdemeanor. He’s quite sure Whitley will be rushing to get the family’s legal team on the case, and he’ll be out within... well we don’t know exactly how short he thinks his incarceration will last because Robyn gets pissed and punches the wall dividing them. That shuts him up rather well. And really, Jacques-ass? You’re putting your faith in a teenager to help overturn alleged war crimes? What an out of touch prick. 

All four of them are shaken from their particular trains of thought by an alarm buzzing and the door opening. Three guards file in, disengage one of the walls of Watts’ cell, and go inside to smack him with the muzzle of a gun and drag his ass outta there. Jacques cringes at the sight of such sudden violence, and Robyn looks momentarily surprised before seeming to accept this. Guess she didn’t expect Ironwood to be so ruthless so soon. She sits back on her bed, which looks like its just a hard slab, and laments being unable to do anything. But Qrow says there is something they can do: kill the man who put them here. To paraphrase Agent Washington, that has got to be the worst plan ever. Of all time. You’re already in jail on murder charges, and now you want to actually cross the line and kill THE LEADER OF A KINGDOM?!?!?! I realize that Ironwood has gone of the deep end and needs to be stopped, but this is not the way to do it. This will only lead to failure, I’m sure of it.

Meanwhile, we cut down to an Atlas news reporter doing a story in Mantle. He’s doing his thing, talking about the unprecedented Grimm hordes and Ironwood not doing anything about it yet. But just as he’s going on about the dedication of his station, the Atlas Eye, Joanna comes up and swipes his microphone to deliver her own message to the people. She tells it like it is, saying that the Happy Huntresses are here to offer aid when Ironwood will not, and spreading the word for people to gather what supplies they can and head for the crater. We see one of the kids from Jaune’s crosswalk scene, and thank goodness his mom is still alive. Joanna talks about all of Mantle coming together to hold the line against the coming Grimm, otherwise the storm at their gates will sweep in to wipe them all out. Yang’s group get into Pietro’s pharmacy, and open the door to the backroom to discover something that makes them very happy. As we saw from the promo clip several months ago, it’s three hoverbikes which we then see them riding through the streets. Yang’s a natural at it, driving up a ramp to do a cool flip off a wall much to Oscar’s panic and discomfort as some of her hair gets in his mouth. Jaune and Ren are... adequate by comparison. Noticing the purple glow of what I presume is Gravity Dust propelling them and allowing the bikes to hover, I wouldn’t be shocked if Yang gives hers a paintjob to be the new Bumblebee: Now with added shipping material! What’s far less pleasant to notice is the Grimm squatting like a gargoyle on the bridge they drive under. We see this thing on the rooftops in a few more shots and then... whooo boy. But we will get there. For now, the biker gang finds more people to protect and help on the journey through town to the crater. One of the Real Thirsty Moms has armed herself with a snow shovel and isn’t totally sure if the crater will be a safe place, but Yang puts on her bravest face to reassure her... just before the screams of people being chased by Grimm get her attention. It’s only two Sabyrs, and Jaune stops their progress by throwing a Hard Light shield spawning grenade that we can assume was with the stash of new gear earlier. Ren drops down to stab both Grimm to death and kicks the quickly deactivating grenade back to Jaune who uses the Gravity in his shield to draw it to him. Very handy with all the tools, bud. Oscar is worried the Grimm Salem has brought with her have already gotten this far into the city, but Yang rationalizes they’re stragglers from the big attack last night. Cuz yeah, we’re still only 12 hours or so removed from the climactic latter half of Volume 7. She doesn’t wanna take any chances though, and asks Ren if Jaune can amp his Semblance up so he can mask the whole crowd for the trip. Ever the realist, he gives a less than encouraging answer, but Jaune sees how badly these people need some hope and comfort. So he makes it into a reassuring promise that the trip will be totally safe and Grimm free. Good job, man. But in every crowd of people, there’s always... a Karen. In this case it’s a grandma who doesn’t want to go stay in the slums among the “animals”, she wants to go to Atlas dammit. But Yang has been waiting to berate someone after the morally grey argument with Ruby last episode, so she takes full advantage of this. This lady might want to be in Atlas, but it’s become clear that Atlas doesn’t want her or any of the other people in Mantle, whereas the Faunus in the crater are showing more kindness than she deserves and giving her a warm place to stay amid all these Grimm. That shuts her up quick, and her daughter (one of the Real Thirsty Moms!) nervously butts in to say that yeah, they’ll accept the offer and she’ll go get their stuff now. We fade to seeing the greyed out crowd walking down the street with Yang giving frontal support, Ren riding on Jaune’s bike in the midst of the crowd to mask outwards in a radius, and Oscar guarding the rear. Grandma Karen is still whining about having to go to the crater, but her daughter is trying to get her to pipe down.

Oscar laments how hard it’s been to get folks to cooperate, with Ozpin chiming in to say he’s preaching to the choir on this one, and that he’s becoming increasingly concerned about that challenge. Oscar grumbles about the unencouraging internal peanut gallery, and Oz gets right to the point. The teens all have every right to be mad at him for dipping on them in Mistral, none more so than Oscar himself, but that’s not what Oscar’s beef is about. He’s mad that he gave him false hope, that in the time Oz was gone Oscar was able to really start coming into his own as a fighter and a member of the team. But now he’s back and Oscar will go back to just being the vessel for the guy everyone really cares about. Oz acknowledges and validates that, but admits that he was never really gone at all so... the merging is still going. Oscar is gaining deep memories and what magic Oz has left, so it’s closer than ever. Neither of them want this to happen, but what can they do? Further up, Ren’s cloaking flickers for a second and Jaune checks on him. He’ll be fine, he’s just got a lot to focus on. Jaune tries to give him a pep talk, but silence is more needed here and Ren is a little snippy in saying so. Jaune seems pretty bummed that Ren is in such a state, but I can’t really say he’s mad at him. More upset with himself and his leadership. One member of his team left to do something else, and the other is in a mental funk he has no clear idea how to help him out of. That’d bum anyone out. Let’s talk about Ren for a moment, actually. I think part of the reason his semblance is working at less than 100% is the same reason he’s pissy with Jaune. He has too many emotions bottled up and he’s trying to ignore them for the sake of staying neutral and calm to be at his best. But if you force yourself to always be neutral, it becomes that much harder to shift into the zen needed for this power. He needs to let himself have emotional highs and lows so he can transition naturally into the middle ground. In other words, TALK ABOUT YOUR FEELINGS, BUDDY!!! It’s also been theorized that his semblance can work for more than just neutrality and he might be projecting his inner turmoil onto the crowd. But that’s yet to be proven. Oz appropriately closes out the scene by saying that they ALL need to figure out a way to work together, but something tells me that’s not coming for another 8 episodes at least.

Changing locales, we see Penny outside of a building with a puffing smokestack on the edge of the city. Turning around, we see where the city of Mantle ends and the slums of the crater begin, and how many people are making there way down from one to the other. But quickly look back, as Blake has just cut off the lock on the chain link gate to the building and May is leading our girl squad inside. That’s right, the one and only May Marigold is coming along on this mission so we get a chance to see her really show her stuff! Nora is grateful for the assist, but May assures her this plan would have definitely gotten Robyn’s backing judging by how much she talked about Amity Tower once she was in the know, so she’s all too happy to help get it up and running. And the Happy Huntresses can afford to be sending her for this, since Fiona has the rest of the team helping her out. The reminder that their partners are off doing a separate mission dampens Blake and Nora’s smiles though... Ruby worries about the safety of going into this place, but once inside Weiss gives the rundown. This is a subsidiary of the Schnee Dust Company that specializes in shipping packages of refined Dust from the mines up to various areas of Atlas through pneumatic tubes. And since it’s a small side business, the worker robots have no direct chain of command to Ironwood, just the Schnees. And Weiss’ grand plan for transportation up to the Atlas military base is something Ruby jokingly suggested back in Volume 2... mailing themselves to their destination. You’re becoming more like that dolt every day... and as a White Rose shipper I love it~ Blake takes this opportunity to rain on Weiss’ confident parade with a dig at the high percentage of buildings in Atlas the Schnee family must own at this rate, and Weiss refuses to comment on how many they actually don’t own. Glad to see Blake being playful like this, shows she’s really comfortable being back with the group again. Everyone spreads out to look for the tube they need, and Penny finds the one for Atlas Academy instead. It reminds her of the confrontations that were had there last Volume, and it clearly still bothers her. Ruby comes over to check on her, and incorrectly assumes Penny’s lamenting about friends fighting is regarding her and Yang. You may be the protagonist, but not everything is about you Ruby. Penny meant Ironwood, Winter, and the Ace Ops, the people Team RWBY had become such fast friends and trusted allies with in Volume 7. The people who are doing and saying such unkind things now, like Ironwood telling her people will die unless she does as she says. Maybe that’s why she’s lingering at this terminal, she’s debating giving herself up to him for the sake of others? 

Ruby is having none of this self blaming talk though, and turns Penny around to look her in the eyes as she assures her that no, that isn’t true at all, Ironwood was just saying it to hurt her and make her feel bad enough to come back. Penny admits that she misses the days when she was just the Protector of Mantle, that she now has so much heavy responsibility and duty thrust upon her as the Winter Maiden and she wishes she did not. She was struggling enough to find an identity as a normal girl, now she has a whole other identity to grapple with, it’s all truly unfortunate and sad. Holding her hands in a very similar way to how she did back when she first found out Penny was an android, Ruby assures her that she is still very much the girl she once was. She protected Mantle by taking the Maiden powers so they wouldn’t be misused to hurt the city. This seems to cheer Penny up a bit, and she thanks Ruby for it. The two have another nice hug, before Nora calls out that she’s found the terminal they need. Blake notes that this is the point of no return, and May asserts her confidence that between Penny’s capabilities with the computers they’ll encounter and her own invisibility Semblance they’ve got this in the bag. Penny doesn’t like being referred to as a secret weapon, or a weapon of any kind, but she says nothing about it. For now, let’s praise May for being sassy and cool and doing a cute little curtsy for style. Nora asks the important question of how the heck they’re gonna use this thing, and Weiss goes into tutorial mode again. Just lie back into the tube and hit the launch button, easy enough. Except she was sitting on the edge of the tube for a visual aid and Nora got bored. So ZOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM goes Weiss up the tube with a frightened screech. Everyone just watches in slack-jawed shock and confusion, but Nora immediately goes giddy at what has just happened and what will soon happen to the rest of them. I can’t imagine what Ruby and Blake must be thinking, not to mention what’s going through May’s mind with this being her first exposure to Nora being... Nora.

But that’s all we get of them for this episode, so Weiss is Schrodinger’s Heiress for the next week. We go to the crater as Joanna heads into a tent where Fiona is hunched over a map coordinating over comms with someone we’ve yet to meet named Crimson. As she finishes the call and whines over how stressful this all is, Joanna drops a small crystal of fire Dust into a sort of furnace and assures her that she’s doing a great job. Fiona absorbs the map into her hand of infinite holding and says Joanna’s big display on the news makes her more qualified for this job. Joanna laughs that off and says it was necessary to spread the word, which seems to be working judging by how many folks are arriving. The group they’re now noticing come in is the one Yang and her squad have just arrived with from Sector 7. The happy lamb does a happy hoppy dance hearing that they’ve already cleared out that sector, and admits her previous doubts that they could manage this much with only half their team. This hits a sore nerve for both Ren and Yang, and the former stomps off while the latter gives a passive aggressive response. They really need to address this soon or it’s all gonna explode in their faces... Oscar wisely changes the subject to ask how they’re managing to house and provide for all these people, and the two Huntresses give a rundown. They’re doing what they can with houses and shelters, and a lot of people are trying to make old mineshafts into someplace livable, and they’ve been looting SDC refineries for Dust to keep everyone warm. Unlike our own society, no one is getting arrested amidst the end of the world. But they substitute that with the terrifying dread of not knowing when the majority of the Grimm will finally attack, what they’re all waiting for. We and the teens know they’re waiting for Salem’s command, for an opening to cause the most damage. And the longer they wait the more the negative emotions build to draw them in. Clever clever, you old witch you. The ominous mood is interrupted by the badger guy from episode 1 running up to inform Fiona that another fight has broken out among the people. He’s voiced by RT founder Gus Sorola, and apparently he’s Fi’s uncle! She seems bummed about having to go break up another fight, but Joanna’s got this one covered. But problems keep coming, and Crimson reports in that there’s a group of Grimm coming in from the east that he can’t handle while transporting civilians. Yang and co are all to ready go get this off Fiona’s plate for her, and we cut to Yang being pursued by a Teryx. We soon see she’s leading it into an ambush, as Ren and Oscar come riding in at an intersection to toss a grenade baton beneath it which presumably contains air/wind Dust because it gets propelled upwards to crash into a bridge and fall back down stunned. Yang gets out of the way and Jaune charges in for the kill. With that job done, Fiona immediately has a new group for them to clear out on the west side. The kids are getting real tired of this constant rushing around killing Grimm, but its part of the job they made such a fuss about going to do so they gotta do it. Oscar points out what I mentioned before, the negativity from everyone worrying when Salem will strike is luring in the stragglers amongst the Grimm. Speaking of stragglers, three Sabyrs come charging up the street much to Ren’s annoyance. But before they can make contact, something gets their attention and they turn tail to run. This puzzles and concerns the team, since Grimm have never retreated before. Before they can finish asking themselves what the Grimm were running from, they get an answer. A large dog-like Grimm pounces on Oscar and starts mauling him and thrashing his body around. He tries to fight back, kicking at one of its legs, but it is unfazed and keeps hitting him until his aura is gone. We see this thing has no eyes to speak of, but it soon gains apposable hands and hind legs capable of bipedal movement. All the better to carry Oscar away with, and shockingly enough, all the better to hold him in front of it as a human shield when Yang comes charging in to try and save him. She has to swerve and avoid hitting the kid, but gets grabbed by the head and tossed against a wall. Ren is the next to attack, but his bullets do jackshit to its back and his “grapple into the enemy and pull myself at it for a kick” has never worked before and continues to not work now. The Hound, as it is named in the credits and in concept art, stretches out its arm much like the Nuckelavee back in Volume 4 and swats Ren away. Jaune is about to charge in too, but Yang warns him about the Hound’s shield tactic. He’s in disbelief, because they may have seen old Grimm that have gained beastial sentience but never this kind of sapience and creative thinking. Ren grabs his guns but the Hound holds Oscar up again to stop him. Ren, naturally, yells at the Grimm to give their friend back. 

But the Hound just stretches its neck with a few cracking sounds, and says “No”.

This leaves the huntsmen and huntresses in a silent stupor of shock and fear, and I would not blame them. If all of my world’s history has been telling me that the monsters I hunt are mindless beasts of violence and destruction, nothing more, that’s one thing. If I learn they were created by a deity solely for the sake of destroying my civilization and are nothing but his avatars of darkness and wreckage, that’s a big theological pill to swallow but I still know how these things always tend to act. If I am on 6 hours of sleep vs 28 hours of being awake, just had a big personal argument over what our job should be amidst the apocalypse, and now my entire understanding of the monsters I at least thought I knew how to handle is thrown out the window?????? Yeah, I would need a goddamn minute before I could think rationally and quickly again. So you’ll excuse me for giving Yang, Jaune and Ren a pass as they just stand there and watch the Hound grow bat-like wings in a very painful and goopy transformation that gets some goo on Oscar’s unconscious face and then climbs up a building with Oscar in its mouth to fly away. When they do recover their senses they hop on their bikes and chase after the beast at full speed, giving a hasty and vague apology to Fiona for having to go handle this emergency that she wouldn’t believe even if they told her. And that’s it, we have to wait a week or longer to find out if they catch this thing and get Oscar back. Judging from the intro, I’d say they won’t and he will be brought before Salem for torture. Fun!~ This definitely opens the door for brand new possibilities of what Grimm are capable of doing or being, and lots of people are theorizing the Hound is so intelligent because Salem stuck a person in there, possibly someone we thought was dead but perhaps isn’t? Who knows, we’ll have to wait and see.

Sorry it’s so late, but hope this is a good review.

[xmxisxforxmaybe]

Christmas at the Museum

Summary: Ahkmenrah discovers the traditions of Christmas, and Y/N gets him a special gift.

A/N: This is SO disgustingly fluffy that it may actually kill you. I made five incoherent noises of cute as I wrote it, so be warned. 

A/N II: I’m still working on requests ☺️ The muse bit, and I just HAD to get this one written. 

“We can’t put the Christmas tree in your display.”

“Behind the wall—no one will see.”

“People walk all through your display during the day. They are going to notice a Christmas tree.”

“But I want one just for us! I do not wish to share the big one in the lounge.”

“You sound like a—"

“Call me a brat and you will face my wrath, Y/N.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at Ahkmenrah’s frustration, knowing damned well he was all bark and no bite now that he didn’t have an empire at his fingertips to command.

“We have the tree at my place, too. That tree’s just for us.”

Ahkmenrah looked at you for a long moment before sighing, “I suppose you are right.”

“I am known to be on occasion. Besides, don’t you want to know what magical Christmas tradition I have planned for us this evening?”

Ahk’s posture straightened and for a moment, you were reminded he was once a king—still, technically, a king.

“Tell me,” he commanded, his voice barely able to contain the awe despite its authoritative lilt.

“Gingerbread houses!”

Ahkmenrah turned, his golden cape flashing as he ran to the notebook he kept in a secret compartment under his sarcophagus. He flipped through the pages and jogged back, practically shoving the notebook under your nose.

“Yes,” you giggled as you lowered the notebook and looked over his notes and illustrations on Christmas Tradition #52. “That’s the one.”

“This one looks most complex,” Ahk said as he pressed his lips together and reexamined his notes.

“Don’t you trust me? Haven’t we pulled off at least some version of every tradition you’ve researched so far?”

Ahkmenrah looked up again and narrowed his eyes, mentally tallying the results of each of your efforts.

“Tradition 15 did not go so well,” Ahk said quietly, his mouth turning down as he remembered the attempt to form a group of Christmas carolers. After rehearsing for a few hours, you hit the streets only to be heckled as Atilla belted out “Silent Night” in a very broken version of English and in a very gruff voice that startled most of the passersby.

“But what about Tradition—” you trailed off and grabbed Ahkmenrah’s notebook, quickly flipping back a few pages—“Tradition 23. A kiss under the mistletoe?”

Ahk looked up with a wicked grin, his eyes clouding with desire as he pulled the notebook out of your hands and tossed it on the floor. He grabbed your waist and pulled you directly against him, not a breath between you.

“I think that was my favorite,” he growled before kissing you with the same intensity as the night you tried Tradition 23. The mistletoe kiss had led to such a raucous bout of lovemaking that no less than five of the exhibits walked by the storage closet and yelled for you to keep it down.

You probably should have waited to explain mistletoe at your apartment.

And now, you were once again minutes deep into a kiss with Ahk, his hands roaming your body and yours mirroring him, grasping his ass with one hand while the fingers on your other pressed into the back of his head—

“Hey!” Larry interrupted. “What is it with you two? Mistletoe again?”

You and Ahk broke apart, hazy and not quite remembering that you were standing in the middle of his exhibit.

You cleared your throat, swiped at your mouth, and smoothed back your hair.

“Right. Gingerbread. Kitchen. Thanks, Lar. Off we go,” you said as you grabbed Ahk’s wrist and yanked him forward.

The kitchen was perhaps the most festive of all the rooms in the museum, the daytime staff wondering at first if they’d been the butt of a practical joke but instead of tearing down the gaudy decorations, they succumbed to the Christmas spirit and added even more of their own.  

Christmas lights of all shapes and sizes were winking around the steel countertops as the museum’s night-time occupants spread out to gather up their icing and their candy decorations. The gingerbread houses ranged from the extra-large to the traditional to the tiny—you were sure to include something for everyone.

As much as you wanted to sit with Ahk and make a house together, you ended up acting in the role of a teacher as you walked around to help everyone avert a crisis. You sighed and sent a longing look in Ahkmenrah’s direction as you fished out one of Jeb’s cowboy friends who was nearly drowning in a vat of icing.

Ahk was meticulously lining his perfectly constructed gingerbread house with gumdrops alternating in a green, white, and red pattern. His tongue was poking out and his brow was furrowed, but what caught your attention was the streak of white icing on his jaw, just under the corner of his mouth.

You smiled and made your way over to him, letting out a sigh of exasperation as you sat down for the first time that evening. He glanced at you and flashed a quick grin before returning to lining his rooftop.

“You’ve got a bit of icing,” you said, leaning into him and pressing your lips to the sticky mess, “right here.”

A red gumdrop fell from Ahk’s fingertips as you nibbled along his jaw.

“The mistletoe incident was quite enough of that, thank you very much,” Lewis said as he leaned over to pluck some M&Ms out of a dish.

“Quite right, Y/N. We’re all happy Ahk has a somebody but try to reign in the open displays of affection,” Clark added, surveying his crooked house before deciding that licorice might make it look a little less haphazard.  

“Americans. Brits. You are all so squeamish when it comes to exhibiting fondness,” Ahkmenrah muttered as he cocked a critical eye at his gingerbread house.  

“Probably because they’re all so old.”

Ahkmenrah gave you a pointed look.

“They are old? What does that make me?”

“You know what I mean!” you laughed. “Ancient Egyptians were more socially ahead of the times than the oh-so-enlightened ‘modern’ civilizations that cultivated my society.”

“Quite right,” Ahk said as he turned to you, clutched your chin with sticky fingers, and kissed you.

Lewis and Clark sighed in defeat as Ahk returned to his gingerbread house, carefully shaking iridescent sprinkles over the roof of his house to make it look like fresh-fallen snow.

“I think they’re both just jealous of your perfect gingerbread house,” you said, shooting them a wink as Ahkmenrah beamed with pride.

* * * * *  

Before you knew it, the hushed anticipation of Christmas Eve had fallen over the occupants of the museum. You had all agreed that everyone would “sleep” until midnight, and at 12:01 am, you would wake up as if it were Christmas morning, which technically, it really was.

Many of the museum’s occupants, including Ahkmenrah, had bunked together in the lounge with the Christmas tree, making Larry’s job of playing Santa Clause rather difficult. It didn’t help that Nicky wanted to open his presents at the museum, too, so while Larry was struggling to very quietly place presents under the tree, you snuck off to Ahk’s exhibit to work on your surprise.

You were reluctant to leave his present alone for long, but after checking on it for the tenth time, it was 11:55 pm and you had to get back before you were missed.

Nicky was already “waking up” everyone in the lounge by the time you got back. Ahkmenrah gave you a curious glance, but his attention was diverted by the pile of presents under the tree. It truly did look like a magical scene, especially to see the displays dressed up in varying degrees of Christmas outfits.

Ahkmenrah and you were dressed in matching pairs of dark green pajamas patterned with tiny reindeer. However, someone had thought he needed to look more Christmassy and had adorned his curly hair with a bobbling headband that had a pair of red and green ornaments attached to the top.

You smiled to yourself as you watched the bobbles moving while Ahk helped Nicky locate all his gifts, the two of them laughing over the fact that Santa Clause had managed to find his way to the museum so early in the night.

As soon as you were able, you pulled Ahkmenrah away from the chaos and up to his exhibit.

“What is this about, Y/N? I have not yet even given you—I mean you have not yet opened your present from Santa.”

“Only Nicky believes in Santa, Ahk. Well, Atilla and Jeb probably do, too. Anyway, I did a thing—just trust me.”

You stopped right outside of the opening to Ahkmenrah’s exhibit and asked, “Close your eyes?”

He gave a lopsided grin and complied. You took his hand and led him into the exhibit.

“Open.”

You watched, a smile on your face, as Ahkmenrah’s eyes reflected the white lights of a little Christmas tree all decorated in golds and silvers to match the hieroglyphs that adorned the walls of his display.

Underneath the tree was a single, mid-sized present, wrapped in golden paper. However, the present couldn’t remain quiet and a tiny, warbling “mew” emitted from the box beneath the tree.

“Damnit,” you said under your breath, but Ahkmenrah’s mouth had already dropped open as he shot you a glance.

“Y/N,” he whispered, rushing to the tree and dropping to his knees as he reached for the box with shaky hands.

He pulled back, looking to you for permission, and you quickly nodded, biting your bottom lip to stifle your grin.

“MEW!” came the box, this time much more insistent.

Ahkmenrah’s head whipped back in the direction of the golden present, the bobbles on his headband almost rotating in a circle from the ferocity of his movement.

He scooted a little closer to the box before gently lifting the lid. You took a few steps forward, your hand over your mouth as you watched.

Ahkmenrah leaned over and just as he lined himself up parallel to the opening, a tiny, grey, furry head poked up over the edge of the box and looked up, taking in his new owner.

Ahk greeted the little kitten in ancient Egyptian, speaking softly before he offered the little guy his hand to sniff. The kitten reached out, his dark nose touching Ahkmenrah’s proffered hand.

“Mew,” he once again stated.  

Ahk made a strangled noise in his throat before turning to look at you again.

“It’s a little boy, and yes, he’s yours—I thought you might like an heir,” you said chuckling as you kneeled next to Ahk and looked into the box.

“He’s mine?”

“All yours. I’ve worked it out with Rebecca and the museum is excited to have a ‘museum cat.’ Apparently, it’s all the rage now. Aaand you know I’m here during the day at work, so I’ll be able to keep an eye on him until you wake up. We want to keep him in this area, though, until he gets big enough to roam on his own.”

“Oh, Y/N. How did you know?”

“I listen, Ahk. To everything you say. I tried my best to find a kitten that looked like yours.”

“He does,” Ahkmenrah said, his eyes a little misty as he watched his new kitten climb out of the box.

“What are you going to name him?”

“That will require some thought,” Ahk said as he shifted his position and the kitten crawled onto his lap, mewing intermittently.

You smiled and watched him pet the little ball of grey, his eyes 4,000 years away. You hung back and watched the pair bond, smiling softly and thinking about how nice it would be for Ahk to have something of his own.

“You’re in love,” you said, smirking.

Ahkmenrah looked up and held your gaze, his eyes serious.

“I am,” he said with a finality that made you straighten up, and you knew he wasn’t talking about his Christmas present.

You swallowed, your tongue too heavy to form words.

“Thank you. I’ll never forget this Christmas,” Ahkmenrah said. 

“You mean the past 25 days of Christmas?”

Ahk chuckled, “Have they not been magical?”

“Every day—well, night—with you is magical.”

“I would kiss you but Azizi is so comfortable.”

“Azizi? That was fast.”

“It means something akin to your word for ‘precious.’ And nothing is more precious to me than you, Y/N, so it is only fitting that what you have given me holds the same status.”

“You’re too good for this world, Ahkmenrah. How did I get so lucky?”

“Well, 4,000 years ago, my brother stabbed me in the heart—”

“Too dark for Christmas, my love,” you said laughing softly and moving to sit next to Ahkmenrah, your body snuggled next to his as you reached over to stroke the softly purring Azizi.

[cowboisadness]

Hang Em’ High {FemOC x Arthur Morgan} Chapter 7

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x FemOC

Summary: Belle Hawthorne is high society looking to escape her mean husband. A robbery by the Van Der Linde gang could be her chance. Can she escape his cluches and possibly discover what love should feel like?

. . . . . 

Bear hide, a deer and deer hides along with a few rabbits and many herbs thanks to Charles means we will all be eating well for the next week or so. It was a successful hunt, given what happened.

This morning had been slow, helping Pearson prepare today's meals, reading, and laundry. I was trying to think of other ways I could contribute, to prevent myself from going mad doing the same things every day, I don't know how the other girls do it. 

Doing laundry with the other girls, Tilly and Mary-Beth, helped the time go by a bit quicker than a snail's pace.

They reminded me a lot of my childhood friends that I grew up with, daughters of the neighbouring farm.

I missed them terribly and hoped wherever they were, they would be safe and happy. I miss our conversations, talking about boys, the latest clothing that was in fashion in New York, Paris and London, politics, women's rights, you know, the usual girl talk. Conversations with the girls at camp were not much different, just a bit more impure and harsh than I was used to. It was all fun and games until they started asking if I had my eye on anyone in camp.

“Don't be shy, Bella. Must be someone you find easy on the eyes here.” Mary Beth giggled

“After my experience, I wouldn't say no to never involving myself with a man again.”

“There are good men out there, finding the right one just takes time. If only it was as simple as it is in the books. Bumping into them one evening and then riding off into the night together.”

Me and Tilly share a humorous look, stifling our laughter.

“Anyway, life ain't just about finding the one and settling down. You can always have fun...and rob them after.” Tilly says, causing the three of us to burst into laughter. “What’re you three gigglin’ about?” Arthur interjects from behind us, causing all of us to jump in surprise.

“Just lady things Mr Morgan” Tilly replies, Arthur letting out a doubtful huff before turning his attention to me.

“You still wantin’ that shootin’ lesson Miss Bella?” 

“Of course. Now?”

“If you're free” I looked over to the other girls, silently asking for permission to leave them with the rest of my chores. Thankfully they did. 

“Yeah, I’m free now” I smiled up at him.

“Get sorted and I'll meet you at the horses.” He smiled back and walked off towards his tent.

Turning my attention to finish off washing the shirt in my hands as quickly as possible, I could feel eyes boring into the back of my skull, waiting for me to look over to them. I couldn't, I just hoped they couldn't see the sudden blush forming on my cheeks.

“Don't get any ideas. He's just teaching me how to shoot.” Keeping my eyes on the shirt I was working on with haste and earning myself more doubtful hums and giggles.

I changed into pants and holstered my gun before making my way over to Arthur and his horse. He helped me up in one swift motion before mounting himself. 

As we were leaving camp we passed Tilly and Mary-Beth, now working on the few garments I had left. Both watching us as I shook my head at them. 

“Don't forget to have fun Bella” Tilly shouted over as we left, shaking my head again, thankful to be sat behind Arthur but hoping he wouldn't look back as I was blushing once again.

“What she talking about?”

“Oh, i don't really know.”

. . . . .

We stopped off in Valentine to buy more ammo before heading towards the heartlands, finding a hilled area away from any roads. Arthur had brought along loads of empty beer and whiskey bottles and set them up in a line on a large rock. He handed me his carbine repeater and pushed me forward slightly, starting a few feet away from the bottles.

“Let’s see what you know then.”

I held the gun up, placing the butt onto my shoulder and tilting my head down the sight, gripping with both hands. 

Taking a few breaths and aiming for a large whiskey bottle, I pulled back on the trigger quickly as I let out a breath. 

The repeater shot back into my shoulder abruptly, pain shooting through my arm and neck, knocking back a few steps. No shattering of glass was heard, just my gasps of pain and Arthur's laugh at my spectacular failure. 

“You ain’t standing right or holding it right.” he starts walking over, positioning the gun to sit snugly against my shoulder, away from my collarbone, then moving my hand further down the forestock, telling me not to grip too tightly and to rest my cheek on the stock naturally. 

He then moves to stand behind me placing his hands on my shoulders, gently turning me to the right a few degrees. He barely removes his hands as he trails them down to my hips, tightening and turning me slightly to the left, then kicking my feet further apart, placing them in a more steady position.

My eyes are focusing on the bottles down the sight, my mind on his hands, still gripping onto my hips. 

“Steady your breathing, pull the trigger with empty lungs.” 

Steady my breathing? Impossible when I can feel his breath on my neck. But I will try. Try to focus on my breathing, to keep my feet planted firmly. All while taking in how warm his hands are through my clothing, his grip not faltering. Inhale… Exhale… Shoot…

Glass shatters ahead of me. The Whiskey bottle now no more.

Lowering the gun I looked over to the rock to confirm I did actually hit it, grinning from ear to ear. 

“Well done. Now the others.” He finally releases his hands but remains right behind me.

We carry on till no bottles are left, which took a while, missing more than I hit with each round but getting better each time. Arthur would correct my stance whenever needed, his hands seemingly calling themselves at home on my waist each time he did so.

Before long there were no more bottles left to be shattered. It was harder than I originally imagined with having to focus on more things than just aiming and pulling the trigger. I’d need to practice more, that's for sure. Thanking Arthur for his help, returning his gun to him we decided to relax beneath a large tree nearby to escape the afternoon sun, sharing a chocolate bar between us as we talked. 

“Ya still planning on leaving since you're all healed now?”

“I don't know. Not sure where i would go anyway.” He hummed in response and took another piece of chocolate, handing the last two pieces to me. “I do have a brother in New York somewhere. If he's even still there i wouldn't know where to find him.” I took the last piece of chocolate into my mouth, letting it melt on my tongue to savour the sweetness. “Ya could always stay with us. Sure ya won't always have a soft bed or grand meals but we can keep you safe.”

“It's funny...i feel safer with a gang of outlaws than i did in a grand house with personal security.” I said as I gave a hollow laugh.

It was true I did feel much safer. I didn't need to sleep with one eye open or feel like I was always walking on eggshells, waiting for the inevitable crack. I don't care about having a soft bed, given that recently has been the best I've slept in months, apart from the odd nightmare that wakes me. They have always been the same. I’m standing out in a lush valley, the sun is shining, the breeze is cool and the birds are singing. The camp behind me filled with the now-familiar chatter and laughter from little Jack. It's peaceful for a moment until the clouds turn black and the sun seems to die. Fog across the once heavenly horizon growing bigger with a familiar silhouette drawing closer. They call my name like venom in my ears. Voices from the camp change from laughter to shouts of my name too, urging me to get to them but I can't move. No matter how much I try I can't turn and run, feet stuck like they are encased by hardened mortar, my eyes fixed on the one ahead. It's Frank, his face distorted and covered in blood, his eyes burning with rage. He lunges towards me, his hands constricting around my throat like a Python that hasn't eaten in months. Then I wake, jolting upright and my breathing staggered till I realise where I am. Arthur moves to his satchel, pulling out a worn book and a pencil, flicking absentmindedly through the pages for a moment. I watch with curiosity as he brings the pencil to the page, making quick strokes, his brow furrowed in concentration. Watching him for a few moments I can't help but feel an overwhelming sense of serenity and wanting to bask in it’s feeling forever. His gaze on the page does not falter, determined to convey whatever he intended to perfection. “What are you doing?” He keeps his eyes on the task in hand. 

“Nothin’ really. Just ramblings and drawings I do to pass the time.”

“Can i see some?” 

He looks hesitant and at that moment I regret asking him to share something that is obviously meant to be private. But he nods his head to beckon me closer and murmurs a quiet “Sure” 

I sit beside him, shoulder to shoulder as he flicks through the pages, a blur of white and charcoal grey. He stops to show me a few pages, they are littered with small drawings of plants and animals, telling me what each of them are if they don't come with an already written name.

Other pages include strange buildings and stranger people he has encountered, each of them so detailed and beautiful I could imagine what they looked like as if each subject was placed right in front of me. He returns to the previous page he was working on, a half-finished drawing of a woman, her back turned but holding up a gun, aiming at a row of bottles perched on a rock in the distance. I look up to him once I realise but he doesn't look back. He opened his mouth to speak, probably to explain or apologise for not seeking my permission but before he could say a word I look at him again. 

“I’ve never had someone draw me before.” I smile, hoping to ease any worry or embarrassment he may have.

His eyes finally meet mine as he turns, those blues i swear i could still drown in if i look for too long. My heart starts racing and I can feel the blood pulsing through my veins when I realise how close to each other we are, our faces mere inches away. His scent filling my nose, warm and inviting. My eyes dart down instinctively to his lips then back up in the hopes he didn't notice but it's evident when his pupils flare that he did. He saw. I don’t know what's happening, don't understand what i am doing until i start leaning in towards him and he follows. I can almost feel him against my lips, I can almost taste him as a shot rings out in the air not far in the distance, accompanied by shouting. We both jerk backwards instantly, our eyes tore away from each other as we scan the area around us. He stands to look around, hand on his holstered gun, telling me to stay put as he goes to check it out, hoping for no danger. As he leaves I feel like I can finally breathe, no longer drowning and I try to think about what just happened, what was about to happen. Was I trying to recreate what happens in them god awful romance novels? I'm not a child anymore, I can't be getting myself involved with bad men in that way. I needed to get a hold of myself. A voice in my head telling me I can't deny he's the first man to show me this sort of kindness in a long time. He's gone out of his way multiple times to help me and to make sure I'm safe. But he does that for the other girls at camp, he cares about them too and does everything in his power to make sure the whole gang can sleep safely. He does it all and denies himself the right to gratitude. Frank isn't a fraction of a man that Arthur is. I was still lost in thought when Arthur came back into view but he wasn't alone. Accompanied by a horse, a beautiful Chestnut Kentucky Saddler. 

The creature was visibly shaken, it’s body tense, ears pinned back and tail swishing from side to side, Arthur offering constant words of encouragement and pats on the neck to help calm it.

“Robbery gone bad, fella is dead.” He handed the reins over to me delicately “Here.”

I took the reins in my hand, looking to him with obvious confusion.

“Didn't want to leave her there.”

I extend my free hand out towards her nose to show I'm no threat as I study her overall form, ears not forward. She seems fit and strong, obviously cared for and loved.  She presses her whiskered nose to my palm tenderly as I look into her eyes, hoping she knows she can trust us. She can trust me.

[alj4890]

Flirty Prompt

(Thomas x Amanda) with the following conversation as a prompt given by @prompt-nonny

Amanda: "You're so full of it." Thomas: "I prefer 'confident'." Amanda: "You would, you crazy man." Thomas: "You are so sweet." Amanda: "I hate you sometimes." Thomas: "I love you too." Have fun 😘 -Prompt Nonny ❤

A/N Thank you for the prompt! LOL! I had to include some other characters from Red Carpet Diaries in this to gauge their reactions. Hope you enjoy it and look forward for more prompts for my pairs. 

@lxaah11 @alleksa16 @penguininapinktuxedo @blackcoffee85 @stopforamoment   @krsnlove   @annekebbphotography  @cora-nova @bella-ca  @hopelessromantic1352 . @sunflowergirl05 @desiree-0816 @greywitchyshots @lilyofchoices @emceesynonymroll @dr-nancy-house @aworldoffandoms @pixieferry @lolablackwrites @flyawayboo @i-bloody-love-drake-walker

Taken from Another Night/Another Dream series.

And Scene!

Thomas stood on the stage he normally had his students act out the different scenes they composed in their small groups. His signature frown was firmly in place while he studied the placement of the furniture for tomorrow's lesson.

His day had been wretched. It started with his coffeemaker breaking this morning, then the flat tire on the interstate, followed by ruining one of his favorite shirts to change said tire. Can't forget about the ridiculous answers on a set of exams his students turned in. Then the faculty meeting was beyond tedious. To top it all off, Amanda's visit was postponed.

The lady he had been dating and was currently engaged to was supposed to be here Monday. Then Tuesday. Wednesday, still no fiancee. Now it was Thursday. They were supposed to meet with the wedding planner tomorrow evening and he did not want to go without her. It had been nearly a month since they had been together and he was sick of being apart.

He ran a hand over his face while studying a scene that one of his students had turned in. The young man had a great deal of talent and Thomas believed he could go far if given the right opportunities. But this scene...

Perhaps it was because he was in such a foul mood that he could not appreciate the meet-cute nor the flirtation to follow. The accidental on purpose kiss was cliché at best, yet it seemed to fit the tone of the rest of the scene.

"I always love seeing handsome men on stage."

Thomas whirled around in surprise. Amanda stood in the doorway of his auditorium and smiled. His own smile, the first one in quite a while, came up as he hopped down and met her halfway. He pulled her into a passionate embrace and held her close.

"Does the theater always do this to you or is it that you missed me?" Amanda teased.

"You know very well what caused this." He muttered against her lips. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming this evening?"

"I wasn't certain what time I would be landing, so I thought I would surprise you." She kissed him once more before sitting down. "Holly told me you were staying late at the university, so I decided to stop here first." She glanced at the stage and the papers in his hand. "I didn't mean to interrupt your work."

He urged her out of the chair and over to the stage. "You are never an interruption. Besides, I could use another perspective."

Amanda smiled at him and laughed nervously. "I'm not exactly known for my theater talents. I can talk all day about film history, but this..." She waved her hand at the theater room. "This is completely out of my wheelhouse."

"You give yourself too little credit." He told her, his frown fierce once more. "Your intelligence and ability to critique something logically and without insult is vastly superior to most people's."

"Careful." Amanda wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him close to her. "Compliments like that will have me acting in a way that I'm certain is discouraged in the student handbook." She stood on her tiptoes and captured his lips in a heated kiss.

"This simply makes me grateful that you are not a student." He muttered against her neck. His hands moved down to cup her backside, pressing her closer. "Therefore the rules do not apply."

"And what would you have done, Professor Hunt, if I had walked through that door as your student?" Her teasing smile brought his own to form.

"I suppose this would not be happening." He sat down on the antique chaise lounge and pulled her into his lap.

"Professor Hunt! I am surprised at you." Amanda nipped his ear gently before pressing another tender kiss to his lips. "What was it you wanted my opinion on?"

He exaggerated a groan at her ability to remain clear headed. He should have continued with his seduction before telling her he needed her help.

"Will you read this and tell me what you think?" He handed her the scene.

She got comfortable in his arms and smiled at the occasional brush of his lips against her neck as he read over her shoulder. His fingers slowly moved up and down her arm.

"You are being quite distracting." She whispered. He held her tighter to him and paused his movements.

"I didn't say stop." She kissed his cheek when he chuckled and continued to read while he resumed his own activities on her skin.

She set the paper down. "Hmm."

He cocked an eyebrow and waited.

"It has a great deal of potential." Amanda picked it up again. "Though this conversation," she pointed at the lines, "it seems so out of character for the two."

He reread it and nodded. "I agree. I think it throws their romance off for the audience."

"Exactly! They have both been so sweet to one another and then to transition to something like this...would it be believable or would people act surprised?" Her eyes lit up with mischief. "We should try it out!"

"What? Now?" He watched as excitment flooded over her.

"Yes! Let's see if we can't get a few friends to meet us for a late dinner or drinks?"

"You just arrived." He argued pulling her closer. "We can test this another--"

"Aren't you grading this tomorrow?" She asked.

Thomas could see it was a losing battle. He had discovered that when her mind was made up, it was nearly impossible to change it. "Very well." He stood up and held his hand out to her. With a sudden tug he had her in his arms. "Once this experiment is conducted, you are mine."

___________

A couple of hours later...

"I need wedding details please!" Addison exclaimed. "What is being decided tomorrow?"

"We are touring the final two optional places for the ceremony and reception. I believe we will most likely have the rehersal dinner there as well." Amanda pulled a small notebook out and flipped through the pages. "Flowers and decorations too. Then Saturday is cake tasting and deciding on food."

Thomas watched her face light up while she discussed the upcoming wedding with Addison and Matt. He reached across the table and took her hand. Her smile glowed when her gaze met his and she gently squeezed his hand.

"We come bearing drinks." Ryan announced as he expertly flourished a tray.

"Impressive." Matt chuckled when Holly rolled her eyes.

"Don't encourage him. His ego is big enough." She sat back down and winked at Ryan when he placed her drink in front of her.

"Did you ever wait tables?" Amanda asked.

"No, but my first acting job was as a handsome waiter." He waggled his eyebrows at the group, causing snorts and laughter. "I'm simply quoting the script."

"Perfect timing." Addison pointed toward the pool table that was available. "Who's ready to play first?"

"I say Hunt and future Hunt against me and Holly." Ryan suggested. "Winners take on the ridiculously dynamic duo."

"I can't help that not only am I incredibly talented at pool, but that I am with a natural born hustler." Matt wrapped his arm around Addison. She pressed a kiss to his lips, giggling at the playful boos and wadded napkins thrown at them.

Amanda hung back a few paces with Thomas while the others walked over to the pool table. "Ready for your scene Mr. Hunt?"

He nodded. "Let's get this over with." He leaned down close to her ear and whispered what he had planned for the rest of the evening.

"Hurry up!" Holly yelled out. "Some of us would like to kick your butts at pool!"

Thomas picked up a pool cue and handed it to Amanda. She shook her head with a laugh and pushed it back. "Let me see what you've got."

A wicked grin appeared on his face. "At the beginning of my career--"

"Are we talking pre-underwear or post-underwear model era?" Ryan asked.

Amanda nearly choked on her drink at Thomas's glare.

"During." He answered. "As I was saying, one of the photographers would try and loosen everyone up by having us shoot a few games of pool."

"So you and the other models were in your underwear holding your pool sticks?" Holly teased. Ryan spit his drink out and stared at her in surprise.

"Yes." Thomas ignored the innuendo. "Much like my talent at modeling," he winked surreptitiously to Amanda, "I developed quite a bit of talent at billiards."

Amanda rolled her eyes. "You're so full of it."

The other two couples stared at her in shock. They had never heard her speak in such a way. Her teasing was usually sweet and directed toward herself.

Thomas leaned down and struck the cue ball with enough force to scatter the balls. A striped ball went into one of the pockets. He glanced over his shoulder at her as he lined up for another shot. "I prefer 'confident'."

He knocked another striped ball in a corner pocket and moved around the table.

Amanda shook her head in mock frustration. "You would, you crazy man."

Thomas purposely took his time to line up the next shot. "You are so sweet." His tone was nothing but sarcasm.

Addison stared wide eyed at the couple. She met Holly's concerned gaze and bit her lip wondering how to stop what had to be an argument occurring.

When another striped ball dropped in a pocket. Amanda groaned and dropped her head forward. "I hate you sometimes."

Holly gasped. Ryan placed his hand on hers to stop her from interfering. What happened to the two people that were nearly gushing with happiness while talking about their wedding? Matt had a comforting arm around Addison as her lip trembled waiting to hear Thomas's response.

He looked up at Amanda. "I love you too." His shot glanced off the side and he handed the cue to Ryan. "You're up."

Ryan took it silently as they all watched him walk back over to where Amanda sat. The two couples were shocked to see the pair share a tender kiss and a few words that none could hear.

Ryan messed up his shot for constantly looking up to see if they were truly okay. He handed the pool cue to Amanda who smiled happily and studied the table.

"There is no way I am near as good as you." She said over her shoulder to Thomas. "If I were you, I would demand to pick partners next time."

"I would still pick you." Thomas told her, smiling softly when she beamed at him.

She knocked another striped in and missed her second shot. "Here you go Holly."

Holly stared in disbelief at Thomas pulling Amanda between his legs when she decided to stand next to his stool. She leaned back against him and kissed his cheek. They were talking too softly to be overheard again.

Holly threw the pool stick down on the table in frustration. She shook her finger at the two. "That's it! What is going on?"

Thomas and Amanda stared at her in confusion. "What are you talking about?" He asked.

"THIS!" She motioned at them. "Am I crazy or were you two not acting like someone had taken over your bodies earlier?"

"I don't know what you mean." Amanda managed to say with a straight face.

Holly strangled on a frustrated sound and turned to the others to back her up.

"You were so sarcastic and mean." Addison explained. "You actually said you hated Thomas!"

"Now you act like nothing happened!" Holly finally managed to get out.

Amanda bit her lip and looked at Thomas. "We have to tell them or else they are going to hate me."

"I think we must. I can't have them thinking anything like that." He turned his attention to the group that was now even more confused. "We were acting out a scene."

"What?" Matt asked. "A scene? Why?"

Amanda pulled it out of her purse and handed it over to them to read. "The couple seemed like us in some aspects, yet that conversation seems out of place for the two. We thought we would try it out and see if it was us comparing their relationship to ours."

The four read it and gave their opinions. "I think it fits this pair in the scene." Matt said. "You two on the other hand, no."

"I'm with Matt." Holly added.

"Me too." Ryan replied. "And don't ever scare us like that again. I think you took ten years off my life, which means I will start being cast in father of the bride roles." He dramatically shuddered.

Addison shook her head. "I agree with Thomas and Amanda. This couple is too sweet in this story."

"Three against three." Thomas sighed as he took the paper back. "I suppose I will have to wait until they act it out and see the tone of the scene they intend to have before grading it."

"And I promise I won't say I hate Thomas." Amanda added. Her smile grew in mischief. "Except when we play cards. Then all bets are off."

Thomas shook his head and placed some money down. "Since we made you are test subjects in this little experiment, enjoy another round on us. I have an early class tomorrow, so we are leaving."

"All is forgiven." Ryan reassured them. "Or it will be after the next round."

Amanda chuckled and said her goodbyes as she slipped her hand in Thomas's.

Once back at his home, he kept the lights off as he pulled her into a passionate kiss. Her surprised laughter caused him to pause.

"I told you this would happen." He pressed his lips to hers again.

"You're so full of it." Amanda teased while unbuttoning his shirt.

His smile briefly appeared before he groaned at her caress. "I prefer 'confident'." Their lips met again in a heated exchange.

"In this context, it works." Her words were muffled under his lips.

"Yes, it does." Thomas pulled her upstairs. "Forget about that script. Right now, the only thing I want you focusing on is the infamous love scene."

"Yes, Professor Hunt." She mumbled before being kissed.

[mattzerella-sticks]

Tales from the Future - Batflash Week Day 1: Wards & Didn’t Know They Were Dating

After a tough mission in the future with the Titans, Damian and Wally discovered something very shocking. They couldn't keep this information to themselves, though, and decided to tell their families - save the very people the information is about.

Will the group of Robins and Speedsters stay focused enough to come up with a plan or realize that the future isn't as bad as they're fearing?

Damian watches Jason casually stroll in through the window, one leg swinging in after the other with practiced aloofness. “Tch,” he scoffs, “nice of you to show up.”

“Buzz off, Bat Brat,” Jason says, squeezing in between Dick and Tim on the couch. “I was busy .”

“Who was busy?” Dick asks.

“Me, I just said -”

“No, who was busy,” he clarifies, leering at Jason. Groans erupt from across the room, Damian hiding his face in his hand. Duke huffs from the armchair, mirroring him.

A smack echoes, Dick cursing. Tim glares from the other side of the couch, frowning. “None of us want to hear about Jason’s sex life.”

“I don’t know,” Dick says, rubbing his head, “I could use a good laugh or two.”

Sighing, Wally steps behind Damian. He turns to face his friend. Wally looks unimpressed, a similar expression to the other speedster guests who joined them this afternoon. The older Wally sits on the other armchair across from Duke, closer to Dick. Bart vibrates around the room, not really staying in one place for too long. “Is this how every meeting starts?”

“No,” Damian admits, “sometimes we do more than slap the other.”

Wally’s eyebrow climbs further up his forehead.

“Okay, everyone, settle down,” Damian calls. His brothers quiet immediately, giving him their attention. “We didn’t assemble to tease Jason.”

“But it’s such a fun team building activity.”

“Fuck you, Bubble Butt.”

“How dare you -”

Another clap silences them again. “Do I have to separate you two?” Damian asks, glancing between the older Robins. They dart their gazes towards one another for a brief second before relenting, a white flag waving from their stations. “Good,” he continues, running his hands across his chest. Smooths invisible wrinkles on his charcoal black button-down. “Now we’ve gathered you all for a reason.”

“A very important reason,” Wally preempts Bart, the latter’s jaw hanging. Offhand comment still cocked in his chamber, pulled from the trigger. “That has to deal with Barry and Bruce.”

Their family sobers immediately at the mention of their respective elders. “Really?” Dick asks, “What is it?”

Damian and Wally glance between themselves, silently discussing who would start. Taking too long, Jason breaks their debate. “Someone just freakin ’ start already!”

Taking point, Damian clears his throat. “We’d finished a mission with Jon, saying our goodbyes to him and his team in the future…”

A mission to the future seemed too early for Damian’s ragtag team of Titans. He could barely get them to stop fighting each other to handle villains of this century, there was no telling how they’d fare against criminals with advanced and alien tech. Yet Jon came for him at an inopportune time. Bubble bursting in during a team meeting, popping out with his friend , Saturn Girl.

“Damian,” he panted, ash smudged across his face, “I need you.”

That was all the convincing needed. Except the moment he set a foot into the time bubble a gust of wind sped past and snatched his wrist.

Wally wouldn’t let Damian leave them, the others gathering round demanding to be brought along. Damian scowled, trying to figure out a quick enough argument to shut the idea down without offending them. Because he promised them he’d be kinder . Kindness cost him dearly, since Saturn Girl gave them a free pass by saying, “Of course you can come along.”

Carried into the time bubble by the incoming stampede, they squished together to travel to the 31st century. He squirmed between Crush and Roundhouse, annoying Wally given the timed puffs of air he breathed through his nose.

“You were tickling my chin,” Wally scoffs, “And it was taking too slow.”

“We were advancing 1000 years in a blink of an eye!” Damian cries, “There’s nothing slow about it -”

“Guys, focus!” Wally says, “What does this have to do with Barry and Bruce?”

“Well, when we got there it turns out this villain had taken control of their head quarters,” Wally says, ignoring his cousin.

A green, floating eyeball paraded around the Legion of Superheroes’ Clubhouse. Members with glowing, verdant gazes stalked the halls like zombies. Unfortunately they proved much more resourceful and smarter than their appearance.

An accidental sneeze from Roundhouse alerted their presence, and heroes descended upon them. Damian found himself holding off a wolf-man with his staff caught in his sharp jaws. When he flipped the beast off him, Damian saw the rest of his team separated and battling in their own small groups. And the eye, watching them. Waiting.

“Its owner entered with fanfare,” Damian tells them, “using this boy who shoots lightning for special effects.”

Tim yawns, “Why does this matter?”

“It does! Now, she entered…”

The Emerald Empress immediately captured Roundhouse with her Eye, trapping him in her spell like all the others. Saturn Girl shouted for them to retreat, falling back towards a secret tunnel. Except on their way Djinn snagged her ankle on a waiting hand, phased through the floor.

“Go!” she says, “I’ll be fine!”

Damian froze, only Wally’s fast reflexes pulling him out from falling debris dropped by a gravity manipulator. They left Djinn and Crush - the latter shoving past Emiko to help the other girl. Behind the shut door of the secret entrance Damian saw emerald light flash and his heart sank.

“This is why you should have stayed in the past,” Damian growled once they snuck far enough away, “Not even five minutes and we’ve already lost half the team!”

“We’ll save them, Damian,” Wally said, a steady calm to the raging storm brewing inside the smaller boy, “We always will.”

“Don’t see how,” Emiko added, the first few words since travelling to the future. “Her Eye looks kitted to the max. Coupled with the heroes she already has under her thrall and the ones we gave her… I don’t think we have much of a chance.”

Damian huffed, “Especially once she combines her Eye with Djinn’s magic -”

“Djinn?” Bart asks, “Who’s Djinn? You keep mentioning her.”

Flushing, Damian glances at the grandfather clock ticking ceaselessly in the lounge. “She’s a team member of ours… very powerful magic, one of our strongest assets, and -”

“Damian’s got a total crush on her.”

He whips his head to glare at Wally, the other boy standing nonplussed. Instead of a smirk, a harsh line cuts across his face. As if his words were more of a tiresome fact than rope to hang him with.

His brothers gladly string him up. Dick coos, “Aw, you’ve got a crush Damian?”

“Thank God,” Jason says, “Maybe you’ll finally get that stick out of your ass.”

“Does this mean we have to chaperone you?” Tim asks, “Because I don’t want to double date…”

Duke leans forward in his seat. “Are we going to ever meet her?”

Damian waves their comments away. “This isn’t about me. And for the record I don’t have a crush.”

Jason scoffs, “Sounds like what someone with a crush would say.”

“I don’t!”

“Jason knows what’s he’s talking ‘bout,” Dick nods, clapping Jason’s shoulder, “Guy’s king of unrequited crushes.”

He brushes Dick’s hand off him. “Fuck you, at least half of them were requited.”

“Sure, and I made it to fifth base with Harley Quinn…”

Bart zips over to Tim, whispering. “What’s fifth base?”

Tim shakes his head. “You don’t want to know.”

Wally pinches his brow, reclining into his armchair. “Can we please get back to the story?”

“I would be glad to,” Damian says, “if people would let me.” Given the floor once more, Damian carries on where he left off.

They regrouped. Jon led them in a motivational speech, every word and gesture oozing small town sensibility. His father would be proud. After he rallied the troops, Saturn Girl presented schematics of the Legion headquarters. Damian and Emiko poured over the holograms, planning their assault. Satisfied with a course of action, the group returned.

Although their plans strayed early on from the course they laid. A few heroes that Saturn Girl thought were off-planet appeared and forced them to separate. Damian and Jon fled down one hallway, followed by a barrage of shrapnel. Cosmic Boy, as Jon told him, barreled their way with a Lantern and an orange lizard-creature at his side.

Jon handled the flankers, Damian keeping Cosmic Boy occupied. With power over metal most of his arsenal was useless, and he dropped it so he wouldn’t be controlled. Instead Damian relied on his training, utilizing the environment to his advantage. Waiting for Leading Cosmic Boy into a narrow hallway, snaking around the metal he pulled. Pushing his reflexes to the limit, Damian dodged each swipe until Cosmic Boy trapped himself in a cage of wires and panels.

Unable to move, Damian rabbit punched him.

Jon dumped his attackers to the floor when Damian returned, and together they advanced to the main room. Regrouping with the others, they stormed where Emerald Empress hid.

More heroes awaited them, guarding their queen while she mixed the emerald energy from her eye with Djinn’s unique purple magic. This timeline’s Doctor Fate underneath like a scale, helping to balance the power.

Knocking away a ball boy into identical triplets, Damian noticed the colors mixing together hideously. Terribly foreboding, a chill shot through his spine. “We need to stop this!” he yelled, tumbling underneath lightning.

Wally wrapped up a talking raccoon and hurled him towards a green-skinned boy. Being the only one who heard Damian, he tracked his gaze to the makeshift throne. “Okay,” he said, “let’s stop this.”

“So?” Bart asks, “How’d you stop it?”

Damian pouts, crossing his arms. “He threw me.”

“What?”

“He threw men,” he repeats, “at the Emerald Empress.”

Wally nods, smiling. “While I dealt with Doctor Fate.”

With those two erased from the equation, it was only Djinn and the Emerald Eye. Their auras swirled in battle for dominance. When it looked like the green would overtake Djinn’s purple, her eyes flashed brilliantly violet and swept over the encroaching light like a tidal wave. Purple energy coursed through the Emerald Eye until it short-circuited and turned grey. It fell to the floor, powerless.

Spell broken, the others woke from their trances. Some moaned with pain while others blinked in confusion. Their friends, Crush and Roundhouse, staggered away from Saturn Girl and Jon while returning to their senses.

“You beat the villain, big whoop,” Jason says, “still don’t see what this has to do with Bats and Flash.”

Wally rolls his eyes. “After the fight, when we were saying our goodbyes to the team…”

Roundhouse bounced between Jon, Saturn Girl, Wally and him, drawing the Legionnaires attention towards him. Asked questions with blazing speed that surpassed their speedster. Jon led him away from the group, Saturn Girl at his side while explaining a few of the concepts to sate his curiosity.

Leaving Wally and Damian open for an ambush.

“Excuse me?” someone cleared their throat behind them, “I… I can’t believe you’re actually here…”

Startled, Damian brandished a bat-a-rang immediately and spun on his heel to attack. Before he could launch his weapon, though, Wally gripped his wrist in an iron vice. “Damian, no ,” he scolded, nodding towards the frightened teenager in front of them, “ friend .”

He glared at the speedster, unrelenting in his combat stance. Wally didn’t back down either.

The newcomer looked between them, nerves dying as each second ticked on by. “Uh… is he gonna put that down?”

“Yes.” “ No .”

Wally sighed, lowering Damian’s hand. “Sorry, we’re a little on edge…”

“Yeah, yeah,” the teen said, “Emerald Empress took a lot out of all of us… your team did a great job.”

Nodding, Damian used his silence to study the newcomer. Recognizes him from their previous battle as the one with lightning powers. If he hadn’t witnessed his powers in action the costume would telegraph immediately what he can do. Lightning bolts mean two things - and he didn’t rush away like any other speedster would when presented with danger. So that meant the only other option was electricity manipulation. “Who are you?”

“Oh, right, uh -” the teen chuckles awkwardly, scratching his head, “the name’s Garth - or, uh Lightning Lad.”

“Cool. I’m Wally, Kid Flash. And my trigger happy friend is Damian -”

“ Robin .”

“...I was getting to that.”

Garth beamed, “I know, I know! I… kinda know a lot about you, actually…”

A chill raced down Damian’s spine at the giddiness crackling across Garth’s face. Being trapped with a fanboy is not what he needed. Wally tensed as well, darting his gaze over in silent communication. However a different emotion flickered behind his eyes, telling Damian to suck up whatever outburst bubbled up inside him. He snapped his jaw shut. Agreeing to play nice only because he felt too tired to cause a scene.

“Hey,” Wally started, “it’s always great to meet a fan -”

“A huge fan,” Garth cut him off, “Like, you’re such an inspiration. I remember growing up, whenever a dust storm tore through our settlement and we’d be locked inside for days , my brother, sister and I would read up on all your classic adventures.” He turns to Damian, “Both of yours.”

“I’m surprised you had time to even read about his ,” Damian smirked, “ my adventures - that have passed and are yet to come - should have been enough entertainment.”

“...Actually you’re featured in a lot of Flash’s stories.”

Damian bristled again, not caring for how Wally’s chest puffed up. Only to deflate slightly, with a sigh. “Looks like I’ll never get rid of you,” he mumbled.

Scoffing, he rolls his eyes. “You’re lucky I still hang around you after all these years…”

Garth chuckled. “Oh, man… the banter is just like they said it’d be.” He bounced where he stood, sparks jumping off his shoulders. “I really can’t believe… you two. Some of the best teen heroes. You are part of the reason I am who I am today. I’ve met Superman and Jon already… all I’ll need for my life to be complete is to meet the originals and I’ll be set!”

“Originals?” Damian asked, “What are you talking about?”

“You know, your mentors. Batman and Flash ,” Garth continued, eyes glowing blue, “Those guys, I mean… Growing up where I’m from there were some pretty strict rules on how to live your life. If you didn’t fit the mold you’d be ignored and cast aside. My brother Mekt… being born without a twin… Anyway, Batman and Flash were in your face with who they were. When they came out they didn’t bat an eye -”

“What?”

Damian and Wally leaned forward with vested interest. “What?” Wally said again, “What do you mean, ‘came out’?”

“When they publicly announced they were dating?” Garth answered, “Well… it’s not like they had a choice, what with that picture in the Gotham Gazette but - hey, they didn’t deny it! That’s…” He stilled, finally noticing the expressions of the others. “You didn’t know? But aren’t you from… wait, what year are you from?”

“2019.”

Garth paled, stepping away from them. “Oh… oh frack . I - I shouldn’t have said that, should I?”

It didn’t matter. The future dropped upon them like a bombshell. Damian’s vision whited briefly until he blinked into awareness once more. Wally’s grip on his wrist tightened, reminding him that throughout the conversation he latched on like a vice. Wrenching free, the bat-a-rang fell with a clatter.

“Please,” Garth whispered urgently, “forget I said anything. Brainy’s all about not interfering with the timeline. If he finds out I outed them he’ll kill me… and that’d really hurt my chances with the guy.” He looked between them. “You don’t have any questions, do you?”

There were a million. Except Jon returned, telling them how it was time the Titans returned to the present. Herded into the time bubble, Wally and Damian didn’t say another word about what they learned. Waiting for the perfect moment to discuss it.

With others who deserved to know.

They watch their family process the information, breath held, waiting for a response.

Bart reacts first. He snorts, drawing all focus to him. A single laugh blossoms into a full-body heave until he tips over the couch, sprawling across Damian’s brothers’ laps. “That’s really funny guys,” he wheezes, “Seriously… amazing.”

Damian scowls. “Why are you laughing?”

“Because it’s not true?”

“We were in the future, Bart,” Wally says, “How can it not be true?”

“Maybe it has to do with the fact that I’m from the future?” he says, “Because I’m Barry and Iris’s grandson . If they somehow didn’t end up together d’you think I’d still be here?”

“Then again,” Tim interrupts, “you are from a timeline that doesn’t exist anymore.”

Bart’s good mood shatters into a million pieces. Pouting, he glares at his friend. “Thanks for reminding me.”

Jason shifts under his heavy weight, rolling Bart off. “So,” he says after the heavy thud , “What are we gonna do?”

“Who says we have to do anything?” Duke says, “It sounds like them getting together is a good thing - hey !” He whacks the pillow thrown at him from its target, his face. Jason, the guilty culprit, looks remorseless. “What was that?”

“You were speaking crazy,” Jason tells him, “How can Bruce dating Barry be any good .”

Dick smirks, folding his arms across his chest. “Wow, Jason. Didn’t know you were a homophobe .”

“Fuck you, it’s not like that.”

“Then what is it?”

Jason sinks into the couch, mirroring his brother. “If Bruce really is gay, bi or… queer than… it’ll be another thing we have in common,” he whines, “The more that happens the sadder I get.”

“Wow,” Dick says, voice thick with emotion. He reaches across to squeeze Jason’s shoulder. “I can’t believe… you actually followed through whenever I told you to suck a dick. I’m proud of you.”

Slapping Dick off him, Jason bares his teeth in a growl. “Keep talking and I’ll show you how I beat Dick .”

“I’d like to see you try.”

Wally zooms from his seat and breaks the two apart, hands firm against their chests. “Knock it off you two, we’re getting distracted from the bigger picture… how to make sure this doesn’t happen.”

“You mean you don’t want to be brothers, Wall?”

He rolls his eyes at Dick’s artificially sweet expression. “Batman’s creepy enough without imagining him all domestic with Barry.”

“Or all sex-like ,” Jason adds, making every wrinkle in the room crease with agony.

Damian shakes the image from his mind, switching back onto the topic at hand. “Now we’ll have to be very careful so they won’t find out we’re on to them -”

“Which’ll be hard,” Tim adds, “they’re two of the best detectives in the world.”

“But they’re only two people,” Wally says, stepping closer to Damian, “we’re a team . Trade shifts - always knowing where they are. Making sure they’re not alone together.”

Wally raises a brow at his cousin. “I bet you want to tell Superman or Wonder Woman, too… have an inside operative during Justice League meetings.”

“...That could work.”

Duke stands with a shout, interrupting the planning. “This is crazy! If Bruce and Barry want to be together than why should we get in the way? It seems like the future’s pretty good when they’re a couple. Are we really gonna get in the way of that?”

His outburst brings an unexpected bout of clarity to Damian’s plans, parting the cloudy skies for sunshine to burst through. Reminded of Garth’s casual openness about himself and his reverence to Damian’s father, he winces.

Like dominoes everyone else sobers into quiet reflection. The energy fueling the crazy planning in the room deflates, letting everyone return to their senses. Damian feels the tightness of his bones over hearing the shocking news finally settle, as if coming to terms with the future.

Dick clears his throat, the first to break the silence. “But if they do get together,” he starts, waiting until he’s found every eye in the room before continuing, “... then Jason won’t be special anymore.”

“That’s it !”

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

Bruce adjusts himself on the Batcave’s examination table, eyes fluttering shut as Barry runs careful fingers across his temple. When they stumble over the cut he hisses, a hand darting over to squeeze his.

“Sorry ‘bout that, babe,” Barry says, “that’s one well hidden wound.”

“It’s okay,” he says, “It’s my fault for letting Kite Man get the drop on me.” The mediocre villain swooped in and sliced open his cowl with the tail of his giant kite, catching the Dark Knight in a moment of weakness. If Barry hadn’t been at his side, he would have walked away with much worse.

“I’m surprised he got a few good swings in,” Barry says, dabbing at the cut with some peroxide, “You feeling okay?”

“I’ve… got a lot on my mind.”

Barry pauses, pulling away. Bruce cracks one eye open, frowning at the seriousness weighing on his lover’s shoulders.

“Nothing bad,” he continues, snaking his arms across Barry’s waist to bring him closer. Spreads his legs open so he can fit between them. He nuzzles at his chest, enjoying the frantic heartbeat that is normal for Barry Allen. “I… I’ve been thinking about us and… the future .”

“...Wanna elaborate on that so my mind won’t fill in the blanks?”

Bruce takes a steadying breath, the words rushing from his mouth afterwards. “I want to tell the boys about us.”

An eternity passes in a second, Bruce clinging tight to Barry’s body. Afraid the other man will vibrate free and out of his life. That never happens. Instead the opposite, Barry settles further into the moment. Tips Bruce’s head so he can see the beaming smile on his face.

“What brought this on?”

“I… I just think that we've been really good,” Bruce explains, hating how his nerves easily expose themselves in the tremble of his voice. “And I understood why you wanted to take this slow, in case things don’t work out. It wouldn’t be the first for either of us, to have a relationship fall apart. But everyday you stay by my side and I… I feel different. Better. Happier . And I think the same is true for you. We’re making each other better people. I love you and I love the person you inspire me to be… And I want my family to know.”

Barry offers a wet chuckle, hiding in Bruce’s hair. He kisses the cut he grazed earlier, a few tears trickling into it. Composing himself, Barry straightens in Bruce’s embrace. “I love you, too,” he says, “And if you want to tell your boys then… I want to tell the Flash family, too.”

“Really?”

“We should do it together, actually,” he continues, skin vibrating in excitement, “have some sort of family dinner!”

“They’ll immediately sense something’s up if we do that,” Bruce laughs, “You sure we can’t just call a meeting down here and… rip the band-aid off? In costume?”

Barry rolls his eyes. “Come on, it won’t be so bad. I mean what’s the worst that can happen?”

Bruce readies a response, only the clacking of Alfred’s heels interrupts him. His butler speeds over with anxious haste. “Master Bruce? Barry?”

“Yes Alfred?”

“It’s the boys.”

A headache tickles his head, adding to the pain already camping there. “Which boys.”

“All the boys,” he says, turning to Barry, “even your boys.”

“What?” Barry asks, “What are they doing here?”

“I don’t know, but a fight’s broken out!”

Barry tenses against Bruce. “A fight?”

Bruce, disappointed, sighs while sliding off the table. “What happened?”

“I’m not sure. One moment I was in the kitchen readying dinner and the next I knew there were crashing sounds coming from the parlor. When I got there Duke had a speedster in a headlock, Dick and Wally were fighting, and Jason hung Damian off the chandelier… again .”

Frowning, Bruce fixes his cowl. He looks to Barry, “Looks like family dinner will have to wait.”

Barry shrugs, mirroring him. “I can hope. Besides… that wouldn’t have been very us , would it?” He slips his hand into Bruce’s waiting one, squeezing.

“No it wouldn’t,” Bruce agrees. “Now come on, we have a fight to break up.”

[anonthenullifier]

A Promise Broken with a Vow - Chapter 2

A Scarlet Vision Victorian AU

Chapter 2 summary: An unassuming day leads to an existential crisis for Vision, one that forces him to re-examine and redefine what he wants.

AO3 Link

Acrid smoke swirls with the palpable waft of grease sliding from spits into hungry flames, a mixture that envelops Vision as he walks, hands lounging in his trouser pockets. There are fifteen wagons left, comprising what appears to be three separate groupings. Each wagon looks roughly the same—knotty boards forming the base, the ends sloping up and ballooning into off-white canvas covers. It’s akin to watching a fleet of boats skim through the bay. In a way this is accurate, the prairie grass oscillating in pelagic mimicry. 

Based on what Vision has read in pamphlets and heard in saloons and trading posts, this is a popular jumping off point for the wagon trains. Gaggles of people flocking to explore the relative unknown of the territories, some in pursuit of gold, some freedom from poverty and lack of opportunity, and some because there might just be something more out there. Whatever the reason, he feels a kinship with these strangers who are so willing to shed the past and seek a new future.

What he does not feel a kinship towards is the inconsiderate messA. Carefully he sidesteps another pile of luggage, movements slow as to not step on the broken, hand painted tea cups forming a barrier around a lopsided stool. A wagon train left this morning and this is only one carcass of their lives, eight other mounds rise from the ground, each one swarming with scavengers eager to pilfer from another’s discarded life, not once seeming to wonder why the former owners left it all behind.

“Excuse me, fine gentleman?” Vision’s hips turn first, eyes remaining for a half second longer on the broken arm of a doll laying in the grass, and then his upper half follows. “Would a double-breasted water butt-smasherB like yourself fancy to know the secrets of your future?”

His right hand slides from his pocket and finds its way to tug at his earlobe. “I do not, um, think that is an apt description of my, well...” A wave of his hand over his decidedly non-athletic physique finishes the thought.

The fairly clear display seems to be willfully ignored, Wanda’s lips tightening into a pleased line. The action is accentuated by the silk headscarf she wears, the crimson and marigold beads (ones he spent many days threading onto it) framing her delight at throwing him askew. “Just get over here you fine yard-of-pump water.C “

“Wanda,” there is no one within ear shot, yet her brazen disregard for all etiquette both offends his sensibilities and also sends a spark of desire twining through his body, “please.” 

The attempt at admonishment is weak and crushed immediately when she stands and grabs his hand, leading him to a wooden stool. It’s then buried deep in the ground as she leans against his shoulder, lips not far from his ear and accent rougher than usual, her tone sending his heart and mind into a dizzy, “It’s Scarlet.”

“Well, Miss Scarlet,” he makes sure to emphasize her working moniker, enunciation sharp on the c and t, “I do hope you are in my future.”

Her forehead thumps his shoulder, untamed curls tickling his jaw as she shakes her head with an ounce too much drama to be taken seriously. The lack of annoyance is confirmed once she moves away to take her seat, only bemusement left in her unerring gaze. “You do know that is the most overused line by men thinking they’re being clever with me.”

This is not a mystery to him and he admits it is an uninventive and tired quip, but the way she looks when her cheeks develop a subtle glow, fingers picking at the fringe on her shawl, all while her eyes pierce him with disbelief always shields him to embarrassment long enough to (politely) be bold. “And yet it will most certainly be successful.”

“I suppose I can consult the spirits to see what chance you have.” With a wink she easily slips into her spiritualist role. A moderate, swooping dance of her hands accompanies a drop of her voice into a recently practiced monotone, one Helen and Amadeus agreed gives the most otherworldly feel. “Based on what I see in my crystal ball,” which is not a crystal ball but a discolored beaker of Helen’s they charred in a campfire for added, spooky effect and then stood up in a cushion made from one of his socks, “you,” the band of her crescent moon clinks against the beaker as she points at him, “will be in my bed tonight.” 

“Is that so?” 

“The spirits never lie.”

How she keeps a straight face is a mystery to him, especially given he can barely manage it himself. “Can you perhaps explain to me how the spirits are so certain it is I in your bed and not you…” A woman and her daughter walk past as he speaks, eyeing the table with disquisitive mistrust, causing his voice to lower into a stutter, “um in mine?” Vision clears his throat, the reminder of the public nature of this interaction grounding him immediately. “Or well, not that it matters, I suppose, given this whole thing is a farce.”

Wanda is unfazed by the passersby, her attention solely on him. “Just give me your hand and I’ll confirm it.” He complies, tugging his glove off and allowing her to grip his wrist, fingers lackadaisically tracing the lines of his palm. For a fleeting moment he considers asking for a tarot reading, believing it is a bit more intriguing to watch from an outsiders’ perspective given his own curiosity about the process, having only seen the practice from a distance since Wanda never offers it to him. He, however, will not ask nor push her. Even though she has embraced and reclaimed the Scarlet Witch persona, he knows there is far more depth of agony in the title and its consequences than she wishes to face, understandably so. “Was it easy to see me across the way?”

“It was,” an important aspect they’ve discovered in traveling to towns with more open spaces than cramped ones. The more direct sight lines to her table, the more likely people are to get curious. It is why, once they’ve set her up, he will meander the perimeter to check her overall visibility, often weaving between the wagons or railcars or whatever mode of gathering they are near to decipher any poor angles. “I do think the tablecloth needs more panache to truly signal your offerings.”

Wanda seems less certain, albeit not completely against the idea. “What if we added more to the scarf instead?”

The current headdress is not as prominent as the one she used to wear, though it still, to him anyway, is unmistakably a look only a spiritualist would don. Additionally, it creates a rather fetching silhouette when she leaves her hair down, like she has today.  “I can see if there are any potential additions when I am at the trading post.  Perhaps some feathers?” 

“Worth a try.” Toying with his fingers is not part of a typical reading, something he won’t point out to Wanda since he is not at all bothered by the action and she always carries a certain amount of nervous energy before customers arrive. “When does Helen want you back?”

“Not until one.” He answers her next question before she can ask, since it is the same every time, “I will be sure to stop by before then.”

“Good.”

Their conversation lulls into an amiable calm, her fingers moving haphazardly along his hand while her eyes wander the surroundings.  All of this a sham to bring in customers. He even wears one of his nicer suits for it, the hypothesis being that if a man of civility is intrigued enough to seek a reading, then others will feel it is the socially reasonable thing to do. Part of him wonders at the ethics of ushering people towards a practice that is inherently specious while the other part of him knows that the decently accurate (albeit empty) reading does not actually harm the customer, per se, other than maybe a mite more hope or worry or vim, depending on what Wanda tells them. Plus, and this is the most persuasive argument for his involvement, Wanda truly seems to enjoy it now that she has figured out how to avoid amphibious attacks. “What do you think is going on over there?”

“Where?” Vision does his best to turn in the direction of Wanda’s gaze without pulling his hand away and breaking the illusion of their performance. Nothing has changed since he sat down, he thinks, other than a handful of people beginning to edge closer. “It seems you have some curious parties?”

The feel of a phantom hand nudging his chin a bit more to the right would be a curious thing if he had not become so accustomed to Wanda’s powers. He follows the direction and spots the farthest wagon train where there are four fires dotting the ground, each surrounded by people conversing and going through their belongings, likely to determine what to leave behind. “I am not sure I-”

“They’re setting something up” 

There are more seats arranged than is usual, well maybe not more seats but the arrangement is somewhat odd—trunks, boxes, and blankets set up in clear lines. “Perhaps there is a, um,” gala is the first word to come to mind, except that is not the life they are leading now, “a gathering tonight?” 

“Well,” a tug brings him back to face her, “we should come back tonight. I’ve never gotten to see you kick up a shindyD.” 

“That is because I do no such thing.” There are, admittedly, many things he had never done until he met Wanda or thought about doing until she came into his life, her influence a pleasant chaos that leads him down some rather indecorous paths. Lively dancing in public, however, is an embarrassment he will not suffer, even for her. “Nonetheless, I will accompany you if you wish to participate.” 

It is not meant as a challenge, yet she is staring at him with the same lopsided grin and narrowed eyes as when she is about to take the last pair from his hand in a game of Commerce. “Vision,” and this is how she says his name when she is about to hit his ball into the oblivion of grass on their makeshift paille maille course, “we both know that—” her mouth snaps shut and her eyes move to watch something over his shoulder. “Play along now, please.” It seems the onlookers have drawn within earshot. Wanda begins to hum, ramping up the eccentricity of the reading, dragging her nails along the grooves of his palm. “Your life line is branching, a sharp turn towards fortune is in your future, but,” a dangerous, over-the-top edge enters her voice, “you must tread carefully lest you bring about your own ruin.”

Vision is not a thespian, is not even decent at telling lies, so hopefully his words are heard as sincere. “Does this mean I’ll find gold?”

The path of his reading jackknives towards the base of his fingers. “Not just treasures, your heart line curves here,” she rubs the base of his ring finger, “if your heart is open, you will find love as well.”

“Love and fortune?” He tries to sound enthralled and gullible.

Wanda winks at him, a whispered not bad in his mind as she releases his hand, her palm coming to rest over her heart. “Yes, now go,” the people are barely two feet away now, “follow your heart and you will triumph.” 

“I will.” He stands, as quickly as he can manage without wincing, hand diving into his pocket to retrieve a silver dollar. “You have saved my life.” This is sincere, something he tries to convey with a hard stare at his fiancée, gleefully accepting her moony smile. “I must go forth now and seek my fortune.” Compared to the prior statement, this one feels awful in his mouth, an acerbic falsehood tainting his general demeanor. At least it is almost done. The coin (which is near 100 times her going rate) thuds on the table and he slides his palm beneath hers, breaking script to lay a doting kiss to the top of her hand, “Thank you.” 

Wanda’s jaw tightens as she does her best not to break character, her, “Go” vibrating with amusement. He grins at her and grabs his glove, pulling it back on before he walks away, turning after ten feet to see a woman already occupying his old seat and a line forming behind her. 

With the feederE act done, he is free to explore the town, a task Vision finds inherently satisfying, no two places exactly alike. It’s why he never bemoaned when Mr. Stark would send him on wild goose chases to hamlets and towns with varied and often confusing names. Sometimes he would even suggest a new merchant to “investigate” if he discovered a name on a map he was ignorant of. Based on the walk from the hotel to the wagons, there are at least ten unique shops for him to explore and he has already mapped out the most efficient path between them all. 

First, however, he returns to the railcar for his shopping basket. He locks the door, tugging on it several times to be sure it is secure. Satisfied, he turns towards Council Bluffs, ready to discover what it has to offer. 

The grainery is the farthest away and most strenuous to get to, located in the old fort on the side of a hill. It is also the quickest, the owner more than happy to deliver fifteen bags of flour to their hotel this afternoon. At the bottom of the hill Vision ambles into Royal Amy’sF, flanked by muskets and pistols but only interested in finding a suitable combustible to help start fires in wet conditions. The Robinson Hotel has a side business of selling excellent dried venison, or so he overheard at breakfast. He buys a few bags and determines, based solely on the lobby, which he knows isn’t fully fair, that they chose the correct accommodations. It’s on his stroll to Harle’s Hall that a realization creeps into his mind. A minute glance over his shoulder confirms what he suspected, spotting the same bearded face roughly fifteen feet behind him that has been fifteen feet behind him since he left Wanda. Granted this is a small town, albeit one inundated with transient visitors which should reduce the probability of being followed...unless someone else has deduced the same logical shopping route. That thread of reassurance is frayed since the man hasn’t once gone into the stores to purchase goods. 

There are two other experiences Vision can find equivalent to now. After he was known to be the butler of the Stark Estate, it was not an uncommon occurrence to be cornered by Mr. Stark’s jilted business partners or lovers, sometimes it was individuals with grand ideas that needed financing, and other times it was mothers looking to climb the social ladder who believed Vision would be a suitable candidate for their daughters in the hopes their daughters would then seduce Mr. Stark. Only no one here knows who he is and it leaves the other, far more insidious experience. Vision shoves the thought away, arm curling tighter to trap the basket against his side, determined to remain calm and logical. 

This determination is short lived.  While he’s in Harle’s his eyes betray him, sliding every so often to the windows at the front where the man stands talking with a group of people, angled perfectly to see the front door. Then Vision’s body, against his wishes, defects from rationality, a cold sweat breaking on his forehead at the memories he tries so hard to keep at bay lest he inadvertently forces Wanda to relive their capture, something she already experiences at least one night a week while she sleeps...as does he. 

Vision scans the room, recalling the instructions Natasha once gave him on evasion after a particularly overzealous mother pressured him into a six hour tea where he met all eight of her daughters. The lessons emphasized the need for alternative exits, a tactic that he, as a butler for a man with questionable morals, had already discovered though clearly had issues fully utilizing.  “Excuse me, sir?”

“Yes?” The store owner smiles amicably at him. 

“Is there a second exit?”

The friendliness slides from the man’s face, replaced by befuddlement. “Er, yes, back left corner’s where they deliver the goods.”

“Thank you.” Vision pays for the balms and ointments, eager to escape while still ensuring he remains cordial so as not to leave a poor impression. “You have a lovely establishment.”

Past the soaps and bandages, wedged between a shelf of loose teas and a display of elixirs, Vision bends to exit through the small delivery door, finding himself in a grove of pine trees that insist on latching onto the threads of his jacket as he struggles through their alpine embrace. 

It appears he has successfully navigated off the main road, a small dirt path separating him from the field of wagons. Given the rest of the shops are on Broadway, it seems like the majority of his perusing will have to wait, except, however, the trading post which is situated on the outskirts of town near the railcar. Luckily for him, it also happens to be the most important stop of the day and isn’t terribly far, perhaps a quarter mile. 

Vision glances around, checking for untoward eyes, and walks as swiftly and casually as he can without overexerting himself,  worried if he stumbles or shows signs of his ailments that he will be perceived as an even easier mark. In a sense, being on this dirt path allays his worries of kidnapping while in another sense the lack of bystanders and witnesses make the ease of absconding with him that much more proficient. He tries not to consider this option, instead forcing himself to think about the target destination. For instance, earlier today the owner at Amy’s explained how the trading post is one of the few log-based structures in Council Bluffs, the majority of the houses and buildings either stone or sod. It also stands alone, a sturdy structure framed by the emptiness of the fields beyond, the first thing all travelers see when they arrive. Or the last, depending on the direction of travel, and for him, at the moment, it arises as the solitary structure leading him out of town. 

Successful in reaching the building, Vision enters and assesses the room, relieved when he only sees a mustachioed man at the counter. Adding to his comfort is that the inside is almost identical to every other trading post in the last three weeks. All the shelves are packed so tightly with an array of items it is hard to decipher the logic of their placement, assuming there is logic in putting oil for lamps immediately next to bags of cornmeal. All Vision can imagine is how a bump of an elbow would knock the oil over and how it would then soak into the bag of food. Once it dries, would anyone be the wiser?

He decides to skip the cornmeal and wait to grab his oil until the end. On his journey towards the maps he collects their typical victuals: rice, coffee, fermented fish (not Vision’s preference but it does last long), dried apples, jarred beans, and hardtack biscuits. He grabs a new cast iron kettle, Amadeus accidentally losing theirs down a river, a few more mugs, and a collection of sturdier cooking utensils. The next shelf is stacked high with beaver pelts, just as expensive as all other stops so far. Vision runs a gloved hand along the fur, trying to convince himself the money spent will be worth it now that the weather is beginning to bite. 

“Mornin’ Francis!”

Vision glances up at the newcomer and his blood freezes. Slowly he backs away from the pelt table and towards the corner with the axes and goads. All his life he has believed in the goodness of mankind, and mostly he has been proven correct, except his body aches at the memory of the evil that brought him here, that is forcing him to travel to Seoul. His hand wraps around the wooden handle of a goad, sliding it off the hook on the wall and keeping it close at his side. Natasha would be so proud of him and the thought is a little sickening.

Armed and on edge, he shuffles his way towards the table of maps, half heartedly sifting through them while keeping his attention on the men speaking at the counter. He notices a hefty book labeled The Emmigrant’s Guide to Oregon and California and scoops it up, gently placing the goad against the wall so he can open the guidebook. 

“Howdy.”

Vision flinches at the voice, dropping the book at the sight of the bearded man grinning up at him. “I am not interested.”

The grin intensifies. “I imagine you might be interested in knowin’ that guide‘s barking at a knotG.” Somehow Vision resists looking down at the discarded guide, knowing from Natasha’s lessons, and his own experience, to never remove his eyes from an enemy. “You the fella with the afternoonifiedH railcar?”

It’s phrased as a question and stated as a fact. “I, um, yes, I am.” He could deny it but he is not a gifted liar. 

“Where ya goin’ with it?”

“San Francisco.” Instantly he realizes the mistake. He should have said somewhere that is not their actual destination just as he should have told mothers he was taken and Mr. Stark’s jilted lovers and business partners that they deserved better. 

The man whistles in response, scratching the back of his neck. “So you, the lad, and the two AngelicasI are plannin’ to go all the way to San Fran in that?”

The danger of the situation fades into a stubbornness he developed when working in the factories, never one to take lightly the gall of people who question every decision without proper facts or documentation.  They have planned this trip, they have survived this long, the graves this man’s voice is digging for them is unacceptable. Vision stands taller, towering over the stranger as he grabs the Emmigrant’s Guide. “Yes we are. Now please, I need to purchase my goods and be on my way.” The man lifts his hands in mock apology, stepping away from Vision. 

He makes it four steps before he’s held hostage all over again. “You want to lead them to their deaths with that fallacy,” the man’s dirt encrusted finger is pointed at the book, “have at it. Lansford never updated the map in there after the first publication.” Natasha’s protocol is broken by Vision’s eyes darting down. The name on the front of the guidebook is L. W. HastingsJ. “The rest of it’s decently useful,” something that seems to be painfully admitted, “but the map’s bound to put ya’ll in a bad boxK. So if you want to walk away from someone’s been on that trail dozens o’ times and rely on an almost decade old map, go right ahead.”

If Helen or Wanda were here, they’d likely urge him to leave, but the guilt that he tries to keep suppressed, the knowledge that he is the sole reason for this journey, that he has single handedly put the woman he loves and his dear friends into numerous precarious situations already, weighs so heavily on him that he can’t seem to move his feet and can’t take his eyes off the guidebook in his hands. The man picks up on the hesitation, shifting his demeanor from a soothsayer of doom to a gentle friend. “Wanna see my map? Update it every journey.”

Maps are not evil nor suspicious nor likely to kidnap and torture him. If he treats this as reconnaissance to figure out the correct path, would that not be preferable to ignorance? “I would.”

From the depths of four layers of unmatched clothing the man pulls out a weathered, chicory-colored leather bundle. Lovingly he unfolds it, revealing a map that sends a spark of awe and a whip of jealousy into Vision’s chest. It is handmade, similar to the ones Vision has been constructing, only there is so much more, or so he thinks, the legend and all markings in symbols he vaguely recognizes. “I been on these trails dozens o’ times.” Enraptured, Vision moves closer, bending down to watch the man show him their forthcoming journey all while opening the guidebook’s map and comparing them. “Y’all will have an easy time across the prairies, some good buffalo hunting here,” the brown smudges are apparently buffalo herds, dotting the map in various places, sometimes close to the thick black trail and sometimes a fair distance away. This is not information available in the book. “Then you reach Fort Laramie. Good place to stock up before the mountains. Happen to fall in love, it’s one o’ the few magistrates on the trail.” 

“Are there not weddings on the trail?” The plan, as of now, is to wait until they are in Seoul to get married, allowing their marriage to start with hope (and health) instead of being shrouded in uncertainty. It is also the latest Wanda is willing to consider despite their promise to Mr. Stark. But Vision had also assumed, based on sensationalized stories shared in the newspapers, that weddings were common on the frontier and easily coordinated if spontaneity suddenly befell them, at least it is what he conceded to Wanda the last time they had a fraught conversation on the topic back in Springfield. 

“If you want it legal, gotta have a magistrate, and they ain’t readily available, see,” now Vision understands the faded heart symbols on the map (yet another difference with his own), only three of them falling along their path. “That ain’t your big concern, really, after Laramie is the first mountain pass, it ain’t bad in pleasant weather, but it ain’t easy either. Break a wheel or lose an oxen, you best hope you get out before the snow.” 

Vision listens in increasingly abysmal despair as the man walks him through the path—raging rivers, deserts where people freeze to death in their sleep, stampedes of buffalo, thunderstorms with lethal hail and whipping winds, dysentery, cholera, starvation, dehydration, wild predators, getting crushed by other wagons, and the crowning bit, “Y’all lookin’ to hit the Sierra Nevadas right around the time the Donner Party did who, by the way, used Lansford’s little guide.”

Even in New York, the morbid, cautionary tale of the Donner Party was brought up at any mention of the pioneers. “Is there another path?”

“Re-route here,” the name is illegible in the secret code the man uses, “go south to the Sonoran. It’s a pretty big desert so gotta hope it ain’t too cold or ya don’t run out of food and water but ya avoid the mountains leastways.”

Vision already knows his functioning diminishes greatly in the winter, every joint with metal seizing into a deathlike rigor when the temperatures drop too low.  Adding to this the constant concern of freezing to death, or starving to death, or developing infections and illnesses, or being crushed by other travelers, or shot because you’ve been mistaken for an elk, or attacked by bears, wolves, coyotes, or mountain lions, and he feels himself questioning every choice they made concerning this journey. Had they known all of this, would traveling to Seoul have been a solution? If they were not so pressed for time would they have more fully investigated the paths? Should they have delayed long enough to send out messages about the condition of the railroad? The growing list of should haves are irrelevant now, the past impossible to rectify and so he must do as he always does and try not to let himself fall prey to the cruel, illogical entity of his pastself’s ignorance kicking up a shindy with hopeful, rushed desperation. There is only the future now and he intends to make a reasoned decision. “How much longer would that route take?”

The man shrugs, scratching his bearded chin as he calculates, “Prolly two, three more months.”

Vision struggles not to allow himself to slip into the grave this man already so kindly dug him. “How long is the journey if we took the mountains?”

“Total from here?” 

“Yes.”

“Just you and the three?”

“Yes.”

“In that fancy railcar?”

“Yes.”

The map is folded up as the man thinks, sliding back into the depths of his clothing when his answer is ready. “Five, six months.” The grave grows deep enough for all of them. “But you trade it in for a schooner and some oxen, get a good guide, and hit all the best weather, four months, three and a half if y’all are of the first waterL.” 

Without Wanda’s powers, it is useless to assess the trustworthiness of the estimate. Men with a business accept a certain level of dishonesty to get compliance from customers. “Thank you for your time and the informative discussion.”

“Listen,” the man leans to the left, blocking Vision’s exit, “you can talk to all the other guides ‘round and all they can give ya is a lick and a promiseM. I’m the only one can say I ain’t ever lost a soul on the trail.” 

A large, unsubstantiated claim. “I must discuss everything with my party.” 

Nonplussed is the general air of this man. “Well, when ya’ll decide, you can find me in the Ocean Wave. Ask for Phillip.” He tips his wide-brimmed hat towards Vision. “Don’t forget yer goad.”

In a haze, Vision picks up the goad, the Emmigrant’s Guide, and four pelts. The price registers enough in his consciousness for him to pay and then he returns to the railcar. He removes each item individually from the basket and places it in the appropriate location. Once the basket is empty he sits down, hand diving into the front pocket of his waistcoat. A small click and he confirms it is a quarter to one, just enough time to check on Wanda and then return to the hotel. 

Except he can’t seem to find the energy to stand, drowning in the images of the trials ahead. Vision drops the pocket watch back into place and then grabs the bundle of papers from his inner coat pocket. 

Just underneath the third paragraph of his draft letter he allows his thoughts to seep into the parchment, awaiting this evening when he will have time to contemplate it all. 

I am beginning to think we have made a grave mistake.

He wipes the pen tip, blows three times on the statement, and then folds it up. There is nothing that can be done immediately and wallowing his way into tardiness is never an option. 

Vision stands and does what he has always done the entirety of his life; he moves on to the next task. 

  “Lift your right arm.” Vision complies, muscles constricting around the immutable vibranium until it leaves his arm hovering as if reaching for someone walking away.  Dr. Cho measures the space created by the action. “Bend your elbow.” The grinding of the hinge is felt far more than audition allows, regardless, Dr. Cho’s nose scrunches at what he hoped was a silent struggle. “Straighten it back out and then rotate your wrist.” Vision does this easily, relief swirling along with the movements. “Good.”

His arm drops back to his side, fingers drumming noiselessly against the thin layer of cotton on his thigh, always on edge under such observational scrutiny, Helen’s discerning gaze and muted writing amplifying the feeling of dissimilitude between his flesh and inhuman parts. “Left arm.” They repeat the process, his arm lifting, Helen measuring and then writing her observations, a bend of his elbow (this one is more compliant than the last), a twist of his wrist, and then he stands still, awaiting either a comment or a new direction. “You’ve lost almost four degrees in both arms.”

That cannot be accurate. “Are you certain? Only my right felt any resistance.” 

The clinical mask slips for a moment, compassion radiating in a way that should be more soothing than worrisome, only it’s not. “Your right elbow is inferior to the left, but,” she places her notebook on the desk before gently coaxing his arms back up into his full wingspan (well, a lesser version than what he can ideally attain). “The joints are good over here,” her fingers tap his left elbow hinge and then the ball socket of his shoulder, “but you’re losing movement,” she steps behind him, an impersonal touch outlining the plate traversing the entirety of his upper back, “here.”

It wasn’t until he found his body failing that Vision paid any mind to the intricate dance of his musculature and how one malfunction could ripple so far. Perhaps he is being disingenuous to his younger self, there were times he’d get injured at the factory (however rare it was, his precision and precautions were always taken to the book) and find the effects of the injury were not isolated. Only those healed and could be easily forgotten. “What is the total loss so far?”

The numbers of his life are scrutinized, the tip of her pen wiggling in the air as she calculates. “It seems typical of your month and a half progression.” Which is worse than he suspected. “But we need to assess everything before reaching conclusions.” Helen moves out of sight, her hand coming to rest on his lower back. “Try to touch your toes.” A physical impossibility, his fingers dangling uselessly around his shins due to the stubbornness of the exoskeleton. “Hold it there for a moment.” He does, even as the telltale pain of his abdominal plates pinching skin becomes borderline unbearable. “Stand back up and rest for a moment.”

“That was worse.”

There is no denial in her silent scribbling. “Did you and Wanda find a good spot this morning?” It must be a troubling number for such a diversion.

“We did. When I stopped by on the way here she still had a line.”

A small, facetious curve breaks Helen’s scientific façade. “I have a hypothesis that the more uncertain the environment, the more superstitious people become.”

A fair prediction, one he has noticed as well, particularly once they began coming into more frequent contact with settlers gearing up for the West. “It does appear hope of any kind is in higher demand the farther we proceed.”

“Can you lift your arms over your head and bend to the right?” The bolts of his left hip react harshly and he clenches his teeth to smother any reaction, not wanting to cause more alarm than is needed.  “Maybe we’ll all need Wanda’s readings by the end of our trip.”

The groan building in his chest is transferred into a brief snort at the thought of abandoning science in such a way. “That,” it’s hard to speak at this angle, the vibranium weighing heavily on his right lung, “would be a troubling development.”

“It would. Stand up.”

Vision’s body happily settles back into place, the residual pain dissipating with thoughts of what it would take for them to wholeheartedly follow spiritualism, particularly when their resident purveyor is not even a believer. Likely the same things that spur other travelers—unexplainable storms and diseases, dangerous crossings and the nigh constant concern of death. “I was approached by a trail guide today.”

“Oh?”

A nudge encourages him to bend to the left this time. “Yes, at the trading post,” momentarily he considers sharing the being followed part, but decides it is not pertinent. “He walked me through our journey. Did you know we have to cross a desert?”

“I don’t remember one on the map. Put your hand on the wall.” 

He does, mind still focused on the harsh terrain ahead. “Apparently there is one.” It was the unmarked opening on their map, an area they all thought to be a valley or prairie. “And we will be crossing the last mountain pass at a precarious time.”

“How is it any more precarious than what we already assumed?”

A fair question. It’s not as if they hadn’t studied any maps before leaving, except there is a major difference in observing triangles on parchment and the reality of traversing the steep slopes under the threat of winter. “Well…”

“Lift your right leg and bend the knee.” 

There is little discomfort in the action other than trying to remain balanced on his other leg. “We will be arriving at the mountains right before the snowy season.”

The lack of any response beyond a slight rise to her eyebrows makes him realize he may need to better convey the direness of what he learned, certain she will have a similar reaction to himself. “Did you know we will reach the mountain at the same time the Donner Party did?”

This information drags her lips down into contemplation, a half second of thought and then it slips away, appearing to not be worth much at the moment. “I did not.  Switch to your other leg.”

“Of course. Apparently—” with a single lift of his left knee the words crash into an uncontainable groan and an outbreak of sweat across the entirety of his chest. Typically he uses a certain level of mindfulness in preparing for a move that will aggravate whatever part of his body is currently rebelling. It seems he was too intent on conversing, too intent on proving the direness they all overlooked, that he forgot to do so, breath still trapped in his chest and body shaking when Helen wraps an arm around his waist and guides him to the bed. Gently she eases him down until he is laying on his right side.

With medical precision and formality she unbuttons the outer seam of his drawers, ones specially made by Tony to provide maximum modesty while also leaving the steel fasteners available. “I need you to breathe.” Shallow inhales are followed by harsh exhales as she lightly prods at his hip, each touch sending stabbing pains up his torso and down his leg. “Vision,” another push, this time with her whole hand, and he gasps, droplets forming along his eyelids, “this is worse than you implied.”

Vision closes his eyes to block out the physical pain and the searing embarrassment of minimizing the truth of his injury, a tendency that should be added to his running list of flaws, right between a predilection for self-sacrificial actions and being overly detail oriented. 

He doesn’t see her leave the room, too focused on shutting the world out of view, but he can hear the creak of the door and a muffled conversation in the hallway. Several minutes later there are footfalls and then a quilt is gingerly tucked around him. “Amadeus is retrieving Wanda.”  A contingency that was agreed upon before they ever left New York, one that does not bode well for his prognosis. “I want to try a direct injection.”

“I thought you had decided it was too risky.”

“That was when you hadn’t started showing signs of infection yet.” 

The implications hang over the bed like a noose. There are only so many rivets, only so much medicine, only so much time. Every decision has to be made with the knowledge of the consequences. If they merely ignore the infection and change the parts, it will do nothing to slow the spread of illness to his blood. This they know for a fact, many years of painful experimentation confirmed the treatment must be twofold: replacement and the intravenous conveyance of his medicine. But if they use the medicine in this unproved fashion and it fails, it cannot be synthesized again. If he then develops a worse infection later (a guarantee, from his experience), it will have to be treated with a smaller dosage than likely required. Amadeus has been hard at work learning the properties of all the herbs and plants on their path, but as of yet, he and Helen have not produced anything more promising than an ointment that soothes the ache in Vision’s muscles and is also used by all of them for sore feet. 

The ups and downs of his life are never more pronounced than in moments like now. Less than seven hours ago he walked down the road with Wanda on his arm, nary a hitch to his steps nor worry in his thoughts. All onlookers saw was a young man of decent standing ostensibly at the prime of his  life. And then slowly the façade chipped away, the worries returned, the pain amplified, he hasn’t breathed correctly since the trading post and now, well now it is once more a bag of nailsN. This cyclical pattern is a sad truth of his life and he wonders why he tries so hard to believe Wanda’s affirmations or Helen’s scientific proofs of his humanity when, in reality, his body is more similar to the piles of discarded luggage and unneeded tea cups.

“I think it will work.”

The hand rubbing this belief into his back is not of the medical doctor but of his friend, a bond that formed primarily through the exchange of letters and has transformed into a foundational sense of calm in his daily life since they met once again. It's under her auspice that he allows all his worries to tiptoe from his lips, “I am doubting my ability to reach your lab.” 

“I know.” Helen’s hand stops, caught between his shoulder blades, “we all know.” This is more concerning than cholera or starvation. He is certain Wanda has an idea of the depths of his doubts, but up until now he believed he had kept it fairly well masked in front of Helen and Amadeus. “Vision,” what usually comes next when she says his name like this is a reasoned, logical breakdown of why his thoughts, though valid, are more harmful than useful if he ruminates on them for too long, “without making reasoned adjustments, I also worry you won’t make it.”  Chastisement, however heavily layered with concern, isn’t what he expected. “What is Newton’s third law?”

It comes out without thought, “For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.”

“Exactly. Every action you take influences your well-being.” 

Helen is his equal and (more often) superior in many ways, least of all is her practical approach to rationality and conversation, making the vagueness of this comment especially aggravating. “What are referring to, specifically?”

The circular motion of her hand is no longer a comfort, each revolution rubbing the meaning of her answer deep into his soul like a stain that grows bigger the more you try to wash it out. “You insist on helping us with everything even though it is detrimental to you.”  This isn’t the first time they’ve had this conversation but it is the most severe her tone has been. “If you continue to physically push yourself like that, under Newtonian laws, the friction of the exoskeleton on the steel will lead to a quicker deterioration.”

Physics has never been volleyed against him like this and, under the weight of the sciences he so dearly admires and practices, he struggles to counteract the claim, forced to rely on immediate emotional concerns. “I do not want to be a coffee boilerO.”

“You do realize the only reason any of us are on this path is to save your life?” Something he has never failed to recognize. If not for needing the cradle, Wanda would be safe in Normanskill and Helen and Amadeus would be on a well-furnished boat sailing through warmer waters. It is a thread of contemplation he has almost daily.

“I know.”

The bed sinks beneath him as she leaves it, re-emerging with a chair and situating it right in front of his face. She sits down, face serious and determined.  “And the only reason we want to save your life is because you are worth saving.” A lengthy pause and hard stare forces him to accept her words. “A desert won’t stop us.”

“There are also mountains.”

Helen bends forward, elbows on her knees and chin resting in the nest of her hands. “It is a well-established belief in the Joseon scientific community that altitude is good for one’s health.” His lips tilt slightly in half-hearted appreciation of her attempt. “You can make it, but only if you stop physically helping us all the time.”

Any positivity of altitude is lost at the command. “Helen, I…” In every great hurdle in his life, helping has always been the very thing that has protected him.  Whether it was fixing a threshing machine to allow his mother to hire less farmhands, or learning to mend broken axles and belts in the factories, or spending long hours doing extra research at university, it centered him. After the fire, he refused every offer of financial aid and firmly denied the insisted arrangement that he simply live as Mr. Stark’s ward. He needed a purpose and so he informed Mr. Stark that without gainful employment, he would rather fend for himself. Butlering then inoculated him from the worst of his despair. It filled his day and mind with lists of what he must do, of what came next, never allowing him to dwell too deeply on anything beyond an hour or two away. And now, on this journey, it’s been small duties such as restocking their supplies and caring for the horses, fixing their railcar, rearranging their belongings to provide more space, or building a fire to make tea for Wanda when she’s cold, that have helped keep him functioning. Without the menial, he spirals into a feeling of suffocating nothingness. “I can’t.”

“We’re aware.” Severity has turned into a frustrated gaiety. “The other night Wanda suggested we just tie you to one of the seats.”

A suggestion she has made to him as well, though hopefully the contextual underpinning was very different when she made it to Helen. Regardless, it is a preposterous thought, just like asking him to shrug off such an integral mantle of his existence as helping.  “There are just so many difficulties ahead for me to sit and watch.”

Helen shrugs, acting like this is as trivial as deciding between pickled herring or halibut, both tasting the same in the noxious liquid. “I only said physically. You can still navigate, and strategize, and provide company to the overnighters.” All things he never categorized as menial tasks, viewing them instead as interpersonal and often intellectual jobs that are simply enjoyable. “Amadeus still wants you to learn Sokovian with him, he says it makes him look better,” somehow a snigger breaks through his melancholy, the young man more competitive than anyone he has ever met and, unfortunately, far better at languages than himself. “You won’t be a coffee boiler and you won’t just sit idly.” Clearly this conversation has been planned for some time, by all of his companions. Helen’s words are sure and lack any hesitation, even down to the precise lightness she imbues her voice with as she reassures him. “It’s not like we are asking you to do nothing ever again. We just want you to choose how best to use your energy and time, and personally, I don’t think it should be doing chores.”

If there is merit to the suggestion, he needs time to consolidate his thoughts on it and weigh every positive and negative aspect of this change in activity, hence why he diverts away from it, asking the question she hasn’t fully answered. “What is the prognosis based on total loss so far?” 

“As long as this injection works, it is my medical opinion that we should have at least another five months.”

A desert flanked by mountains fills his mind, his worries flurrying to obscure the path. “And what if five months is not a feasible timeline for travel?”

“Then it’s not feasible.” It’s said with an unperturbed air, like it is a struggle for a future Helen to consider, one that, in five months, is lost in the snowy mountains. Her fingers grip his shoulder, squeezing it as she speaks. “Death is biological. It is a process every living being experiences.” A phrase she wrote him in the second letter they exchanged, one that was more comforting four years ago than it is now. “If we can’t make the trip in under five months then yes, you will die and,” this is the first hitch in her voice, the first indication that they may have veered away from any pre-planned words, “we all will be shattered by your passing.” The shards of their grief embed into his heart, twisting deeper to nullify the thoughts he uses to comfort his own worries, the certainty he has that they are strong and will be fine, that their lives will move on. Except the tears she’s already shedding for him while he is alive suggests otherwise, just as Wanda’s anger each time he tries to speak of this informs him, very clearly, that he is stepping into imbecilic territory for the sake of his own mental comfort. “Science won’t stop death, superstition won’t stop it, whether it's a slow, foreseen inevitable or quick and unsuspecting, it will happen to all of us.” How she can smile so gently in the face of unrelenting fate is beyond him. “I, however, will do everything I can to delay it as long as you promise me something.”

Guilt urges him to accept her request before he’s had time to fully think it through. “I will try to stop helping—”

She chuckles, shaking away his attempt to read her mind. “Two promises then. Will you forgive the quotidian nature of my next statements?”

Vision provides a puzzled, “You are forgiven.”

“You have planned everything for your death,” a truth he cannot refute, he even has instructions of what to do for every state and territory based on the local laws, “so, Vision,” he shakes away the morbid thoughts and looks intently at her, breath bated for what he has to promise, “now it’s time you accomplish the only thing anyone truly needs to do before biological inevitability.”

There are very many things he wishes to do before he dies, how a woman of her intellectual standing can boil her own accomplishments and goals into one unit is curious. “That would be?”

“You have to live, Vision.”

It is perhaps the least scientific phrase he has ever heard Helen utter and yet it affects him more than Newton did, leaving his mind in a haze of what precisely she means or how one is supposed to operationalize living. Before he can inquire further, the door to the room opens, abruptly ending their conversation and pulling Helen away.

Wanda’s concerned face comes into view, her hair engulfing him as she bends to kiss his forehead. “How are you doing?”

A question he is not capable of articulating an answer to at the moment. Instead he grips her hand and brings it to his lips, shoving down all doubts and uncertainties from his mind before she reaches out to him, like she always does. “Unfortunately, it seems I will not be able to kick a shindy tonight.”

The roll of her green eyes is a sight to behold, filling him with an immense gratitude that he gets to see it so often. “If you didn’t want to go you could have just said no instead of going through all this.” She settles onto the bed next to him, her hips pressed into his stomach, allowing him to wrap his arms around her and bury his face into her skirt.

Vaguely he is conscious of the sounds of Helen and Amadeus laying out the supplies needed, can even catch a whiff of the iodine, but he lets it all fade away as Wanda draws her hand along his cheek. “Want to know what they were setting up?”

“I do.”

“You were close.” The soothing dance of her fingers on his face stop for a millisecond, resuming with a more hesitant rhythm as she finishes her thought. “It was a wedding.” 

Living is a fickle thing, filled with highs and lows; for some, like himself and Wanda, far more ravines than mountains. But as he feels the expectant, slightly nervous anticipation in her body, he realizes that there are some things not worth risking, that if he bypasses a long day of collecting supplies, it means he can spend one more evening wandering the fields with Wanda, or an afternoon playing paille maille, or an indecorous dusk in a barn. Admittedly he has never been one to be selfish, always putting others needs before himself, and he has done that already, everything is planned that can be planned for the inevitable. Life is finite and maybe, just maybe, he needs to do what Wanda has always urged him to since the day they met – decide exactly what he wants and unapologetically pursue it.  

Vision kisses her side as the image of their future solidifies in his mind. “How wonderful.”

Victorian Language and Culture Decoder

A

The Oregon and California trails were littered with people’s broken, old, or unneeded possessions. It was officially known as leeverites (leave ‘ere right here)

B

Double-breasted water butt-smasher: a man of athletic build.

C

Yard of pump-water: a tall and lanky man.

D

Kick up a shindy: Dance, cause a raucous. It is a precursor to shindig, but it seems that words wasn’t in US usage until the 1880s.

E

Feeder act: an actor or actress whose role is meant to feed/help the more important actor or actress.

F

I have a link to a map of 1853 Council Bluffs over on Ao3

G

barking at a knot: Useless

H

afternoonified: Smart

I

Angelica: an unmarried woman

J

Lansford W. Hastings: Hastings, or Lansford for those who read too much about him, is one of the biggest names in the Oregon trail. He did write the Emmigrant’s Guide to Oregon and California. He also founded the Hastings Cut-off in Utah which is the route the Donner Party took, though he did not actually recommend people take the route. It actually was only a one sentence suggestion in his book, so don’t blame him for the Donner Party. By 1853 he was either living in California or Arizona (sources are mixed), so he couldn’t be their guide. Next chapter I’ll leave a footnote on good ole Phillip as he is a comic reference.

K

Bad box: a bad predicament

L

Of the first water: something or someone that is first-rate or excellent

M

A lick and a promise: Doing something with minimum effort.

N

Bag of nails: when everything seems to go wrong at once

O

Coffee boiler: a person who is lazy or shirks their responsibilities

[tiny-opal-essence]

Pocket Paladin Chpt 17

Whatever can go wrong will go wrong

Previously...

Team Voltron has discovered that the person they rescued from Lotor was not Shiro, but a clone with Shiro's memories.  While initially unsure of how to proceed, they are fully supportive of the renamed Ryo.

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Lance blearily opened his eyes.  It was still dark in the room.

How long until breakfast?

He shoved Keith’s bandana off and got out of his bed.  He walked over to the edge of the dollhouse floor to check the clock on Keith’s wall.

Still a few varga.  Yay.

Lance had been having some trouble sleeping through the night lately.  Even though the doll bed was a huge improvement from the improvised cotton balls and Kleenex, it still wasn’t designed for someone to actually sleep in comfortably.  He didn’t think it was really that important to mention to anyone.  There are more important things than one person’s comfort.

He looked over and saw Keith was still asleep in his bed.

At least one of us is comfortable.  Glad I didn’t wake him up.

Keith’s face was relaxed for once.

He looks so soft.  Huh.  Never thought “soft” would be a word associated with Keith.

Lance sat down on the edge of the floor, kicking his legs slightly.

I’m glad he and Ryo were able to talk things out yesterday.  It would kind of suck for Voltron if the black and red paladins weren’t speaking to each other.  We don’t really have anyone who can sub.  At least, not until I’m back to normal.  And who knows when that’s going to be.

Lance leaned back on the floor keeping his ankles dangling off the edge.

Even if I do get back to normal, would Blue want me back?  Allura’s done such a great job with her.

‘The team does work better without you.  You’d hate to ruin all of their progress, right?’

Yeah.

‘They’re better off without you.’

Before Lance could dwell more on those thoughts, he heard a soft *groan*.  He sat up and looked over.

Keith’s face that had been relaxed just a moment ago was now scrunched up in discomfort.  He started shifting around in his bed while mumbling out something unintelligible.

He’s having a nightmare!  I have to help him.

“Keith!  Wake up!” Lance called out, but Keith did not wake up.

Maybe I’m too far away.  I need to get closer.

Lance stood up and looked off the edge of the dollhouse floor.

Yeah, nothing there to break my fall if I jump.  Guess the quickest route is the stairs.

He ran across the room and opened the door to the hallway.  He nearly tripped down the stairs in his haste.  He stepped down onto the nightstand and saw that Keith was now laying on his back.

“Yo, Mullet!” Keith showed no signs that he heard him.

Quiznak.  Still not close enough.  Okay.  There’s only a couple inches between the nightstand and the pillow.  That’s not too far, right?

‘It might as well be the grand canyon at your height.’

Well, if I get a running start, I should make it.  I was always good at long jump in gym class.

‘But in class you didn’t have to worry about falling to your death.’

Ok, that’s enough from you, stupid voice.  I’m going to make it.  Just you watch.

Lance hurried over to the far side of the nightstand and took a deep breath.

Ok, here goes nothing.

He ran back towards Keith and leaped off the edge.

Yes!  I made it!

He had landed on the edge of the pillow that was hanging off the bed.

Phew.  Wait, no no no no no!

He started sliding down towards the chasm between the bed and nightstand but managed to grab ahold of the pillowcase.  He could feel the pillow shifting somewhat beneath him.

Oh yeah, the pillow would shake because Keith’s twitching in his sleep.

Lance began climbing up the pillow making sure to keep a good grip on it in case Keith really started moving around.  He could see the beads of sweat on Keith’s forehead.

He looks hot.  And not in the good looking kind of way.  Ok, maybe partly in the good looking way, but now’s really not the time to focus on my stupid crush on him.

Lance continued climbing along the pillow until he reached the indent caused by Keith’s head.  He slid down the incline and came to a stop in front of his cheek.  As Lance tried to stand up on the soft pillow, Keith let out another *groan* and moved his head slightly, causing Lance to fall back against his face.

“Really, Keith?  I try to help you out and this is the thanks I get?  *sigh* You’re lucky you’re cute.”  Lance said in good humor as he tried to stand again, this time bracing himself against Keith who had become still once more.

That means he probably didn’t hear me call him cute.  Good.  Don’t know what he’d think if he found out I like him.

Lance was now standing in front of Keith’s ear.

Let’s hope he can hear me now.

“Keith!  Buddy, pal, my dude!  Despierta!”

Keith shot awake, causing the pillow to rise up and Lance to fall down on his butt yet again, but he wasn’t too concerned about that since it was a soft landing.

Keith looked around the room as he got his breathing under control.  Once his breathing sounded normal, Lance called up to him.

“Glad you finally heard me.”

“Of course I heard you,” Keith said as he turned to sit facing Lance.  “You were yelling right in my ear.”

“Heh heh, sorry.  You didn’t seem to hear me until I got closer.  Did you hear anything else I said?”

Please don’t have heard me say you’re cute, please don’t have heard me say you’re cute.

“No.” Keith lied.  “Why?”

“No reason.”

Phew.  He didn’t hear that.

But Keith had heard.  He had heard Lance say that he was lucky he was cute.  He had also heard the sarcasm in the lines before that and assumed the last line was also meant sarcastically.  It was a common saying after all.

“Wait a minute, why are you here?”

“Why are any of us here?”

“Lance, you know I mean why are you here sitting on my pillow?  And how did you get there?”

“I jumped.”

“What?”  Keith said with a blank look on his face as his brain tried to piece things together.

“Well, you were having a nightmare and couldn’t hear me from my bed, so I came over to help you wake up from it.”

“And you jumped down from your room!?”

“No.  I would have broken a leg or something if I jumped down from there.  I jumped from the nightstand to your pillow.”

Keith looked over and saw the gap between those two objects.  He realized just how far of a jump and how long of a fall that would be for Lance at his height.

“What the hell, Lance?  Do you realize how dangerous that was for you!?”

“I’ve always been good at long jump.  I knew I would make it, and besides.  You needed help.  Your nightmare seemed pretty bad.”

Keith was too tired to argue with Lance about the dangers of parkour at his height, so he decided to move the conversation in a different direction.

“It wasn’t a nightmare.  It was a memory.”

“Oh.”  Lance paused for a moment.  “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Maybe…I don’t know.”

“Don’t worry, Keith.  If you want to talk, I’m here.  If you want to just go back to sleep, that’s fine.”

Keith let out a small *yawn*.

“Maybe you should lie down.”

Don’t want you literally falling asleep on me.

“I should move you back to the nightstand first.”

“Dude, I don’t take up that much room.  Here, I’ll even scoot over.” Lance did just that.  “Now you’ve got plenty of space.”  Lance patted the pillow next to him to emphasize his point.

“But-”

“Lie down, Keith.  As long as you go slow it shouldn’t be too shaky for me.”

Keith hesitatingly lied back down on his side.  As his head sunk into the pillow, he was only able to keep one eye on Lance as the other one’s vision was blocked by the pillow itself.

Once Keith was still, Lance lied down on his side facing him.

“Draw me like one of your French girls,”  Lance said with dramatic flair as he struck the pose.

This earned him a *snicker* from Keith.

“Ha!  I got you to laugh!”

“That wasn’t a laugh.”

“It’s close enough!”

Keith rolled his eyes while Lance let out a *snicker* of his own.

“All seriousness though, are you ok, Keith?”

“Yeah.  Or mostly, I guess.  A lot happened yesterday and it brought up some memories.”

“I can understand that.  We were all pretty shocked with Ryo’s reveal.”

“It’s more than that.  It just…it feels like everyone who cares about me winds up leaving in the end, willing or not.  My mom, my dad, Shiro, twice.”

“Keith-”

“And I know why my mom left.  I understand.  But that doesn’t change the fact that she left.  And I haven’t heard anything from her since finding the Blade of Marmora.”

“Keith, Kolivan told us how much danger she would be put in if any attempts were made to contact her.  Remember what happened to his sister, Keerthana?”  Lance gently mentioned.

Keith *sighed* “Yeah, I know.  It might blow her cover because of how high up in the chain of command she is.  But I don’t even know her name!  My dad never got the chance to tell me before he died.  And Kolivan thinks that if I knew her name I would get Pidge to find her in the Galra Empire’s database.”

“Well, would you?”

“Yes.  I wouldn’t contact her though.  I know how important her mission is.  And I don’t even know what I’d say.  It’s just…what if we’re fighting the empire and just happen to kill her before realizing who she is?”

Lance could tell how worried Keith was about that happening.

“Have you told Kolivan why you want to know?”

“No.  It’s a stupid thing to worry about.”

“It’s not stupid to worry about your family, Keith.”

Lord knows I worry about mine all the time.

“Easy for you to say.  You and your family are close.  My mom’s the only family I have and I don’t know her.  All I ever got from her was a lockbox with a self-storage key in it.  That’s where I found the hoverbike, Marmora sword, and a letter saying that since I was old enough then, my dad would explain everything.  Too bad my dad had died 8 years before that.”

“Do you still have the letter?”

“I tore it up after I read it.  I was angry.”

“*dramatic gasp* Keith?  Angry?” Lance said while trying to hide a smile.

“I was 16, I had anger issues.”

“Newsflash, you still have anger issues.” Lance teasingly responded.

“I’ve gotten better.”

“And we are all proud of you for that.”

There was a bit of comfortable silence between them.

“So…your dad died when you were…8?” Lance did the math in his head.

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t.  I got so sick of people saying that to me at his funeral.  Everyone said that if I needed anything all I had to do was ask.  What I needed was my dad.  It had always been just the two of us.  He didn’t talk about my mom much, but when he did, you could see how much he missed her.  There was always this hidden sad look on his face.  I hated that she was making my dad feel upset by not being there.  He said that mom was working and would come back to us someday.  I thought she might come to his funeral, but that didn’t happen.  Now I know why.  He always said she was out of this world.  I never realized how literal he was being.”

“Not to interrupt, but props to your dad for one of the best dad jokes ever with the whole ‘out of this world’ cause your mom’s an alien thing.”

“Yeah.  He’d’ve liked you.”

Lance perked up slightly at hearing that.

My crush’s dad would have liked me!?

“You both have terrible jokes,” Keith said.

“Hey, my jokes aren’t terrible!” Lance sat up indignantly.

“Okay, they’re not terrible.”

Lance saw the amusement in Keith’s eyes.

“Darn right!” Lance said as he lied back down.  He let out a *yawn* a moment later.

“Do you need me to give you a hand back to your bed?” Keith asked.

“Keith, was that a pun?"

“Not an answer.”

“Ok, maybe eventually, but I can stay up a bit longer.  I’m comfy.”

“If you say so.”

There was more comfortable silence before Keith spoke up again.

“Sorry for talking so much.”

“Dude, it’s fine.  I’m glad you trust me enough to open up more about what you’re going through.”

“You’re not going to tell anyone else, are you?”  Keith asked.

“Of course not.  This is your tragic backstory.  I’m not going to force you to tell the others.  That would be rude.”  Lance paused for a moment.  “I am a bit curious about one thing.  How did your dad die?  Please don’t feel like you have to answer.  I totally understand if you don’t want to talk about it.”

“It’s ok.”  Keith *sighed*.  “That’s actually what I was remembering in my dream.  He died in a fire.  Some sort of freak accident.  He barely managed to push me out the door before the house collapsed on him.  The only part that didn’t burn down was the shack.”

“Wait, the shack in the desert?”

“*mhmm* I lived there after being kicked out of the Garrison.”

“But you said earlier you grew up in the system.  Why didn’t you go to your foster family?”

“I had already aged out of the system by then.  I went through a few different foster homes.  The last one was nice, but their house never felt like home.  It’s ok though.  I spent most of my free time at the shack with my hoverbike anyways.  Living there just made more sense.  My dad had already paid for the land and left it all to me in his will, so I didn’t have to worry about rent.”

“That’s nice.”

“Yeah.”  Keith paused for a moment.  “You know what’s ironic?  My dad was a firefighter and he died in a fire in his own home.  And now I’m the red paladin, the paladin of fire.”

“The universe has a twisted sense of humor sometimes.”

“*mhmm*” Keith agreed.  “I can still remember so many details from that day.  It had been a dry summer.  The house lit up like kindling.  I was so scared I couldn’t move.  I could hardly hear my dad over the roaring of the fire.  He gave me his bandana and told me to put it over my mouth and close my eyes while he grabbed me and ran for the door.  That was the last time I saw him alive.”

“Keith, are you ok?”  Lance sat up as he saw Keith’s eyes starting to tear up.

“…No.”

“I’m going to hug you now.  Is that ok?”

“Yeah.”

Lance moved closer to hug Keith’s face, albeit awkwardly due to the unique surface of the pillow.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry you’ve had to go through all that.  And I hope that you know none of us would ever leave you by choice.  You’re stuck with us whether you like it or not!”

“*heh* Thanks.”  Keith sniffled out.

“Anytime.”

Lance tried to make it seem natural, but after several minutes of comforting Keith, even he had to admit

“This is a weird kind of angle for a hug, isn’t it?”  Lance felt the air blow past him as Keith *sighed* through his nose.

“-s fine.”

“Yeah, but are you fine?”

“I will be.”  Keith’s eyes were clearer now.

“Do you want me to stay with you?  In case the nightmare memory comes back?”

Keith had to stop himself from blurting out ‘Yes’.  He was surprised how quickly he wanted to respond ‘Yes’ to Lance.  He wanted Lance to stay.  But that might not be the safest place for Lance to be.

“Aren’t you already technically staying with me since you’re rooming here?”

“Good point, but I wasn’t able to wake you up yelling from the dollhouse.  I had to get closer, so it would make sense for me to stay closer to you in case the dream happens again, but I would only do that if you’re ok with it.  Do you want me to stay?”

“That might not be the safest idea.  What if I roll over in my sleep and hurt you?”

“You’re a pretty sound sleeper.  You don’t move around at all.  Well, except for nightmares.  And as soon as I feel the pillow move, I would know what’s happening and help wake you up from it.  It would be fine, long as you’re ok with it.”

“*sigh* Ok.  You can stay.  Just for tonight.”

“Deal.”

Keith knew he rarely moved in his sleep, yet he was still worried about accidentally hurting Lance.  But he trusted that Lance understood the risks.  He sat up slowly and reached over towards the dollhouse, grabbed the bandana, and handed it over to Lance before lying back down.

“Thanks, Keith.”

“No problem.”

“Wait, is this the bandana from the fire?”

“Yes?”

“Dude, this is like the only thing you have left of your dad’s.  I shouldn’t be using this!”  Lance pushed the bandana away from himself.

“It’s fine.”

“But this is probably really special and significant to you.” Lance paused as he realized something.  “Oh my God.  I’ve been drooling all over the last thing your dad ever gave you!”

“It’s ok.  It does mean a lot to me, but you need it more than I do.  Besides, your drooling’s not really that noticeable at your height.”

“Yeah, but-“

“I said it’s fine, so it’s fine.”

“If you say so.”

Lance grabbed the bandana and pulled it up to his chin.  A part of him still felt a bit guilty about using something that meant so much to Keith, but Keith had said it was fine.

“*heh* Usually I’m the one telling you it’s fine.”

“*heh* Yeah, I guess you are,” Keith responded with a small smile.

Lance could feel his eyelids growing heavy.

Keith *yawned* a moment later and looked over at the clock on the wall.  “It’s getting late.”

“Or is it getting early?” Lance joked while trying to stifle a *yawn* of his own.

“Either way, it’s probably time for us to get some sleep.” He paused for a moment.  “Thanks for listening.”

“No worries, Keith.  If you ever want to talk about that stuff again, my door is always open.  Or I guess my wall is always open since the wall of the dollhouse is open.”

“Does everything have to be a pun with you?”

“You know you love it.”

-me.  But that’s just wishful thinking.

Keith rolled his eyes with a smile.  “Goodnight, Lance.”

“Night, Keith.”

It was quiet for a minute.

“You’re staring again,” Lance said teasingly before he opened his eyes.

“Oh, uh, sorry.  I’ll just turn around and-”  

“Don’t worry about it, it’s fine.  I’ve gotten used to it.  Besides, I know how hard it is to take your eyes off all of this.”

“Oh my God, Lance, just go to sleep.” Keith *groaned* out into his pillow to hide his smile.

“Ok, fine.  Buenas Noches, Keith.”

“G’night, Lance.”

This time, they both closed their eyes and fell asleep once more.

It was the best sleep Lance had had in a long time.

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Lance had lost track of how long they had been walking.  Well, how long everyone but him had been walking given that he was riding in Keith’s utility belt pocket.  He would have preferred a jacket pocket, but since the savanna-like planet of Gefahr was so warm, Allura thought it best that everyone wear their armor as it regulated temperature.  There was no need for added layers.

Lance had tried to argue for riding on someone’s shoulder since the planet was uninhabited, but was quickly shot down by Hunk pointing out that just cause there are no people on the planet doesn’t mean there aren’t other creatures who might mean Lance harm.  So Lance was stuck in the utility belt pocket.

Hunk had finally gotten around to fixing his own utility belt pockets so Lance had assumed he would go with him, but was surprised when Keith had volunteered to be the one to bring him along.  Lance had jokingly said that he ‘could do with a change of scenery’, but once you’ve ridden in one utility belt pocket, you’ve ridden in them all.  There was only the slightest of differences in material.

He kept watching the tall blue grass go by through the partially open zipper.

I’d ask how much longer it’s going to be, but I’d just get the same answer as all the other times.

‘You don’t want to bother them, right?  Though you’ll find another way to bother them regardless.’

I don’t remember asking for your opinion.

Lance worked to ignore those thoughts and relax with the slight swaying of the pocket he was in.  He could tell Keith and the rest of the group were moving slower than usual, most likely so it was a less bumpy ride for him.  He was grateful but wanted to get out of the pocket sooner rather than later.  It was starting to get a bit claustrophobic, but Lance didn’t want anyone else to know that.  He didn’t want them to see him as weak.

Ok, it can’t be that much longer, right?  Hunk was so excited to find a planet with new types of food to work with in the kitchen.  Allura would have parked the castleship closer if we could, but apparently, the ground is too soft for the castleship to land without damaging it.  She wouldn’t make us walk farther than we had to.  Actually, no.  She might consider it part of training, like pulling your weight.

‘You’re certainly not pulling your own weight.’

Hey, I have less weight to pull, so I don’t have to do as much.

‘And a good thing too.  There’s not much you actually can do.’

I can do things!

‘Like what?’

Stuff…things…umm…

Lance was shaken from his thoughts as he felt the pocket stop swaying.

Finally.

“Can I come out yet?” Lance asked through the comms.

“Not yet.  Pidge still has to do a scan of the nearby area to make sure there’s no animals that might be a threat to you.”  Ryo answered.

“Don’t worry, it won’t take more than a few tics,”  Hunk added on.

Lance heard the wrist scanner boot up and make a few sounds.

“Looks like we’re all clear.  You’re good, Lance.” Pidge stated.

Thank God.

The zipper was opened all the way and Lance climbed onto Keith’s offered hand.

Keith brought him up to his shoulder.

“I’ll keep the scanner running so if something does get too close we’ll get a heads up since the castleships scanners are down while Coran works on them,”  Pidge stated as she pushed a few buttons on said scanner.

“An excellent idea, Pidge.  This way we can ensure Lance’s safety.”  Allura commented.

“So this is the schakalberry tree?” Lance asked as everyone looked at the tree in front of them.

“Yep,”  Hunk responded.

“That is one tall tree,” Ryo commented as he looked up towards the top of the tree.

“It’s huge!” Pidge exclaimed.

“I feel like an ant,”  Keith added on.

“Think about how I feel,”  Lance said from his shoulder.

I feel like an ant around the rest of the team.  If they feel like ants with this tree, what does that mean I feel like?  An ant to an ant?  Is there a better way to phrase that?

‘Of course there is, but you aren’t about to think of it.’

“What exactly is an ant?” Allura asked.

“They’re a type of bug on earth,” Hunk responded.  “They’re pretty little, like yea big.”  Hunk pressed his pointer finger and thumb closer together but kept them from touching to show Allura how small ants are.

‘And that’s exactly what you are.  A little bug, a pest.  And what do we do with bugs?’

Nope, not thinking about that nightmare.  Never thinking about that again.  They would never actually do that.

‘Not intentionally, but well, accidents do happen.’

Lance could almost hear the smirk in the voice.

“Looks like there are some low hanging branches.  Keith, why don’t you and Lance work on those while the rest of us pick some from the higher branches?”  Allura suggested.

“That’s where the sweetest berries are according to the Falleans.”  Hunk commented.

“Sounds good,” Keith responded.

“Here’s a bucket for you two.”  Pidge handed one of the 5 buckets to Keith.

“Don’t I get my own bucket?”

“You aren’t really in the position to carry a bucket right now, Lance.”  Hunk said gently.

“Even if we did have a bucket in your size, it would only hold a few berries.  It just makes more sense for you and Keith to share.”  Pidge pointed out.

“Ok, fair point,”  Lance responded from Keith’s shoulder.

Pidge gave everyone else a bucket and they used their jetpacks to fly up towards the uppermost branches of the schakalberry tree.

Lance felt a little upset that he was, in essence, grounded even though his jetpack worked just fine.  He understood the others’ worries about him falling, but the jetpack would stop him from falling.  Or slow his falling enough for one of them to grab him.  It wouldn’t be that big a deal.  He knew they wouldn’t let him fall.

Keith was now standing in front of one of the low hanging branches.  He put his hand out for Lance to climb on.

“Relax, Mullet.  I got a jetpack too.”

“Are you ever going to stop calling me that?”

“Are you ever going to not have a mullet?” Lance stood up on Keith’s shoulder.

“No.”

“There’s your answer.”

With that Lance used his jetpack to fly over to the nearest branch.  He almost didn’t notice Keith’s hands below him ready to catch him if he fell.  Key word almost.

Does Keith think that I can’t do this too?

‘Of course he does.  He’s stuck babysitting you while the others are actually doing something productive.’

Keith put the bucket down on the ground underneath the branch Lance was now standing on before walking over to another low hanging branch and starting to pick berries.  Lance did the same.

The berries were the size of basketballs to him.  He grabbed the closest one and started pulling on it.  He could feel the resistance of the berry.

Ok, this is harder than I thought.

He looked over and saw Keith having no trouble with his branch.

Ok, maybe it’s just me.  How to do this?  Aha!  Got it!

Lance grabbed the berry once more.  This time as he pulled, he also used his jetpack for an extra boost.  The berry resisted for a moment before coming free.

“Oof.”  Lance landed on his back on the branch.

“Are you ok?” Lance saw the concerned look on Keith’s face.

“I’m good.  Just needed a little boost strength-wise.”

“You don’t have to do this if it’s hard.”

“It’s fine, Keith.”  Lance dropped the berry into the bucket below.  “I want to help the team as much as I can while I’m like this.  This is something I can do.”

Not well, but I can still do it.

Lance couldn’t help but feel inadequate when Keith walked over and dropped a handful of berries into the bucket.

Is this even worth the effort?  At the rate I’m going, I’m only going to pick like 10 before Keith manages to fill the bucket.  Every little bit counts, but my little bit is hardly a drop in the bucket.  Or would it be berry in the bucket?  Lance thought with a small smile.

‘You’re not funny.’

Yeah, I know.

It wasn’t too long before Keith was back with yet another handful of berries.

Lance grabbed another berry and started to pull with the help of his jetpack.

“Um, Lance?” Keith said.

“Yeah?” Lance responded after dropping the second berry into the bucket.

“I wanted to apologize for last night.  The whole waking you up and-“

“You didn’t wake me up, Keith.  I was awake for a bit before your nightmare memory thingee.”

“You were?”

“Yeah.  The doll bed’s not really designed for actual use, so I’ve woken up in the middle of the night a few times.  Last night was probably some of the best sleep I got since the whole getting shrunk thing.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.  Pillows are like clouds at this height.”  Lance paused for a moment.  “Thanks again for grabbing the bandana blanket for me.”

“No problem.  Sorry about grabbing you in my sleep.”

“Grabbing’s a bit of a strong word, Keith.  If anything, you draped your hand over me.  Wait, is that the right word?  Anyways, it’s more like your hand was a heated blanket of some kind.  You didn’t smush me down into the pillow if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“But what if I had?”

“You wouldn’t, Keith.  I know you wouldn’t hurt me.  I’m fine, you’re fine,” very fine, “And everything is fine.”

That is the exact moment that things went wrong.

“Guys, something just popped up on the scanner.  Make that several somethings.”  Pidge warned through the comms.

“What direction are they coming from?”  Keith looked around to see if he could figure it out himself.

“Overhead.”  Pidge and the others landed in front of Keith and Lance.

Keith held out his hand for Lance to climb onto.

“What are they?”  Ryo asked.

“Not sure.  We designed the scanner to warn us of things that would be a threat.  It doesn’t necessarily tell us what they are.” Hunk explained.  “Bit of a design flaw on our part.”

“Well whatever it is, we should get ready,” Lance said.

“Coran, do you see anything on the ship’s scanners?”  Allura asked through the comms.

“I haven’t finished updating them yet, so they’re not active.  Why?”

“We have a lot of movement near us.  We may need to make a quick exit.  How soon can you get the castleship ready to leave?”

“Give me 15 dobashes and she’ll be ready to go.”

“You might want to hurry with that, Coran.  We’ve got company.”  Ryo said as an all too familiar ship came into view overhead flanked by two battle cruisers.

“How did Lotor find us here?  The Falleans said that this was a safe planet!”  Lance exclaimed.

“*Hmm* It has been a while since we’ve heard from the Falleans,” Keith commented mostly to himself.

“Lotor probably figured we were on their tail and would be looking to resupply somewhere,” Allura responded.

“What if there’s something you missed in my head?  What if I’m the reason they found us?” Ryo worried out loud.

“We went over the data multiple times.  If they had put anything in your mind we would have found it.” Pidge answered.

“Is there a chance they don’t know we’re here?”  Hunk asked hopefully.

The ship started shooting at them.

“Well, that answers that question,” Keith said as he transferred Lance to one hand and activated his shield with the other.

“Coran, how much longer till the castleship’s ready to go?”  Ryo asked.

“We’re working as fast as we can.  It shouldn’t be more than another 13 dobashes.  Do you want me to send the lions to meet you?”

“No, the planet drains their power somehow.  We can’t risk them being grounded here.”  Pidge responded.

“That means we can’t form Voltron.  What do we do?” Hunk asked.

“We hold out until Coran can get the ship to us,” Ryo stated.  “Keith, hide Lance.  We don’t need Lotor to know he’s here with us.”

Keith slid Lance back into his utility belt pocket and zipped it most of the way shut.

“Everyone, protect Keith.  We know he’s the intended target.”  Allura reminded the group.

Lance remembered exactly what Lotor had said back then, all the way back when Lance took the hit for Keith.  How it was ‘high time someone cut him down to size.’  They were lucky that Lotor hadn’t managed to hit his intended target.  Lance wouldn’t want anyone else to have to go through what he’s going through.

I wonder why they’re targeting Keith anyways.  Maybe because he’s half Galra?  Or is it racist to assume that?  Uggh.  I hate not being able to see what’s going on.

“I don’t need protection,” Keith stated.

“True, but Lance does,”  Allura commented.  “Lotor finding us here is an unforeseen risk.  We can’t afford anything happening to either of you.”

Nice to know they care, but I can protect myself.

‘Really now?  Then, what would you call all the other times?  You were almost stepped on, nearly crushed under a fist, trapped in a jewelry box, and let’s not forget all but dropped to your death, I could go on.’

Please don’t.  That was before I knew how to handle myself at this height.

‘But that last time was only a few days ago.’

Lance ignored the voice as much as he could and tried to focus on the voices around him.  He could hear Lotor speaking.

“You have something of mine, paladins.”

“Yeah?  Well, you’ve got something of ours.  Where’s Shiro?” Pidge demanded an answer.

“Ah, so you’ve discovered our little ruse.”

“Answer the question,” Keith growled out.

“Even if I did know his location I would not share it.”

“We will find him.” Allura declared.

“Do you hear that?  They actually think they can find him.”  Ezor mocked while the rest of the generals laughed.

Guess all of team Lotor is here too.  Yay.

“We found Ryo.” Hunk pointed out.

“Oh, is that what the project’s calling itself these days?” Zethrid asked out loud.

“You only found this clone because we let you.”  Lotor declared.  “We left you a trail of breadcrumbs and you didn’t suspect a thing.  True, we were hoping that it would be longer before you figured it out.  We believed that with what’s happened to your most important paladin your team would fall apart, but you are still going strong.  Credit where credit’s due.”

“Uh, thank you?”

“Hunk!”

“What?  I’m just being polite.”

“Tell us what you’ve done with Shiro,” Ryo demanded.

“I haven’t done anything with him.”

“LIAR!"

Lance could feel how agitated Keith was.  His shaking in anger was causing the utility belt pocket to shake as well.

“Believe what you will, but I was not involved in that aspect of the project.”

“Then why were you there guarding him?” Allura gestured to Ryo.

“I owed someone a favor.”

“Who?”  Pidge glared at Lotor.

A look of realization came across Ryo’s face.

“The witch.  Haggar.”

“I guess they did give you a brain after all.”

“Hey!  Leave him alone!” Lance had managed to unzip the pocket enough for him to stick his upper body out.

The rest of his team turned and glared at him and Lance swore he could hear them all going “Boiiiii!” in their minds.

“It seems you have a little stowaway,”  Lotor smirked down at Lance.

Oh, yeah, that’s scary.  That is very scary.

“Good to know the spell worked.”

“What do you want, Lotor?” Allura asked while Keith put a protective hand in front of Lance to shield him from view.

“I already told you, you have something of mine.  I am simply here to retrieve him.”

Lance figured Lotor had gestured towards Keith based on how the others reacted.

“We will not allow you to take him,” Allura stated.

“Yeah!  Keith’s our friend!” Hunk declared.

“And teammate!”  Pidge added.

“If you want him, you’re going to have to go through us,” Ryo said.

“So be it.”

Lance was glad that Keith had managed to zip him back in the pocket while everyone else was talking because things started moving quickly, causing him to fall down.

Ok, I’m a little sick of that happening.

He felt something press against the pocket.  Whatever it was stopped and stayed in place once it felt him through the material.

“That you, Keith?”  He hoped it was Keith.  He couldn’t see much in the pocket with just the lights from his armor, not that there was much to see anyways.

“*mhmm*” Keith responded in the comms.

He must be using his shield to protect me.  But what about him?

Lance could hear the clashing of metal around him.

There has to be something I can do.

Lance felt his surrounding shift as something hit the shield.

What was that?

Keith’s hand moved slightly but still managed to keep Lance from being shaken around in the pocket.

This kind of feels like being on that one flying saucer looking ride at the fair.  The one where it spins really fast and you’re pushed against the wall and can’t move.  What was that called again?

There was another sharp lurch in a different direction.  Then yet another direction.

Or maybe this is more like bumper cars.  With a blindfold on.  Would it be better if I could see what’s happening?

Lance barely stopped himself from puking as there was a sudden drop.

Yeah, don’t think seeing would help.

The force pressing against him disappeared and he fell on his hands and knees as the pocket was jerked once more.

“I got him!” Lance heard Zethrid say.

“Good.  Get him to the ship.”  Axha responded as the pocket started shaking.

Keith must be trying to get away.

Lance heard a zipping sound and saw that more light was coming in.

Why would Keith be opening-?  That’s not Keith!

Lance had learned to recognize his teammates’ hands from his new perspective.  He was pretty sure none of them had claws or red skin.

“And he even brought his little friend along for the trip.” Ezor taunted as her hand approached Lance.

Lance backed up into a corner of the pocket in an attempt to get away.  Seeing one of his friends’ hands reaching for him was intimidating enough at this height.  Seeing an enemy’s hand reaching for him was downright terrifying.

“Get away from him!”  Keith was still trying to break free from Zethrid’s grip causing the pocket to shake and making it harder for Ezor to grab at Lance.

Lance managed to avoid the first few attempts, but Ezor eventually snatched him up and start lifting him out of the pocket.  Lance’s fight or flight instinct kicked in and he bit Ezor’s finger.

“Ow!”  Ezor dropped Lance back into the pocket and yanked her hand out of it.

“Babe, are you ok?”  Zethrid’s grip loosened slightly at her girlfriend’s exclamation allowing Keith to break out of it and quickly re-zip his pocket shut.

“He bit me.”  Ezor shot an offended look at Keith and Lance.

“That’s it.  No more Mr. nice guy.”  Zethrid said.

That was her being nice?!  Lance thought as he worked to get his heart to stop racing.

Zethrid and Ezor started charging towards Keith but were suddenly blasted back by a flash of pink energy.

“I believe we said we would not let you take him.”

Keith looked over and saw Allura standing nearby, a small hint of a pink glow still around her outstretched hand.

“Besides,” Pidge joined Allura, “2 against 1 isn’t really fair.”

What about me?  Don’t I count for something?

‘No, you don’t.’

Hey, I can fight too!

‘Yeah, cause biting someone’s finger and then cowering in a corner is a real asset to the team.’

“You ok, Lance?” Keith asked as he put his hand back protectively over the pocket and reactivated his shield.

“Yeah, you?”  Lance put his hand against Keith’s through the fabric of the pocket to let him know he was alright.

“Just a scratch.  No big deal.”

“You can’t keep him from us forever,” Axha commented as she fought against Ryo.

“I can do this all day.”

“And they can do this for much longer,” Lotor stated before multiple transports full of robot sentries dropped down into the fray.

“Why does every villain have an army of robots?” Hunk asked as he avoided a hit from Narti, who had Kova perched on her shoulder.  “Nice kitty.  I don’t want to hurt you-”

*HISS!!!*

“-But you clearly want to hurt me!  Coran, what’s the ETA?”

“It’ll be at least another 4 doboshes until she’s up and running.”

More sentries dropped from the sky surrounding the group.

“That’s not going to be enough time,” Allura stated as she blasted 3 of the sentries to bits before more took their place.

“We need a new plan,” Ryo added as he sliced one up.

“Wait, Lance,” Keith said while blocking a strike from another sentry.  “What about pharaohs?”

“Pharaohs?  What do dead Egyptian dudes have to do with anything?”

“No, pharaohs!  What we talked about yesterday."

“Wait, do you mean Feroz?”

“That’s what I said.”

That was hardly close at all.

“Why not just say ‘Red’?” Lance was honestly curious as to why Keith was trying to be cryptic.

“Think, Lance.”  Keith was forced back by yet another sentry.

“Oh!  Because Lotor and crew can hear what you’re saying, but not so much what I’m saying.  That way they don’t know the plan!”

“Good.” Lance could hear the smile in Keith’s voice.

“I think I’m thinking what you’re thinking.  Coran, would you be able to open Red’s hangar door?”

“Yes, but that would just drain her energy.”

“True, but Red’s the fastest out of the lions.  She could make it to us and bring us to the ship in time for liftoff before being drained completely.”

“It’s risky,”  Allura commented.

“But it might be our only chance,” Ryo added.

“It seems doable.  Pidge, do you think it would work?” Hunk asked.

“Yes.  It will work.  Do it, Coran.”

“Red’s on her way.  I’ll have Black on stand-by in case she doesn’t make it all the way back.”

“She’ll make it back” Lance stated.  “She’s Feroz.”

“Whatever you and your paladins are thinking of doing, it won’t work,” Ezor stated.

“We have you surrounded and outnumbered,” Axha said from the opposite side of the group.

“You’re not getting away this time.”  Zethrid threatened from another side with Kova *meowing* in agreement on Narti’s shoulders opposite her.

The sentries closed in more on team Voltron.  All members of team Voltron found themselves turning between facing each of the 5 members of team Lotor, not sure which of them might strike first.

Keith was the only one to notice Axha aiming a shot at the back of Ryo’s head.  He ran over and reached his arm and shield out and blocked the shot.

Ezor aimed her gun as well.

*pa-choo*

Suddenly there was a hole right through the utility belt pocket only an inch above Lance’s head from his perspective.

“¡Ah Dios!”

“Lance!”  Keith quickly put his shield back in front of Lance.

“As we said before, there will be no escape for you this day.”  Lotor proclaimed.

*ROAR*

All eyes turned towards the sound to see Red racing towards team Voltron.

“That’s what you think, suckers!”  Pidge exclaimed as Red grabbed everyone in her tractor beam and activated her shield.  Once in the cockpit, Keith grabbed the controls and Red started heading back to the castleship.

Team Lotor continued to fire until they could no longer see Red in the sky.

“What are your orders?” Axha looked over to Lotor.

“Let them leave.  We’ve accomplished our goal here.”

“No way they’re letting him on any more missions after that stunt,” Zethrid commented.

“Is that really going to stop him though?” Ezor added with a smile.

“We’ll have to see what the cameras show us on their ship,” Axha answered.

“Is your finger alright, Ezor?” Zethrid let a bit of worry show on her face as she cradled her girlfriend’s hands in her own.

“It’s fine, babe.  He can’t bite that hard at that height anyway.  He just surprised me.  Why? You gonna kiss it better?”

“Of course.  Now, was it this finger?” *kiss*

“Nope.”

“Was it this one?” *kiss*

“No.” *giggle*

“How about this one?” *kiss*

*giggle*

Kova *meowed* on Narti’s shoulder.

“You’re right, Narti.  It is interesting that the green paladin didn’t try to hack the sentries.  And after all the trouble you went through to take down their firewalls and make it so they would self-destruct once hacked.” Lotor lamented.

“Voltron seems to still believe that the red paladin is our target,”  Axha observed.

“Good.  They won’t realize our true target until it’s too late.  You three can head back to the ship now.  I have something to discuss with Ezor.”

The other three generals headed towards one of the transports, but not before Zethrid kissed Ezor on the back of her hands and gave them a reassuring squeeze.

Once the transport took off, Lotor turned to Ezor.

“When I chose each of you as my generals, I asked for one thing in return: Loyalty.  To me and the cause.  You were told to target only the red paladin.  Why did you deliberately go against my orders?”

“I saw an opportunity to take the blue paladin without having to deal with the more complicated parts of the plan.”  Ezor tried not to show how nervous she was.

“And what did that get you?”

“My finger got bit and he got away.”  She looked down in shame.

“Exactly.  You gained nothing from your actions.  By targeting the blue paladin directly, you nearly alerted his team to the truth.  If Voltron found out that he was our true target this early it would be disastrous.  Not only that, when you were told to aim near the top of the pocket, you aimed for the middle.”

“I thought that it would be more effective if the ‘close call’ shot was closer to him.  It would convince them even more that he shouldn’t be out in the field.”

“And in doing so you risked everything.  If he had been sitting up any more in the pocket, your shot would have killed him.  Need I remind you we need the blue paladin alive for the plan to work?”

“I understand, Lotor.”

“I’m not so sure you do.”  Lotor brought a hand to the hilt of his sword.

Ezor *gulped*.  She watched as Lotor seemed to debate something in his head while tightening his grip.

Lotor *sighed* to himself before letting go of the hilt and letting his hand fall back down to his side.

“You are young and naïve.  There is much you do not know.  Consider this a learning experience and see that it does not happen again.  Fate may not be so kind to you in the future.”

“Yes, Lotor.”  Ezor’s voice shook slightly from nervousness as she avoided looking him in the eyes.

“*sigh* You know I care about you.” Lotor put the hand that had grabbed his sword on Ezor’s shoulder and noticed her slight flinch.  “I still hate to think about what might have happened all those years ago if I hadn’t intervened.  They were hurting you.  And all because you are only ¼ Galra.”  Lotor used his other hand to tilt Ezor’s head up so she was looking at him.  “You are Galra.  That should be enough for them.  I know it is enough for me.  Us part Galra have to stick together.  We’re family, after all.”

“I know.”

“I realize I have been unfair to you and the others.  I have been keeping many details of the plan under wraps for fear of anyone beyond us learning of them.  I am deeply sorry for that.”

“You don’t have to apologize, it’s ok.  We all understand. If we needed to know you would let us know.”

“While on the subject, I have an important task for you and Narti tomorrow.  I’ve already explained Narti’s role to her, but you are the key to this portion of the plan.  Everything depends on you doing exactly as I tell you.”

“I won’t let you down again.”

“I know you won’t.  Now pay attention.  This is important."

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“Are you sure you’re ok, Lance?”

“Yes, Hunk.  I’m fine.” Lance tried to push away Hunk’s worried hands that had been hovering around him since he came out of the healing pod.  “I mean, yeah, I’m a bit shaken, but not stirred!” Lance smiled at the reference he made.

“I’m going to assume that’s another earth phrase?” Coran said.

“Something along those lines,” Keith responded.

“*ahem* If we could get back on topic, please,” Allura interjected.  “Given recent events, we have a few things to discuss as a team.  Coran, have you had any success in contacting the Falleans?”

“Not yet, Princess.  All I’m getting is static.  I’ll keep adjusting the frequency and see if I can get through.”

“We need to let them know that Gefahr is no longer safe.  What could have happened that would affect the signal?” Allura wondered out loud.

“It is possible their communicator was damaged,” Pidge suggested.

“The Galra could have something to do with it.” Ryo pointed out.

“Either way, we should continue trying to contact them.” Allura declared.

“Why not just teleduv over there and see what’s going on?” Lance suggested.

“Because we can’t form Voltron right now,” Pidge answered.

“Red was barely able to make it back to the castleship before being completely power drained,” Hunk added on.

“We don’t know what’s on the other side of the wormhole,” Coran mentioned.

“If it is the Galra, as Ryo suspects, it would be best to be able to form Voltron,” Allura explained.

“True, true,” Lance commented.

“Plus, if the Galra are involved we don’t want to walk into a trap,” Ryo responded.

“When does Red say she’ll be ready?” Lance asked.

“Red says she should be ready by tomorrow morning,” Keith answered after asking Red herself through their mental link.

“*sigh* Good.” Allura switched back to her serious face.  “We also need to work on our protection formations.”

“I thought we did a good job today.  They didn’t get Keith.” Pidge commented.

“They almost did,” Allura responded.  “It was sheer dumb luck that Keith got away.  We need to be better next time.”

“I don’t need protection,” Keith said.

“Until we can figure out what Lotor wants with you, you do.  And in the future, we might have to protect someone less capable of protecting themselves.  It is a good idea to do some more training.” Ryo pointed out.

“Fine.” Keith accepted.

“And finally, Lance.  Are you quite sure you’re alright?” Allura asked.

“Yeah, it was just a few cuts and bruises.  Nothing too serious."

“Nothing too serious?!  You almost died!” Hunk exclaimed.

“But I didn’t!  I’m fine.”

“You got lucky this time,” Pidge interjected.  “If that shot had been a millimeter lower, you wouldn’t be here now.”

“And now we know Lotor and his team are not above targeting you in the field.” Ryo pointed out.

“It is for all these reasons and more that certain precautions must be made.  Pidge, would you be able to bring up the rules list?” Allura asked.

“Give me just a sec.” Pidge typed on her laptop.  “Got it.”

“From now on, Lance is not to go on any mission regardless of the risk involved.” Allura declared.

“What?” Lance said softly.  He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“No missions.  Period.” Pidge simplified as she edited the rules list.

“We discussed it while you were in the pod and agreed that the risk is just too great.” Ryo apologetically said to Lance.

“But…but the other missions I’ve gone on like this went ok.  We didn’t know that Lotor would show up!”

“Exactly,” Allura stated.  “We do not always know what we will face in the field.  This last mission was proof of that.”

“That was probably just a fluke or something!”

“A fluke that almost cost you your life,” Keith responded, worry showing in his voice.  “You didn’t even try to stay hidden when Lotor showed up.  You let them know where you were as soon as they landed.”

“Well, next time I’ll stay quiet and if Lotor and crew show up, they won’t even know I’m there.”

“Even if you could manage to be quiet that long, Lotor’s team would assume you’re tagging along on every mission now.” Pidge pointed out.  “The best thing for you to do is stay on the castleship where you’re safe.”

“But I want to help!”

“You can help Coran on the bridge,” Ryo mentioned gently.

But that’s not the same.

“Please, Lance.  We just want to make sure you’re safe.” Hunk said upon seeing Lance’s dejected face.

“We’re paladins of Voltron.  We risk our lives every day.”  Lance said while wondering

Why is it different for me?

“And we can’t risk something happening to you,” Coran responded.  “You are the most vulnerable of us right now.”

‘See?  Even Coran doesn’t think you can do anything.  Vulnerable, weak, useless.’

“The Galra almost took you,” Keith said.

“If they had taken you, who knows what they would do?” Hunk worried out loud.

“Lotor would use you against us.  He could force us to hand over Keith.” Allura stated.

‘See who she actually cares about?  Surprise, surprise, it’s not you.’

“For everyone’s safety and peace of mind, yours especially, you need to stay where it’s safe, ok?” Ryo said.

“*sigh* I’ll stay where it’s safe.” Lance agreed.

“Good.”

But I never agreed that that was the castleship.

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

Realities without Lance: 137 (+11)

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[thecleverdame]

The Brown Bottle

Alpha!Werewolf!Sam x Omega!Werewolf!Reader

Story One of the Moonlight ‘Verse

Summary:  A/B/O - Sam is rough around the edges, you do your best to avoid him until one night you discover he’s your true mate and instincts take over. This is really just a lot of smut and a little plot to ease things along.

Warnings: Knotting, mating, claiming - you know the drill

Words: 3,350

-

You stop in your tracks, clutching an open hand over your abdomen.

“Shit,” you mumble under your breath as an afterthought. Shit doesn’t quite do this kind of pain justice. This cycle’s heat has brought what your mother, Millie (owner and proprietor of The Brown Bottle), refers to as The Real Motherfuckers. The kind of cramps that stop a woman unexpectedly while on her way to work well after sundown. The two generic suppressants you popped an hour earlier aren’t working as well as you hoped and you find yourself wishing you’d taken a third.

These are indeed The Real Motherfuckers.

It’s looking to be the perfect cap on what’s shaping up to be a truly shitty night. A nearly full moon, unseasonably hot weather, an evening of pouring shots for drunk bikers and now, The Real Motherfuckers. Talk to a cop, emergency doctor or bartender and any of the front line veterans will tell you when the moon is fat in the sky, the crazies came out to play. And that’s not even taking into account every wolf suppressing the urge to shift, howl and run free.

A Saturday night at The Brown Bottle has never disappointed and as you glance back at your aging truck you shake the nagging feeling of something itching, shallow at the back your mind.

“Fuck, I should have called in,” you sigh pulling open the wrought iron door of the back entrance.

The Brown Bottle is the only roadhouse for a hundred miles, tucked along the back roads of a mundane Nebraska backdrop. The evening inevitably starts out with the locals, anyone looking for a cold beer on a weekend somehow finds their way here. The combination of classic rock on the jukebox and whiskey raining from the heavens is too much for people who have quite literally nothing else to do.

The first half of your shift plays out exactly as expected. Two regulars, Toby and Allen, sit in their usual seats; they’re here almost every night and wonderfully predictable. Roy, local trouble maker, and your biggest fan, is well into a ten beer buzz. He’s moved on from staring at your ass to making disgusting propositions about the two of you spending some quality time in men’s room. Roy is a pig, but he’s all talk and he tips well so you roll with it as best you can.

It’s little after eleven when the first of them arrive. You tense up, keeping an eye on them as they spill through the door.

“Hey Benny,” you call loud enough for him hear. Benny’s the nice one.  The only response you get is a friendly nod of his chin in your direction.

He takes a quick survey of the room before heading to the bar. You raise a hand giving him a friendly salute that coaxes a smile.  You already have a beer opened, it’s part of the routine. You play your part, get the drinks out fast and try to keep the peace.

Behind Benny the rest trickle in, sometimes they only ride four strong, the three men and the petite brunette but tonight they have a larger group in tow. They’ve been coming for a few months now, the newest pack to grace Deep Jaw County. Anyone without the knowledge of the creatures that go bump in the night might assume they’re a biker gang, and they wouldn’t be entirely wrong.

Lars, The Brown Bottle’s only short order cook, calls them The Howlers. “They’re the real deal,” he whispers, throwing you warning glance from the kitchen.

Your mother got bit in her late teens, while she was pregnant with you. You imagine it had to be hard, having a baby at seventeen and then finding out you’re going to turn into an animal. She made it work (like she does with everything), flourishing and becoming a strong Alpha as if it was her destiny. She did her best to protect you from this world.

People make the mistake of thinking the change happens all at once, that you hit puberty and suddenly just shift into a wolf when the first full moon rises. It doesn’t. It’s a transitional process that can take years.

Your mother knew you were an Omega the moment your first heat came. She cried in the bathroom for hours. “You have to be careful,” she warned, “every Alpha who smells you will want to mark you, it’s just the biology.”

She wasn’t wrong but you’re used to it by now. Between men and wolves, you’re skilled at the art of making yourself unattainable. That is, until tonight.

You grab your regulars two more beers, double-checking their tabs as “he” approached the bar.

“Sam,” you acknowledge succinctly.

The closer he is the worse the pain in your stomach gets, tight muscles twisting sharply and sending twinges out in all directions.

“Salt,” he quips back. He came up with his own nickname for you after the first night you served him, spilling an unsealed salt shaker into his lap. Now you wonder if he even remembers what your real name is. You assume it’s his attempt at an inside joke but his straight face and unwavering seriousness make you forever uncomfortable.

His lips twist into something predatory as he smells you, every Alpha in the room must know you’re in heat by now; you should have stayed home. Jesus, he’s no different, the scent coming off him is ten times stronger than any Alpha you’ve ever encountered before.

You take a moment to give him the once over he deserves. He’s a brawler for sure but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s incredibly attractive. You’d have to be visually impaired not to notice that strong jaw and handsome face. However, there’s something else under the surface that keeps you at arm’s length. You’ve fucked more than a few bad boys in your time, but he’s is a different story. Sam makes your woman’s intuition scream: keep your legs closed and move away without any sudden movements.

“I’ll get you guys a round.” You go to work quickly as he watches, you can feel his eyes on you, burning into your back. Sam makes you nervous and for good reason. “You want anything special?” you ask over your shoulder.

“Just the regular for now…maybe later you can help me out with something else.” The timbre in his voice is unmistakable, he’s teasing you, in his stoic, unreadable way. You glance back him, searching for a smirk but there’s nothing.

You’re attractive, especially for these parts and it’s not an oddity to have men give you extra attention but it’s not the same with Sam. Most men stare at your butt or brush up against your breasts. But Sam just stares at the back of your head like it’s the new ass and titties. You get the distinct the impression he’s hunting you, watching and taking notes, feeling you out over the last couple of months. You’re pretty sure he’d just as easily fuck you as he’d put a bullet in your brain if you pissed him off.

You’ve been around rough guys your whole life, part of being your mother’s daughter. You can get a read on most people with the first hello. So you know the difference between guys playing dress up, guys who like the open road, a few beers, and good fight…and guys like Sam and his crew. He’s dangerous and not in a come-fuck-me-bad-boy kind of way. You’ve deduced by this point that their M.O. leans more toward bury-your-dismembered-body-in-the-woods.

Needless to say, you have no intentions of letting him between your legs…that is until he touches you.

--

It’s been a long night and you’re able to sneak out before closing. You fumble for your keys as you walk toward your truck.

“Y/N,” he calls after you.

“What?” you stop hesitantly, unnerved by his mere proximity. All it takes is his hand on your arm in the parking lot, just skin on skin that ignites a spark you never knew was there. For a split second, you pull away as if he’s burned you, looking at him bewildered with a wild stare.

“What the fuck,” you gulp, taking a deep breath as, what can only be described as frantic lust, climbs from your groin up to your chest. Sam scrunches his nose as his lips curls, taking a step toward you.

“Y/N,” he growls again, advancing but not touching you, just hovering as he snarls, breathing in your scent. “You feel it?”

Every muscle in your stomach cramps, pain shooting from most the sensitive parts as you double over. You cry out, looking up to him, “You’re doing this to me?”

You ask the question but the answer is obvious to you both. Sam stalks forward, reaching out and sliding his arm around your waist, your mouths meeting in a frantic union of teeth and tongues. You’re about to let him fuck you on the hood of a rusted out Chevy Caprice when you hear howls and hoops coming from the other side of the parking lot.

Sam pulls away from you, his eyes darting over to the audience you’ve failed to notice.

“Take me upstairs,” you plead sound embarrassingly desperate, a thin sheen of sweat breaking out over your body. Sam ticks his jaw and grabs your arm, dragging you toward the stairs that lead up to the small studio apartment above the bar where you lived when you were a kid.

There’s a constant stream of thoughts, none of them rational and all centered around Sam and how badly you suddenly find yourself needing him.

Once inside he begins peeling clothes off, whipping your shirt over your head before shedding his jacket and shirt. He kisses you hard, one hand in your hair twisting, the other curling around your throat as if he needs the force to bring you to his mouth. He strips you, tugging and pulling clothes until you’re fully nude. Then it’s hands cupping breasts, pinching nipples between rough fingers as his teeth leave a trail of red marks down your shoulders.

“Fuck, I wanna taste you but I need to fuck you first,” he lifts your head up to look at him, his hand cradling your jaw as you stare at him drunk with attraction. Staring at your mouth, shiny lips part as you gaze back at him. “Is this what you want? You want me to fuck you, little Omega? You want everyone to know you’re mine?”

“Yes,” you huff with conviction, the sound getting caught in your throat. This is about more than just sex; if he does this you’ll be mated for life.

“Get on the bed,” he instructs. Your lower lip catches under your teeth as you turn and wander in a haze over to the mattress. Climbing onto the bed you get on all fours before you feel him pushing you forward onto your stomach. Gripping your hip, he rolls you onto your side and then he’s right there, the length of his body pressing into you from behind, one arm under your neck and curled around your chest, the other on your hip pulling your backside into him as his rock hard cock pokes you in the lower back. There’s a strange mix of emotion as you feel him sniff at the back of your neck, breathing in your scent like a feral dog as he scrapes his teeth over skin and hair.

Part of you is scared, but the scent of him is utterly overwhelming. You squirm when his arm tightens around you and he growls in your hair, pressing his face into the back of your skull, breathing in again.

Your senses overcome, Sam moves his hips grinding his erection just enough to ease the friction. His skin is hot and it makes your breath come faster. You begin to melt into him as if mother nature is taking over and making your decisions for you. It’s almost familiar, he has his own manly scent but there something more. You inhale, drawing it into your lungs and your body begins to hum hotter. It’s a low vibration from somewhere deep inside your belly.  The more of him you breathe in the more your body relaxes and turns itself on, your hips canting back against his cock.

A true bond. This is what it feels like.

It’s only a moment of your panting before his hand slides over your hip and down your stomach. You hiss as two of his fingers find your cunt. He misses your clit but the near pressure makes you buck forward into his hand. He groans with satisfaction as he scoops two fingers into your cunt to find you wet, really wet. Satisfied, rubbing your slick between his thumb and middle finger, he withdraws his hand and huffs behind you, “I’m gonna make you mine, fuck you open.”

You close your eyes, sends up a silent prayer. You’re well aware of what’s about to happen, he’s a strong Alpha and your heat has triggered his rut.

“Please don’t hurt me,” you whisper, trapped between logic and your own physical response to him. Your hand slides down to cover his where his fingers are playing over your clit, urging him not to stop. Your words might be hesitant but you don’t want him to mistake them for true apprehension. You’ve never wanted anything more in your life than for him to push inside you.

He lifts you onto your side, moving behind you. “I’ll never hurt you,” his hand reaches under you, sliding over your stomach before grazing over your clit again. When he gets the reaction he’s looking for, a whimper accompanied by the cant of your hips, he presses hard, sliding back and forth over the little bundle of nerves. “I’m gonna put my pups in your belly tonight.”

“Alpha,” you groan, wanting nothing more in this moment than for him to do exactly what he’s promising. You have no idea who he is, this man who hours ago was practically a stranger is now the person you want to give yourself to in every possible way.  You’ve never felt anything as strong as the need to have him knot you. He continues to rub your clit, faster now as everything between your legs is wet and ready.

With two hands he hauls your hips into higher into the air, manhandling you like a rag-doll as the head of his cock finds it’s way inside you.

You yelp as he slides deep, his hips stutter against your ass for a moment before pulling back and driving back into you with force. He grunts as he holds your body in place and then he does just as he promised: he fucks you, he fucks you hard and fast until you see stars.

He feels you pushing back into him, your pink mouth falling open as he fucks you with the length of his cock, letting it slip almost all the way out before sinking back, deeper than before.

“Does my cock feel good inside you?” he asks.

Your cunt clenches around him, tightening at his words. You whimper in response, shivering  “Yes, so good.”

“Who do you belong to?” Sam commands, fisting a hand into the hair at the back of your head.

“Yours, I’m yours,” you cry, lost somewhere between the wet slap of your bodies and Sam’s barks of pleasure as you moan his name, begging him not to stop. At that moment there is nothing more the feeling of him rutting into you desperately, it’s primal. You’re wet enough that he’s sliding easily and his going deep enough that it’s bringing you incredible pleasure that borders on mind-numbing.

All this stimulation combined with your body’s response to his pheromones is like being in a dream state. You’re on the edge of orgasm for what feels like a lifetime, his cock sliding firm and hard, hitting a place inside you that you’ve never reached before.

As a general rule, you’re not hard to get off, a few well-placed strokes can send you careening over the edge but now, as Sam’s balls slap into you with each push of his hips it occurs to you that your body is reacting to his in a whole new way. You won’t come until he does, it’s nature’s way of making sure you’re ready for everything he’s got to give.

This isn’t fucking, you’re mating.

“Oh my god,” you moan as the realization somehow flips a switch inside you, pushing your hips back into his desperately.

Sam rolls you onto your belly, holding you just off the bed as he begins to grunt enthusiastically, shoving harder and faster, until you feel something, a tightness growing around his cock where it’s pumping at a furious pace.

“Gonna knot you, little Omega,” Sam growls, pulling your body back in tune with the rhythm of his hips. You feel the tight ring of muscle around the base of his dick expanding in size, stretching your pussy beyond anything you ever felt before.

“Sam,” you call out, reaching forward with arms flailing you find nothing but sheets to grab onto. His knot, now at it’s widest, is keeping his dick from sliding inside you, but he’s still moving his hips as you both rock into the mattress.

It’s at this point several things happen simultaneously. Sam practically howls a wild guttural sound that’s truly inhuman as he comes. You feel him spilling hot inside you, pulse after pulse of his seed fills, and fuck if you can’t actually feel it. It’s this new sensation that sends you over your own peak, chanting Alpha, Alpha, as your eyes roll back into your skull, mouth hanging open as pleasure racks your body.

You’re clenching and convulsing around his cock as Sam grabs a fist full of hair and yanks backward, your breasts arching off the bed. There’s a split second where you realize what’s happening before his teeth sink into your neck. You scream as skin breaks and he claims you, making you his in a very permanent, physical way. His mouth seals over the wound, tongue lapping over your torn flesh…

Time feels like it stops.

You lie tangled around one another, his mouth on your neck and cock in your cunt until your heart stops pounding and you can breathe again. Grunting, his lips pop free of the bite at your neckline.

“Are you okay?” he asks breathlessly, releasing your hair as your head falls limply to the mattress. You can feel his breath at your ear as he nuzzles affectionately, his nose rubbing the skin just behind your earlobe.

“I think so,” you reach behind you, placing at hand on his hip. “I’ve never felt like this before.”

“I hope not,” he grins wrapping two arms under you and rolling you both onto your side. His cock tugs inside you, still trapped and his strong body curls around yours. His hand spreads wide over your stomach making you arch back into him.

“This is…bizarre,” you confess as exhaustion washes over you.

“What is?” he asks.

“This feeling,” you turn your head to try to look at him, but all you get are his lips trailing down your neck, “like love and need and desperation. Is this…what you want?”

It’s a little late to ask now. He could just as easily fuck you, claim you and leave you a marked Omega if he wanted. There are few things that bring more shame in your world than a claimed but unwanted Omega.

He makes a satisfied sound, pressing the palm of his hand over your belly button. “I’m gonna make you the mother of my children, I’ll always take care of you.”

His words sink in as you lay together, hands traveling over skin, lips anywhere and everywhere until you fall asleep surrounded by his body and his smell.

After this, everything will change, and it’s only the beginning of your story.

--

This and other stories are available on my Patreon (including the porn gifs I can’t post here on Tumblr). If you’re interested in getting early access to stories and Patreon Exclusive content please check out my $2 memberships!

[timeisacephalopod]

I wish you would write a fic where Tony is competent, why his company is no. 1 and who it was who actually taught pepper everything. Competent Tony is my no. 1 kink.....

Oh my lord it took me SO long to get to this but I finally have an idea! So, competent Tony it is (though mostly with the Avengers rather than his company).

*

Steve has banned him from the field and Tony might resent that more if he weren’t so worried about the team fucking dying. If Rhodey were around he’d agree but he’s not, he’s off on some kind of stealth mission in Butt Fuck Nowhere Russia at the moment so Tony is left to his own devices. “He’s leading you idiots on,” Tony tells the team through the comms.

He watches Steve on the security cameras he’s hacked into for a street view jump and then get blasted with one of Tony’s repulsers except deadly, if it were to hit Nat or Clint. It mostly knocks Steve out right after shoving him through a brick wall and Tony sighs.

“Can you not?” Clint snaps at him, trying to shoot an explosive arrow at Evil Tony who, after Steve reamed his ass, was discovered to not be the actual Tony Stark. Turns out HYDRA cooked him up in a lab figuring they can’t have Tony or his genius but they’ve got his blood so they made a new him. Fucked up, Tony knows, but the problem is less that there’s an evil him lingering around and more that the team has never really understood how he thinks. Before this it didn’t really matter, mostly it was just grating, but if they’re going to take evil him down they need a lesson in Tony Stark Brain and not in a way that results in them getting their asses handed to them.

By now he knows evil him has figured out team dynamics and he’s got a good understanding of the tech minus Steve’s shield, which doesn’t seem to follow any known laws of physics or react like any normal metal. Shit, even for vibranium its weird and its not how Steve uses it either. He ran tests with Shuri and by all accounts neither of them could figure it out. And Tony knows he’s good but Shuri is better, plus she’s far more familiar with the metal. Point is, evil him knows just about everything there is to know about them and idiot ass Clint is giving him more information by shooting exploding arrows at him.

“Clint stop fucking shooting those arrows,” Tony tells him.

“Bite me,” Clint snaps back.

Tony rolls his eyes, “fine, when he starts shooting repulsor blasts at your back don’t tell me I didn’t- oh, there he goes,” Tony says lazily as Clint dodges a blast aimed at his back.

“How’d you know he’d do that?” Natasha asks, taking up second in command easily.

“Easiest way to get rid of him is blowing him up now. Bonus points if you get close enough to him to either kill you both of kill him and injure you badly enough to take you out fast. You and Steve are priority,” he says.

“Then why the hell did he leave Steve after he sent him through that wall?” Nat asks.

Tony rolls his eyes, “first of all he needs to know how much damage Steve can take before he can kill him, hence why he’s mostly only trying to maim the guy. Second, the rest of you are pesky and the moment he went through that wall you all closed in. Wanda, I wouldn’t try and do that-” she ignores him and Tony watches as the energy that she uses closes around Evil Tony’s suit but he’d already noticed he’s done some kind of something to be able to manipulate Wanda’s energy too. Granted she has to be a certain distance away for that to work, which is why he’s avoiding close combat with her. That, and she’s the most powerful avenger as far as raw power goes anyway so its best to keep his distance and play more on her emotional side.

Not hard, when she’s as attached to Steve as she is. And to say she’s surprised when her power turns on her is an understatement. “Yeah, you’re going to want to stay within about fifty feet of him at all times. He’s figured out how to weaponize your energy signature, but only if he’s far enough away to do it,” Tony tells her.

Natasha sighs, moving closer to Clint and Tony rolls his eyes again. Do these people not listen to him? Well okay, they don’t and sometimes they’re right not to but god damn. “Natasha, stop fucking moving closer to Clint and get closer to Wanda. She’s your best bet at protection at the moment,” he says.

“How do you figure that?” Nat asks.

“And why are his priorities Natasha and Steve, shouldn’t it be me because of m power?” Wanda asks.

Tony shakes his head, “you’re the most powerful of us sure, but you’re also green and emotional and your ability to strategize on the fly isn’t near good enough to combat that,” he says. Which, despite his own emotional nature, is mostly how he gets around bad reasoning. “Steve is a strategy genius and so is Natasha, if they’re both alive then there’s a good chance the avengers will be a cohesive unit. If Natasha dies first Steve loses all reasoning and goes on a revenge bend, which is what he wants FYI, and the avengers fall apart. So basically Natasha, you’re the better leader and you should get him to kill Steve first. Or keep Wanda close enough that it makes sense to strategically retreat.”

“Fuck you,” Wanda tells him, Sakovian accent a little thicker than normal. Not his fault all that is true, though.

“The hell do you mean- Jesus Christ!” Clint yells, jumping behind a building to avoid being shot at again. “The hell do you mean stay close enough to Wanda to make a retreat?”

“I mean Wanda isn’t wrong about being the most powerful of us and that emotional side coupled with her inexperience in the field is a fucking disaster waiting to happen. She stays close enough to genuinely affect his suit he’s going to back off, it makes more sense to leave you all for another day than it does to brave an explosion of power that will more than likely nuke the damn city. The Natasha bit is just basic observation. Her heartlessness comes in handy for something and its that she doesn’t often let whatever she’s feeling affect her ability in the field. Unlike Steve, if we die she won’t lose her head and lead the avengers into disaster.”

“I would never do that!” Steve says, appearing back on the comms. So Sleeping Beauty is awake, great.

“Would too. Anyone need a reminder of Lagos?” he asks.

“You should be dealing with this,” Wanda tells him darkly. Meaning he should go die, because reading between the lines isn’t too hard in this instance.

“What exactly do you think I’m doing?” Tony asks them. “Besides, Lagos wasn’t entirely your fault anyway. The leader of a team should be able to determine when someone isn’t fit for duty and we all know Steve’s judgement, especially in regards to himself, is absolutely shot. Which again, Natasha doesn’t have that problem. Which is why you’re priority two despite being pretty easy to kill.”

“Where do I fall?” Clint asks.

“You’re basically the avenger equivalent to a cockroach on the banquet table, you only register because you keep interfering with his trying to kill Natasha,” Tony says.

“Why am I two instead of one if Steve’s judgement is so off?” Natasha asks. “Wouldn’t it make sense to kill me first?”

Tony shrugs, “yeah, but HYDRA doesn’t have a personal vendetta against you, he’s following orders there otherwise you would be his first target. Congrats on being the most dangerous. Well, kind of. Technically Wanda is the most dangerous but you’re more purposeful about it.”

“What exactly do we do?” Steve asks and oh, a switch up. Tony didn’t think he’d ask.

“He already told us, I have to stay close enough that he chooses to back off,” Wanda says.

“Try and kill him while you're there,” Tony adds. This is a pain in his ass to deal with.

*

Steve looks pissed, or as pissed as he can manage through his busted face. That’s got to hurt but Tony warned him not to go near Clint, who really only managed to toss his arrows fast enough to get pretty badly hurt rather than outright dead. But he’d accidentally tossed them at Steve in his panic and Tony would have been able to tell him to haul ass if he had the time to. But he’d barely had time to think the thought let alone say it out loud before the repulsor blast hit the arrows and sent both Steve and Clint flying.

Thankfully Tony had been able to warn Thor with enough time to grab Nat and fly off before Wanda went fucking supernova and leveled the upper east side. Not fast enough either, evil him made an escape so it didn’t even do anything to help them. Shit, as it is they’re lucky they evacuated that area anyway and the property damage, Tony’s pretty sure he just went bankrupt. And all because Wanda, however understandable, had done the same thing she did in Sokovia with Ultron when her brother died. She doesn’t do well with people she cares about being hurt in front of her and Tony gets that, really, but it’s not a good look when an entire section of New York gets destroyed about it.

Except now Steve’s mad about it and Natasha is thinking and Thor is confused as to why there’s two Tony’s and why one of them wants them all dead. “When did the one with the red energy show up?” Thor asks and Tony sighs.

“Oh buddy, you are so behind.”

*

Steve thinks its a bad idea and frankly so does Natasha but so far the only one who’s managed to keep up with evil Tony is not evil Tony so yes, evil Tony will be able to judge not evil Tony’s actions with the same level of clarity that Tony can judge his but something had to give. And she’s a bit tired of it being Wanda’s sanity. She’s a little worried its about to be back to Tony’s sanity because neither of them can manage to keep a cool head and that irritates her but teaching someone to keep themselves separate from their actions is a hard skill to teach. And she wasn’t much taught so much as she was tortured so she figures maybe she’s the one that’s missing out, who knows.

The point is that Steve nearly died, something she wasn’t even sure was possible for him, Clint also almost died, and Wanda is currently in jail. Which apparently Tony is working on but Natasha can see why the public is afraid of her. She’s gone, at least in their eyes, from one set of terrorist actions to the next. Though Tony is right in saying Lagos is more on Steve than her. Natasha told him she wasn’t ready and while he’s right in saying experience would make her more prepared that wasn’t the kind of mission she should have been on. Small stakes, low public interaction. That’s what Natasha suggested. Then she works her way up like SHIELD agents do.

But no, Steve didn’t do that and then Lagos happened and now New York and she’s pretty sure the people in the city are pissed off about being consistently screwed. Aliens were bad enough, but humans with the ability mimic bomb damage is a whole other preventable deal. Hence jail and yeah Tony’s on that too but Natasha isn’t sure how much good it’ll do given that Wanda has none of the clout the rest of them do. Even she has better standing despite her origins, though she’s also never blown up multiple cities and worked with a genocidal robot.

“And what if Tony loses it?” Steve asks, pissed.

“Then he dies and we better hope we can stop evil him,” she says easily.

Steve looks a bit horrified but Natasha has long since passed that stage. It is what it is and Tony is right, her level of heartlessness is useful. “There he is,” Steve says, pointing to the upper corner of the screen they’re watching on. Tony, their Tony, is already there waiting in stealth mode because somehow he managed to figure out where evil Tony’s hide-y hole was.

Natasha is fully prepared to curse Tony out when he gives away his position by firing a repulsor blast at his evil self, who predictably dodges it because he was way too far away for that to have done shit. When he fires back Natasha winces as Tony is hit, stealth mode blinking out as the suit takes the damage. “Why isn’t he moving?” Steve murmurs, looking closer at the screen. Natasha watches too, but nothing seems to happen aside, and this could be a trick of the light, the suit heals itself.

“What is that?” Steve murmurs. Natasha looks behind evil Tony though, because Tony isn’t in the suit that was fired at. Which evil Tony seems to realize as he starts to look around. A suit blinks into sight and evil Tony fires at it but it blinks out and must fly elsewhere before the blast reaches it. Another does the same thing but evil Tony doesn’t waste time on it. Instead he waits it out, obviously trying to determine Tony’s angle. So is Natasha because as far as she knew he only had a few suits and none of them look like the ones she’s seen on screen.

This happens for almost ten minutes, suits blinking in and out of sight before a suit right in front of evil Tony shows up and blasts the chest piece of the suit before blinking back out of sight and Natasha assumes he flies off. Evil Tony doesn’t take it well though and spins around, trying to relocate him. Doesn’t work but the next suit to blink into existence gets blasted not that much seems to happen aside from it not blinking back out in to stealth mode and oh. “Smart,” she murmurs, earning a frown from Steve. “The first suit was to test the damage that’d be done, the second plus the rest was a distraction. That last suit was to re-test to see if the damage would be the same. Once Tony’s hit his stealth is out of commission, he’ll need to move fast so he needs to make his hits count.”

Which, unfortunately, evil Tony probably already figured out. The next time Tony blinks into sight he aims for a leg and Natasha has no idea why when the power for the suit comes from the reactor but she doesn’t say anything about it. He also narrowly misses two separate blasts from his evil counterpart before he lands another blow and manages to get caught in a blast, effectively ending his stealth mode. Useless feature if it goes that fast and she swears, getting another look from Steve. “That’s a fucking set of prototypes!” she snaps. “He’s fighting himself with prototypes!” Idiot!

“Look!” Steve says as Tony takes another blast. “The suit, it's like... the damage is disappearing.”

She frowns, watching closer and huh, so it is. Tony lands another hit on the other leg and she rolls her eyes. “The chest plate!” she yells at Tony through the comms, “aim for his damn chest you built that suit what are you doing?” she asks.

“Jesus Nat, would you- shit- shut up?” Tony tells her. Evil Tony must know something she doesn’t because he starts to stay out of Tony’s range for an accurate shot. They hover for a long few moments, because evil Tony’s range for accuracy is the same as their Tony’s, before three suits blink back into sight and blast evil Tony, who falls from the sky with minimal power. When he lands the legs of the suit almost give out and okay, Natasha can see why Tony went for the legs now. Except it doesn’t do much to stop evil Tony from just fleeing out of the damn suit, which is exactly what he does, and disappearing underground.

“Yeah, don’t worry about that I have it covered,” Tony tells them before either of them ask. The screen they’re watching changes to follow evil Tony though his honest to god lair before he hits an invisible wall. He frowns, smacking at it and turning around only smack into another invisible wall. Tony obviously doesn’t want to risk it much because green gas fills the small contraption, which Natasha can now clearly see is a cage, before it filters out. Evil Tony is either dead or knocked out and she sits back in her seat.

“I can’t believe it was that easy,” she mumbles.

“Wouldn’t have been if he got further into that but he follows a highly specific pattern of walking when he’s in there, I went thought the footage. Hence the placement of his own invention, really nifty little cage that is. Totally invisible, probably got better bones for that stealth mode I was attempting. Anyway, uh... he didn’t anticipate me being able to break into his systems so we can um, be glad he didn’t try and break into mine. Probably wouldn’t have occurred to either of us given that we don’t need the other for intelligence. Its just that I knew he’d manage to slip the suit and if he was going to go down to his lab I needed to know what was in there, be prepared and all that, so I had to-”

“Shut up, Tony,” Steve tells him, fingers pressed to his temples. “Next time you deal with you.”

Nat slumps in her seat. “I can’t believe New York blew up when we could have just done this,” she mumbles. 

[ofsinnersandsaints]

long time coming

rating: E word count: 6728 one shot

AO3

After a bit of fighting and killing he gets her to safety; only for her to turn around and save him.

Immediately, with adrenaline and desire coursing through their veins, they reach for each other in the elevator. Something which has been a long time coming finally comes to fruition against the wall with Karen's legs wrapped around Frank.

Frank got the call from Micro before the cops even knew what was going, his alerts and computers pinging him the minute the hotel’s silent alarms went off.

“A hostage situation?” Frank repeated and was already reaching for the lock box under his bed where he kept his Punisher gear. Micro wouldn’t have called unless he was needed. “How the hell is someone keeping a hotel hostage?”

“Not someone,” Micro was saying, the clacking of his keyboard an echo on the other end of the line. “There’s about twenty armed gunmen in the hotel’s main ballroom, a few more in the lower employee levels. They’ve shut down the elevators and-oh shit.”

Frank froze as he slid his Bluetooth earpiece into place. “What? Micro. Micro, what is it?”

“I’m going to regret telling you this,” he started and then took a deep breath as if he was preparing for a punch. “Karen’s there. She’s one of the hostages.”

“What the fuck,” Frank all but yelled, slipping his phone into his vest, and grabbed two guns to fit into his holsters. “Tell me everything you know, I’m taking my bike so use your loud voice.”

The ride took six excruciating minutes; it would have been longer if Frank had followed any rules of the road, but he wasn’t about to stop for anything. Semis and pedestrians be damned, they’d get of the way if they didn’t want to be hit.

During the ride Micro explained the ballroom had been hosting a benefit for the district attorney, someone whom a few people had speculated was on the take. That would explain Karen’s presence, but not the armed gunmen.

The best they could figure: it was for ransom, but the police were closing in and pretty soon the kidnappers wouldn’t be able to get out with bloodshed.

And it sure as fuck wouldn’t be Karen’s blood.

“Where is she?” Frank demanded as he parked his bike and swung off it, heading to the one entrance Micro thought he could get through without much trouble.

“Sub-basement two. Looks like it’s a laundry room? They have the mayor, the district attorney, and a couple of others along with Karen.”

“Let me know if there’s any bogeys coming my way.”

“I’ll keep you updated,” Micro assured him and the silence told Frank his partner had muted himself which was a blessing. It was incredibly difficult to concentrate while Micro muttered to himself and typed a million words a minute.

The floor was in fact a laundry room, and Frank blessed the planner of this heist for picking this particular spot because the washer and dryers were running, giving him plenty of sound cover which allowed him to get close to the group of people huddled in a circle in the middle of the floor.

Karen was in red.

Her hair was falling out of its updo, and her dress was pure sin with the kind of plunging neckline that gave a man, even one about to fight for his life, plenty of dirty ideas.

Raising his gun he prepared himself to shoot in case he was discovered, but the men with guns were too busy with their hostages. There were four of them, an easy enough number but he’d rather not attack so close to civilians.

So close to Karen.

Moving away, Frank paced out the distance and when he was about twenty feet away he found the nearest running machine and opened it. He waited until the clothes had settled in the dryer and then slammed the door shut as loud as possible and then ducked around the corner.

“What was that?” one of the men asked.

“One of the maids?” another queried. “I thought we cleared the floor.”

“Go check it out,” the first one said and Frank noted he was the one who sounded in charge and would try to find him later. “Both of you.”

Frank prepared himself for two people, intending to keep it quick and quiet for now. Pulling two knives from the holsters on his legs he held them loosely in his grip, balanced his weight on the balls of feet, and listened carefully for the sounds of footsteps coming closer.

“Was this dryer running earlier?”

“How the fuck would I know? Maybe it just stopped.”

“We heard a door shut. Someone’s her-“ the word cut off as Frank darted from his hiding spot, knife slashing against the man’s throat. He threw a punch before the blood even started flowing, keeping the second gunmen from shouting out or shooting.

Frank used the rifle slinging on their chest and used the butt of it to break the man’s jaw, then buried the knife in his ribs. The punctured lung would keep from crying out as Frank killed him.

The thought occurred to him that he could have left them decapacitated, but the instinct had been to kill and it was too late to change it now.

Whatever. Two down, two to go.

 Karen had watched the two men go off towards the laundry machines, investigating a mysterious sound that she knew belongs to Frank.

She didn’t know how he was here, how he’d known, but there was no doubt in her mind Frank had come for her.

Well, she corrected herself ruefully as she tugged at the zip-ties keeping her hands bound behind her back, maybe not for her specifically, but people were in danger so Frank had come to help.

Matt might be here too, but if it had been him the lights would be off to give himself the advantage.

“There’s only two of them,” the councilman sitting next to her pointed out excitedly. “They can’t shoot all of us. We should charge them and them and take their guns.”

“With our arms and legs bound?” Karen asked incredulously. “Help is on the way. The best way to stay alive is to stay here.”

“You’re an expert on hostages?” he snapped back but kept his voice low so the two remaining people wouldn’t here them.

Technically, Karen thought she was an expert on being a hostage. How many times was it now that she’d been held against her will? And did she count the times Frank had, for real or for show, grabbed her?

“Don’t do anything stupid,” she finally answered. “I don’t want to get killed because you’re a dumbass.”

He looked so offended Karen thought he would have clutched his pearls if he’d had any pearls and could move his hands.

She was shifting on the hard concrete floor, trying to find a more comfortable position, when she felt someone move behind her. The hostages had been put in the middle of the room but there were washing machines and dryers everywhere, along with carts and tables.

Enough places for a person to hide if they stealthy.

“Don’t turn around,” a voice whispered behind her, a voice she instantly recognized. Then Karen felt his callous hand run down her arm, then the pull of the zip-ties before the tension was suddenly gone. “Keep your hands behind your back until you get a chance to the free others,” he added and she felt the hilt of a knife pressed into her palm.

He was going back to the fight, she knew that as well as she knew her own name, but before he could leave she reached back and grabbed his hand. She wouldn’t stop him, wouldn’t even ask him to keep himself safe, but she did squeeze his hand once and hoped he understood.

Frank squeezed her hand back and then she felt the absence of him.

Karen watched the two men, one of whom was obviously in charge, and the other who kept quietly arguing. He didn’t like something about what they were doing but was scolded into silence by his boss.

There was a loud crashing sound, too intentional for Karen to believe it was anything but another trap meant to lure another guy away.

The underling moved to check it out but the other man stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “Hold up, where is Carl and Bobby?”

They both looked in the direction their buddies had gone but had never returned from. “Shit. There’s someone here with us.”

“Cop?” the man asked, his voice a little shaky.

Oh boy, you wish.

The one in charge cocked his gun. “Whoever it is, they’re going to regret fucking with us.”

Karen scooted to her right and took out the knife and began freeing people, putting a finger to her mouth to encourage them to be quiet and then nodding behind them where the stairs were. As the two men argued about what to do, and Frank continued to make ever more threatening noises from the machines, Karen managed to get everyone free.

“What the-FUCK! The hostages are gone.”

One man began running towards the door which was closing shut behind the last person but the one who stayed came for her.

Because she was the last one left, he grabbed her and pulled her towards him, but Karen fought back.

When he wrapped his hand around her arm she fisted her hand and spun on her left foot, putting as much movement and force into the punch as she could. The sound of bones crunching was satisfying but was immediately replaced by the pain in her hand.

Then she was on the ground, the force of the hostage taker’s fist knocking her to the concrete.

“Too much fucking trouble,” he informed her as he raised his gun to her head.

Karen didn’t look away, met his gaze straight on so she could prove to this fucker that she wasn’t cowered by him.

Then the first sound of gunshots echoed through the room, and the man standing over her looked briefly stunned before his knees gave out. That’s when Karen saw the tiny splotch of red on his forehead, a little bit of blood tricking down his broken nose.

The gunshots repeated again and again; Karen counted three more before Frank came into view, standing next to her as he finished the clip into the abdomen of the man who had hurt her.

“Motherfucker,” Frank bit out, dropping the gun on the ground. He bent at the knees so he was closer to her level, his fingers moving her face. “He hit you.”

“He’s dead and I’m okay,” she assured him. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he clipped out and Karen saw the difference in him now. Frank was human; he’d get angry and hurt and sometimes overinvested. The Punisher was cold heat, searing and unmistakable, and that’s what she saw when she looked at him now.

It didn’t scare her, just the opposite. For the first time in almost an hour she felt safe.

He twitched his head, then nodded. “Thanks.”

“Who are you talking to?” she asked as she took him in. He was remarkably unhurt considering the people he’d just put down and she had a gut reaction to the image of the white skull painted on his chest. She hadn’t seen it since the night he’d stood on the rooftop to help Matt.

“Micro,” he answered, grabbing her elbow and helping her get up. “He got the elevators working again. Let’s go.”

“What about the other gunmen?” Karen asked as she let him drag her along, she’d counted at least fifteen in the main room during the initial attack but she imagined there was more.

“I’ll take care of them once you’re safe and out of the way.”

“Out of the way?” she asked, incredulous.

His grip on her arm was tight but she didn’t say anything. “I won’t be able to do what needs to be done if I’m worried about you getting yourself in more trouble.”

She was about to argue but stopped when she saw the pile of purses, wallets, and phone. “Wait.”

“Really?” he asked when she tried to pull out of his grip. “What is so important in there you can’t get it later? I know you didn’t bring you cannon to a formal event.”

She was originally going to bring it, however her gun hadn’t fit into the tiny purse which had irritated her, but she wasn’t about to walk through a hotel full of guns without some kind of protection. “Frank.”

He let go of her with a frustrated growl that absolutely did not get her hot. Bending down she moved the items until she saw her black clutch and checked to make sure everything was still in it.

“You good? Okay, let’s go. Micro, do you know where everyone is? Shit, okay. Where’s a good place to stash-“ his eyes darted to her as he swore. “Now’s not the time, asshole. Give me a place.”*

The elevator doors opened and Frank put his hand on her stomach, his long fingers brushing against the bare skin above the silk, and pushed her back into the small space. “Get to the rooftop, you can lock yourself in the bathrooms by the pool. The walls are concrete and stone so you’ll be safe until someone comes to get you.”

“Until someone-what the hell, Frank?” she asked as he reached into the elevator and pushed the button which would take her to the top of the building.

“Cops are in the lobby, taking care of the men up there, but a couple of them are running this way. You’ll be safer upstairs.”

And the doors shut before she could do anything.

 Now that Karen was safe, Frank could focus on taking on the two guys running towards him, and he felt confident as he settled into a fighter’s stance. He knew he could handle two buffoons and barely break a sweat.

He was half way through beating them when two more guys showed and at that point he knew he was in trouble because these guys were armed with more than batons.

Frank did what he could against them, using the knife and the gun in quick succession to injure and kill until the odds were a little more fair. His lip was bleeding, he could feel the sharp pain of a cut on his cheek and there was blood on his hands from his knife burying itself in an artery, but he was good to go.

He was pummeling one guy, the gun having run out of bullets, when he heard the shocked screaming behind him. Frank turned to see the last man standing fall to the ground in convulsions, a gun dropping to the ground beside him.

Looking up, he saw the elevator was open and Karen stood in the doorway, a taser in her hand looking fierce and gorgeous and everything he never knew he’d wanted.

He wanted.

“The cops are on their way down there,” Micro announced in his ear before he could rip into Karen. “And you’re still wanted by them. I’d get in the elevator if I were you.”

“You came back,” Frank bit out as walked onto the elevator, the doors closing behind him as he scolded her, pissed she’d risked herself so recklessly. He pulled out the earpiece, not wanting Micro to hear what was about to happen.

“Of course I came back, you dick,” she yelled at him, attempting to push him and he let himself fall back a step. “Someone needs to protect you from yourself.”

“Why?” he asked and wondered if she could tell how still he was. He could feel his entire body tighten, ready to fight or fuck; knowing what he was about to do, and not giving one fuck if either of them regretted it later.

“Why? Because you’re suicidal,” she accused him, clearly as angry with him as he was with her. “And you’re my friend. I don’t let my friends put themselves in danger-“

Her words cut off when he put his hand around her neck, not enough to do damage or to hurt; instead he applied just enough pressure to get her attention. She froze but she didn’t step out of his grip, didn’t try to pull away or knee him.

Instead she just stared at him with those big blue eyes, her pupils so dilated he could barely see the color around the rim. He stepped forward and put his mouth close to her ear, to make sure she heard every word he spoke. “We’re not just friends and you fucking know it.”

He walked her back until she was pressed against the wall of the elevator.

When he stepped away from her she didn’t move, but he could feel her eyes on him as he pressed the button for the third floor. When the elevator was between the first and second he pulled the switch to stop it, just as Karen had done months before.

Frank turned to looked at her, and watched with fascination as her breasts rose and fell in short little breaths; her nipples hard points against the silk of her dress. “If you want to leave, I’ll restart this elevator and drop you off with the cops. But if you stay, I’m going to fuck you against that wall until you don’t remember anything else but the feel of me making you come.”

She inhaled on a sharp breath, her hands fumbling for the metal handrail, gripping it until her knuckles were white. But she didn’t look away, didn’t tell him to take her to the cops.

“Stay,” she said, her voice shaky but certain. “I want to stay.”

He walked towards her, stalked towards hers, and felt every inch the predator as he stared at the pulse beating in her neck.

When he was standing in front of her he put his hand low on her neck once again; there was something incredibly erotic about the feel of her skin against the pads of his fingers, about a hold meant for violence and pain causing arousal and pleasure.

He knew it fucking turned him on.

“If you say stop, I stop,” he informed her, his words clipped as he thought about all the things he wanted to do with her. “But unless you say otherwise, I’m going to assume that panting means you’re enjoying this.”

Karen attempted a little nod, the gesture hampered slightly by his hand. “Yes,” she swallowed, and he could feel the movement against his palm. “For God’s sake, kiss me.”

She read his fucking mind. He leaned forward with every intention of kissing her senseless except when he kissed her, he wasn’t Frank, or not just Frank.

He’d come to the hotel as the Punisher and he was still the Punisher, even here in this elevator with her dressed like sin. When he pressed his lips to hers it was dark and rough kiss that ravaged as much as anything, the hand around her neck sliding down to cover her breast.

She whimpered against his mouth, her body arching into his touch. “You like that?” he asked, pleasure sparking through him at how damn sensitive she was.

“Yes.”

He played with her tits while he kissed her, learning the taste of her lips and tongue as he did so. She was so damn responsive, and he wanted to catalog every little moan of pleasure and gasp of excitement that she made. He wanted everything from her and teased himself with imaging what she’d sound like when she came.

Frank wanted to hear his name when she screamed.

“I’m going to put my mouth on you now,” he informed her, bending a little to press his tongue to the silk over her breast, loving the way it immediately molded to the hard little tip. He circled the areole with his tongue, avoiding the nipple for long seconds to build the desperation he could feel in her body.

When she snapped, he wanted it to be the biggest thing she ever felt.

 Karen wouldn’t consider herself a prude by any standard; she liked sex, and there was a time or two she would have said she’d had great sex, but one thing she knew with absolute certainty was that nothing she’d had experienced before would prepare her for what was about to happen.

She was about to be well and truly fucked by Frank Castle.

He pushed his leg between hers and she nearly sobbed at the little bit friction she could get as she moved against him, his jeans rough against her pussy, through her soaking wet panties.

“That’s right,” he murmured against her skin, his left hand still playing with her nipple while he kissed and nipped at the skin over her sternum. “You going to get yourself off fucking my leg? Going to come before I even get my hands on you?”

She nearly came right then, with his words and hands and leg driving her past the point of reason.

Then he bit her nipple, a sharp shock of pain and her thighs gripped his tightly, a shock of pleasure running through her at the sudden sensation.

“Frank,” she could hear herself say, but couldn’t string any more words together after that because his tongue was running over her, first one tit than the other. All the while she rolled her hips against his leg, trying to steal everything she could get away with.

“Do you want me, Karen?”

“Yes,” she answered immediately, her neck arching and the temptation must have been too great because he left her breasts to bite the curve of it. She gripped his Kevlar vest, her entire body curving to get as much contact with him as possible. “Yes, I want you.”

He moved his leg and she nearly cursed him but before she got the chance he was reaching beneath the skirt of her dress. “Fucking Christ, Karen. You soaked through your panties.”

Karen looked down and could see the wet spot on his dark jeans, clear evidence of her arousal.

“That’s what you do to me,” she told him, her voice steady despite the rapid pulse of heart against her ribs.

His fingers touched her leg and she thought he was finally going to touch her but instead he took hold of her underwear and pulled hard, the sound of the fabric ripping was lost in her gasp, but it wasn’t fear.

It was pleasure.

His hand ran up her thigh, the slit in her dress gave him easy access to the heat of her, where she was already wet and wanting. Karen reached out and grabbed his Kevlar vest, wishing she could touch any part of him.

Frank didn’t bother with foreplay, with seduction, and drove one finger hard into pussy.

She cried out, the sound of her pleasure filling the little room. Then she lifted one leg to his hip, her knee hooking onto one of the empty holsters at his hip. “More,” she begged.

Frank took her hands and pressed them against the wall of the elevator above her head and the rough handling of her was easily as much of a turn on as his hand around her throat had been. She’d consider the implications of that later, when she had more than one brain cell functioning.

“You get what I give you,” he growled but added another finger, stretching her, and unable to help herself she immediately began riding them.

“You like this,” he asked as he moved his hand to meet her hips. She could hear how turned on she was by the wet sounds they made together. “Hard and rough?”

“Yes.”

“Say it,” he demanded.

“I like this,” she said and she was so close to coming she was almost desperate for it. Her wrists strained against the cuffs of his hands, but he didn’t release her and she didn’t ask to be let go. She liked knowing that a man who killed, who took orders from no one, would let go in an instant if she said so. “I like it hard and rough.”

“You like getting fucked by the Punisher?”

She exploded against him then, around him, her ecstasy a sharp sound in the elevator.

The entire world went blurry for an instant and then the only thing she could see was Frank’s face in front of her, his breathing coming out in hard gasps.

He didn’t let up as she came down from the high and continued to finger fuck her. “Say it, Karen.”

“Say what?” she asked and felt as if he had fucked every thought out of her brain, wished she could give him the same pleasure he was giving her.

“Say you like being fucked by the Punisher. Beg me to fuck you. Here and now.”

“Please,” she begged, but there was nothing soft and gentle about the words. Her need was sharp and jagged. “Please, fuck me.”

Frank let go of her hands and she immediately grabbed onto his vest as he fumbled with the buckle of his jeans. He must have left his house in a hurry, or he’d have more gear than just his holsters and bullet proof vest. She briefly thanked God for that because she couldn’t bear to have anything more between them than there already was.

He grabbed her the hem of her dress and threw it over the handrail, and while Karen was more than ready for him to bury himself in her, she wanted to touch him at least once. She looked down at his erection and she saw how incredibly thick he was and she was grateful he’d fucked her with two fingers, it would make it that much easier to take him in.

“Fucking shit Christ,” he swore as her fingers wrapped around his cock. She kept her grip loose on him as she moved her hand up and down his length, enjoying every little grunt and curse which managed to make it out of his mouth. She brushed her thumb over the head of his erection and he jerked in her hand, and she let herself picture what that sensation would feel like in her cunt.

“Enough,” he ground out, pulling her hand away and putting it on the handrail. “Now, Karen. I have to be inside you now.”

Karen nodded and spread her legs, ready to take every inch of him.

 Frank wished to God Karen was naked.

He wanted to tear the red dress off her body so he could see her tits, her stomach, her long legs wrapped around his waist. But she’d have to walk out of the elevator when he was done with her and she needed something to wear.

Next time, he promised himself, next time he’d rip the clothes off her body.

When she spread herself for him he nearly went down on his knees in gratitude, and the idea of eating her out was enough to make his mouth water, but he was pumped full of adrenaline and desire so he added ‘make Karen scream with my tongue running along her slit’ to his list of things to do later.

Instead, he hooked his hands beneath her knees to pick her up off the ground. She reached down with her free hand to grip the metal handrail and braced herself on it as Frank lined up the edge of his cock with her dripping wet pussy.

“Last chance to turn back.”

Karen shook her head, adjusting herself so she was balanced between him and the wall, and then pulled his head forward so she could kiss him.

It was a kiss as wild as he felt, as wet as she was, and he enjoyed pushing his tongue into her mouth, taking immediate control as he slid into her with one long, hard thrust.

She cried out, the sound loud and music to his ears.

He was about to ask if she was okay, there was enough of Frank hiding behind the Punisher skull to worry about her, but before he could get the chance she was kissing him again. “I wish I could touch you.”

He’d already felt those long fingers around his dick but that wasn’t the same as her hands on his chest, her fingers digging into his shoulders as he pounded into her. He imagined feeling her breasts against his bare chest and nearly came right then.

But he touched what he could of her, keeping himself still inside her, running his hands up her legs and stopping when he felt something odd on her leg. The side which didn’t have a slit designed to temp and torture every straight man in a ten mile radius hid something beneath the rich red fabric.

When he looked down he saw, strapped to her pale white thigh, a dark holster encasing a four inch knife.

“Karen?”

“I couldn’t fit my gun in my purse,” she reminded him even as she moved her lower body as if trying to pull more of him into her, trying to recreate the friction she must have gotten when she’d straddled his leg.

“So you strapped a knife to your leg?”

“I also have a taser. Had a taser,” she corrected. “That’s how I took down the guy who had his gun on you.”

He ran his fingers over the leather straps, imagined the little red creases it would leave on her skin, and it reminded him of ropes around wrists, handcuffs attached to bedposts. “Red silk and a knife holster,” he murmured. “I think this might the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

And with nothing more to say, he pulled out and drove back into her, completely sheathing himself in one thrust.

Frank pressed his mouth to the base of her neck, sucking hard on her skin, using his teeth and tongue to soothe and scrape. Nothing about him was gentle or kind but she was matching his rhythm every step of the way.

Her hands, now free to do what they’d like, were tugging at the short strands of his hair. If she were trying to pull him away he’d have stopped, but she was breathing her encouragements as he fucked her against the wall.

He knew he wasn’t going to last much longer but he didn’t want to stop, couldn’t imagine ever doing anything but sliding in and out of Karen’s hot, wet cunt while she begged him to give her more.

“You feel so fucking good around my cock, I want to feel you come around it.”

He figured it was difficult for her to fuck him back, precariously balanced as she was on his legs, but with her legs around his waist she managed to raise herself up a little and those short little strokes were enough for him to feel that pressure low on his back.

Shit he was close.

Frank wrapped one arm around her waist, and with the other hand he reached between them and found her clit, slick with her juices. “Fuck!” she yelled, bucking against him when he flicked his finger across the hard nub.

“How do you want it, Karen? How do I get you to come so hard you scream yourself hoarse?” he covered her nipple with his mouth, unable to keep himself from the temptation of her. He kept his strokes short and hard, her breathing going erratic at the rhythm. “Tell me, Karen. Talk to me dirty.”

She braced her hands on his shoulders, her entire body a single taunt line of muscle and skin. “Hard.”

“That was hardly dirty,” he taunted.

“Fuck me hard,” she told him. “Hard and fast on my clit. I’m so close. I’ve never been fucked like this. You’re the only one who can make me feel like this; The Punisher,” she said, then added, “Frank.”

He lost all control, his fingers almost bruising everywhere they touched, his cock bottoming out inside her. She gripped the back of his neck, her blunt nails digging into the skin there and he imagined what she’d to do his back once he got her on a mattress.

When she came it was hard and fast around his cock and he could hear the echo of her shout, pleasure and wonder and sensation in every sound. He knew that’s what she felt because that’s what he felt as he came buried inside her.

 Karen inanely thought of that scene from Harry Potter where the dumb wizard teacher accidentally made Harry’s arm boneless.

That’s what she felt like as Frank pulled out of her, and she could feel the combined liquid of their arousal drip down her leg, completely boneless.

“Jesus,” she said as rested her head against the wall, fingers gripping the handrails because she didn’t think she could hold herself up. “I’m not going to be able to walk for a week.”

“You have to walk out of here, Karen. The cops are going to want to talk to you.”

“Fuck that,” she said with a little smile, too exhausted to do anything more than that. “I’m not going to be able to form sentences for another hour.”

His smile was a little crooked and completely endearing, especially considering he’d just fucked her senseless feet away from cops and dead bodies.

Jesus, she repeated to herself. There might be something wrong with her.

“Spread your legs,” Frank was saying and she did so automatically, her eyes closed until she felt something smooth on her legs. She looked down and saw Frank had pulled a piece of fabric from somewhere and was cleaning her up.

“Thank you.”

He nodded and stuffed at the fabric into his pocket; at some point he’d put himself together, buckles and holsters in place. Then he reached down and there was something oddly intimate about him picking up her discarded underwear and putting them in his pocket.

“I’m going to talk the cops with no underwear,” she realized, shaking her head at the thought.

“Are you okay?”

She opened her eyes, thinking she could take a nap right then and there. There was doubt on his face and Karen kept her exasperation to herself; the stupid man, she’d screamed his name and begged him take her and he was still uncertain.

Reaching out she pulled him to her, wrapping her arms around his middle and kept him close so she could kiss him. No rush this time, no desperation, just warm affection.

He kissed her back, hesitant at first, and then she felt the confidence return to him and there was Frank. Her Frank.

“Push the button,” she told him softly, resting her head on the vest. “I have to let the cops know I’m okay.”

“What will you tell them?” he asked, running a hand down her hair which was now loose and falling around her shoulders.

Karen shrugged. “What I always tell them, the Punisher rescued me. Again.”

Frank pulled back a few inches and pushed the release button so the elevator started moving again. He kissed her again quickly, and then let her go. She watched as he studied the ceiling and then jumped, pushing aside the loose paneling.

She laughed, she couldn’t help it, and when he looked at her with confusion she held up her hands. “I feel like we’ve been here before.”

“We have to stop meeting like this,” Frank agreed with a laughed. “I’ll see you later, Karen.”

“See you later, Frank.”

Karen watched as he pulled himself up and out of the elevator, just in the nick of time as the doors opened to the lobby where a handful of cops had their guns trained on her. She immediately put up her hands. “I’m unarmed.”

Out of the crowd someone stepped forward, and she instantly recognized Detective Mahoney, his hands on his hips as he looked at her. She hoped that she looked recently kidnapped and not recently fucked, but there wasn’t anything she could do about it now. “Detective.”

“Shit, I should have known it was you.” Karen picked up her purse off the elevator floor and walked towards the semi-friendly cop. “The other hostages said there was a blonde woman in their group that disappeared after the Punisher showed up. Don’t suppose you know where he is now, do you?”

“Nope.”

Detective Brett watched her. “You’ve got a bruise on your neck.”

There was an accusation in the statement, and Karen let only the hint of a smile reveal itself. “Yeah? It’s been a crazy night, I couldn’t even tell you when I got it.”

“Uh-huh.” He shifted on his feet and Karen wondered if he’d try and push the issue but eventually he sighed. “Come with me, I need you to give me a statement. Maybe you can explain to me why that elevator’s camera suddenly went out about fifteen minutes ago.”

Karen tripped over her own feet, “Camera?”

The looked he gave her was amused and sardonic, “Yeah. Know anything about that?”

“No,” but the lie wasn’t as convincing that time. Shit, fucking fuck. She hadn’t even thought about there being a camera in the elevator but of course there was. Micro must have remotely disabled, but how much had seen before he’d done that? She’d either have to kill him or send him flowers.

“Yeah, the camera was working for a while, we went back a bit to see if any of the hostage takers used it, and then it opened on the laundry floor and went out.”

“Weird.”

He huffed out a laugh. “Sit down, tell me what you know.”

Karen perched on the edge of the chair and told Brett the majority of what happened; after all there weren’t a lot of things she needed to leave out. She told him that she got into the elevator after the Punisher freed them and the elevator stopped working for some time.

He had questions, and he certainly didn’t believe everything she said, but he didn’t push which she was grateful for.

“All right, you can home now.” He shut his book and stood up. “I don’t suppose I need to warn you about being safe, seems you’ve got yourself an avenging angel watching over you.”

Karen shook her head and waved goodbye to the detective, flagging a cab down and in less than fifteen minutes she was home.

As she went up the stairs she imaged a bed, she imaged a very full glass of wine, and she imagined a very hot bath.

She unlocked her apartment and stepped inside, but she instantly knew she wasn’t alone. Looking up she saw the silhouette of someone standing front of her window, and she’d encountered Frank in the dark often enough to recognize him.

“Did they give you any problems?”

“No,” she told him, dropping her purse on the table and slipping out of her heels. “Have you been here no long?”

“No, I just got here.” Karen nodded and stood in her living room, just a few feet away from Frank who still wore his Punisher Kevlar. “I can go, if you want me to.”

She shook her head. “Tell me why you’re here first.”

He sighed and stuck his hands in his pockets. “I didn’t want that to be the way our first time went.”

Karen smiled and felt a well of affection rise up in her chest as she walked towards him. “You’ve thought about our first time?”

“Haven’t you?”

She considered the question. “No, not a specific first time. I thought about us having sex, but God, Frank, I couldn’t have imagined anything like that.”

He scratched the back of his head and if there were lights on she thought she would have seen him blush. “Yeah. That was something else.”

“Why did you come, Frank?”

“Because I’m not done with you,” he admitted and he sounded like he was vaguely disgruntled by the fact. “I pulled out and I immediately wanted to have you again.”

His hands reached out to toy with the thin strap of her dress. “There were so many things I wanted to do with you that can’t be done in an elevator.”

“Tell me,” she whispered.

He traced the deep v of her dress, his fingers curling around both sides so his fingernails brushed against the curve of her breasts.

“I’m better at doing than talking,” he said, and ripped her dress down the middle.

*“You good? Okay, let’s go. Micro, do you know where everyone is?" “Yeah, they're headed your way. I don't know how many yet, but at least two." “Shit, okay. Where’s a good place to stash-" “Your girlfriend," Micro filled in, his voice more than a little amused. “Now’s not the time, asshole. Give me a place.”

[thatfanficstuff]

Assassins and Old Friends - Red

Pairing: William Cooper x Reader

Warnings: language. mild violence.

A/N: This is based on the movie Red. I’m not sure how good this is, but I got this idea and couldn’t get rid of it. If you haven’t seen the movie you need to. It’s awesome. And Karl Urban...um...hello?

***

To say that you were surprised to hear from Frank Moses was an understatement. Sure, the two of you had talked since his retirement, but that was mostly through encrypted emails or in person meetings. Old habits died hard and all that. For him to call you on an unsecured line and set a meeting meant he was in serious trouble. Granted, no one but the two of you was likely to grasp the true meaning of the mundane conversation, but still. You were even more surprised when you showed up at the appointed time and place and found not only Frank, but Joe, Victoria, Marvin and Frank’s new girlfriend, Sarah.

They found themselves in a load of shit and needed help getting out of it. You owed Frank, but even if you hadn’t you would have agreed anyway. This particular group contained some of your oldest friends and you weren’t about to let them get executed if you could stop it.

That’s how you found yourself dressed in your snow gear complete with white half-mask that covered your face up to your eyes. You were on your belly, a scoped rifle firmly in hand while you waited for the boys to finish interrogating the asshole in the house. Victoria mirrored your position a little further along the ridge. Between the two of you laid Sarah, the call center operator. You had tried to convince the others to leave her behind but you’d been outvoted. Frank had been particularly insulted when you called her a liability. 

A sudden flurry of activity caught your attention. The mission had been compromised. A quick glance at Victoria had her meeting your eye with a shake of her head. She didn’t know what had happened either.

“There he is. That’s him,” Sarah said, drawing your attention. “That’s the agent that’s been after Frank.”

You peered through your scope to take in the sedan that had pulled in a moment before, an agent standing beside it. You sucked in a breath. It couldn’t be. Even Frank wasn’t that big of an asshole. Apparently, he was, because when the agent turned in your direction it only confirmed what you already knew to be true. Your husband, Special Agent William Cooper of the CIA, was the man hunting down your friends.

“I’ve got the agent,” you told Victoria who made a sound of agreement. If anyone was going to have to shoot your husband, you supposed it should really be you. At least you’d make sure he didn’t get killed.

The next several minutes were pure chaos. Someone came out the front door and was killed almost immediately. Will was just as shocked as you were. You fired several rounds above his head as he drew his weapon and ran toward the house. You just needed to slow him down long enough for the others to get away.

As the tactical team flooded toward the house, Victoria opened fire on them. You joined her after firing a few more rounds near your husband so he’d go back under cover. The two of you purposely kept your shots low or high. You didn’t actually want to kill anyone that was just doing their job.

“We need to get out of here,” you snapped, fully aware of the men flooding into the trees to find you.

“Just a moment.” Victoria’s voice was heavy with annoyance but you were fairly certain it wasn’t directed at you. Far likelier was that she was angry with whatever twist of fate led to this shitstorm. “Now,” she said and you assumed that the boys had made it to cover.

You hurried after her and Sarah, keeping your eyes on the trees around you. Sarah gasped and started to slide down the hill. Reaching out, you grabbed the back of her coat and hauled her back into place, nearly losing your own footing in the process. You glared at the back of her head though you knew she couldn’t see it. “Be careful,” you bit out. She nodded but that was your only answer.

The three of you managed to stay ahead of the men hunting you until you caught up with Frank and Marvin. Frank’s gaze immediately found Sarah. “You okay?” After she nodded frantically, his eyes found you. “You?”

“Did you know?”

His brow furrowed. “What?”

“Your agent. Did you know who he was?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Y/N.”

Anyone else might have believed him. But you’d trained with him, spent time with him both on and off the job. You’d learned his tells. “You son of a bitch.” You leapt forward and swung, grazing his chin when he failed to move out of the way quickly enough.

“Hey. Woah,” he barked at you. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Fuck you, Frank.”

“What the hell is going on here?” Victoria asked, her voice sharp. “We don’t have time for this.”

A car pulled up at the top of the hill. Your ride. The men moving through the trees were getting closer. “You’re right. You don’t. Go.”

“We’re not leaving you here,” Marvin argued.

“I’ll be fine,” you assured him as you moved backward toward the tree line. “Agent Cooper is my husband after all. But Frank already knew that, didn’t you Frank?”

You fired a couple of rounds once you were far enough away to draw the attention away from your friends, though you could hear Victoria bitching at Frank even from here. The sound made you grin. Minutes later your gun was on the ground and you were in cuffs.

“We got one. The others escaped,” one of the men said into his radio and you looked at the ground to keep them from seeing your smirk.

“Bring ‘em in.” Your husband’s voice crackled back over the line only causing your grin to widen.

“Roger,” the man attempted to respond, only to have you yell over the top of him.

“Tahoe!” One of the men smacked you in the side of the head with the butt of his gun to shut you up and you turned an angry scowl in his direction. Fuck, that hurt even if he had held back. Tahoe was your code word. The one that let your spouse know that something was going on and you were right in the middle of it. It was also the quickest way of letting him know you were here.

It took Will a minute to respond and you wondered if he’d even heard you or if he was just processing what the hell you were doing here. “Y/N/N?” his voice finally came, sounding uncertain and confused as hell though you doubted anyone else noticed.

You nodded and the idiot with the radio called back. “That’s affirmative, sir.”

The response this time was immediate. “She’s one of ours, you imbecile. Let her go and tell her to report to me.”

“Sorry,” someone grumbled as they undid the cuffs.

You hummed in agreement and stood, rubbing your wrists as you did so. A quick glance around and you found the asshole that hit you. You punched him without warning, enjoying the feeling of his nose breaking beneath your fist. He dropped to his knees. “That’s for hitting a prisoner in restraints. Do it again and it goes in your file.”

“Yes, ma’am.” His voice was muffled from where his hands were attempting to stem the flow of blood. Good luck with that.

***

Will’s hazel eyes ran over you the moment you stepped into view. You knew he was looking for injuries and you shook your head to let him know you were fine. “Get in the car, Agent,” he bit out as soon as you were close enough to hear without him having to raise his voice.

You kept a smile on your face even as you internally cringed. He was furious. You slid into the passenger seat and he immediately pulled away. He was silent as he drove and you simply watched him. His hands wrapped around the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white and a muscle in his jaw twitched as he clenched his teeth together.

With a quiet sigh, you decided you might as well get this over with. Will would just continue to stew until you forced him to fight. “You know this is your fault really.”

“You want to repeat that?” The rumble in his voice told you that you should not, in fact, repeat what you just said, but you did anyway. He pulled off the side of the road and into the grass. The car sliding to a stop as he applied the brakes. Getting out of the car, he slammed his door before stomping around to your side and throwing yours open. “Out.”

And even though you knew it was a horrible idea to laugh at him when he was angry, your lips twitched just the same. You took your time undoing the seatbelt and climbing out. When you moved to the side, he slammed your door as well. You leaned against the side of the car and watched him pace in front of you. Occasionally he would stop and turn to look at you as if he wanted to say something, only to shake his head and go back to pacing.

“If you had told me the truth about your injuries I wouldn’t be here,” you finally said.

He stopped and narrowed his gaze at you. “I think you better tell me exactly what it is you think you know, sweetheart.” The amount of venom in his voice only served to amuse you further. You supposed if you weren’t his wife and didn’t know with absolute certainty he would never hurt you, you might have been scared. But his normal intimidation act didn’t work on you, it never had.

“I know someone is trying to kill Frank Moses. I know he has friends helping him. And I know that Joe Matheson was just killed by one of your men because they thought it was Frank. I assume your injuries came from a fight with Frank and that you were told to eliminate a threat. Off book, no questions, no paper trail. Only whatever they told you was shit because if you’d known who he really was, you would have asked me about him from the beginning.”

His eyes studied you as you talked, undoubtedly trying to get a read off of you. He wasn’t going to pick up much but annoyance at this point.

“I also know Frank called me for help because you are my husband though he didn’t tell me that, I had to discover it on my own. I don’t know how he found out, because I’ve always been very careful to not tell him about that part of my life. I also don’t know who is trying to kill him or why but I can tell you it’s not sanctioned, regardless of what you’ve been told.”

He stepped toward you, stopping less than an arm’s length away.  “And how do you know that?”

“For one thing, they would have told you the truth of who he was from the beginning. For another, they would have asked me to do it, not you. He knows me. He trusts me. I could get past his radar. So how did I do?” You tilted your head waiting for him to tell you just how far off the mark you were.

He arched a brow. “Pretty good, actually.” His gaze narrowed and he grasped your chin to turn your head to the side. “You said you weren’t injured.”

You lifted your hand and probed where you’d been hit. You winced and found blood on your fingers when you pulled them away. “Technically I didn’t say anything, but it’s not a big deal. One of the tactical squad got in a hit with his gun when I yelled to you.”

Will blinked several times and pressed his lips together. “He hit you. With his gun. And it’s not a big deal?”

You smiled and wrapped your hand around his wrist as he tried to part your hair to get a better look. “I broke his nose. It’s fine.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “Of course, you did.” He released your chin and settled his hands on your waist. “I might know how Moses found out about us.”

“How?”

“You were right, we fought. In my office. He must have seen the picture on my desk. It couldn’t have been for more than a second, but—”

You cut him off. “That would have been enough for him. More than enough.” You paused for a second then growled. “He’s such an asshole.”

Will grinned, flashing his dimples and leaned toward you. “If he’s such an asshole why were you helping him?”

“Because I didn’t realize how big an asshole he was. He didn’t call me until after he saw the photo and then he lied about why he wanted my help. If he would have just told me the truth I could have talked to you instead of having to shoot at you.”

His smile fell. “You were the one shooting at me? Some of those rounds were a little close, weren’t they?”

“It had to look believable, babe. Couldn’t have them realizing the bad guys didn’t want to actually kill anyone.” You closed the distance between the two of you and slammed your lips onto his.

He made a sound of appreciation deep in his throat and pressed more tightly against you. His lips moved from your lips to trail up to your ear and down the side of your neck. You inhaled a shaky breath as he nipped at the skin along the curve of your throat before kissing away the sting. “Where are the kids?” he managed to get out between kisses.

You smiled and grasped onto the lapels of his coat in an attempt to bring him closer, but there were far too many clothes between the two of you for that. “Your mother’s.”

That got his attention and he pulled back to frown at you. “My mother’s.”

You nodded. “Two whole weeks. They’re thrilled.”

“Are you telling me that our kids are three states away from us for two whole weeks and we’re making out by the side of the road in the middle of a case instead of celebrating at home?” His voice was little more than a growl. He always took time off when the kids went to visit his folks so the two of you could spend some time alone. It was his favorite vacation of the year.

“If you let me set up a meeting between you and Frank, we might be able to get this settled in a day or two,” you said next to his ear. You flicked your tongue out and pulled his lobe into your mouth. As you rolled your hips, you bit down gently on his earlobe before releasing him.

He groaned. “For the love of god, set up whatever you want, just do that again first.” 

***

William Cooper:  @yallneedtrek @bookcaseninja @musikat18 @arivalappears @mikaelsonwetdreams @cuddlememerrick

Thank you all for your interest in this story. If y’all want more Cooper let me know. Or just Red in general. I’m sure I have a couple of ideas floating around.

All the Things:  @swanky-batman @rissyrapp20 @startrekkingaroundasgard @spooookyscary @taylordrunkonwhiskey @thewolf-and-thesheep @laneygthememequeen @collette04 @shatteredabby