#might clean this up later + pop it on ao3

[greatunironic]

eddie wakes up in a strange room. this was not particularly unusual for him, historically: he’d spent most of his twenties waking up in new and interesting places (including a handful of jail cells). but after eddie, the label, and the los angeles superior court system decided it would be best if he stopped drinking and doing blow, it stopped being such a regular occurrence.

so it’s almost alarming to him, now, to be blinking up at an unfamiliar cement ceiling with the raging bitch of all headaches and generally feeling like he got hit by a truck, got whiplash in a crash with the way his neck aches. he’d think he was hungover like all those times before except for how sharp the pain is, bright.

he worries, briefly, he’s relapsed, or someone’s slipped him something. but he remembers what him and the boys had been up to, before this, and he thinks it’d’ve been a strange night indeed if someone roofied a c-list (b-list if he’s feeling charitable) musician at a fucking frozen four game.

because yeah, eddie remembers: they’d been third row, watching the wisconsin ladies clean up and cheering for jeff’s kid sister like she was about to get olympic gold. (she probably would, someday. her and that mayfield girl who played defense were looking down the barrel at a 2026 run apparently.

eddie’s been to a handful of games over the years, when touring and recording allows them to go. he’s resolutely never been a sports guy but he’ll admit, when pressed, that live hockey is pretty dope. to say nothing, of course, of how jeff would probably murder them all in their sleep if they didn’t rep the red and white for lottie.

(and also — and this is between eddie and his god alright — but lottie’s coach? standing back there in his suit, hair styled and dialed, snapping his gum, yelling at the refs? kind of doing it for him, okay. worth the price of admission, even if the tickets weren’t free.)

when he thinks harder — which hurts too — the last thing he clearly remembers was someone from the beavers scoring, bringing their lead to 5-1, and a slapshot from the other team getting out over the boards and nearly taking out some lady’s popcorn. someone behind them in the seats said, “jesus they’re getting desperate, eh?”

then shit goes dark on him, not even a fade to black, but a full on smash cut, roll credits black, and the post-credits scene is where ever the fuck eddie is at the moment. it smells like human and cold and icy hot, so obviously, he thinks, he died and went to hell like all the church ladies said he would back in hawkins, or probably just a locker room. what the fuck?

he blinks at the ceiling, at an interesting water stain on the cement texturing. he’s in the middle of wondering where the rest of his band has gone if he’s here alone, fucking abandoners, when a sweaty redhead with the bitchiest expression he’s maybe ever seen enters his field of vision.

“you’re alive,” she says.

eddie blinks again. “why do you sound so disappointed?”

“yo coach!” she shouts, already on the move away from him. “he’s alive!”

he tries to sit up, but that makes the pain in his head worse, and also draws attention to the fact that his back also hurts. he squeezes his eyes shut and makes a truly embarrassing noise of pain — if pressed, he’d call it a whimper — and a pair of big hands land on his shoulders.

“out, out ladies i got this! hey!, hey, man, don’t move just yet,” says big hands.

“yeah, no problem, i don’t want to anymore,” eddie says. he stirs up the will to open his eyes again and very nearly slams them back shut. because of course the person staring down at him is fucking coach hottie snackycakes himself. he’s even better looking in person, too, big droopy eyes, lips as pink as his bubblegum, and shiny, jesus christ. he’s still got eddie by the shoulders, hands warm through the thin cotton of his flannel and tee — because eddie’s always been more fashion than sense, wayne always said, and it’s even worse now that the paps are on him—

“oh, fuck this is gonna be all over tiktok later, isn’t it?” he moans.

“maybe not.”

“don’t lie.”

“listen, eddie — it is eddie, right?” asks coach hottie. “i’m steve. coach harrington. faughnsie — lottie, i mean — she said you’re eddie. her brother’s guitarist? what do you remember?”

“more like he’s my singer,” he says, “but sure. and not much.”

“well, you’re gonna be okay,” says coach hottie — steve. “it really wasn’t that bad, and it was probably too fast for anyone to get it, unless they already had a camera on you. you took a puck to the head when one popped up. i’d apologize but it wasn’t one of my girls who did it, so. anyway — you weren’t out for long, which robbie says is good — she’ll get a look at you in a second — but you got your bell rung pretty good. and you’re gonna have quite the shiner, trust me.”

“speaking from experience?”

“oh, yeah. closer and faster too.” he gently raps his head with his knuckles. “too many concussions too early ended my nhl days, in fact.”

“oh. oh shit, sorry, i—“

“don’t worry about it, man, it happens,” he says. “and if it hadn’t, i wouldn’t be here.”

“at the frozen four.”

“yeah, sure, that too.”

“what?”

“what?” steve waves him off. “anyway, i’m just glad to see you up, ish, and talking. looked pretty scary, from the bench.”

“i really don’t remember,” says eddie. “but i’m sure i’ll see it on tiktok later, like i said — at least, my unconscious, bleeding form.”

“i got up there pretty fast, so i doubt it,” says steve.

eddie blinks, twice. “you—?”

“you were behind my bench, and you. well,” he says with a shrug, but he’s clearly a little embarrassed, finally putting those hands away — weapons of eddie destruction, he thinks — and shoving them into his pockets of his tight slacks. “i should be getting back out there.”

“do you? you’re murdering them pretty good, unless i black out and missed them getting four more goals,” eddie says.

the corners of steve’s eyes crinkle when he smiles. eddie thinks he might just pass out again. “no, we’re still gonna cinch it, i think. looks bad, though — first time coach missing the final period so’s he can hit on the cute musician who got his clock cleaned by the biscuit.”

“oh,” he says. swallows. “uh.”

steve’s crinkly, smiley eyes go wide. “unless—“

“no less!” eddie shouts and then immediately winces. at a better, less damaging to his more than slightly concussed noggin, volume, he says, “more, actually. because pretty sure i shouldn’t be left unsupervised, and i’ve clearly been abandoned by the band, so—“

“so,” says steve.

“coach, two minutes!” someone calls.

“so, i was hoping maybe i could keep hitting on the hot hockey coach back at his?”

“i’m at the ramada inn,” he says, “and i got tape to watch for the finals.”

“i live for room service,” eddie tells him seriously. “and i’m suddenly very into wisconsin sports teams.”

“coach! go time!”

“yeah?” he asks.

“yeah.”

“COACH!”

he jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “i gotta — but, uh, later?”

“pick me up in twenty?”

“probably more like half an hour, with stoppage,” he says.

someone bangs on the door. “COACH!! let’s boogie!!”

with one last look, wide eyed and smiling, steve leaves. eddie watches him go. he’d heard hockey players were caked up but lord — eddie is about to convert to a new religion, or maybe found one, over the stretch of those slacks.

“damn,” he says quietly.

“gross,” a woman says. eddie startles and looks to the side, where a lanky brunette with a bob and an undercut is staring at him, unimpressed. she’s in some get up that screams athletic trainer, and there’s a white board in her hand.

“how long have you been there?” he asks.

she raises an eyebrow. “long enough, and honestly, i don’t know if that counts as a you rule for him, or a you suck for you,” she says and does not elaborate when he asks. “also don’t look at him like that. it’s steve. he’s basically my sister.”

“yeah? any tips then?” asks eddie. “i promise i’ll only use them for good. well. mostly.”

“god,” she says with an expansive eye roll. “you’re gonna be a nightmare, aren’t you?”

a cheer goes up outside the room as the teams, presumably, take the ice again. eddie, head throbbing, concussed, embarrassed, grins. “sure hope so,” he says.

[angelltheninth]

Hello! I know you said you were not planning to write for HOTD but this is a request just in case you wanna do more: smut prompts #91 "Behave." and #92 "What did you just say?" for Harwin Strong. We have gotten crumbs from him in the show but I feel he'd be into brats

I'm not against writing more content for HOTD honestly, especially if I like the character I'm writing for.

Pairing: Harwin Strong x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, dom/sub dynamics, teasing, praise, gentle kisses, sex starts out gentle but turns rougher, gentle dom Harwin, bratty Reader

Word count: 1.1k

Ao3

A/N: Another thing that helps with getting me to write stuff for the fandoms you like is if there's hot characters in it. And A Song of Ice and Fire has always had plenty of those for everybody.

91. "Behave" + 92. "What did you just say?"

You knew from the moment you saw him walk into your tavern that Harwin was a guaranteed good time in bed. A fact that proved to be true later that night, after many rounds of flirting and dancing and groping, when Harwin took you into the room he got for the night.

His hands were so rough and they were never too far away from your body and neither were his lips, even while the two of you scrambled out of your clothes. It took Harwin a little to unbuckle off of his belts, and you constantly palming at his hard on didn't make things any easier.

"I sure hope you're not planning on sleeping tonight miss." He growled against your neck when he finally got all his clothes off, his hands circling your hips and almost throwing you onto the bed, his legs already making room for his body between yours.

"I could ask you the same." You stroke his cock, it feels just as strong as the rest of him, with thick, pulsing veins running along the shaft, "You talk a big game Ser Harwin, but are you sure you back back it up? I've met quite a few knights that talk big but fall quote short."

Harwin chuckled, a loud and rumbly sound from deep in his chest. He gently slapped your hand away from his cock before gathering the drops of cum on his fingers, "Well after tonight I'm sure you'll have at least one good night to remember." He ran the pads of his fingers through your wet folds, smearing them with his cum, slowly coming up to your clit and circling it with his thumb.

Your hips jerk up, almost spasming from the teasing but delicious contact. He moved his fingers away just as you started to establish a rhythm, which made you let out a frustrated groan. You tried to roll your hips against him, only to be pinned to the bed. "Behave. Be patient."

Try as he might he couldn't hide his own lust, even though he wanted to make it seem like he was fully in control as he slid his cock along your cunt, sending tingles up your spine with every passage and press of his cockhead against your clit.

If this was about endurance to see who broke who first you could certainly play that game. With a wicked smirk you pushed a hand between your legs, making Harwin back up a little, curious. You winked at him as you plunged two fingers inside yourself, making sure to get as much of his cum in as you could.

"What did you just say?" You replay, your smirk morphing into a slack jawed gasp. You didn't bother holding your moans back, or going slow, letting him hear every lewd thrust.

Harwin inhaled and exhaled hard, his cock twitching in jealousy. "It seems like you're in need of discipline." His reached out and grabbed your wrist, gently pulling your fingers out and closing his mouth around them, licking them clean and releasing them with a wet pop, "Lucky for you I know how to handle people like you. Especially women like you."

Pinning your hands above your head he lined himself up with your pussy hole, teasing you by just pushing in the tip in and out. You writhed and rolled your hips into his in frustration but it didn't make Harwin go any deeper. Every time you pushed against him he pulled back, leaving you wanting more.

"I thought you were going to show me how to behave. If that's all you got then I'm better off using my hands." You knew you were just provoking him further, but you didn't care, he could get as rough or gentle as he wanted, you didn't care, and apparently neither did he. "Fuck, stop teasing and just put it in already."

"So bossy. You've very cheeky for someone who's about to get that pretty, glistening cunt pounded." Harwin growled playfully before he sheathed his entire length into you all at once. "But that's what you want isn't it?"

"Shit!" Your legs snapped closed around his hips, the heels crossing over his tailbone, "It's girthier then it looked."

"And by that tightness, to your liking." Harwin pulled out, then slowly slid back in, spreading your inner walls into the shape of his cock more and more with every stroke. "Let's see if you still have your bratty attitude when I fuck your brains out." He grit his teeth while his hips slapped against yours quicker, rougher, getting progressively rougher, showing you his prowess and power.

With one hand he pulled your wrists over your chest, keeping a firm grip on them while his other hooked under your thigh and lifted it over his shoulder, tilting your body slightly to the side, his cock reaching even deeper then before.

It wasn't long before you let go, your eyes staring into his as you squirted and gushed and clenched around his cock. As he felt your walls clamp down on him he increased his pace, the bed shaking from the force of his thrusts.

Just as you started to calm down from your high Harwin grinned down at you. He leaned down and captured your lips in a long kiss, his hips still pounding into yours, even with the shorter, sloppier thrusts. It didn't take him long to come inside you with a groan, thick ropes of cum painting your insides white, sending you into your second orgasm.

He didn't stop moving, in and out, slow and caring, until he felt your body go slack against the bed and your lips fell away from his, taking deep breaths to calm your beating heart.

"You want to know something sweetheart?" He asked as he lazily dragged his lips across your neck, his thumbs smoothing along the oncoming bruises on your wrists. You hum as he lays behind you, his cock falling out in the process. You press your thighs together in an effort to stop the cum from flowing out but to very little success. Harwin wraps his arms around you and pulls your back against his strong, yes surprisingly soft chest, "I think you're the best thing about this shabby old tavern. And definitely the sturdiest." He laughed as he shifted his weight, making the bed creak.

"Think we can break the bed?" You grin at him over your shoulder.

It was clearly a challenge, and Harwin was not one to back down from one. "I got you to submit did I not?" His cock was inside you faster than lightning. "The bed will be easy."

True to his word the two of you did indeed break the bed by the end of the night, after which you moved to fuck against the wall and ending up falling asleep on the mattress which ended up on the floor a few rounds before. Harwin assured you he would pay for the damages and for a better bed. After all you just got yourself a guaranteed repeat patron, he has to make sure that the tavern is up to his standards.

[jhilsara]

I Can See You

Pt. 1/ Pt. 2/ Pt. 3/ Pt. 4/ Pt. 5/pt. 6/Pt. 7/Pt. 8/Pt. 9/ Pt. 10/

Pt. 11/ Pt.12/Pt.13/Pt. 14/Pt.15/Pt.16/Pt.17/END

Mariana Jimenez-Watson or MJ works in a normal pub living life paycheck to paycheck. Nothing exciting happens to her except the occasional drunk getting thrown out. She's 24 working away and finds a wrench thrown into her very boring life. His name is Hobie and she thinks maybe, a little excitement isn't awful. In fact she might start to crave some change for once.

Small moments of Hobie meeting his world's MJ. AKA I made an MJ variant and I think she's neat.

Characters are completely aged up and this takes place after what will happen in beyond the spiderverse. I just made a little MJ variant and I think she's neat. I've been writing standalone scenes of her life after meeting Hobie and my friends really liked it so I thought I'd polish it up a little and post it. Nothing serious just some silly fun. (also I'm sorry I'm just not a y/n person, I just want to make characters who are developed and can have their own distinct personalities.) My MJ may not be for everyone but I hope you give her a shot.

Can also be read on Ao3 X

Chapter 1

She’s wiping off the counter and looking over at the small dodgy stage the pub has in the corner. She’s surprised the thing hasn’t collapsed in on itself. It has a couple of the instruments set up already for the band tonight. She feels someone bump her hip and she looks over to see her coworker raising a brow at her.

“Why don’t you wrap up early? You’re meeting your friends, right?” Andy asks her smiling.

MJ shrugs, “It ends in like fifteen and the band doesn’t start for another twenty. It’s fine, I don’t even think they've walked in yet.”

“Go on, grab a good spot at the front. I got it back here.” Andy encourages.

MJ rolls her eyes and keeps cleaning, “No seriously. I don’t even know who this band is. My friends want to see them. I’ll wrap it up in ten and look for them. I need to change out of these clothes anyway.”

“Whatever, you know half of the girls in here are already buzzin’. They’ve been drinking for the past hour looking for a shot of courage.” Andy says laughing.

MJ nudges her letting some giggles out too, “Stop, Andy! Leave them alone, they’re barely old enough to get in. They just want to see some hot musicians.”

“Who’s gonna tell them that most of the musicians are indeed, not hot, when they do small pub shows like us?” Andy says starting to pop open a beer for a customer.

“Oh, come off it, apparently this band does everything and anything. Good too, at least my friends say.” MJ says handing Andy another beer for the same group.

“You better clock out, you’ll miss your window to not be trapped back here.” Andy tells her looking at the clock.

“Oh shit, thanks!” MJ quickly dodges around the bar to get to the back so she can grab her bag and change.

She rushes into the bathroom and quickly changes into something a little cuter than her pub shirt and black slacks.

She pulls her rosy pink slip dress out and easily slides it on. Shoving her other clothes into her backpack. She adjusts her necklaces and looks into the mirror, checking to make sure her hair’s still passible. She adjusts the twin buns but just shrugs a minute later. It’s a punk show it doesn’t matter if she looks nice. She checks to make sure nothings on her and makes her way back out.

She throws her bag back where her other belongings are and wades through a decent sized crowd. She can’t find her friends but does make her way to the front. She checks her phone and sees that her friends had texted and canceled coming last minute. She groans in irritation, and turns to try and leave but the crowd has gotten thicker and she’s stuck. She’s jostled into someone who grabs her waist and she whips her head around smacking the hands.

“Hands off!” she growls looking up at the man. He throws his hands up but his grin is slimey. MJ keeps her glare.

“You bumped into me sweetie.” He chuckles.

She rolls her eyes, “Doesn’t mean you get handsy with me.” She mutters turning back to the stage. 

She sees her coworker Lars come out to push the crowd back, she feels a little better knowing she has an easy escape if she needs to. He settles in the corner of the stage, watching the crowd. Within a few seconds the band comes out and she settles a bit. She might as well enjoy the show.

She feels someone sidle up to her side, pressing into her, and she turns her head to see the same man from before smiling at her.

“Back up. I don’t play this game.” She hisses out shoving him off of her.

“C’mon, not a big deal, it’s a massive crowd in here. It’s tight is all.” He says slurring his words.

MJ puffs her cheeks in irritation and points her finger into his chest, “Do not fucking touch me again.” She flashes her eyes over to Lars and he nods his head, acknowledging her.

The guy takes a step back but is still looking at her in a predatory way that makes her skin crawl. She turns to the stage to try and pay attention to the band.

The music’s loud, booming, and it has her moshing with a small group near the front. She’s having a blast for the first few songs, then she feels it.

The guy that’s next to her starts to grab her bum. She turns around and slaps the guy across the face, “I said to not fucking touch me!” She shouts at him. The music’s too loud, the lights are in her eyes, and her bodies hot with rage and adrenaline. She turns to try and spot Lars but the man grabs her by the arm tightly, pulling her closer.

“C’mon I know a slag like you when I see one,” He starts to say, mouth too close to her face so she can smell how intoxicated he is.

She reels back her free arm, hand curled into a fist, but before she can deck the drunk someone else does.

She sees combat boots fly by and her eyes widen as she sees the guitarist drop kick the guy who’s grabbing her.

Her jaw falls open in shock as the man lands perfectly fine in front of her. His guitar strapped to his back is all she sees as he stands between her and the man he just sent to the floor. She for the first time in a while, is stunned speechless.

“Mate, I don’t know who raised ya, but we don’t touch people without consent at my shows.” The guitarist says, voice deep and his face hard as he glares at the man on the ground.

The man tries to crawl off the ground, the crowd around them parting to see what’s happening.

“She’s with me man! What’s your problem?” the man tries to defend pointing at her.

Her anger continues to boil and she opens her mouth to defend herself but the guitarist responds first.

He nudges his head back to her and gives a bitter laugh, “Ya need a better lie cause she’s with me.” He tells him.

She shuts her mouth, looking at him like he’s mad for only a second. She most certainly is not with him but she sure as hell will act like it. She doesn’t want to spend the rest of the night with some creep touching her.

Her eyes flash to the other guy who’s face pales, “Sorry, sorry!” He throws his hands up in defense laughing, “Didn’t know she was yours!”

The guitarist shakes his head and crosses his arms tsking at the man. “Wooooooooow,” he drags out exaggeratedly. “She doesn’t belong to anyone.” He says, and gives a small chuckle.

The other guy is looking at him, a little in fear, as he tries to laugh along with him. The guitarist quickly stops chuckling and throws a quick but hard punch to the creep’s face.

“Apologize to her.” The guitarist demands voice harsh and cold.

The man’s holding his bruising cheek, looking at her eyes filled with fear, “M’sorry alright! I won’t touch you again I swear!” he shouts rushing through his words.

The guitarists steps forward getting closer to the guy at eye level, “For the record, it shouldn’t take me lying about us being a couple for ya to respect her.”

The second he steps back MJ sees Lars come through and grabs the guy dragging him off. He tries to fight against Lars but that man is bigger than most and he works in security for a reason.

“You alright?” The guitarist asks his voice much softer, turning around to face her.

She’s stunned for a moment and just nods her head, “Uh yeah, yeah, thanks.” She says shocked.

“No problem.” He grins and jumps back on the stage.

She’s a little floored at what just happened but she looks around her and the crowd has closed in again, looking back up at the stage.

“Sorry for the delay there, but a not so friendly reminder, don’t act like a prick and touch people without consent ya? You will not be escorted out without a black eye.” One of the other band members says addressing the crowd.

The crowd roars with cheering as they start up another song, MJ really can only laugh and just rolls with it. The whole time making intensely too much eye contact with the tall guitarist whose wicks frame his face as he vibes with the music.

By the time the shows over, she’s able to wiggle herself out with the help of Lars. A lot of the crowd stays, still high off the show.

“Great save back there Lars, maybe we should hire that guy when people get handsy with the staff.” She jokes smacking his chest.

“Piss off MJ, I was gonna throw him out after you clocked him but, well, I didn’t have to.” He laughs holding the door to the back open.

“Night Lars, seriously though, thanks for taking the guy out.” She laughs going to grab her backpack and head back home.

He shakes his head at her and steps back helping to pack up the band’s equipment.

“Oi! Hey,” The guitarist from before comes up to Lars, “Is that girl here? The one who had that prick touch her? I wanted to talk to her.” He says.

Lars looks over him curiously raising a brow, “Oh, no she left. She works here if you wanted to try to find her.” He offers casually.

“No, no, just wanted to know she’s okay.” The guitarist replies shoving his hands in his vest pockets.

“Oh, I promise she’s fine, takes a lot more than that to shake her.” Lars chuckles. “She gave me a warning look and I was ready to grab him when he put his hands on her.”

“Good, good.” The guitarist nods in approval. He starts to walk back towards his band, who’s packing up the last of their stuff.

He keeps the name of the pub in the back of his head with the image of a pink girl with maroon colored hair.

Two weeks pass and MJ’s behind her bar working on a few drinks when she sees a seemingly familiar face plop a seat.

She gives the person their drink and turns to address the new face, when she’s met with a familiar voice. “Hey stranger.” The guitarist from before greets cheekily leaning into the bar top.

She beams at him, “Hey! Lars told me you were asking around for me after the show. Sorry I didn’t stay.”

He just shrugs nonchalantly, “No biggie, just wanted to know you were fine is all.”

She gives a soft laugh shaking her head, “Trust, I’m good. I was gonna clock him and let Lars handle him but…” She trails off giving him a pointed look, “You handled it just fine.” She teases.

“Oof, I woulda loved to see ya give him a mean right hook though.” He chuckles.

She shakes her head in disbelief, “Maybe next time.” She smiles softly.

“Oh? Already planning the next time we’ll hit someone who’s being a sexist prick?” he smirks leaning closer to her on the bar top.

She gives him a genuine laugh, loud and it shakes her body. “Absolutely.”

A beat of silence passes between them before she decides its time to do her job, “So, what can I get ya?”

“Your name preferably.” He replies easily flashing her a smile.

Genuine surprise flashes across her face and then a hot flush across her cheeks.

“Depends,” She fires back, teasingly. He raises a brow at her.

“I’m MJ to most people, especially the ones I’ve just met.” She says easily. Grabbing a clean glass.

Something lights up in his eyes for a split second, like he’s found something he’s been looking for.

“I like that, what’s it short for?” He presses.

“Mmmm, I don’t know, you are asking for my government name and I don’t even have your first name.” She says playfully tilting her head.

“Hobie, Hobie Brown.” He says without giving it a second thought.

She bites her lip, hesitating, but caves under his warm eyes. She feels a pull towards this man, and maybe she’s just projecting because he stuck his neck out for her, but she feels pulled to him none the less.

“Mariana Jimenez-Watson.” She gives him.

He grins so big it could almost split his face, “I like Mariana.” He tells her softly.

Her face warms up again and she turns to fill the glass with water. “Let’s settle for MJ alright?” she says.

“Alright.” He murmurs.

[smilingformoney]

For the Love of Books | Sinclair/Betty (OC)

X. The Lion's Den

Summary: Betty and Sinclair attend a party.

AN: Now with added Lionel :D

Read now on Ao3 or below the cut:

Betty had never been one for adventure. She preferred to stay in and read about other people having adventures. Moving all the way to London from Falmouth to open her own bookshop had been a terrifying prospect, and certainly the most daring thing she’d ever done.

Learning to drive, being in a relationship, having sex - these were all things that most people did as a normal part of life, but they’d passed Betty by. Then came Sinclair, bringing all these adventures into her life, showing her new ways to experience the world. She loved the adventure that was being with him, and she happily agreed to any crazy idea he came up with.

But even so, his latest idea had taken some convincing and a lot of puppy dog eyes. For there was no way Betty could ever understand the appeal of rollercoasters, yet eventually she caved and agreed to go to Thorpe Park with him.

Leaving Goldie in Mei-Li’s care, Sinclair drove the two of them in the Accord to the theme park, which was only a 20 minute drive away but it felt like an eternity to Betty, especially when the tallest rollercoasters loomed on the horizon as they got closer. Sinclair, of course, told Betty all about the theme park that had opened 13 years ago, and he assured her that the rides were safe.

Sinclair practically bounced out of the car and Betty had to jog to catch up with him at the park entrance. His enthusiasm was admittedly infectious, and Betty thought that some of the rides might be fun, so long as they weren’t too fast or too high.

Somehow, Sinclair convinced Betty to go on the ‘Flying Fish’ ride. He was practically vibrating with excitement when they got off, ready to go another five times, and he turned to Betty to suggest that they go again when she dashed off into the nearest bush and promptly vomited.

“Betty!”

Sinclair quickly ran to her side and gathered her hair in his hand to hold it back from her face. With his other hand, he rubbed her back soothingly as she vomited again, then after a few moments she straightened up and Sinclair offered her his handkerchief.

“I’m never doing that again,” she mumbled as she wiped her face.

“Definitely not! Come on, let’s get you cleaned up and have a sit down.”

Ten minutes later, Betty emerged from the toilets feeling as clean as she could having used a public toilet, and found Sinclair at a picnic bench, tucking into some no doubt overpriced food.

He swallowed his mouthful of hotdog and said, “I bought you some fries in case you’re hungry but if you still feel sick and you don’t want to eat that’s okay. How do you feel?”

“Better. When we have kids, you can take them here, I’ll stay home with Goldie.”

“…When we have kids?”

“Well, I fully intend to get married and have kids and grow old with you. You’d better tell me now if you don’t want to, before I get invested.”

Sinclair smiled and wriggled happily in his seat. “I’d love that. Let me just get divorced first, though. Speaking of how much I love you - it’s a lot, by the way - Valentine’s Day is next week.”

Betty popped a fry into her mouth. She was hungry, but she didn’t want to upset her stomach again.

“Yes, it is. Did you want to do something for it? I’ve never had a Valentine’s Day before. What do we do that’s so different to every other day?”

“Well, I was going to offer to take you out somewhere nice to eat, but last night my cousin called me, he’s having a party on Valentine’s Day. He’s no romantic but he’ll take any excuse to throw a party. Would you like to go? He always throws the best parties, he’s got a huge manor in the countryside and all the food and drink is free!”

“You want me to meet the family already?”

Sinclair waved a hand. “It’s only my cousin. Neither of us had siblings and we’re the same age so we’re the closest either of us has to a brother.”

“Big manor in the countryside? Is he rich too, then?”

“Oh, very. Much richer than me.”

“Richer than you, eh? Is he single?”

Sinclair’s eyes widened as he bit into his hotdog, and Betty laughed.

“I’m kidding, Sinclair! Your cousin could be the richest man in the country and I’d still rather be with you.”

“Goo’cuseis,” Sinclair replied with his mouth full of hotdog.

“What?”

Sinclair swallowed, then repeated, “Good, because he is!”

“He is what?”

“The richest man in the country. He’s a billionaire, I’m just a humble millionaire. Only the Queen is richer than him.”

Betty thought back to last year’s Sunday Times rich list for a moment, then dropped a chip in surprise.

“Your cousin is Lionel Shabandar?”

Sinclair nodded, as if he hadn’t just dropped a huge bomb on her.

“So do you want to go? It’s okay if not, we can stay in or we can go to a restaurant —”

“No, no, I’ll go,” Betty said quickly. “I’d like to meet your family. I want to hear all the stories about what baby Sinclair got up to. I bet you were so cute!”

“What do you mean were?” Sinclair asked in mock offence.

“Well, of course you’re still cute now. What do you want to do for the afternoon?”

“Oh, don’t you want to go home? I thought you might not want to go on any more rides.”

“No, I don’t, but I don’t fancy a car ride either. I’m happy to watch you go on the rides. Plus there’s other stuff we can do. I’d love to go to the petting farm!”

“Yes, let’s do that! But don’t tell Goldie we’ve been petting other animals, he might get jealous.”

Betty decided not to mention that Goldie couldn’t understand English, and if he did he probably wouldn’t be jealous, and instead she fished out the park map to find their way to the farm while Sinclair started listing all the animals the farm had.

“I heard they have ponies, do you want to pet the ponies? And sheep and goats too, but I don’t think I’ll pet the pigs, although they are still very interesting so I’d like to see them.”

“I want to see all of them, and maybe once you see how sweet pigs are, you’ll stop eating their brothers and sisters,” Betty said with a smirk, looking up at Sinclair, who had finished his hotdog and was now licking the mustard from his fingers. He looked at her with alarm.

“Do you think they’ll be able to tell?”

“Well, I don’t know. I guess we’ll find out if one of them jumps at you.”

Betty stood up and Sinclair followed her, eyes wide with worry that an angry pig was going to tackle him.

“Can pigs jump? I have no idea if pigs can jump. Maybe we should ask someone there, just in case —”

Betty laughed and took Sinclair’s hand as they meandered through the crowds towards the ferry station for the farm. “Relax, Sinclair, they’re not going to be able to tell you’ve eaten pork.”

“Do you want me to stop eating pork? I can stop if you want, although I’ll miss the pork sandwiches that David does, but your halloumi burgers do look really nice.”

“Just pork or other meats too?”

“All of them! I’ll stop eating meat from right now. That hotdog was my last meat ever! Oh, no, but I have some chicken in the fridge… well, I’ll finish that off, then I’ll stop.”

Betty stopped walking suddenly, and Sinclair skidded to a halt when he realised she’d stopped, her hand in his preventing him from moving any further.

“You’d give up meat for me?” she asked with a frown.

“Of course,” Sinclair said with a shrug, as if it was a trivial thing. “It makes you uncomfortable so I’ll stop. Besides, when one of us cooks we always eat vegetarian so it’s not like - mmhm!”

She interrupted him with a kiss, which he happily reciprocated, and when they separated Betty was looking at him with such sweet adoration in her eyes that Sinclair wanted to melt.

“You never cease to amaze me with how sweet you are, Sinclair,” Betty smiled.

“I just want to make you happy, Betty. I love you.”

“I love you too. Now, come on, let’s go pet some ponies.”

---

The following Friday, Betty stepped out of her dingy London flat feeling like an absolute imposter, dressed in a gold dress and heels to go to a party at the home of the richest man in the country. Not only that, but she was attending as the date of said richest man’s also very rich cousin, who had managed to avoid mentioning in the last four months of knowing her that his cousin was Lionel Shabandar.

Sinclair was waiting outside, and they both equally gaped when they set eyes on each other.

”Sinclair - a limo?!”

”Betty… you look amazing.”

She blushed. She’d closed the shop early and spent all afternoon and far too much money at the salon getting her very curly afro straightened and the money she had left after that had gone towards her dress. She knew that the type of people she’d meet tonight were the type who could tell if she wore a dress from Primark, and would judge her hard for it.

”Thanks,” she said with a smile, fiddling with her hair nervously. “You look even more handsome than usual. Have you combed your hair?”

”Have I —? Never mind my hair! Look at yours! I almost didn’t recognise you! Oh - before I forget - since it’s Valentine’s Day…”

He produced a bouquet of roses from behind his back with a grin, and Betty blushed even harder.

”Sinclair! You didn’t have to go to all this trouble…”

”But it’s Valentine’s Day!” he said with his best puppy dog eyes. “And I have the best date in the world!”

”You’re so cute.” Betty leant up and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you. Let me just put these upstairs —“

”It’s okay, there’s a vase in the limo! It’s so much fun, there’s a mini fridge too, and a TV, and —“

”Are we going to a party at a mansion or in the car?”

”Both! Come on - here, let me help you in.”

Sinclair opened the door for her and helped her in like a proper gentleman, then he tucked the roses into a compartment and instructed the driver to take them to his cousin’s mansion.

”Clair, be honest, do I look okay? I don’t want to stick out like a sore thumb among all these rich people…”

”You look so beautiful, Betty! I mean it. How did you get your hair so straight? That must have taken ages.”

”Oh, it took all afternoon. Straightening an afro isn’t an easy task, I wouldn’t dare to try it myself, I had to get someone to do it. It’s why I don’t straighten it often, it’s far too much effort.”

”It looks amazing. So beautiful. I’d love it if you were able to magically straighten it so you could have it like this more often. Not that I don’t love your curly hair, I adore your curly hair, but I love this too. You’d look good with any hair. Or no hair! Please don’t try that, though. And the dress is amazing! Gold suits you. Any colour suits you, but I really, really like this one. Do you want to see what’s in the mini fridge? I had a little peek on the way over, but I haven’t had any of it yet. Only the snacks. There’s still some crisps left, I think, but I ate most of them, sorry. There’ll be loads of food at the party, and loads of drinks, and they’re all free! Lionel really goes all out for his parties. He goes all out for everything. You think I’m rich, wait until you’ve seen his place. He has artwork worth millions of pounds, just sitting there!”

”Is that any different to your cars just sitting there?” Betty interjected.

”My cars aren’t worth that much!” Sinclair insisted. He was pouring the champagne into glasses now, and shooed Betty’s hand away when she tried to help. “Okay, a few of them are worth millions, but not nearly as many. Natalie always said I had more money than sense, but if anyone does, it’s Lionel. Here you go!”

He finally stopped to breathe as he handed her a glass of champagne.

”Happy Valentine’s Day to the best girlfriend ever!”

Betty laughed. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Clair. I love you.”

His eyes lit up as if she hadn’t said it a thousand times before. ”I love you too!”

They clinked glasses and drank, and Betty swore it tasted just the same as a £20 bottle from Somerfield, but she was sure the price tag was significantly higher.

”So, you just kind of dropped the bomb on me the other day that your cousin is Lionel Shabandar,” Betty said as she leant back into his arms on the double-wide seat. “Do you know him very well? I barely know my cousins.”

”Yes, we’re the same age, so we grew up together and went to Winchester at the same time. We were both very interested in business, and obviously we’re both rich and successful, but he’s even better off than I am because he invested a lot of his money whereas I’ve always loved spending. Then he bought all these media companies and put them into one big company so he owns most media companies in the country now and he can afford to spend even more than I ever did.”

”Yeah, I know he’s got a huge publishing house. Most of my stock is published by Shabandar Books.”

”Not just books! He owns TV channels, magazines, newspapers. I keep telling him he needs to invest in the internet, all my research at work says it’s the next big thing.”

”What’s internet?”

Sinclair’s eyes widened in the excited way they did when he realised he could explain something new to her, and so Betty spent the rest of the trip listening to him explaining some miraculous technology that let computers talk to each other even when they were miles apart. She was so focused on listening to him that she almost didn’t notice the limo slowing to a stop as they approached the mansion, and she almost jumped when the driver got up to let them out.

”Wow.”

It wasn’t eloquent, but it just about summed up Betty’s feelings when she stepped out of the limo - aided, of course, by her very gentlemanly boyfriend - and saw the mansion before her.

She clung onto Sinclair’s arm and let him guide her down the path. The gardens were packed with partygoers, and Betty didn’t want to get lost in the sea of people.

Sinclair was narrating as they walked down the path, pointing out stories behind statues, most of which seemed to be, “Lionel likes lions because of his name so he buys anything with a lion on it.”

“Oh, there he is!” Sinclair exclaimed. “Lionel!”

A man turned around, around the same age as Sinclair and bearing a strong family resemblance. He smiled and went to greet Sinclair with a handshake, but instead Sinclair pulled him into an embrace.

”Good to see you, cuz!”

”Ah - Sinclair. Good to see you too,” Lionel said with a restrained smile. He endured the embrace until Sinclair let him go. He turned to Betty and smiled very differently - warm, welcoming, and his eyes looked her up and down. “And who is this lovely lady?”

“Elizabeth Bennett,” Betty said, holding out her hand to greet him. She blushed when, instead of shaking her hand, Lionel took it gently and kissed the back of her hand as if the sound of her name immediately turned him into Mr Darcy.

”A beautiful name for a beautiful woman. Lionel Shabandar.”

”Yes, I… know who you are.”

Sinclair wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close to his side. Lionel raised an eyebrow and dropped Betty’s hand.

”Betty’s my date for this evening,” Sinclair said firmly. “And every evening.”

”Oh, is that so?” Lionel replied, though he didn’t take his eyes off Betty for an instant. “You’re not tired of my cousin talking your ear off yet?”

”Of course not, I love listening to him talk.”

”Well, someone has to, I suppose,” Lionel shrugged, then turned his attention back to Sinclair. “What happened to that wife of yours? Natasha, was it?”

“Natalie. We’re divorcing. Didn’t your mum tell you?”

”Oh, probably, I don’t really listen when she starts talking about family drama. Well, I’m glad for you, Sinclair. She was such a bore. I’m sure you’re much more engaging, aren’t you, Elizabeth?” Lionel said, turning to Betty once again.

”I hope so.”

”She’s amazing!” Sinclair gushed. “She’s so smart, she owns a bookshop that she runs all by herself, and she used to be a librarian so she’s read almost as many books as I have, and she’s great at memorising things like the Dewey decimal system, cooking recipes, and she can recite most of Shakespeare by heart!”

Lionel chuckled. “A literature lover, I take it? I’m quite partial to paintings myself, and they do say a picture can paint a thousand words.”

”A thousand words isn’t actually all that much. Especially not when you’re dating Sinclair. He can say a thousand words in one breath.”

“She’s right, I can!” Sinclair grinned. “And she’ll listen to every one of them. Or at least pretend to. Say, Lionel, why don’t you show Elizabeth some of your artwork? She didn’t believe me when I told her you had paintings worth millions.”

“Yes, of course I will! But it’ll have to be later, I have rounds to do. Excuse me.”

Lionel took Betty’s hand to kiss it again, then sauntered off to speak to some other important rich white man.

“Well, he’s… charming.”

Sinclair sighed and shook his head. “That’s one way to put it. I should have known he’d try to flirt with you - he loves beautiful things, and you’re the most beautiful thing here. Not that you’re a thing - I mean because you’re beautiful. More beautiful than anything or anyone here.”

Betty laughed and leaned up to kiss Sinclair on the cheek. “You said the food here was free. Shall we go feast?”

Sinclair’s eyes lit up. “Yes, let’s!”

It soon became evident that getting some alone time with Sinclair was going to be impossible. He was constantly running into people he knew, greeting them like seeing them was the best thing ever, then proudly introducing Betty as his partner. The reactions were mixed - some were surprised or confused that he was with someone other than Natalie, some seemed happy to see him rid of her, and one or two looked at Betty like she really shouldn’t be there. Those people, as soon as their faces fell, Sinclair quickly turned cold to and made an excuse to get rid of them.

Sinclair was deep in conversation when Betty finished her food, so she excused herself to get some drinks. On the way back, she saw from afar that Sinclair was already chatting to someone else and was nearly finished with his food, so she stopped at the buffet table to grab him some more as she knew he’d be torn between continuing his no doubt very interesting conversation and eating more food.

She arrived at the table with a plate of food in one hand and drinks on a small tray she’d borrowed from the bar in another. She placed the drinks tray down first, followed by the plate of food, and Sinclair looked at the plate in surprise, then up at her, and his eyes lit up when he realised she’d brought him some more food.

“Ah, more drinks, excellent,” said the man Sinclair had been talking to, an older man in a suit as fancy as everyone else’s there. He helped himself to one of the drinks, and Betty frowned at him.

“Hey, that was mine!”

The man frowned at her, as if surprised she’d said anything. “Excuse me, young lady, these drinks are for guests.”

Betty froze. She didn’t want to cause a scene, not in front of Sinclair. It was their first fancy event as a couple, and she didn’t want to embarrass him. But she knew exactly what the man meant - he thought she was a server.

Sinclair, it seemed, had clocked too, because he straightened up and shot an icy glare at the man.

“I think you’ll find there are three guests at this table, Mr Benson. I did say my partner had gone to get drinks.”

“Well, then, she’ll have to fetch her own, won’t she? Rather than sending a server to bring them over.”

“I am the partner, dickhead!” Betty hissed.

The man looked at her with shock, as if the concept of his fellow rich white man dating a black girl was unprecedented.

“I’ve changed my mind, Mr Benson,” said Sinclair coldly. “I don’t think I have capacity to take you on as a client after all. I think you should leave now.”

“Well, I never!” Mr Benson spluttered, before standing up and storming off.

Betty felt her shoulders relax and she took her seat next to Sinclair.

“I’m sorry,” they both said in unison, then laughed.

“Don’t be sorry, Betty, you handled that very well.”

“I called a potential client a dickhead.”

“Well, he was being a dickhead. Besides, I don’t want someone like him as a client. You’ve just saved me a lot of trouble. I’m sorry you had to go through that at all."

Betty shrugged. “It’s okay, I’m used to it.”

“You shouldn’t be used to it!” Sinclair insisted stubbornly. “People like him are morons. I can’t believe anyone would look at you and think anything other than, Wow, she’s so beautiful, I can’t believe how lucky Sinclair is.”

“Yeah, well… I can’t believe anyone would be married to you and think, Hey, maybe I’ll fuck my brother. There are some strange people out there.”

Sinclair laughed. “We must be the only sane ones!”

“We must be.”

She kissed him chastely on the lips, not wanting to be too affectionate in public, and he responded by squeezing her hand under the table.

“I can’t believe you brought me more food without me even asking!” Sinclair said with a grin when their lips parted and his attention turned to the food in front of him. “You’re so amazing. Here, why don’t you have the drink Benson didn’t touch?”

“That’s okay. Actually, it’s getting a bit crowded in here for me. Do you mind if I go for a wander? You can stay here and mingle, I just need a bit of quiet for a bit.”

“Mmm-hmm!” Sinclair replied, his mouth already full of sandwich. He swallowed, then said, “Of course you can, Betts! Maybe see if you can find Lionel and get that tour from him!”

“Good idea. I love you.”

“I love you too!”

She kissed him on the cheek and left him to his mingling, and she was barely on her feet when he was already waving over someone he recognised.

The crowd thinned when Betty managed to squeeze out of the gazebo, but with so many people she didn’t know it was still quite overwhelming, and she was relieved when Lionel emerged from the crowd and greeted her.

“Elizabeth! There you are. How would you like to have a look at my artwork now? I’m desperate for a break from all this chitchat.”

“I was just looking for you to ask that myself.”

“Perfect timing, then. Come along.”

Lionel offered her his arm and she took it gratefully, glad to have someone to anchor herself to in the busy crowd, and she felt like she could breathe again as they left the chattering people behind and approached the front doors to the manor.

Betty followed Lionel inside, eyes wide and mouth agape as she stared at the incredible architecture - and this was only the reception hall. The walls were adorned with painting after painting, and Lionel steered her into a hallway, where more paintings stood proudly on display between lion statues.

”You certainly seem to like lions,” Betty commented.

”Well, they’re the kings of the jungle, aren’t they? And the business world is a jungle in itself.”

”And you fancy yourself the king of it, do you?”

Lionel smirked at her. “I am the king. Come along.”

He placed a hand on the small of her back, guiding her down the hall, naming each painting and its artist as they passed it, and Betty wondered how much he’d paid for each one of them. The insurance alone was probably more than she’d make in a year.

”You know, king of the jungle is a misnomer,” Betty commented as they turned a corner to be greeted with yet another lion statue. “Lions don’t live in the jungle. They should be called the king of the savannah if anything.”

”Actually, jungle is a Hindi word for a place uninhabited by humans - such as savannahs.”

Betty glanced at him, surprised, and he shrugged. “Sinclair isn’t the only person who knows things. So what do you think of my collection, Elizabeth? Quite impressive, don’t you think?”

”There’s certainly a theme,” Betty said, glancing between two of the many paintings that depicted naked women.

”Well, I also have a collection of landscapes, but I must admit that I have a penchant for the feminine form. This one seems to have caught your eye.”

She felt more than heard him come up behind her as she examined a painting labelled Otahi .

”What is it about this one that intrigues you, Elizabeth?” Lionel asked softly. “Is it the way she sits? You know, this particular painting was considered rather controversial when it was painted. The way she sits… ready and waiting… exposed. Do you feel an affinity to her, Elizabeth? Does this particular painting arouse something in you?”

When had he got so close? Betty suddenly felt very aware of Lionel’s breath on her neck, his hands on her hips - when had they got there? - and when he pulled her back slightly to press against him, she felt a bulge on her lower back - just where —

“Lionel —”

”Hmm?” Lionel replied absentmindedly, his lips by her ear, the gap between them growing ever smaller as he leant his head down towards hers —

“I’m here with Sinclair.”

”Are you? I don’t see him anywhere. He seems to have abandoned you.”

”You led me here…”

”You were all alone.”

”He was talking to someone…”

”He’s always talking to someone. Gets distracted so easily. But don’t worry… my attention is solely on you, dear. Let me kiss you, Elizabeth. I sorely want to kiss you…”

Can I kiss you? … I’d really like to kiss you now … Can I have another kiss?

Sinclair’s voice rang in her head, and Betty felt as if she’d just been jolted awake from a hypnotic state. She tried to pull away from Lionel, but his arms were wrapped around her torso tightly - when had that happened?

”No, thank you,” Betty whispered, her voice hardly audible. She could hardly believe she was turning down the richest man in the country, but as much as he looked like Sinclair, he wasn’t Sinclair, and she only wanted Sinclair.

Lionel only chuckled. “Must you play hard to get, darling? It’s Valentine’s Day. A day for lovers… for making love…”

“Thank you for the advice. I’d really prefer to make love to my boyfriend.”

”And who says who that has to be? Hm?”

”Lionel —”

”Betty?”

Lionel let go of her as if her skin had burnt him. Betty took a sudden, deep breath, as if he’d been suffocating her. Maybe he had been. She turned to see Sinclair standing at the corner of the corridor, looking between them both.

”Sorry, I interrupted,” he said in a cold, detached voice, unlike anything she’d ever heard from him. “Don’t mind me.”

Sinclair turned and left, and Betty followed him as quick as she could.

”Sinclair, wait!”

He left through a side door that led to a quieter part of the grounds, and she jogged as fast as she could to catch up with him.

”Sinclair - come on! I can’t catch up to your long legs in these shoes - ow!”

She hissed as she stumbled, twisting her ankle to the side, and she grabbed onto a nearby lion statue to steady herself. She hopped to a bench and sat herself down to take her shoes off, but before she could do so, Sinclair was suddenly on his knees in front of her, unstrapping the shoe from the ankle she’d rolled.

”Thanks. I don’t think I’ve twisted it. Sprained, maybe.”

”You shouldn’t be running in these,” Sinclair muttered, not looking up at her as he eased the shoe from her foot.

”I wouldn’t be if you hadn’t run off like that.”

He looked up at her, his eyes full of anger and hurt, and it broke her heart to see it.

”What was I supposed to do? You clearly needed your privacy —“

”Sinclair, stop it,” Betty snapped harshly. “I’m not Natalie. Okay?”

”Am I supposed to believe that was innocent?”

”From him? No. Maybe I should have told him to back off more firmly, but… I didn’t know what to do. We were just looking at art and suddenly he’s got his hands on me and I can’t make a scene, not with someone like him, not in his own house, so I just… froze. But I said no. He asked for a kiss and I said no. Then he said it’s a day for lovers so I said the only lover I wanted was you and…” She sighed. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have let it get that far. Maybe I should have seen it coming when he pulled me away from the party and started showing me his collection of paintings of naked women, but I’m an idiot, okay? I thought he just wanted to share his art. I forgot men are pigs.”

Sinclair didn’t say anything at first. He just held her ankle gently, looking at it as if it held all the answers. Then he looked up at her meekly.

”Not all men are pigs,” he muttered. “You always said I was more of a puppy.”

Betty smiled. “Yeah. You’re my puppy.”

”You know, dogs can get very possessive. They growl at people who try to take what’s theirs. And what’s a little puppy compared to a great lion?”

”Hey.” Betty stroked Sinclair’s cheek softly. “I’d choose my puppy over a lion any day.”

Sinclair’s eyes shone a little more hopefully then. “Really?”

”Yes, really,” Betty laughed. “I love you, Sinclair. Do you really think I’m gonna sneak off to shag your cousin?”

Sinclair shrugged dejectedly. “Better my cousin than your brother, I suppose.”

”Oh, god, don’t even joke about that,” Betty gagged. “Will you get up here and cuddle me already?”

Sinclair got up from his knees, ignoring the grass stains on the knees of his very expensive suit, and sat next to her on the bench. She wrapped her arms around his waist and cuddled up to his warmth.

”I’m sorry,” Sinclair mumbled into her hair.

”Don’t be. At least now I know you don’t want to lose me.”

”Never! I never want to lose you, Betty. You’re everything to me.”

She leant up to kiss him, and he finally smiled.

“I love you, puppy.”

”I love you too, kitten.”

“Do you wanna dance?”

Sinclair’s eyes lit up. “You said you hate dancing!”

“Yeah, well, you have a way of making me see things in a new light. I think I might like dancing if it’s with you.”

“What about your ankle?”

Betty gave it an experimental flex. “It’s okay. I think I was just being a bit dramatic.” She leant down and slid her shoe back on, then stood up, cautiously putting weight on it. “Yeah, I’m fine,” she concluded. “Come on, Mr Bryant, ask the cute girl to dance.”

Sinclair immediately stood and straightened his posture, and Betty laughed when he gave her a little formal bow.

“Miss Bennett, would you do me the honour of accompanying me in a dance?”

“Why, Mr Bryant, I’d be honoured!”

She took his proffered arm and let him guide her back towards the party, which was still in full swing, with plenty of other couples already dancing, but Betty was pretty sure none of them were as in love as she and Sinclair were.

“You’ll need to lead me, I have no idea how to do anything other than the robot,” Betty admitted.

Sinclair spun her around suddenly, wrapped an arm around her waist, and pulled her up against him, their noses almost touching, and Betty felt a blush rise to her cheeks.

“Focus on me,” he said softly. He was quiet, and the music was loud, but Betty still heard him, because to her there was no one else in the world.

She looked at him, his sweet amber eyes alight with excitement, and nodded.

Betty hated dancing because it made her self-conscious, but for the first time, she felt she could move without fear of being watched. Maybe she was being watched, maybe her dancing was terrible, maybe people were laughing. What did it matter? She was with Sinclair. She was holding him, being held by him, their bodies moving in tandem, perfectly synchronised and so clearly made for each other.

“You’re the most beautiful woman in the world,” Sinclair murmured in her ear. Betty blushed, shrinking in on herself slightly, and Sinclair gently lifted her chin back up to look at her. “I mean it, Betty. I think you’re even more beautiful than…” He thought for a moment. “Julia Roberts.”

Betty laughed. “Julia Roberts?!”

“She was voted People Magazine’s most beautiful woman last year. And she is beautiful, I suppose, but she’s nothing compared to you.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s your favourite thing about me?”

Sinclair, whose hands were currently around her waist, reached down for a cheeky butt grab.

“This!”

“You can’t say my bum! Or my boobs. Or my heart, that’s such a cop-out.”

“Okay, okay!” Sinclair returned his hand to her waist and grinned down at her. “I love your eyes. I love how they sparkle when you laugh or smile, and the way your pupils dilate when you look at me. And I love your smile too, you have so many different smiles, but I think my favourite one is when you’re trying not to laugh. And your nose is so cute too - and I love your hair, of course. Can I just say everything?”

“Sinclair, saying everything is your whole thing.”

“That’s true! If you think I don’t shut up now, just ask me to list everything I love about you, I really won’t shut up then!”

“If we ever get married, you might well set the record for longest wedding speech ever.”

“If I was on Mastermind, my specialist subject would be you.” Sinclair gasped. “I should go on Mastermind! I’d be great at it! I don’t need the money, I’d probably donate it to charity, or just spend it on you. Not that there’s anything I wouldn’t buy you anyway. Anything you want, I’ll get it for you, Betts.”

Betty bit her lip thoughtfully. “Well… there is one thing I’ve always wanted to do but I’ve never been able to afford it.”

“Anything!”

“I’ve never been abroad.”

Sinclair was so shocked that he stopped moving, and Betty almost stumbled.

“Never? Surely not. Not even to France?”

“Devon’s the furthest we ever went for holiday.”

Sinclair shook his head stubbornly. “Devon’s not a holiday when you live in Cornwall! That’s just going up the road! No, that’s it, we’re going on holiday. Let’s find a travel agent tomorrow and book somewhere. We could go to the Caribbean, the Maldives, Hawaii… what kind of holiday do you like? I suppose you won’t know, will you, if you’ve never been away… do you have a passport?”

“Yeah, I needed one to get the shop set up. I don’t need to go somewhere fancy, Sinclair, but it’d be nice to go somewhere just the two of us, no work or Natalie in the way —”

“We need to bring Goldie!”

“Can’t Mei-Li look after him?”

“Well, yes, but she deserves a break from us too. Think about where you want to go and we’ll go! Somewhere dog-friendly with lots of fun things we can do!”

“I can think of some fun things we can do wherever we go,” Betty said suggestively, her eyes alight. “We wouldn’t even need to leave the hotel room…”

Sinclair blushed and glanced to the side, as if checking for anyone who might have overheard. “Betty…”

”Mmm?”

“Be careful what you say… you’ll make me want to whisk you off to one of Lionel’s many spare rooms.”

“Is that such a bad thing? I don’t think he’d mind…”

“I’d much rather get you home where we can cuddle and sleep afterwards.”

Betty laughed. “Sinclair, if we wait until we get home, it’ll be another hour before we leave while you say your goodbyes to everyone.”

“I… don’t have any condoms with me.”

“I bet Lionel does.”

“You’re determined to have sex in my cousin’s manor, aren’t you?”

Betty grinned. “What can I say? I waited a long time for you. I’m gonna savour every moment.”

She trailed a hand down his chest, stopping just a few inches shy of his waistband, her fingers teasing at the buttons on his shirt.

“What d’you say?”

Sinclair glanced around. No one was paying either of them the slightest bit of attention. He grabbed Betty’s hand and led her away from the dancefloor, away from the crowds, and no one noticed them slip away into the manor.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Betty giggled five minutes later as Sinclair hastily unwrapped a condom he’d snuck out of a drawer in Lionel’s study.

“It was your idea!”

“I thought we’d go to a bedroom, not Lionel’s personal art gallery!”

Sinclair grinned cheekily, a twinkle in his eye. “I thought it’d be more fun. We can go somewhere else though if you want —”

“No, here’s good, I don’t wanna wait.”

Betty hitched up her skirt around her waist as Sinclair unzipped his trousers and pulled his cock out to roll the condom down.

“You don’t wanna go on the bench?”

“No, wall’s good. C’mon, Clair, I need you —”

“I love it when you’re desperate.”

Sinclair gently pushed her thighs apart, then tugged the fabric of her soaking wet knickers to the side and began teasing her entrance with his tip.

It was easy to forget their height difference when they were in bed, but it was glaringly obvious now as Sinclair loomed over her, and though she knew he’d let her go if she asked, she liked feeling enveloped by him, as if there was nothing else in the world except the two of them.

“Arms around my shoulders,” Sinclair instructed her. She obeyed, and he lifted her thighs up with his large hands, wrapping her legs around his waist to allow him to slip inside her.

“Fuck , Clair…” Betty sighed with relief as he sandwiched her against the wall, pushing himself past her walls and settling in comfortably.

“Sinclair, please… please fuck me…”

He kissed her cheek and smiled.

“Since you asked so nicely.”

Betty had never in a million years expected this, yet here she was, getting fucked against the wall of a rich man’s personal art gallery, in the arms of her best friend, the sweetest and most loving man she’d ever met, who apparently had a daring sexuality with a bit of encouragement.

She felt completely safe in his arms, physically and emotionally, knowing he would never do anything to hurt her, that he loved and accepted her even with all her flaws.

“I love you, Sinclair,” she murmured against his ear, and Sinclair whined in response.

“I… I love you too, Betts,” he panted. “Mhm - fuck - this is really hot, but can I put you down?”

She giggled.

“Yes, I know I’m probably quite heavy. Wanna move over to the bench?”

“Yes, please.”

Sinclair put her down and pulled out of her, but he was back inside her within seconds when she bent over the bench and spread her legs for him.

He gripped her hips firmly as he thrust into her, and though he preferred to see her face, he did love the sight of her arse jiggling with each thrust, and he could see her hands holding on to the edge of the bench, trying to hold herself steady as he thrust inside her.

Betty knew that if either of them put a finger anywhere near her clit, she’d be done for. The sound of Sinclair’s moans, the slapping of his flesh against hers, filled the large, empty room, echoing back to them, and neither of them cared much that at any moment someone might decide to have a break from the party to have a look at some art.

They were so lost in the moment that they didn’t even notice the door open partway, only to close again as soon as Lionel realised he’d found where Betty and Sinclair had snuck off to.

Sinclair leant forward, his torso pressing against Betty’s back, and with her hair straightened he was able to pepper the side of her neck with kisses, alternating between kisses and murmured words of adoration, reminding her how much he loved her, how happy she made him, how much she’d changed his life in just a few short months.

“Clair… Clair, touch me, please, I need you…”

“Yes, yes, of course, anything for you, Betty…”

He reached around her body to rub at her sweet spot, and his expert fingers quickly had her cumming hard around him, her shouts of his name echoing around the gallery, and he came with a garbled cry soon after, the feeling of her walls shuddering around him too much for him to endure.

Some deranged part of Betty’s brain wanted him to cum inside her, to fill her up completely, and when he pulled out and lifted his weight from her, she felt like a part of her had pulled away with him.

She caught her breath, then let him pull her to her feet, giggling incoherently as she pulled her dress down.

“We really ought to get out of here before someone realises what we’re up to.”

Sinclair wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head, smiling.

“Mmm, cuddles first though. Then how about we get cleaned up, say our goodbyes, and we go home and cuddle some more?”

“I’d like that. Can we fuck some more too?”

“Definitely.”

Sinclair had never left a party so quick.

[vashbug]

Dropped into No Man’s Land Ch 3

Summary: Vash fixes your phone and wonders about your life on earth. The two of you travel through the desert. You run into an old friend.

Notes: I’m having such a good time writing this. If you want more extensive notes, you can find them on AO3. :)

First Chapter: Here

Second Chapter: Here

Read on AO3: Here

***

Vash thinks his new companion is a little strange. Well, a little might be a bit generous. He thought, at first, that this stranger he picked up in the desert was... quirky. Wearing clothes that looked far too clean and traveling way too light, but innocent-looking enough that he didn't spare a second thought about helping them.

Now he's wondering if he's going to regret that decision.

He sits beside them now, watching them flash through an incomprehensible range of emotions as they practically slam their fingers down on a set of ancient keys. He wouldn't have believed they were a being from another dimension if it weren't for the strange old computer and the pristine coat and shoes. He watches them cautiously as they let out a manic laugh and run their hands through their hair.

He's not going to ask them what they're looking at; most of what he can see on the screen is text and tiny boxes arranged neatly in rows and lists. It's not really his business, and although he's dying to know, keeps his mouth shut.

As his new friend is staring into the glowing screen of their computer, Vash decides to tinker with the strange little brick of technology in the firelight. He flips it over, examining the edges, the buttons, the charging port. They called it a phone, which he thinks he remembers from Rem's stories. At least, the name is familiar. He thought phones would be bigger.

He doesn't ask for permission before he decides to pry it open. Laying out the cloth and tools he uses when he cleans and repairs his gun, he pops the screen off with little effort. The inside has wires and circuits he's never seen before. If he didn't believe this person was from the past before, he certainly believes them now.

He notices that a few wires are loose, probably from their accident. It doesn't take long before he's carefully reconnected everything and snapped the screen back into place. He presses the buttons on the side of the phone, mimicking what he had seen them do earlier.

The screen comes to life in a similar way the computer's did. "Hey!" He laughs and hold the phone up in their direction with pride. "A master gunman and a genius. Who knew?” But his friend is too engrossed in whatever they're looking at to notice, and Vash is disappointed when they don't acknowledge his handiwork. His disappointment is quickly replaced with curiosity when he sees the phone's screen. The background is a picture of the stranger and someone else, bringing their hands together to form a heart. He touches the photo, only to be surprised that it responds to his fingers. It's so interesting how this tech is so similar and yet so different from what he’s familiar with.

He slides up on the screen and the home page comes into view, revealing more neat little squares organized into rows.  He taps a few of them, surprised to learn that each one is it's own program. One of the last ones he taps opens a program that is rows and rows of photos, photos he knows he probably shouldn't look at without permission, but he's too curious and they're not paying attention. He glances at them, and with a mischievous grin he decides it's fair game if the thing didn't even have a passcode. 

He looks through them carefully. A large portion of them are photos of an animal of some kind. It looks like a cat, a very fluffy cat with pointy ears, but he's sure it's not (later he learns from them that this is an animal known as a Pomeranian). Many of the photos are of them with other people, hugging, laughing, and sometimes posing together. His chest aches as he looks through the pictures; he hadn't really thought about how many people were missing them on Earth. Just how many people had they left behind? You're so far from home, he thinks, looking at their face in the dim light. He knows the feeling all too well.

He comes across a sequence of photos that, for some reason, stirs something deep within his chest. They are all photos of the stranger, candid photos of them somewhere surrounded by books. They're leaning over a few scattered journals and texts, a pen balanced gracefully in their hand. Their face is peaceful, almost bored. His heart stutters at that expression; he doubts he will ever see it in person.

The next few photos are taken immediately after, in which they realize their photo is being taken and they reach out for the camera, first with mock anger and then with unrestrained laughter. He looks at the one where they're laughing for a long time. They hadn't said much about their own life on Earth, cautiously sticking to broader subjects. Who were you? Who are these friends? What was your life like? Did you have someone special to you? Did you have someone you love? Suddenly, he wants to know all the details.

He puts his tools away and gets up, phone in hand. He sits across from them and gently taps the top of the computer screen to get their attention. Their head snaps up at him, and he can see in their eyes exactly how tired they are.

"Hey, I uh, I fixed this." He hands them the phone sheepishly. Their eyes light up as they take it from him, navigating the controls on the cracked screen with practiced motions. He watches them swipe through the photos he had just looked at, a mixture of relief and sadness plain on their face. He thinks, briefly, that with the right voltage he could probably manage to keep the small device running for a while…

His thoughts are interrupted when he feels arms wrap around his shoulders as his companion throws themselves at him, tightening their grip around his neck as they pull themselves into his lap for a clumsy hug.

"Thank you," they mumble into his neck, their voice hoarse. "I thought it was broken. You have no idea how much it means to me... I was worried I would forget what they all look like.”

This alone nearly breaks him, and he returns the hug, holding them tightly against him. He can feel their pain in the way they breathe—short, hitched breaths that shake their entire body. He lets them stay like that until they're done crying again, and they settle neatly into his lap, cradled between his legs like a child. They go back to looking through the photos before turning the device off entirely.

"I need to save the battery," they say. They look up at him with watery eyes and tear-stained cheeks, and he does his best not to break down crying himself. "Did you look?" Their voice is flat, as if they already know the answer.

He's knows he's not in trouble, but he still feels like a child caught in a lie. "I saw a few of the photographs. You have a lot of friends. It looks like you were always having fun with them.” He's smiling, but he can't mask the sadness in his voice. They smile at this and look at their own reflection in the blank screen.

"Yeah, I guess... I did." They lean their side into his chest, curling up against him. “They’re not my friends anymore, though. I don’t have any friends now.”

"You still have friends, they're still your friends," he says softly, gently taking the phone from their hands and placing it with the computer. He’s quiet for a moment. “I’ll be your friend. Your first friend on No Man’s Land. Then you won’t have to be alone. Okay?”

They sniffle and smile weakly. “Thanks, Vash. I’m glad it was you who found me.”

He watches their face as they close their eyes, exhausted. They look so much smaller than before, and he has a hard time believing he ever doubted they were innocent.

He takes in their features in the soft light of the fire, memorizing the shape of their nose, their eyes, everything. He knows what it's like to lose your home, to find yourself stranded on a strange planet. He knows what it's like to have to leave the people you love behind. And what’s worse, it seems like they left behind a happy life, where people really loved them. He looks at them and he feels… Responsibility? Pity? He can’t pin down the feeling, but he knows that he wants to protect them. He worries that this experience will hurt them beyond repair, in the same way he hurts now. He’ll do whatever it takes to keep that from happening.

Once he knows for sure they're asleep he picks them up gently and places them under his jacket near the fire. They groan a little, then curl up, pulling the jacket around them. Cute, he thinks.

He gets up and moves to the other side of the fire, watching it for a while.

And then he allows himself a moment to break. Fresh tears roll down his face as he remembers everything--every moment, in detail. He wonders, as he does often, if this is a curse. A life doomed to losing everything and remembering everything. He finds small fragments of comfort in his memories of Rem, in the kind people he's met, the children he's played with. And now, in his strange new companion who fell from the sky.

After a while he settles down near them, close enough that he can see the details of their face in the firelight. He thinks about their stories of Earth, the sound of their laugh. The photos.

He doesn't sleep.

*** You wake up to the sound of metal clinking together. The soft light of the rising suns is not yet hot enough to make you sweat. You sit up, groggy and still sore, but in better shape than you were the day before.

Vash is sitting three paces away, dismantling his gun and cleaning each part with care. You watch as his hands delicately move the pieces under a cloth.

“Well, well, look who's up. Good morning, sleepyhead.” He has his usual disarming smile. You almost forgot how beautiful he is. You grumble at him and flop back down, pulling his jacket over your head. You hear him chuckle at this. “Not a morning person, are you?”

You answer with another groan. You’re still not used to seeing him, here in the flesh, and you’re embarrassed about what happened last night. He’s seen you cry twice now. And you even sat in his lap. Your face grows hot at the memory and you take a moment to sit under his jacket and compose yourself. It doesn’t help that the coat smells exactly like him.

Last night you were able to read about half of what you had left of the fan fiction before you were interrupted by Vash. As the story goes, he will be in Octovern soon, where he’ll run into Wolfwood earlier than he expected. The two of them fight off a group of mercenaries that are terrorizing one of the local taverns in search of information on… something not really specified by the writer. The important part is that Wolfwood is injured, and Vash blames himself, then tends to his wounds, and…

Your heartbeat picks up as you recall Vash and Wolfwood spending an intimate night together in a room with only one bed. It’s cliché, sure, but it never gets old. The writer didn’t spare any details, either. Thinking about it makes you tense up, and you feel warmth in the pit of your stomach. Get a grip, you think, you’ve read a dozen of fics of them together. The problem is, none of them have ever come true. You’re scared to even look at Vash, worried that you’ll start thinking about it. Come on, you’re an adult. Behave like one.

Either way, you now know the name of the tavern, and that you’ll be seeing Wolfwood soon. The thought of meeting him makes you nervous, like you’re about to meet a celebrity. Which, in your case, is sort of true. You are a little worried that you’ll become a third wheel, and wonder if you should try to stay out of the way to maintain the plot. You’ll decide later, when you’re in the city.

Finally, you gather the courage to sit up again, just as Vash begins to clean up his equipment. He notices you and smiles again. “Did you sleep okay?”

You look at him and your face gets red immediately. What happened to behaving like an adult? “Yeah, thank you for lending me your coat.” You hand it back to him with some reluctance, hopeful that he doesn’t notice the blush on your face.

“I’m happy to help,” he beams, slipping his arms into the sleeves and fastening the protective plate back onto his left arm. You feel a little disappointed that you can’t see that tight-fitting turtleneck anymore.

You turn your attention to your laptop. When you flip it open, you find that you drained the battery while reading last night. You’re not surprised in the slightest. “It’s dead,” you say nonchalantly.

Vash looks concerned. “Did it break?”

“No, it’s just run out of battery. I have a cable for it,” you say, pulling it out of your backpack. “But it’s going to need electricity. I doubt you guys have any adapters for American plugs here,” you say with a laugh. Vash gives you a puzzled look. “Ah… never mind.”

“We can find a way to charge it, it should be pretty easy when we get to Octovern.” He looks at you with your laptop in your hands as though he wants to say something.

“What is it?”

He realizes he's staring and looks away. “Sorry, it’s nothing. We should probably eat something.” He walks over to his bag and pulls out a few rations. They look sort of like candy bars. “I usually only carry meal bars when I’m traveling. Perishable things don’t do well in the heat,” he says, handing one to you. “It’s enough for one meal, which should be enough to hold us over until we get there.”

You take it, your eyes wide in awe. You flip the small bar over in your hand, looking for the nutrition information out of habit. So cool, you think. I’ll finally know what this tastes like.

Vash is watching your face as you study the bar, peeling the wrapper off his own. He laughs. “You look like I just handed you a priceless artifact.”

Your face flushes a little. “Well, to me it is. I never thought I would get to try one of these.” You tear the package open carefully and bite off the corner of the small, pinkish bar. It tastes like styrofoam. “Ew.”

Vash laughs again. “Sorry, it’s not very good.”

You eat the rest without complaining, washing it down with a bit of water. You put the wrapper inside your backpack for safe-keeping. If you do ever get home, you’ll want to show your friends every little bit of your adventure. Vash watches you do this with an amused look on his face, but he doesn’t tease you further.

“Okay,” Vash says, standing and dusting off his pants. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah,” you say, shoving your belongings into your backpack. “How long will it take for us to walk there?”

“Oh, probably only about… three or four hours?” Vash says casually. “We’re pretty close.”

You try not to look too upset about the idea of walking that long through the desert. It isn’t hot yet, but it will be soon. You wish you had worn more comfortable shoes. If only you knew you'd be dying yesterday.

Vash notices you look at your feet. “If you get tired or your feet hurt, just let me know. I’ll carry you.”

He’s doing this on purpose, you think. “I’ll probably be fine. I walk all the time.”

You follow Vash into the great expanse of sand, determined to get there without a complaint. Your determination runs out after about two hours of walking. Walking on pavement or on a hike is one thing; walking on sand for hours is exhausting. The heat from the suns isn’t helping.

Vash notices you grow quiet as your pace begins to slow down. “You okay?” He stops to look at you.

“I’m… fine…” you pant. “I think… I need to sit down.”

Vash doesn’t hesitate to take your backpack from you and sling it over his chest. He positions his own bag so it hangs off his prosthetic arm and kneels down, his back facing you. “Come on,” he says. “You’re probably not used to the desert. I can’t have you passing out on me again.”

You aren’t in a position to argue. Feeling ashamed at your neediness, you climb onto his back. He hoists you up, careful not to jostle you too much. Much to your relief, he seems entirely unaffected by the extra weight.

He smells faintly of gun oil, a smell you’re beginning to find comforting. You let yourself lean into the back of his neck and close your eyes. He hums a little to pass the time, and you can feel the vibrations from his voice. You think you might be getting used to being around him, although you’re positive he can feel your slightly elevated heartbeat through his back. You hope you can blame it on heat exhaustion.

“What were your friends like?” Vash asks out of nowhere. His tone is soft.

This takes you by surprise. “Uh…”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Vash says quickly. “I’m just… curious about what your life was like on Earth. I mean, you told me a lot about Earth, but you didn’t tell me much about yourself.”

His interest in you makes you feel shy, and you’re glad he can’t see your face. You tell him about your friends, about your family, your job. It feels a little silly to talk about your comparatively easy life on Earth, knowing what he’s been through. But as you talk you can tell he’s hanging on to your every word. He sometimes asks follow-up questions, but mostly he listens intently.

He’s quiet for a while after you finish.

“I’m a little jealous,” he laughs softly. His tone strikes you with guilt, but he keeps talking. “Not in a bad way. I’m glad you’ve had such a peaceful life so far. It must be why you’re such a good person.”

You bury your face in his neck and say nothing.

“Earth sounds amazing, even with its flaws. I hope No Man’s Land is like that someday. I’m going to do my best to make it that way.”

“I think you will,” you say. “I mean, the book never said if you do or not. I just think that you will. If anyone can, it’s you.”

He laughs. “Thanks, but I won’t be able to do it without everyone’s help. I can be pretty useless on my own. The only reason I’m even still alive is because others always help me out.”

How can someone be so arrogant and so modest all at once, you think, chuckling softly.

“That’s true. You’re a walking disaster,” you say, pressing a finger into his cheek.

“Hey! Only I get to make fun of me,” he laughs, and it’s bright and warm. “I supposed you know me better than, well, almost anyone.”

Oh, that’s definitely not true, you think. “In No Man’s Land, maybe.”  You pause. “But it also feels like you’re… somewhere hard to reach. It’s hard to explain. I know a lot of things about you, but you’re a stranger to me, and it feels like it will always be that way.”

You’re worried you were too honest with that last part, but he hums thoughtfully.

“We probably won’t ever be able to fully understand each other; it’s always like that. I know I’m a plant, and I’ll always be strange to you. The only person who knows what it’s like to be a plant is Knives.”

You can feel him holding back. You know that he is trying to tell you that he is dangerous, far more dangerous than you can imagine; that he has powers even he doesn’t understand. You know this is a younger Vash, one from before… everything. But you think about what he said during the Fifth Moon incident. Maybe we should never have been born. Your heart squeezes painfully in your chest.

“You know a lot about me, though. More than any other human I’ve met. So,” he adjusts you on his back. “I don’t think we’ll always be strangers.”

You smile into his neck. “Yeah, I guess.” What about Wolfwood, you think. But it’s not the same. They’re partners, something beyond lovers, sharing the kind of bond you can only share when you go through hell with someone. You won’t take that from him. You’d never want to take that from him.

You think of the couch and quickly push Wolfwood out of your mind. You don’t want to think about that right now.

Vash carries you on his back for a while longer, and you tell him more details about Earth. In exchange, he tells you things about No Man’s Land. He talks about how the days are a similar length to yours, how the planet takes less time to travel around the suns so they have to measure the years in days, not orbits. You tell him about American units of measurement, and the idea of measuring things in ‘feet’ makes him laugh. You keep the topics light, exchanging the mundane parts of your lives.

You begin to see the city in the distance about three hours into your trip. You insist that Vash put you down for the rest of the way, too embarrassed to be carried into the city. Still, he asks you several more times on your way there if you’re okay.

When you arrive, you’re surprised to see how normal it looks. There are homes and shops, children running and playing in the streets. In the distance you can see what you assume is the tower housing the city’s plants.

Vash buys you each a surprisingly normal looking sandwich, and you eat while you walk.

“I think we might want to get you some new shoes,” Vash says, looking down at your feet. You can’t argue with him, and silently wonder how Wolfwood is running around in loafers.

You find a pair of sturdy black boots that have a bit of a platform, and Vash manages to haggle the price down to something reasonable. As you focus on lacing them up, you feel something wrap around your shoulders. You look up to find that Vash is knelt down and reaching around you.

It’s a cropped jacket with a hood, made in your favorite color. It’s clean and new, and looks well-made. You look at Vash, your eyes wide. “The boots were already enough, I can’t accept this…”

He chuckles softly at your expression. “It’s not much, but it will help keep you out of the sun. Think of it as a welcome gift. Plus I couldn’t help it when I saw the color.”

Warmth blooms in your chest as you slip your arms into the sleeves. Somehow he guessed your measurements, because it fits perfectly. The material is soft but durable.

Just as you are about to thank him, you hear gunshots ring out from down the street. You and Vash exchange worried looks before taking off in the direction of the shots.

You come to the tavern just in time to find three mercenaries brandishing their guns. Vash puts a protective arm up in front of you instinctively.

Across from the mercenaries, standing in front of the cowering patrons, is a single man. His shoulders are broad, and his eyes are shaded by a pair of dark frames.

He is holding a massive cross under his right arm.

He looks in your direction when you enter, and his mouth cracks into a wry smile.

“Well, well. Fancy meeting you here, needle-noggin.”

[steddieasitgoes]

1.3K Words | Teen and Up | ao3 link

Eddie’s not much of a cook. 

It’s not that he can’t cook — he can whip up a mean grilled cheese and has some pretty epic pancake-flipping skills; it’s just that he thinks it’s a colossal waste of time. 

But between the prep time and the clean-up time, plus the fact that he ends up scarfing it down in less than five minutes alone because Wayne is at work, it’s just not worth the trouble. Besides, homemade dinners don’t even reheat as well as frozen dinners do!

Most days, Eddie would rather work on a new song or D&D campaign than spend the day stuck in the kitchen. But today isn’t like most days. Today is Steve and his six-month anniversary. 

And yeah, okay, maybe it’s lame and conformist to celebrate such an arbitrary anniversary, but after surviving the literal depths of hell only to end up dating the most attractive bachelor in all of Hawkins, well, it’s a reason to fucking celebrate!

So, yeah, he’s going to cook a romantic dinner for his boyfriend; sue him. 

Thankfully, Eddie knows the perfect dish: lasagna. 

If he’s being totally straight with himself, it’s the only “fancy” dish he knows how to make, but Steve doesn’t need to know that. He also doesn’t need to know that he only knows how to make it because of a certain cartoon orange cat. That’s a tidbit for their one-year anniversary, Eddie thinks, even if Steve’s keenly aware of Eddie’s mild Garfield obsession. 

While Steve’s stuck working a double shift on their anniversary, Eddie runs around town getting everything he needs to make tonight perfect. If he’s going to celebrate something so corny, he’s going to give it all he’s got.

Eddie picks up some candles from Melvald’s and spends way too long zigzagging across the aisles of Bradley’s Big Buy, getting all the ingredients he needs. On his way home, he stops by the Sinclairs to pick up a heart-shaped bundt cake tin because Eddie never can say no to a good bit — especially one he’s willing to bet will pay off for him in big ways. 

He spends the rest of the day in the kitchen. Grating cheeses, chopping vegetables, cooking meats. Layering and layering and layering. When it comes time to finally pop the lasagna in the oven, Eddie’s exhausted, covered in sweat, and three seconds away from chucking his favorite mixtape out the window because he’s tired of having to rewind it. 

An hour later, Eddie is showered, the table is set with flickering candles, and the entire trailer smells like Enzos. In hindsight, going to Enzos might have been a better option, now that he thinks about it. Less work, for sure. But the thought passes when Steve steps through the door, exhausted but sporting the softest smile Eddie’s ever seen on him and a beautiful bouquet of deep red peonies.

“Smells good, baby,” Steve says, setting the bouquet down on top of the television . He closes the distance between them and threads his arms around Eddie’s waist, tugging once until they’re hugging. “Bet it tastes even better.” 

“It fucking better,” Eddie huffs. “Been stuck in the kitchen all day. M’starving.”

“Well, come on then, let’s eat.” 

Laying on the gentleman act thick, Eddie guides Steve with a hand on the small of his back, to his chair at the small kitchen table and pulls it out for him. He waits for Steve to situate himself before pushing the chair in, and then he reaches for the bottle of wine Hopper stopped by to drop off.  After filling Steve’s glass, he pours some out for himself and then heads over to the oven to grab his masterpiece. 

“And here we have my world-famous Munson Lasagna,” Eddie says, donning his version of a fancy accent. Carefully, he sets the heart-shaped tin down in the middle of the table and goes to take his seat. “Made with the finest ingredients Bradley’s Big Buy has to offer and a shit tone of love and maybe some sweat, but mostly love.” 

“S’that the secret ingredient?” Steve asks, pressing his elbows onto the table before leaning forward to get a better look at the ooey-gooey lasagna. 

“Psh, if I told you the real secret ingredient, I’d have to kill you, sweetheart.” 

Steve laughs, shaking his head, and Eddie soaks it all in. A happy, smiling Steve Harrington is a sight to behold; it’s even more mind-blowing when he’s the reason why Steve looks so good. 

But the spell is quickly broken when Steve reaches for the serving spoon he also borrowed from the Sinclairs and drives it into the center of the lasagna without a moment of hesitation.

Eddie gasps, clutches a hand over his heart, and tips his chair back. The theatrics are a bit over-the-top, even for him, as he loses his balance and topples out of the chair. Thankfully it’s his ass that breaks the fall instead of his head. Unfortunately, his ass is far too boney to provide any cushion. Maybe, he should do squats like Steve suggested. 

“You just cut a hole in my heart!” He wails from the cold linoleum floor. “How could you do this to me, Stevie? And on our anniversary!” 

Steve peers down at him from his seat. For a second, his hazel eyes are wide and full of concern, but he must catch the subtle twitch of Eddie’s lip. The tell-tale sign that Eddie’s being mischievous for the hell of it. Fucking narc, Eddie curses himself. 

“Eddie, it’s dinner,” Steve says, exasperated but oh so fond. “Was I not supposed to cut it? I thought you were hungry.” 

“You could have given me a moment to admire my work of art!” 

“Or,” Steve says, offering a hand out to Eddie. He begrudgingly takes it, and a second later, Eddie’s being hoisted to his feet by a still seated Steve. Stupid jock arms. “We could eat the dinner you worked hard on and go make a different kind of art later.” 

“Oh,” Eddie says, cheeks turning a pale shade of pink as Steve wags his brows at him. “Yeah, okay, that sounds like a better plan. Serve me up a slice, big boy.” 

Steve shakes his head but does as he’s told, digging the serving spoon back into the dish. The lasagna is so loaded and heavy Eddie has to come to Steve’s aid with his own fork to keep the slice from falling onto the floor. They repeat the lifesaving methods with Steve’s slice, and then they dive in. 

Later, when they’re full and satisfied, in more ways than one, Steve rolls over onto his side. Eddie watches as he props himself  on his elbow before reaching towards Eddie to tuck a sweaty strand of hair behind his ear. 

“Be honest with me,” Steve muses, trailing a featherlight touch up and down Eddie’s bicep. “Did you learn to make lasagna because of that damn cat?” 

Eddie jolts into a seated position, retching his arm away from Steve’s sincere touch. “How dare you insult the wondrous beast that is Garfield. You put some respect on his name right now.” 

Steve just laughs before scootching over until his head rests on Eddie’s bare chest. “You and your Garfield obsession.” He bites his lip to keep from smiling too wild. “I mean, it’s cute and all, but it hurts to know I’m always going to be second in your heart to a cartoon cat.” 

“If I can get over being second in your heart to Robin, you can get over this,” Eddie fires back, but there’s no heat in his voice. Just the playful banter they’ve come to call flirting. It’s weird, but it works for them. 

“Alright, fine,” Steve snorts. He stirs in Eddie’s arms and kisses the spot where Eddie’s nipple used to be. “Happy anniversary, Eds.” 

“Happy anniversary, Stevie.” 

[megplant]

Killshot Pt. 2

Tangerine x F!Reader

Summary: Rival assassins/enemies to lovers Tangerine and Fem!Reader. You haven't seen Tangerine in years, since an unfortunate incident between the two of you in Johannesburg. He's popped up again while you're undercover hunting a mark - the same mark he's after.

Wordcount: 5.4k

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, language, some nudity, drugs/mention of drugs.

A/N: This will probably actually end up being chapter 3 when I clean everything up and put it on AO3, but I'm bad at waiting and I love posting my finished scenes for some feedback! This scene would serve as a flashback - chronologically maybe a year prior to the events of Pt. 1. Let me know if you're liking the direction this headed, or if it's feeling too slow/drawn out! Thanks so much for all the positive feedback on the first chapter !!

Read Pt 1 - here

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Your head pivots slowly, surveying the ballroom and surrounding crowds while the Duke schmoozes. Introductions made, you are now not much more than an accessory. The shiny bauble on his arm to complement his image, nothing more. You play the part: simpering, beautiful, bored. Your gaze roams around the milling crowd, outwardly lazy, disguising your focused searching.

You're hoping to get a glimpse of your mark out here in the open before you need to pin down his location more precisely. It will make things easier later when you’ll need to find him in the dark, dingy corners of a secret bacchanalia in the basement. This opening hour of the benefit will be your best chance; if you just keep an eye on the entrance and the bar you’re sure to catch a glimpse of him.

Someone does catch your eye, a man's flashy gold jewelry catches the light in a way that grabs your attention. You scan the general area, and sip your champagne, choking on a gasp when you realize just who this man is.

Your date checks in on your polite coughs with nothing more than an annoyed side-eye and a squeeze on your arm that has you giggle appropriately and make your excuses. Of course, you will return when you have properly collected yourself, so sorry, so sorry. 

He stands at the outskirts of the bar, a fresh glass of what you’d bet is whiskey in one hand. He looks to be surveying the party himself, but with no plus one sparkling on his arm to draw the eye he stands out. 

You think he would stand out anywhere.

In this case, the classic lines of his crisp black three piece suit offer a striking contrast to his thick gold jewelry, slicked back hair, and perfectly groomed mustache. 

He is quite distinctive in the crowd. His white collared shirt is loose, unbuttoned one too many to be entirely decent and without a tie. He looks at once expensive, but there's an aura of grit and sleaze about him that marks him as other in this crowd. 

Dangerous. 

The word materializes in your mind with a flash of gunsmoke and a throbbing in your shoulder. You dismiss the frisson of fear that runs through you at the unbidden memory, and square your shoulders. 

Before you know it, you have nearly downed your champagne glass and are heading over to the bar. Presumably, for a refill. 

You sidle into place at his side, silently, fiddling with your glass between your fingers as you mimic his stance looking out across the crowd. 

“It’s been a long time,” You greet him with a barely restrained smirk. “Since Johannesburg.” 

You can’t help yourself, you drop an inch of pretense to turn your head and take in his reaction. You never could have attempted to guess at his reaction, but as you meet his gaze, the intensity there surprises you. He doesn’t look angry, like you might have expected, but he also doesn’t look nearly as surprised as you imagined. 

He holds your gaze for a long minute, and there’s something intense and unspoken behind his piercing blue eyes that you couldn’t hope to decipher. Finally, he lifts his glass to his lips, and swallows a slow sip. 

“Working?” He questions, voice hard, and you can feel the slamming of the door between you as he shifts into his more put-on professional demeanor. 

Despite the tension hanging between you, you realize that he most definitely is here working and it’s likely the exact same contract that you’re here for. 

You know in that instant that the two of you will most certainly not be having some kind of terse heart-to-heart here tonight. Pity.

He seems to have the same realization as you, as you catch his eyes flick to yours quickly, accusingly. 

Your heartbeat kicks into overdrive in response, your muscles tense expectantly. 

His eyes narrow. 

Your shoulder throbs with phantom pain around a long-healed bullet wound. 

You know exactly what Tangerine is capable of. 

You shift your weight to your back foot, ready to run - 

“There you are!” The booming voice of your date carries across the crowd, and you’re so tense that you jump at the sudden intrusion. The champagne in your glass splashes back in your trembling hand, and you turn away from Tangerine. 

“Are you alright?” 

His timing could not have been better. He strides into place at your side with one hand sliding around your waist as he checks in with you with a glance. His other hand is thrown out for a handshake with your new conversation partner. 

Before Tangerine can say something stupid to ruin your cover you rush to fill in the blanks of introductions yourself, and you interject before anyone can speak. 

“Ah, William, yes, I’m so sorry! I’d gone for refreshments, and ran into an old friend. William, this is an old colleague of mine, Percy Smith. Percy, this is William Statton, he is a very generous donor to our foundation.” 

Your eyebrows are raised high at Tangerine, pleading, as you make the “introductions”. Your hand shakes as you place it on William’s arm, adrenaline surging through you. 

Tangerine shakes hands with the man, finally looking his way after tearing his disbelieving gaze away from yours. You can see the mocking laugh on his lips even if no one else can, but he is a professional, after all. He plays Gentleman to the hilt. If you didn’t know him much, much better, you might even buy it. 

“Mr. Statton, charmed. Yes, I just had the delightful surprise of running into our mutual friend here.” Tangerine gestures his glass in your direction with a knowing smile. 

You notice he’s careful not to say your name, since he doesn’t know which one you’re using. It might make you blush, if your nerves weren’t so frayed trying to figure out exactly what game he’s playing. 

 “It really has been a long, long time since we worked together.” 

He bites off the second ‘long’ in a way that hints at his aggravation just below the surface. His thumb runs along his mustache absently as he takes in the two of you together. It’s an uncomfortably analytical gaze.

William watches ‘Percy’ watch you, and glances in your direction, uncertain and clearly confused. Slowly, he asks, “Sorry…where did you say you two used to work together?”

“Johannesburg!” Tangerine cuts you off, forcefully interjecting the word before you can state your carefully crafted lie. You can practically see the mischief twinkling in his blue eyes as he looks your way. 

“...Yes, that’s right!” There’s a long pause before you’re able to jump back in with a cheerful cadence, despite your faltering. “The foundation had a mission out there, and Percy was one of the other volunteers.” 

“Right, the foundation.” Tangerine stresses the word ‘foundation’ in a way that lets you know he thinks this is the funniest thing he’s ever heard. 

“Oh, with his brother - Thomas!” You add brightly, and you don’t miss the way his mustache twitches in annoyance at your cover names. “Is Thomas with you tonight? I would certainly love to catch up with him, as well.” 

Tan’s eyes narrow at you, as he realizes what you’re playing at. You want to know if he has backup, and where it’s coming from. He smirks, glancing around the crowded ballroom. You follow his eyeline, sure you see a glimpse of blonde curls in the crowd, but you blink and there’s no Lemon in sight.

“I’m sure he’s around. Never quite know what that Thomas is getting up to.” His tone is much too amiable to be genuine. He is definitely loving messing with you way too much. 

You smile thinly while you glare at him, annoyed. “Of course!” You force out, intent on carefully extricating yourself from this conversation. Just as you open your mouth, ready to make your excuses to the ladies room, Tangerine cuts in.

“So, William, you must have made a hefty donation to her foundation to score the VIP tickets tonight…” He pauses to take a sip from his glass, clearly savoring the moment. “But, that doesn’t even matter does it, because you own this mansion, don’t you - Duke Statton?” 

Tangerine locks eyes with you, although it would appear that he was still talking to William. He wants you to know that he knows just what you’re up to. “I do apologize, I’m sure you’re trying to go incognito this evening. But, ah, I couldn’t help but recognize you.”

“You recognized a Duke from a small Scottish Peerage?” You snort. You don’t think you could emanate a more hateful aura if you tried. 

William looks bashful and laughs loudly, embarrassed in the way where he’s not embarrassed at all and loves being recognized. 

“You’ve got me there! I may be hosting their benefit, but the Foundation does such incredible work that I wanted to get involved on a more personal level. Anna has been so fantastic, she’s been working with me to get my own charity off the ground!” He says.

William’s hand comes up to rest over yours on his arm, giving it the slightest squeeze. Tangerine’s eyes follow the movement with laser precision. He clears his throat and looks back up at William, the posh professional gent plastered on his face in full force. “Anna. Well. She’s always been a very hard worker. You couldn’t be in better hands.” 

If you didn’t know any better, you would think he winks at you. 

William misses the gesture, as he had taken the pause in conversation to check his watch, and tap it thoughtfully. He taps your hand, as well, a reminder. 

“Anna - we have the…other engagement.” He says to you quietly. 

You nod, nearly delirious in relief for the excuse to get away from Tangerine. The sooner you could get this job done and get as far away from here as possible, the better. 

“Yes, of course - I’m so sorry, Percy, we actually have to be going. But, it was so lovely to see you, and please give my love to Thomas!” 

“Hold on a moment-” Tangerine raises his eyebrows, more knowingly than you like, and lifts his own wrist to check his watch, as well. He chuckles and glances at William, fishing two fingers into his vest pocket and pulling out a familiar red keycard. 

You recall William handing you an identical keycard while in the limo on the way here. It will allow you access to the sprawling complex below your feet, where the real party is taking place tonight. 

William’s hosting your benefit, sure, but only as the cover to auction off some priceless piece of art recently plundered from its indigenous home. The bidding is closed, the sealed envelopes from all bidders due by 10:15 pm, precisely. 

It turned out that your Foundation’s benefit served as a lovely cover for William to host a large number of auspicious attendees and for those attendees to drop large sums of money without raising any suspicions. William had been quick to accept your invitation to work together, thinking he was using you.

The mark you’re after happens to be a black market dealer that runs in the same circles as Stanton, so the obvious way in was to make the connection with the Duke. You were able to provide him a perfect cover for his auction and wiggle into his inner circle over the last few weeks. And if he happened to be pursuing you beyond a professional capacity, then it was useful to you as an option to exploit if necessary. Just being on the arm of the Duke would open every door in this place without having to worry about security at all, and that really was priceless. 

And yet. Here you are watching your perfectly laid plans unravel before your eyes. This was supposed to be a quick and easy job, with the benefits of a luxurious date with a rich and handsome Duke. It was all set up to be a cakewalk with the Duke as your unwitting skeleton key. The Twins being here was making things decidedly more complex.

Your eyes widen as you see Tangerine with the keycard, and you glance at William. The two men look each other over, doing one last size up of the other, trying to discern if they were both ‘in’ on the secret. You see William break into a knowing grin, matched by Percy, and you barely suppress a groan. 

“Downstairs?” William questions, knowingly. 

“I guess we do have an appointment.” The delight dripping off Tangerine’s words was sickly sweet. The two men chuckle together conspiratorially and you start thinking of ways to get rid of Tangerine. Get rid of William. Get them away from each other, get Tangerine away from you - you were scrambling to come up with contingencies.  

You softly clear your throat, patting William’s hand over your own. “The bids are due any minute…” You diligently avoid Tangerine’s gaze as you play the part of the simpering date. If his eyes are lit up with mockery, you don’t care to see it. 

William nods with finality, and he reaches out for a last handshake with Tangerine. “Knew you were a good sort, Percy, old chap. Find me after, we’ll have a drink.” 

You notice the sharp smile from Tangerine and tense - you’re never quite sure what he’s going to do next, and you know that crazed look in his eyes. It never means anything good. 

Tangerine returns the forceful handshake, his smile dripping sarcasm as he catches your eye and holds your gaze while he speaks. “I’d love that.” 

When he saunters away, towards the sweeping staircases that lead to the private elevators, you let out a long and slow breath. You keep your eye on him long enough to note that no Lemon appears out of the crowd to join him before he disappears down the stairs. 

William is chatting benignly with you about the auction as he steers you towards the same staircases and you make blithe responses, only half-listening. 

The two of you descend the grand staircase, the exquisitely appointed decor of the glittering ballroom melting away and revealing the practical concrete and plexiglass of the complex hidden below. The clip of your heels change timbre from light and staccato on imported marble to loud and echoing off of cold concrete. 

There are a few other couples and groups milling around as the auction deadline approaches, waiting to get to the party. But, all you really notice is that Tangerine is nowhere to be seen. 

Is he already downstairs?

Your anxiety ratchets up a notch. You won’t be able to get the mark alone for a little while, yet. If Tangerine’s “plan” is to burst in guns blazing, you’re fucked. 

You approach an elevator bank, and William leads you to one off to the side. “This is my private elevator - even your card won’t work here.” He presses a thumb into the sensor, calling the elevator as he leans against it. He obviously thinks this is incredibly swoon worthy. 

Obliging, you look appropriately awestruck, and slip the keycard back into your clutch. 

“Will this take us to the party?” You ask, using your real nerves to lend credibility to your character. 

You might be terrified that an unhinged wildcard is roaming around unchecked and very likely to ruin your plans - but Anna is very nervous about breaking the law, but she’s just so excited to be here with the dashing Duke that she would do anything he asked. 

“I have business to attend to, first,” He reminds you, ushering you into the elevator after it opens. It’s as opulent as the ballroom above, completely out of place within these sterile concrete halls. 

You pout up at him, and he chuckles, caressing your cheek and using his finger to push your chin up to hold your gaze. 

“Don’t fret. You can go on ahead without me and start…enjoying. I’ll find you once I’m done with all the tedious paperwork.” 

You simper appropriately, averting your gaze as if you were just too overwhelmed by his attention. Everything was going according to plan. The original plan, anyway. He should be occupied with the auction long enough for you to set up the next pieces of Plan A and perhaps prep some backup contingencies for when things inevitably go off the rails. 

The elevator dings: a muted, polite sound, and you are let out into what looks like an identical set of concrete hallways. William gestures to a tuxedo-clad brick shithouse of a man to escort you. You certainly wouldn’t want to run into this guard if you were down here alone.

“This way to the party, ma’m.” The guard grunts at you after William takes his leave. 

You follow his hulking form through the complex, taking careful note of each turn and distance traveled. Plan A does involve calmly coming back the way you came, and you diligently note the route, but…part of you has a sinking feeling you’ll end up needing some other exit strategy.

It doesn’t take long to reach a door that looks different than all the others. Its large, double doors are a tufted black leather that reminds you of an upscale strip club. The guard opens one of the doors for you, and you step into the dimly lit space, hesitantly. 

Despite your meticulous planning, you weren’t sure exactly what to expect here. William had been cagey with the details, wanting to surprise you, he said. Test you, you thought. 

You only knew for certain what you’d been able to glean from his hacked financials. You’d found receipts for imported liquors and cigars, a DJ, and an entirely unique staff from the benefit. But there were plenty more cash payouts you couldn’t trace. You imagined most of that cash had gone to sex workers and drugs, but you still didn’t know what the Duke might be capable of. God knows you’d seen much worse than strippers and coke before. Ultimately, you were prepared for any number of debauched possibilities. 

Entering the lounge, you find that your suspicions were only mostly right. Strippers are spotlighted on small, raised daises with crowds grouped around them. You see several card tables set up, with what looks like professional dealers manning them. The seating is plush and abundant, with long couches and tucked away booths encouraging attendees to cuddle up and get comfortable. You see people - both subtly and not - kissing, touching, sucking, even fucking.

You quickly avert your gaze from flashes of naked bodies only partially obscured by tasteful velvet curtains, feeling your face heat up. It was nothing you hadn’t seen before, but not quite what you had expected. It seemed the Duke’s well of possible depravity ran deeper than you had given him credit for.

The lighting is politely dim, allowing the partygoers the illusion of anonymity and privacy. You take advantage, keeping your face in shadow as you step through the lounge and head for the bar. It gives you a moment to compose yourself, and to scan your surroundings.

Naked and nearly naked women walk around distributing refreshments. You can see the bar now, it’s classic mahogany, a Victorian marvel nestled in the back of the large room. It isn’t very crowded, you note as you approach, with most couples enjoying themselves elsewhere. 

Before you get there, a topless blonde walks up to you with a tray filled with long, white lines. You give her a shy smile, and reach into your clutch. You pull out fifty quid and lay it on her tray, shaking your head as she presents the tray to you. 

“No, thanks, just - can you tell Natasha to find me at the bar? Tell her Anna’s here, please.” 

The woman just shrugs, pocketing the money in a small pouch around her waist. “Whatever you want, sugar.” She says easily, turning and moving back through the crowd. 

Your shoulders hunch with tension as you find a barstool to perch on and wait. You go over and over what needs to happen next in your head, running it like a drill, again and again. The time is limited and there are wildcards at play, and you will not be able to relax until you regain some semblance of control over this fucking situation. 

The bartender nodding at you is a welcome intrusion, and you at least have the clarity of mind to ask for two glasses of champagne. It isn’t long before another woman sidles up behind you, quietly making her presence known. 

“Natasha,” You greet her with a nod, which she returns. 

She forgoes a greeting, and speaks directly, her Russian accent making her words sound clipped and harsh. “Your man will be in third room down the private hallway. One hour. He ask for me - a blonde.” 

She looks you up and down, in your high-necked gold ballgown with your long, brown hair tumbling down your shoulder. You chuckle at her expression, well aware of how you look next to Natasha, clad in nothing but a lacy, black thong and a sheer bra. Her blonde hair is pulled back into a severe braid. The two of you hardly look alike.

“Is that all?” She questions, suspicion lacing her words. She likely still couldn’t believe how this incredibly simple sharing of information had netted her such a large cash advance from you. 

“That’s it,” You reassured her with a smile, pulling out your phone and swiping through to send the final half of her payment. “The rest is in your account, now. Just give me the signal when the dressing room is empty and leave the room key in your locker. Do not acknowledge me from this point forward.” 

Natasha nodded, looking mildly intimidated by your sudden shift in demeanor, but ultimately cool and collected. She gave you another long look, and then turned to head back into the crowd. That was one piece slotted into place, you thought, letting out a long breath. 

You stare out across the lounge for a moment longer, cataloging your surroundings. You determine that you have at least a minute or two to yourself, and you slump in your seat. Two glasses of champagne sit at your elbow, having been silently delivered while you were speaking with Natasha. 

With smooth, practiced movements, you slip a small dropper bottle out of your clutch and quickly dispense four drops of clear liquid into one of the champagne glasses. You swipe your thumb across your bottom lip and smear it on the bottom edge of the dosed glass. The glass is gently set on a cocktail napkin just slightly to the left of your elbow and your clutch is snapped closed with the dropper inside when you feel a hand on your arm behind you. 

Your sultry smile is fixed in place as you turn, expecting the Duke back slightly earlier than planned. 

Of course, it’s Tangerine. 

Your expression deadens as you realize your mistake, then hardens as your pulse quickens anxiously. Tangerine only smirks at you, one hand in his pocket with a casual lean as he stands in front of you. 

His swagger emanates off of him - it’s dreadful. He thinks he’s “got” you and he’s so goddamned smug about it. 

It’s cute. 

He runs his hand up your arm and skims it just over your shoulder and skates his fingers across the back of your neck, eliciting a trail of goosebumps in his wake. You sit still, breath held tightly in your chest. You’re trapped in between the desire to lean into the touch or run for your life. 

It takes you a beat too long to realize he was reaching around you to grab your champagne glass. Cheeky bastard. 

You strike out with a sharp pinch to the nerves in his wrist, sending a buzzing pain through his arm. He winces mockingly, pulling his hand back as he slides into the empty barstool beside you. 

You keep a haughty expression on your face, deliberately lifting and replacing the champagne flutes in front of you. You are looking straight ahead, knowing that if you pretend to ignore him it’ll only piss him off more. Your lips twitch with amusement, feeling his glare burn holes in the side of your head. 

It feels gleeful to see him squirm, and so you make an elaborate meal out of taking a drink of your champagne. You swirl the golden liquid, observe the bubbles, and savor your long, slow sip. After you gently set the glass back down, you use a cocktail napkin to pat your lips dry. You open your clutch to pull out a compact mirror and lipstick, when Tangerine exclaims- 

“All right-”

He leans in close to you and slides his hand under the bar top, pressing a blade to your side, tucked into you and facing the bar - from behind anyone would think you’re just having an intimate conversation. You freeze in place, hardly daring to breathe.

“I don’t appreciate you taking the piss, love.” He says, voice rumbling, low and mean. He digs the blade in, making sure you feel it through the thick boning of your dress’ corset. You can’t help the shiver that runs through you; a potent mix of fear and headiness at being this close to him after so long. 

“But, it’s so easy to work you up. And you’re so cute when you’re pissy.” You match his volume, keeping yourself as still as you can while you smirk up at his furious glare. 

You haven't got a fucking clue where you stand with Tangerine, and it makes you feel like you’re playing with a live wire. As far as you know, he’s only just found out you aren’t dead. As far as you know, the last time you saw him, he'd just sold you out and left you for dead. He’s unpredictable in the best of circumstances and you have no idea what he’ll do. 

He exhales through his nose loudly, and the muscles in his neck all clench - he’s utterly enraged, and you know you’re poking the bear. You know. But you want to push him to his limit, fuck up his night and his money as thoroughly as you can - you want to rattle him.

You can’t help it, watching him try to reign in his rage is just too fucking funny and your smirk widens into a grin, taunting. 

You’re reaching out for the livewire even as it sparks.

Lightning fast, Tangerine moves his free hand from the small of your back to the back of your neck. Before you can react, his fingers thread through your curls to lock onto the roots at the base of your scalp and he pulls - hard. 

You gasp in pain and surprise, tears springing into your eyes at the sharp pain. He holds you in place like this, and he’s still subtle enough that from behind he just looks like your lover caressing your neck and playing with your hair. 

“Cunt,” You hiss out, trapped between his unyielding grip and a knife at your belly. You see the way his mustache twitches at that - he likes to see you squirm, too. 

You look down at the hand pressing a knife into you and glance at the the ostentatious gold watch on its wrist. It confirms your hunch - time’s just about up, and you really need to wrap this shit up. You cut to the chase. 

“What do you want, Tangerine? How much do I have to pay you to fuck off?” You say, grinding out the demand as he keeps the iron grip on the back of your head. 

He grins, and you catch a wolfish glint of white as a strobe light flashes past. His grip relaxes just slightly, enough to pass as pleasurable in different circumstances. 

Not helpful.

“Ooh, that’s right. Wouldn’t want poncy Percy to come back and see us, would we?” Tangerine gives an experimental tug on your hair, and you just fucking know his narrowed eyes catch the way your eyelids flutter before you wince. 

“You’re poncy Percy, you twat. He’s William.” You ignore his chuckle, ignoring the way the warm sound vibrates in your chest with want and settling on being fucking annoyed. “So, yes, would you mind, please, pissing the hell off?” 

Something in the air between you has lightened, and you finally let yourself relax - you don't think he actually wants to kill you. At least not right now.

You test the waters by moving to pull your head slightly forward out of his grip. He tightens his hold for a moment, and then he lets you go entirely, dropping his hand. You note that he keeps the knife at your side - no trust amongst killers, you suppose. 

“Are you still with the Firm?” He asks. 

Your eyebrows raise, unable to hide your surprise at the question. This question is loaded, and you swallow hard - throat suddenly dry. 

“Yes.” You nod once, forcing yourself to keep his eye contact. 

Now Tangerine knows that the Firm knows you’re alive. And, of course, they handled your faked death. He knows you didn’t do it to get away and start a new life, like you always said. He knows what you’ve done. 

He watches you with sharp focus and he asks you-

“Drop the contract.”

You’re unafraid of the knife at your side, but terrified of the piercing blue eyes holding you in place. 

“You know I can’t.” Your voice is quiet, but you can hear the plea in your own words. He knows now you’re still at the Firm - he knows you complete your assignments. There is no other option. 

You see the slightest softening in his body language, so you decide to push your luck. 

“You owe me, one, anyway. For Joburg.” You say. 

His nostrils flare and his mustache twitches in a way that lets you know he thinks you’re dead wrong and you fix him with a hateful glare. 

“After Joburg?” You press, finally leaning into him and slipping your hand down to where his is holding the blade. 

You know you’re running out of time, and you feel as breathless as if you had just fought him to the death. His hand is clenched hard around the handle of the knife, and he feels as unyielding as stone. His hands are as achingly warm as you remember, practically radiating heat under your own hand. 

He’s quiet for a long moment, and you can feel the muscles in his arm flex and unflex. He's arguing with himself, you know, and you can only hope that he lands on ‘letting you live’ in his deliberation. 

You let out a long breath of held tension as he pulls his hand away and tucks the blade in his waistcoat. Before you can open your mouth to say another word, he’s standing and straightening his jacket. 

He’s fiddling with his cufflinks and staring off into the middle distance. You feel a wistful pang, watching him - closer than you ever thought you would get again, but he's still a million miles away.

You would give anything to be able to read his thoughts in this moment. 

He finally looks at you, and you catch the same hardening of his demeanor as he turns to business. Your chest feels cold, you know he's shut you out - maybe for good now. 

But, he's Tangerine. So he's unpredictable. Adaptable.

“Ten minutes lead, usual rules.” He speaks so casually, like he hasn’t invoked a shared past that you hadn’t dared acknowledge. Your mouth hangs open, shocked, and he smirks - happy to throw you off. 

“I imagine your Prince will be here any second. You’ll need the head start.” He’s as cocky a bastard as ever, you think. 

Tangerine glances in the mirrored wall behind the bar to smooth his mustache down and you catch his eye in the mirror. He stills his preening, meeting your stare. 

You feel the timid flame of hope spark to life behind your heart and you swear you see something besides hate in his eyes.

You barely dare to breathe, let alone move, lest you break the spell. 

“Why?” You croak out, tension making your voice rasp. 

Tangerine holds your gaze, and you see him soften - just for a moment, you see a flash of the man you used to know - and then he looks away, like he can’t look you in the eye and answer. 

“You don’t know everything.” 

He’s already halfway across the lounge, about to disappear into another room, before you can collect yourself. 

What the fuck does that mean? 

[the12thnightproject]

Chapter47: Epilogue Katsu settles in in Azuchi. Plus kittens.

Mitsuhide x OC; Hideyoshi x MC (Mai)

All Chapters Archived on Ao3 

Logline - With Mai, Hideyoshi, and Aki missing, Mitsuhide and Katsuko reluctantly team up. Disguised as a merchant and his concubine, can they outsmart the man known as the God of Deceit?

Azuchi, Six weeks later…

The maids were going to kill me. Having been one myself, I understood the frustration of someone dripping mud across a freshly cleaned floor. But even though I left my mucky geta at the entry, there was no way to stop the rest of my clothing from scattering dirty water all the way down the corridor.

“You should just let Katsuko decide.” Though I’d intended to go change into dry clothes, I ended up halting by the door to Mitsuhide’s office area when I heard Toshiie’s voice.

What is this all about?

Before I could hide behind the door to eavesdrop, Mitsuhide called out. “I hear you out there, Brat, you might as well come in.”

As I entered, both took in my barefoot and soaked appearance with varying levels of concern (Toshiie) and amusement (Mitsuhide). I sighed. “Yes. My horse dumped me in a puddle again. Yes, in front of Nobunaga.”

On the bright side it had been after the afternoon of negotiations with a contingent of Nanban merchants, so at least I hadn’t spent the day messy and uncomfortable. Far from being insulted that one of his entourage had suffered an embarrassing splat, Nobunaga had been amused by the whole thing. Though he was still an imposing authority figure, and a stern boss, I suspected that below all that was an inner troll.

Mitsuhide took off his socks and passed them to me.

“Funny. That horse never does that to Ieyasu.” Toshiie’s comment confirmed to me that Ieyasu had continued to secretly ride her on the days where I was occupied with my duties as Nobunaga’s translator.

Eager to move the conversation away from my latest riding mishap, I turned to Toshiie. “What are you doing here?”

Usually at this time of day, he was in Ieyasu’s manor, while the two spent the afternoons exchanging medical knowledge. Now looking much more like the brother I remembered, he’d been enthusiastically training in feudal medicine. To everyone’s surprise, Ieyasu appeared not only to tolerate his company, but actually enjoy it.

Immediately Toshiie clammed up, looking furtive. Mitsuhide simply raised his eyebrow. Oh. Another romantic gesture was incoming. Mitsuhide had taken to love bombing me with just-because gifts. The gestures were always thoughtful, though occasionally embarrassingly timed, such as when he had Keiji perform a K-pop ballad in the middle of a banquet. (“How did you remember all the lyrics and teach it to him?” “I have my ways.”)

Hm. I would get nothing out of Toshiie with Mitsuhide around – I would have to privately interrogate my brother later.

“Come over here – I haven’t seen my darling fiancée all day.” Mitsuhide patted a spot on the floor next to him. I was soaked and muddy, but… details. If Mitsuhide wanted to be covered with ambient muck, who was I to stop him? After kissing me thoroughly (much to Toshiie’s embarrassment) Mitsuhide easily switched to business mode. “Was your day a success?”

“Yes to the negotiation, no to the drawing.” Before leaving modern Japan, I had printed out a screencap of Father Slappy Hands, and Mai had tried to draw him wearing period appropriate costume. I’d taken the drawing with me to show it to the Nanban merchants, but none of them recognized him. Nor had I been able to locate Francisco to question him about the man (or the gun).  He was still playing least-in-sight, and his business had been shuttered all winter.

Removing the drawing from the leather tube that had protected it when I splashed down, I unrolled it and showed it to Toshiie. “Do you remember this guy?” It was unlikely he would recognize the man who had spied on the gymnastics meet. It had been nearly fifteen years and Toshiie only had him on camera for a few seconds. So I was surprised when Toshiie said, “Nuno da Guerra. Why is he dressed as a missionary?”

Mitsuhide pulled our original screencap out of his desk and passed it to Toshiie. “Same man?”

Toshiie squinted at it. “Could be. What is this about?”

“He attacked us in Sakai. Once when we were investigating a slave auctions, and then a couple weeks after that.” At my selective edit (Toshiie did not need to know exactly how I had been investigating that) Mitsuhide raised his eyebrow, but let the omission go. “How do you know him?”

“I don’t know much about him at all. He would sometimes visit the herbalist.” Toshiie gave a bit of a shrug. “But… there are rumors that he’s bringing in opium from Goa.”

“That would certainly be a deviation from history.” A new voice came from the ceiling, then a moment later, Sasuke popped into the room with a graceful flip.”

“Dear me. Are you at all aware of a concept called… a door?” Mitsuhide gestured to his rifle, which was within reaching distance. “One of these days someone is going to hear you scrabbling around up there, shoot first, then question later.”

“If I ever made enough noise to, um, scrabble, Kenshin would skewer me before I lever left Kasugayama.” Sasuke turned and bowed to Toshiie. “Greetings and salutations. I take it you are Katsu’s brother.” He raised his hand in a Vulcan salute.

Since Sasuke’s greeting had only served to confuse Toshiie, I introduced the two of them and explained the future connection.

“Before this conversation can degenerate into a litany of modern Japanese cultural touchstones-,” MItsuhide’s eyebrow raise was in full force, “will you please expand on what it is you were talking about when you so charmingly… dropped in.”

Sasuke pushed his glasses up on his nose. “Historically, Japan never had the type of … issue… with opium that the Chinese empire did. Although its use medicinally dates from this period, it was rarely used recreationally, and by the nineteenth century the Tokugawa shogunate proactively banned it. Therefore, a foreign merchant attempting to disseminate it as a drug in this era, could theoretically do a fair amount of damage to a culture that has not been inoculated by China’s bad example.” Having dropped that lecture on us, Sasuke turned to Toshiie. “Did I hear you say you were working with the one and only Tokugawa Ieyasu? Would you mind if I accompanied you back? I’m eager to hear your impressions of that man.”

Seeming bemused by the torrent of words, Toshiie simply nodded.

“Wait, Sasuke. Were you just in the ceiling to spy?” Seemed like a rather large risk, especially when he could easily have just walked in through the entry.

“Ah. It escaped my mind when I heard him mention Ieyasu.” Sasuke dug a letter out of his kimono. “Yoshimoto sent this.”

Moving quickly, I grabbed the letter before Mitsuhide could confiscate it. “Thanks, Sasuke.”

He and Toshiie were already on their way out, with Sasuke eagerly listing his favorite Ieyasu accomplishments.

“It’s probably for both of us,” I said to Mitsuhide, hoping to prevent a sarcastic-

“Ah yes. Of course. I am accustomed to receiving love letters from a resident of Kasugayama.” He pulled me closer to him. “Hm, you are indeed quite damp.”

“There’s a thing called rain that you may have heard about.” Then, because I doubted he would let me leave with an unopened letter, I unsealed it and held it up so that we could both read it. “Save you the trouble of stealing it later.”

“Pity. I quite enjoy your attempts to ransom back your belongings.” He rested his chin on my shoulder and began narrating the letter. “’Dear Katsuko.’ Hrm. Inauspicious beginning. I would think you’d rate a darling at least.”

“If you’re going to snark all the way through this-“

“I make no promises.”

Sigh.

“I hope this letter finds you well. Thank you for the letter you sent via Sasuke. I shall cherish it always.” Mitsuhide tapped my forehead with his finger. “You wrote to him?”

“He did see me go over the wall. I thought he at least deserved to know that I survived… and deserved thanks for helping me out.” I elbowed him. “May I finish or are you going to continue to be a yandere about it.”

“Carry on.” He tickled the back of my neck. “He may have a paper from you, but I have the real thing.”

“’I am relieved to know that you survived your journeys through time, and if you are indeed settled in Azuchi, I wish for all your happiness. However, be assured there will always be a place for you wherever I am.’”

Hm, maybe I shouldn’t have let Mitsuhide read over my shoulder after all.

Luckily for the sake of peace in our relationship, Yoshimoto’s letter quickly switched gears to catch us up on politics. “You maybe be aware that Yoshiaki has entered a Buddhist temple. He will not be leaving it, as he recently suffered a brain storm that has left him rather incapacitated.”

Brain storm? Stroke? Yoshiaki was a little young for that, although I supposed it was possible.

“I thought that might occur.” MItsuhide sounded a bit… disappointed. “Although I do wish that could be confirmed.” Ok, not disappointed. Suspicious.

“As for your young friends, Sho and Hiko, they have settled in nicely at Kasugayama. Hiko has been all but adopted by Kanetsugu, who prizes education and has a school in the city. Our lovely flower Sho has a string of lovelorn vassals following her every step, although she does seem to prefer arguing with Yukimura. Shingen and I are amused by how easily they annoy each other. Meanwhile, I have returned to my passionate patronage of the arts. Come the Spring, I do believe I shall make the journey to Azuchi in order to explore the wares of your local artisans. I hope to encounter you then. Yoshimoto.”

“Is he warning us of an attack on Azuchi in the Spring? Or does he really plan to go shopping?” With Yoshimoto, it could go either way.

“I suspect the latter. Kenshin may be battle crazy, but he prefers to fight in a more open territory. Terrorizing civilians is not his style.” Mitsuhide made a move to confiscate the letter again, but I quickly folded it up. “It’s rather disappointing he wasn’t specific on the timing of his travel plans, in order for me to ensure you and I are elsewhere.”

I decided to ignore that bait. If we got into an argument, I never would get to the bathhouse, and I had become more uncomfortably damp as the afternoon wore on. A hot bath, and then maybe I could convince Mitsuhide to make an early night of… drat.

A long discussion of any of the things we had just learned had to wait. I’d forgotten that Mai had arranged the often-threatened “double date” for this evening. True, I liked Mai and Hideyoshi, and a meal cooked by Masamune was almost enough to make me forget my preference for a quiet night in. But given the already late hour, I rushed through my clean up, then had to press Mitsuhide into service to help me control my hair.

“Are you sure it’s going to stay?” I gently touched the series of knots behind my head, all held in place by a mass of hairsticks, including my beloved bellflower lockpicks.

He placed his hand on his heart. “I am devestated to hear you question my abilities as a hairstylist. It will last as long as it needs to last.”

With that cryptic statement, he led me into Hideyoshi’s manor… where I discovered that the hairstyle was meant to last until I bowed, at which point, the structural integrity disintegrated, gravity took over, and everything landed on the floor in a clatter of hairsticks. I cleared my bangs from my vision in time to see Hideyoshi wince.

Yep, I had already heard his opinions of how an employee of the Oda ought to look in public. It was similar to his opinions on running in the hallway, allowing Nobunaga to purchase a large quantity of konpieto in Saiki (as if I could have stopped him), and general tardiness.

To his credit, aside from flinching, Hideyoshi easily moved things along, becoming a perfect dinner host. Though Mai was the only one of us who had ever been on a double date, the evening proceeded smoothly enough, especially when Mitsuhide brought up Yoshiaki’s reported illness and the conversation turned to politics.

It was nice to be able to sit back in a relaxed setting and watch Hideyoshi and Mitsuhide interact. Though on the surface, Mitsuhide subjected Hideyoshi to as much teasing as he did me, I could see there was deep respect and admiration between the two of them. I recalled Mai mentioning that Mitsuhide only teased when he was serious, and I mentally amended that to the fact that he only teased where he loved.

Yep, his love language was snark.

As I continued to watch the two of them, Mitsuhide’s expression radiating relaxation and contentment, even as he good naturedly disagreed with something Hideyoshi had said, I realized that contentment was mirrored inside myself. I … was … happy. It was unexpected. Though I had spent most of my life running from unhappiness and my mother’s example, I had never run toward happiness. Instead, I’d had a hard-fought equilibrium, a balanced life that I enjoyed, and I’d been fine with my lot.

But this all was new. And… lovely.

Catching my gaze… and the direction of my thoughts, Mitsuhide smiled at me. “Happy?”

“Yeah. I can’t imagine anything that would make this moment better.” If I could have frozen everything in time, I might have chosen this exact point.

Although Mai did have a suggestion that was intriguing. “Mitsunari and a basket of kittens.”

“Ok, that might just-“

“No.” Her voice was full of wonder and amusement. “Mitsunari has a basket of kittens.” She sighed and gestured to a point behind me.

I turned and… Mitsunari stood at the door, holding a basket of kittens. A little grey one had already escaped containment and was climbing his arm.

@($^()*!(&*^

“My response was perfectly normal given the situation. He had a basket of kittens.” I took one of the hoodies I had smuggled back to the Sengoku and used it to create a makeshift bed for the new feline members of our household – Hawkeye and Natasha.

It turned out that Toshiie’s ‘secret’ meeting with Mitsuhide had been to determine which kitten I might like. They’d decided to let me choose for myself, hence Mitsunari’s sudden appearance (he’d gotten the message confused) with his cat’s recently weaned offspring. “Thank you for the gift. It was very thoughtful.”

I stood up and gave him a kiss.

“To be clear, the gift was the cats themselves, and not the man holding them.” He picked up Natasha, tickled her grey striped fur, then held her against his chest. “Until I saw you and Mai melt that way, I had not realized that women become that weak when presented with the sight of a man holding a miniature cat.” He set the other kitten on his shoulder then smirked at me.

It didn’t have quite the effect that Mitsunari had, but he looked handsome none the less, especially when he tapped his finger over his sensual lips.

“A basket of kittens. Not that he held onto that that long.” Mitsunari’s attempt to keep the kittens in the basket had met with certain failure, resulting in seven furry bullets ricocheting all over Hideyoshi’s quarters. By the time the five of us managed to round them all up, the double date was well and truly over.

Mitsuhide seemed to have ‘the touch’ with them, and he settled them onto the hoodie. They instantly curled into each other, and dropped into sleep. “Tomorrow, I’ll introduce them to Chimaki and ensure she understands they are friends. But for now…” He turned, scooped me up, and carried me to our own bed (he seemed to like doing that, and I was getting used to it). “I believe we should follow their example.”

In moments, we had created our own ‘cuddle puddle,’ our arms and legs entangled. “The fact that you remembered I still miss my old cat. It was… I’m…” Too many words struggled for supremacy. This was beyond happiness.

“I know.” He pushed my hair out of my eyes. “I remember every moment of that night. The best and the worst parts of it. I wanted to love you slowly and thoroughly, but I told myself that was not something I could have. Still… there was a part of me that pretended it was the first night of many. That we would return to Azuchi together, I would find a cat for you, and you would-“

“Give you everything. I have. And I will.” No more words were needed. He made good on his promise and began to make love to me, slowly, tenderly, taking time to assuage both of our needs, rocking against me as gently as a boat rode upon the waves.

Maybe it had been a longer route to get here… but we had made it.

The tenth thing I hate about Mitsuhide. The fact that everything about him makes it impossible to avoid loving him.

Coda: Sasuke

“Status update?” Aki, still looking frail and slightly feverish, settled behind the massive European style desk in his office.

Sasuke considered telling his part-time employer to take a few days off, but he settled for handing the man a bottle of antibiotics stolen from the hospital pharmacy. Though Aki had wanted to return to the Sengoku era immediately, Sasuke and Kayten convinced him to wait at least a week to ensure his infection would not recur. Instead, they had used the prototype to laterally jump to Sasuke and Kayten’s primary timeline, where at least the police (not to mention Shingen and their alternates) could not follow.

Now, after very little rest, the three were in the modern version of Aki’s manor in the Togakushi mountains, trying piece together the strands of the known timelines. While Aki was often out of communication range, as he hopped around the multiverse, he usually had let them know where he was going. The trips to 1578 and 1586 had been unplanned, leaving Kayten and Sasuke scrambling to not only manage the timelines, but also search for Aki.

“To borrow a phrase, would you prefer hearing good news or bad news?” Sasuke did at least like to prepare people first.

In this case, though, Kayten was clearly feeling less polite and her hiss of frustration suggested she didn’t appreciate his attempt to soften the blow. “One of the Katsukos was executed.”

A harsh way to put it, but Sasuke remembered the look on Kayten’s face when they arrived in timeline G a few days after her alternate had been put to death. He’d never wanted to see that look again.

Aki closed his eyes for a moment. When he reopened them, he said (in Sasuke’s opinion) the worst thing possible. “And Hikosane?”

“He’s fine. Dad. Adopted by one of Nobunaga’s vassals.” She got to her feet, glaring at them both under a fringe of violet bangs. “I know there’s a bunch of us… versions of myself scattered across the multiverse … maybe to you, it doesn’t matter if one of us dies. But it feels like little pieces of me are being chipped away.” For a moment it looked like she was about to say more, perhaps even include Sasuke in her blast of anger. But instead, she simply left the room, without even a slammed door to punctuate her outburst.

Unsure of whether to try to comfort his friend or continue to keep Aki company, Sasuke stayed frozen in indecision.

“She’s wrong.” Aki’s voice was so quiet, Sasuke might have thought he imagined it. “I lost them both once, and my response to that almost destroyed the multiverse.”

Coming next winter… As Yuki Likes It

Courier, scout, daredevil, housemaid … Bodyguard? Katsuko has had many identities in the seven years since a wormhole sent her back in time to feudal Japan, and she’s found a certain satisfaction working for Akihira. Then an accidental encounter with an alternate timeline gives her a glimpse of a blissful future with a handsome grey-eyed warlord.

To ensure that future for herself, Katsu accepts a mission guiding a young prince and princess to Kasugayama. But a series of betrayals endangers that mission, and only by accepting the escort of Sanada Yukimura do they have any chance of reaching their destination. Meanwhile, Katsu’s wish for that once-glimpsed future is tested by her growing friendship with Yukimura. Not that it matters, as Yukimura is fascinated by the beautiful Princess Shohime… a girl already betrothed to the Dragon of Echigo.

Only time can sort out this entanglement of mismatched lovers. And time… is the one thing that is quickly running out.

… Loosely inspired by Shakespeare's As You Like It

Excerpt

I handed Shohime my arrows, knowing her aim was nearly as good as mine. “You know what to do.” I nudged her toward the cover of trees. “Wait… give you your shawl.”

While she and Hikosane vanished in the undergrowth, I pulled my hair out of the braid, and wrapped her shawl around my shoulders. It would fool no one at close range, but hopefully I could lead our attackers out of the area until the Kanamori vassals could bring reinforcements.

Then I leaped on my horse, and making as much noise as I could, cantered out to the crossroads, where the mercenaries were still searching for us. Moonlight wasn’t fast, but in this mountainous territory, a surefooted horse was more valuable anyway. To ensure I had their attention, I shrieked in fear, then took off through the trees.

Behind me, I could hear the pounding of hoofbeats, and the occasional yelps as one of the ronin got too personal with a low-hanging branch. Taking a meandering path, I zig-zagged through the area, until I was sure the men behind me were thoroughly lost.

After that, it was simply a matter of finding my way back to the others. I love it when a plan comes togeth-

In the midst of my anachronistic celebration, I heard another horse behind me. “Hey! Stop!”

Yeah, that would be a big old no. I spurred Moonlight into action again, but this pursuer was a bit more competent than the others, and no matter how sharply I turned, I could not lose him.

Plan B.

I cut back around, across his path, and took Moonlight directly toward a puddle of water. As expected, as soon as her feet got wet, she reared up, and dumped me off.

Shit, this is going to hurt.

I thudded to the ground, rolled, and, as the rider approached, I pulled Shohime’s shawl over my face, pretending to be overcome with terror. Whoever wanted to kidnap her would be surprised to discover they had the wrong girl, but the longer I could string this out, the better chance I had to learn why he wanted her. As footsteps reached the spot where I had ‘fallen’ off my horse, I added a couple of theatrical sobs.

“Ah… geez. Don’t cry. Are you hurt?”

The voice was vaguely familiar. I risked peeking up at the man who was raking his hands through his hair in frustration… Sasuke’s friend? Yuki? What did Yuki want with the Princess? And how could I make his life a misery for grabbing me instead?

Another story has come to an end, and it's always hard for me to say goodbye to the characters - that snarky kitsune just worms his way into the soul, doesn't he? We will of course see these characters again in other longfics, and I'm actually in a few weeks going to do a follower celebration here, with one of the options being "suggest or vote" on a scene to go with a fic in the Katsuverse.

As you can see, Yukimura will be our next hero in longfic #4, and, despite the angsty coda of this story, I'm hoping it will be heavier on the comedy side (more in tone to Mitsunari's story than Shingen's).

Until then, I want to once again thank everyone who read this story, whether you were a Unicorn commenter, or left a comment sometimes or just quietly came in to read. I'm so grateful for everyone - I love this community, both here and on Ao3.

In the meanwhile, as I try to get Yuki's story written, I'll be bringing back a throwback Thursday fic, so starting in April, keep a lookout for A Mitsunari Night's Dream.

@lorei-writes @bestbryn @lyds323 @tele86 @akitsuneswife @selenacosmic

[buckyarchives]

Dark Night

part two of night shift! whoo! part one here!

Bruce Wayne x GN! Reader

word count: 3.6k

contains: lots of pining, desc of anxiety attack, badly wrote kiss scene

summary: reader deals with being brought to their first high-profile event, alongside prince of Gotham, Bruce Wayne.

a/n: didnt expect to write this much and take this long but so many of you have asked for a part2 so here it is! will probably write some more to this story on AO3 :) happy reading (also i didnt proof read that well again)

*

“you know who you kind of remind me of?” it was almost midnight at the diner, your shift was close to being over and your prince visited you once again before tomorrow, when you’d be walking into a big galleria of people you’ve only seen on the news, with thousands of dollars hung to their body’s, and arms linked with Bruce Wayne.

“who?” Bruce popped a fry into his mouth. His full attention had been on you tonight.

“well, I don’t know if you’ve heard of this movie but,” you paused, smiling to yourself. “Edward Cullen from Twilight.”

“twilight? isn’t that the vampire movies that came out a while ago” Bruce was amused. He had never been compared to a vampire.

You heard a ding from behind yourself, quickly rushing over to grab the hot plate of food. As you walked around and served food, you could feel Bruce’s eyes following you. Not the creepy, ‘being watched on your way home” ,more of a comforting presence. He had always helped your long shifts feel more enjoyable.

“It isn't just some vampire movie.”You mocked him sitting at the counter. “it is a masterpiece, and the fact you haven’t seen it really disappoints me, Bruce. “

“whoever Edward Cullen is, why do I remind you of him?”

Giggling to yourself before throwing a wet rag back into a bucket of soap. “you’re only up at night, which is like a vampire thing. You’re quiet and kinda emo. not to mention, you somewhat lookalike.”

“emo? really?” his eyes widened, and an enormous smile was plastered onto his face. “Who knows, I could just be a vampire and you don’t know it.”

“Bruce Wayne, prince of Gotham’s and also vampire.” You dramatically announced, the diner was pretty empty, so no one to bother. “what’s next? Will you turn into a bat?”

Bruce tensed up at the lighthearted comment, laughing it off. “whatever.” 

Bruce finished his plate of food, you had planned to leave for the night. Going to grab the plate and empty cup from him and head to the back to leave them on the rack for the dishwasher.

“I’ll be going.” Bruce told you when you got back to the front, paying his bill and leaving a tip like every night. “Tomorrow, I can send someone to pick you up a few hours before the event.”

“sure.” you smiled. “Oh Bruce, I don’t have an outfit.”

“don’t worry, I have something arranged for you.” 

Bruce sweetly smiled at you. His eyes softened, and he turned around to leave. The ring of the bells above the door echoed in your ears, instantly after Bruce left, and your mind raced with ideas about tomorrow. Anxiety and excitement filled your bones. finishing clean up and seeing your co-worker walk in, that was your sign to clock out.

The next morning, you awoke to a small ray of sunlight shining through your window and landing on your face. You could hear the bustling city below you, slowly coming out of your grogginess. you pick up your phone and look at the time and any notifications.

11:23 am

“Jesus, I slept in.” You thought out loud, throwing the comforter off yourself and walking to your kitchen to eat some sort of breakfast.

You were in the middle of brushing your teeth when you faintly heard the sound of your phone buzzing from the other room. You were about to shrug it off and answer it later when you realized it might be Bruce. spitting out whatever mixture of spit and toothpaste was in your mouth and rushed to the phone, accidentally knocking over something on the way there.

“good morning!” you said as you answered the phone and it brought it up to your ear.

“hey.” Bruce’s soft-spoken voice rang through your phone. It sounded like he had just woken up. “I will send Alfred over to your apartment at  2 o’clock. wear nothing fancy. I have an outfit for you.”

you cleared your throat, “Thank you, I’ll see you then.”

“see you then.” you could hear Bruce’s smile as he talked to you. He hung up the phone, and you sat down on your bed. mind wondering once again. You wondered what Bruce does every day. It seems like he just locks himself in his tower all day. Who lives with him? Does he have any daytime hobbies? you realized you truly knew little about the man. He didn’t know much about your daily life either, besides you working yourself to death at that stupid waffle house.

The time went by anxiously quick; it was almost 2, and you had found yourself running around your tiny apartment desperately trying to find your socks. You were a mess and everything was hitting you. That Bruce Wayne was taking you to a party, why you? Out of everyone in the city, too? Did he do this a lot? Pick up random dates by stalking them at their work and handsomely tipping them. This was stressing you out, and you didn’t need to think of this right now. 

ding!

Bruce:

Alfred is in front of your apartment now.

‘Shit’ you voiced out loud before grabbing the rest of your things and locking the door behind you, you mentally prepared yourself for the day ahead of you as you walked down the stairs.

The ride was silent. An older man with a British accent greeted you politely– which you could only assume was Alfred, Wayne’s butler. Bruce would talk briefly about his personal life to you. Filling up the silence and boredom of a long, slow shift, he mentioned Alfred on a few occasions, talking highly of the man who raised him. Though, you couldn’t say the same in your case.

“Master Bruce has told me lots about you.” Alfred’s voice abruptly rang through your ears. His eyes glanced over to the rearview mirror. You gulped down the thought of being talked about to others, unknowing what he may said. “All good things.”

“That’s good to hear.” you chuckled.

“You know,” Alfred paused for a moment, clearing his throat. “I’ve been pushing master Bruce to find a partner, even just put himself out there and I’m quite surprised he went and found one on his own.” 

You couldn’t tell if it was the anxiety leading up to today, the tone in the man’s voice, or simply the expensive ass car you were sitting in, driving to an expensive ass tower. A sudden wave of insecurity ran over you. You were not rich, and you felt slightly out of place. Especially to call yourself one of Bruce’s partners? You felt like a fraud.

“Oh sir, we aren’t together or anything. We’re just friends.” you embarrassingly brushed off Alfred’s statement, hoping he didn’t get the wrong impression.

He hummed in response, “doesn’t sound like that from what Bruce has expressed to me.” he parked the car in an enormous garage, swiftly getting out to open the door for you like it was second nature for him. “We’ve arrived, just follow me.”

They chattered as you two made your way up the tower. You stepped out of the elevator into the gorgeous room. You hadn’t expected something so gothic-inspired; the Waynes had taste for decor, you could give them that. Explained Bruce’s emo-ness.

You slipped out a laugh at that thought, you didn’t mean to do that. Alfred looked over at you with amusement and curiosity in his eyes. “I’m sorry, it’s nothing.” You waved it off and continued to meet Bruce.

“Master Bruce, we’ve arrived.” You were in the kitchen after turning a corner. Bruce was hunched over, looking at the newspaper, dressed in his usual baggy clothing. Your eyes met his shortly, followed by a smile growing on his face before he greeted you.

“You’re here. How was the drive?” Bruce asked you and you quickly reassured him it went smoothly.

“Have you eaten?” Alfred interrupted your small talk. You had a cup of noodles this morning and a couple of glasses of tea, you were okay until later tonight.

“I’m okay. I had a big breakfast.”

“Well then, I’ll send dory in soon to dress you.” Alfred nodded before walking off, leaving the two of you by yourselves. 

You turned to face Bruce. The man you only saw under crappy yellowish lighting and smudgy black eyeshadow, now in front of you and felt like a different person, yet entirely the same. 

“This is the infamous Wayne tower everyone speaks of,” you spoke sarcastically, your eyes scanning the surrounding area slowly. 

Bruce chuckled, “it’s a lot different from the diner.” 

“And you look very pretty in clearer lighting.” Bruce continued, your face grew hot, and you felt embarrassed. You didn't expect him to say that right now.

“So Alfred told me you talk about me.” you brushed away the embarrassment and took a few steps closer to Bruce. “Is that true?”

Now it was Bruce’s turn to feel embarrassed, his head bowed low. He mumbled a confirmation of words, just loud enough for you to hear. A grin grew across your face and you teased the man.

“Really? What do you tell him?” you poked his shoulder slightly. 

“Just normal st– Ow!” he grabbed his shoulder with a smile plastered on his face and his eyes gleaming at you. “Stop that!”

“Oh, come on! That didn’t even hurt, big baby.”

“Well, I told Alfred normal stuff, like how you would tell someone about your day.” Bruce said. You hummed in response, not believing the man’s statement.

“Oh, you must be Bruce’s friend!” Dory’s voice broke through the tension between the two of you, a smile gleaming across her face as she approached the two of you. She grabbed onto your arm, slightly squeezing the muscle and flesh. “Sorry, mister Bruce, I have to take them away for a moment.”

“Thank your dory.” Alfred approached Bruce with some papers as he watched you walk off.

“Alfred.” Bruce turned to his butler. “What do you think?”

“What do I think? You mean of them?” Bruce nervously nodded. “They seem like a lovely person. I’m glad you have found someone to bring you out of your shell, even if it’s platonic.”

Alfred’s voice shifted at the last part of his sentence. It made Bruce tense up and Alfred said it to get more out of Bruce, the butler had been wondering about the relationship growing between you two. Whether it was platonic or romantic, the distinction between the two seemed important in Alfred’s eyes. 

“Is it platonic? Master Bruce,” Alfred questioned the young man.

“I’m not sure.”

“Do you want this to be more than platonic?” 

“Yes.” he hesitated for a moment, but deep inside Bruce knew what he wanted.

Alfred cleared his throat, turning to Bruce. “You know, with that choice comes things you will eventually have to tell them.”

“I know, I’m not worried about that right now.” 

The sound of expensive shoes hitting the hardwood floor interrupted the men’s conversation, echoing through the room and snapping Bruce’s head in the direction of it. And Bruce just saw you, with dory at your side. You looked absolutely stunning, and Bruce couldn’t even croak out a word. He sat there speechless, just looking at you. It was partially weird seeing you out of your dirty waffle house uniform. 

“Do you like?” you jokingly swayed your shoulder and hips, Bruce slightly giggled at the dorky action.

“I like.” he stood up, approaching you. “I like a lot.”

the time came for Bruce to be swept away by dory and be dressed. You were left alone for a moment to sit in the dining room and wait for Bruce. Your hands brushed across the fabric on your body, tailored to fit. Your outfit was a dark blue. Dory told you it complemented your skin tone, she also told you Bruce had hand-picked it for you. 

Alfred called out your name, and you snapped your head to see him standing behind you, appearing almost like some ghost. “You look very good, master Bruce did a wonderful job picking out your attire for tonight.”

“Thank you very much, Alfred.”

“Bruce he–’ he sat down at the table next to you. “He really enjoys your company. It seems you bring out some qualities in him I haven’t seen since he was just a boy, so I hope you plan to stick around.”

Alfred’s statement caught you off-guard. Goosebumps rose on your skin at the thought of staying in Bruce’s life. Being an important person to him felt strange, not bad, just a new feeling.

You smiled warmly at the man next to you. “I hope to stay around for as long as he lets me.”

You looked down at the watch on your wrist,

4:17 pm

You were itching to see Bruce. it hadn’t been long, but you wanted to see him in something else besides baggy clothes and messy hair. You’d seen him on the news and in the paper in his spiffy suits and expensive clothing, but you were sure it had to be different in per–

“Hey.” the familiar soft-spoken voice brought you out of your thoughts.

You saw the handsome man in his glory. A black suit, tailored to fit him perfectly, just enough to hug around his waist and emphasize his broad shoulders. You noticed the golden cufflinks, the Wayne symbol engraved on them. He looked magnificent.

You got up, looked him up and down again. “There really is a handsome man underneath the edgy black eyeliner.”

Bruce rolled his eyes at your statement, “uh-huh, whatever you say.”

He walked towards you, closing the space between you, too. Bruce reached out to your hand, grabbed it, and gently brushed his thumb across your knuckles. You felt the warmth in your chest. Your heart had sped up.

Bruce was nervous. He had dated before; he had taken people out on dates. He had swooned, seduced, and won people over before. Yet, it had been a while, and you felt different. He was actually here and slowly was giving himself to you in full. He was close to you, enough to feel your breath. Bruce glanced from your eyes to your lips. He wanted to kiss you. He really wanted to kiss you.

“Ready to go?” you interrupted his thoughts, bringing Bruce back down to reality. 

“Yeah.”

 The time that Alfred gotten you and Bruce prepared and went over what was going on at the event, it went by nervously fast. The event was held in a museum that was cleared for a ball. There were going to be flashing cameras, good food, reporters, live music, and a bunch of fucking rich people. Here you were, panicking as you were about to pull up to the carpet, with Bruce Wayne. 

“Bruce, I don’t know if I can do this.” your hands were shaking. Bruce cushioned your hand, soothing you back down to calm.

“I will be right next to you the entire night, but if you really don’t want to do this, we can leave.” His hand crept to your face, facing him. Your eyes locked together. “Just say the word.”

You gulped down any last nervousness and nodded to Bruce. “It’s okay, I’m okay. Let’s do this.”

The chauffeur swung the door open, you could hear the shouting of the paparazzi and the sound of the cameras flashing. Bruce held out his hand for you. Your shaky hand took him and he guided you out the car and into the light. 

Instantly you would hear the scream of ‘Bruce Wayne!’ and also a few shouting questions, asking who you were. You both winced at the flashing cameras being pointed at you suddenly. Bruce was the prince of Gotham, after all. Bruce didn't like being in the spotlight either, the quicker you two get through this, the better.

“We’ll get through this quickly, don’t worry,” Bruce whispered into your eye, snaking a hand around your waist and pulling you towards the red carpet. 

You smiled pretty for the cameras, focusing on your breathing and Bruce’s hand around you. In front of those cameras, he never removed his hand from you. His hand felt like a safety blanket, like he was holding you together with just one touch, and if he let go, you would crumble into pieces in front of everyone. 

Bruce wondered what people would say in the news. What they were going to say about his newly assumed partner? Hopefully, nothing bad. 

“Come on.’’ Bruce smiled, grabbing your hand and leading you into the building. Walking through those doors felt like heaven. There was AC and no paparazzi to blind you. Your eyes wandered around the building. It shaped the ceiling like a dome, they painted art all over it. Art was, well, everywhere. It was beautiful. 

Bruce tapped your shoulder, your eyes scanned to him. “Do you want to get food?”

“Is that even a question?” You giggled before grabbing his hand and making your way through the crowd. You set your eyes on the large table of gourmet food, making your way there, hand in hand with Bruce.

A deep voice ran through your ears as he approached you. “Mr. Wayne! It is wonderful to see you again.

A larger older man came up to the two of you, patting Bruce roughly on the shoulder. They started a conversation about Wayne enterprise. The man babbled quickly to Bruce about how much more he could do and told him to stop being a hermit in his tower. Something you had no opinion on since you weren’t very interested in politics. 

“And who is this? Your date for the night?’ his gaze was now directed at you.

“This is my partner during the night. We were just going to drink.” Bruce forced out a friendly smile before cutting off the conversation and pulling you away from the man. You weren’t opposed.

“Finally.” Bruce released a breath as he grabbed a drink from the bar. “Do you want one?”

“No, thank you. I didn’t know you drank.”

“I don’t.”

You scoffed as the man chugged down the drink. “Hypocrite,” you stated jokingly. Grabbing some weird expensive bread and fancy cheese and shoving it into your mouth.

The ambiance of the entire place felt like a fever dream to you. You watched as they talked to each other. It was something you’d only see on some reality television show. Bruce didn’t like it. He felt the judging eyes of all the other politicians or high-profile people that used to work with his father. Bruce tugged at his collar, feeling overwhelmed. 

“Do you want some fresh air?” he asked you, you nodded slowly, putting down the glass of water.

 Bruce grabbed your hand again, and every time it sparked something inside your stomach. He guided you through the crowd of rich people, making sure no one would knock into you or swoop you away from him. 

A wave of fresh air came across your body as you came outside. It was a wonderful garden, with bushes cut into shapes and lights everywhere, illuminating the dark night. The echo of your shoes clacking onto the pavement filled your ears, Bruce’s hand was still wrapped around yours. You giggled at each other as you traveled to the patio.

Sitting down under the roof, fairy lights hung all the way around. Bruce was slightly tipsy, you could tell from his eyes. You two took in the fresh air and make jokes about all the people in there, laughing with each other like longtime friends.

“seriously Bruce, what is up with rich people and tiny dogs and free stuff?” giggling together, reminiscing about the old lady that shoved a bunch of bread in her purse when she thought no one was looking.

“I honestly don’t know.” bruce replied 

“are you going to get a tiny white rat dog and name it something like prissy?” you playfully pushed bruce's chest.

bruce was looking at you, into your eyes lovingly. taking in this moment of seeing your hair messy from the light breeze and the golden lights reflecting off your eyes. “you are so beautiful, I hope you know that.”

Your face cheeks flushed with pink, goosebumps ran over your thighs. All you could do is laugh off the compliment.“I don’t know about that Brucey.” 

you averted eye contact and held your head low. embarrassment taking over your body.

“I mean it.” bruce brought his hand up to your chin, pulling your head up to look at him. “you are the most beautiful person I’ve ever met.”

“no, no, I’m sure you’ve met many men and women that surpass my lo—“

bruce closed the gap between you two, crashing his lips onto yours just to get you to shut up and accept the facts he was telling you. you didn’t know how to act besides just complying, kissing bruce back. your lips moved in motion with bruce’s, put together like a perfect puzzle piece. the sparks you felt inside you had now felt like fireworks, and bruce was the match that ignited it.

slowly, bruce pulled away. his hands cupped your face and your hand was placed on bruce’s shoulders and neck. it felt like a burning sensation to bruce, one he enjoyed, something he would get addicted too soon enough. catching his breath, he looked into your eyes, taking in the moment and feeling the atmosphere around him. he had to remember this.

“bruce,” you called out his name, was all you could mutter out at this moment.

“do you believe me?” 

you nodded.

silence filled the air for a few moments, letting your emotions and heartbeat settle. bruce looked at you like you were the entire ocean and sky combined. like you were everything.

“I think I'm in love with you.” bruce broke the silence. confessing what he had been debating in his head the entire day.

“I think I am too.”

bruce felt full at this moment, this was something he wasn’t going to regret.

[chaotic-super]

Back To Krypton - Chapter 41

Read it on AO3 here!

“Good morning, sunshine,” Alex grumbles from the couch as Kara strides out of the hallway. “You look nice.”

“Thanks.” Kara smiles. “I’m just going to grab a quick bite and then head off. I want to get a good chunk of time at the lab today before I take you guys out later for another excursion.”

Lena frowns, sitting next to Alex before she is forced to move by the heavy weight of Alex’s glare. Kelly sits between the pair in the spot Lena just vacated not ten seconds later, and Alex’s glare lets up to make way for a soft smile.

Looking at her with pinched brows, Lena looks confused. “Wait, why are you going back again? You spent quite a while there yesterday after we got back from the Jewel Mountains.”

“I know. I just promised I’d help with what I can, I don’t want them to turn around at the end of these few days and try and say that I didn’t uphold any part of my side of the deal. I want this to be a clean break, and to do that, I have to make sure that I’m playing the good little girl I was back in the day when this planet was still my home. As long as they see that, I think they’ll behave themselves.”

Alex jumps in as she wraps an arm around Kelly’s shoulders. “Why are you going now though? Can’t you go later on?”

“I could, but the place I want to take you is somewhere quite warm, and no, it’s not the Firefalls just yet. It cools off mid-afternoon, making the trip much more pleasant for us. I think you’ll like it, but it’s very much something you can’t do earlier on, so I’m going to go and spend some time with my father before I come back and pick you up.”

Esme seems to pop up out of nowhere, her hands clutching at the soft pleats in Kara’s dress, a light lilac number that makes Lena create a mental note to buy her more purple clothes when they’re back on Earth. She looks downright regal, and she’s totally not resisting the urge to bow at her feet. That would be ludicrous.

“Aunt Kara?”

“Hey, bud!” Kara grins down at her niece, startled by her sudden appearance but way too excited at seeing her at her side to care.

“I want to come with you.”

Kara presses her lips together tightly, her smile straining. She doesn’t know how to handle this one and looks to Alex and Kelly for assistance.

Kelly, ever the hero, comes to her rescue. “Esme, baby, she has to work. It would be super boring for you in the lab with her and her father.”

“But I want to be like Aunt Kara and sit at the desk while she talks to me about science like she said she did.”

The pieces click in Kara’s mind. She has mentioned more than once how her father used to take her to the lab with him and use her as a sounding board while he worked through his projects. It made her feel like a real scientist and only gave her all the more enthusiasm towards her studies so she could one day stand beside him as an equal in that lab.

She supposes that on some level, she has gotten there now. Maybe not in the way she had imagined and not with the qualifications she aimed for under her belt, but she’s beside him nonetheless. Now Esme wants to be beside her and feel that same joy she once felt.

“I want to go.” Esme presses herself to Kara’s leg, wrapping her arms around it and leaning into her as Kara’s hand drops to the back of her head, stroking her hair out of her face.

Kara shrugs at the little girl’s parents. “I can take her but she might get bored. I have no doubts that it’ll be safe for her there. Nobody will try anything.”

“I’m not worried about that.” Alex shakes her head before continuing. “Well, I am, but that’s not my main concern. Will you be able to finish everything when you’re looking after her?”

Nodding firmly, Kara smiles at them. “I’ll be good. I’d love a little bonding time with my niece. It’s been a while.”

“If you’re sure, go for it.” Kelly gives in without much of a fight.

“Alrighty then, Miss Esme. It looks like you’re joining me for a trip into the city today. Do you want to take anything with you in case you get bored?” Kara tucks a stray tuft of light brown hair behind her niece’s ear.

Esme nods. “I want my teddy.”

“Go grab him then and once we’ve had breakfast we’ll head off.”

“Ok!” Esme shouts, running through the accommodation to go and fetch her teddy before either Alex or Kelly can call out and tell her not to run.

The group watches her go with fond smiles across all of their faces.

“She’s my favourite.” Kara declares until Nia walks over and hands her a plate of food. “I take that back. She’s joint-favourite with Nia.”

Nia punches the air with a grin. “Yes!”

“Hey!” Lena sticks her tongue out at Kara and Nia.

Nia sticks her tongue out back, raising her middle finger at her, which is quickly returned. “I win. I bet this means she’s going to tell me her plan before you guys too.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Kara says, sitting down and balancing the plate on her lap so she can dig in.

Alex tilts her head at her, clearly annoyed. “When are you going to let us in on the plan, Kara?”

“Later. When I take you out of the city tonight, I’ll tell you the plan. I have to. We start working on it tomorrow. For today though, I want us to have fun. Think you can wait?”

Alex sighs. “Do we have a choice?”

“Not really.” Kara shrugs.

“Then we can wait.” Kelly chimes in. “We trust you and we’ve got your back, Kara.”

“Thanks, guys. I appreciate it. Now, I’m going to eat this and then Esme and I will head off. I want you to just relax and prepare yourselves for a nice day. Make sure to dress in something appropriate for lots of sun, and by that, I mean cover up. Sunburn sucks.”

Nia salutes her mockingly. “Aye aye, captain.”

-

“Kara? Is that you, Inah?” Alura calls out as Kara walks into the apartment.

In lieu of an answer, Kara just walks out into the living area where her parents are sitting on the couch, each reading from a separate information crystal.

“Oh, you brought Esme with you.” Zor-El’s eyes are wide with surprise.

“I did, I hope that’s alright. I thought that maybe I could talk her through some things the same way you used to when I was little.”

Zor-El softens his gaze, looking into Esme’s eyes. “Are you excited to learn about science?”

Esme nods her head rapidly, one arm clutched tightly around her teddy and the other clinging to Kara’s hand. “Aunt Kara is going to teach me.”

“She is? I’ve heard she’s an outstanding teacher.” Zor-El smiles.

Esme shuffles a little closer to Kara, her nervousness kicking up in the presence of Kara’s parents. Kara looks down at her and can’t help but wonder if taking her away from her friends and kids her own age could have done some damage to her socially. It’s been months, and to a four, almost five-year-old, that’s a long time.

Alura watches the way Esme nuzzles into Kara’s side with sadness. She knows Kara will grow up without them. At this point it’s undeniable, and Kara has spelt it out for them very clearly. However, facing her daughter standing before her, all grown up and with a small child beside her, makes it real. She’s never going to see Kara with a child of her own. She’s not going to see her mature and find her way in the world. Any world. She’s just going to lose her, and if she lives past sending her away, she’ll lose herself too.

Kara clears her throat. “I like to think I’m a pretty good teacher. I’ve been teaching her about Krypton on our travels and it’s gone great. She’s been learning, and I’ve had the chance to relive and remember many things I hadn’t thought about in a really long time.”

Zor-El swallows thickly. “I can’t wait to see you in action. It was truly wonderful to see you in your element in the lab last night, so to see you stretch your wings and add teaching young Esme here will be a treat for everyone to see.”

Kara is not sure what to do with that compliment, so she fixes a polite smile on her face and nods, placating him with a simple movement. “Shall we get going then so you can see it in person?”

“Of course. Please allow me a few moments to grab my things.” Zor-El claps his hands together once as he stands and passes the pair with a squeeze to Kara’s shoulder.

Kara’s gaze follows him dutifully as he leaves the room with hurried steps before she focuses on her mom. “Will you be joining us in the lab today? I half expected you to be there last night.”

“I can only join you for a short while, unfortunately. I have an important meeting to attend that I cannot miss. Likewise, I also had an important meeting last night. The council is very aware of the planet's state now and they know we don’t have much longer unless something is done. Your father’s plan has been approved now. Your plan has been approved now.”

“We were working on it before it was approved?”

“Did you think we would wait for it to be approved when the planet is in danger?”

“Good point.” Kara gives in easily. She can’t deny the logic.

Zor-El reappears with a smile. “I’m ready.”

“Ok, let’s go,” Kara announces, looking down at Esme and their linked hands for a moment before they head back out to the pod.

-

Finishing up in the lab for the day, Kara carries Esme’s teddy out to the pod for her, carefully holding it close, both arms wrapped around it. Her niece skips a couple of steps ahead of her with more excitement than she expected her to have. She may have mentioned where they’re going for their day trip and a few cool features of their destination that now have her practically vibrating with enthusiasm and excitement.  

Zor-El walks beside her, his eyes naturally falling on Esme and watching her to ensure she doesn’t get hurt as he talks to Kara. “We got much done today. We should complete a large portion of the project before you leave.”

“That’s what I’m hoping,” Kara says. They’ve been avoiding the topic of her leaving while they are in the lab, but she guesses that now they’re out of there, her father has garnered the courage to bring it up, albeit passively.

“Will you be joining me in the lab again tomorrow?”

Kara hums. “Yeah. I’m just thinking. I think I’m going to take my family to the Firefalls tomorrow. Would it be better for me to take them early in the day or wait for the evening?”

Zor-El takes a moment to ponder the question, one hand coming up to stroke his stubbled chin. “Hmm, that’s an excellent question. If you visit in the morning, you will have a better view of the general area as well as the falls. However, if you go in the evening and wait for dusk, you will see the true illumination of the falls. I would say that the latter will be a much more memorable sight for Esme, perhaps something she will carry with her for a long time.”

“I’m really hoping that she’s made a lot of memories here that nobody can take away from her. She’s only young but I hope she doesn’t forget.”

“She will. We all will one day. You won’t though. You won’t forget her smiles. They’ll be scarred onto your heart, just like yours are scarred onto mine.” He pauses, a wistful smile gracing his lips. “I took you to see the falls in the morning. I wish I had waited, but I was impatient to take you. Take them in the evening.”

Kara ducks her head, her gaze falling to the carpeted floor as her feet shuffle forward. She takes a deep breath before changing the subject somewhat. “How has your time with young me been working out for you?”

“Great.” He smiles to himself. “You’ve been practically attached to my hip the past few days. You love that your mother and I have been making sure to have at least one meal together each day, and we’ve been reading a book by Kir-Wat. It’s about the—”

“The planet in the next solar system over. Jespern, if I remember correctly. Pretty much every creature there is radioactive, and the only reason we know is because of the probes that were sent down to the planet’s surface and then brought back up killed every scientist on board the ship sent over to investigate.”

Zor-El nods approvingly. “Yes. You remember it?”

“I do. It's not the kind of bedtime reading the average twelve-year-old goes for, but I quite enjoyed it. Plus, I was proud I beat you.”

“You remember we agreed to race to see who can finish first?”

“Yes. I was convinced that you let me win, but now I see that it was just because your mind is somewhere much more important.”

He shrugs, his pointer finger drawn as he grimaces guiltily. “I actually already won. I’m not telling young you that, obviously. My competitive streak won out and I read the whole thing in one night. I had to sleep in considerably later the next morning but stayed late in the lab to ensure my work was still done. I get to win and young you will get to win too. Apparently, I don’t hide it well though since you had an inkling.”

“Your poker face really needs more work.”

“My what?”

Kara’s brain freezes for a second before she understands why her father isn’t understanding her. “Your lying face. Poker is a game of cards on Earth that requires players to be able to fool their opponents. To do so, they must not express their intentions and feelings through facial their expressions, hence why it’s called a poker face. You have a terrible one and would lose that game rather quickly.”

“I do not doubt that you’re correct, Inah. That game sounds fascinating. Perhaps we could discuss it over lunch tomorrow?”

“Sure, but I think Esme will want to come again, and any card game will get derailed so she can teach you how to play Go Fish.”

His eyebrows furrow. “I’m not certain how fish relate to cards, but I’m certain that I will try my best to learn the game quickly so I can play with Esme. She’s a delightful little girl; no doubt she takes after her aunt.”

“I’m not going to take any credit. She’s just amazing. My sister is doing a great job with her. I couldn’t be prouder.”

Shaking his head, Zor-El runs his fingers through his hair as they reach the pod. “That still sounds strange. I’ve had time to process it, but it still doesn’t sound quite right to me. You have a sister. My daughter has a sister.”

Kara’s not sure where he’s going with it so she focuses on getting Esme into the pod. She settles her into her seat before placing the teddy down beside her, tucking it under the little girl’s arm.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to upset you.”

Kara turns around to see her father looking at her, a vague look of shame overtaking him.

“I’m not upset. You’re welcome to your feelings and I can understand how this isn’t easy for you, just as it’s not easy for me. You’re facing your child who has grown up without her parents being able to be there for her teenage years and having to come to terms with the fact that other people filled the role you and mom vowed to fulfil back when you submitted your application for use of the birthing matrix.”

“That doesn’t give me the right to make you feel as though I’m criticizing those people. They took care of you when we couldn’t and for that, I will always be eternally grateful.”

Kara swallows thickly. “If it helps at all, they never replaced you. I do count them as my parents too, but they’re not replacements. I have room in my heart for all of you. I just view you all as my family.”

Zor-El sniffs, wiping his eyes before tears can even threaten to escape. “That does help, and I’ll be sure to relay the message to your mother. I think she will take comfort in the knowledge too.”

It brings Kara comfort to see this side of her father. She’s aware of his other side, which is selfish, manipulative and dark. She can’t forget that side of him but she likes seeing him how she remembers him. It’s nice and it’s not something she’s upset about.

She offers him a tight-lipped smile and climbs into the pod before making space for him.

He shakes his head at her. “I have been able to acquire a temporary pod so we don’t have to share. I don’t like the thought of you being left at the accommodation without a means of transportation, but I cannot be without the pod as I was last night either. It unsettled me to know that I couldn’t get to the lab in an emergency.”

Kara hums understandingly. “I get it. Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For thinking of me.”

“I will never stop thinking of you, Kara. Now, go. I think your passenger is restless and aching to go and collect the rest of your family. The Plane of Wanan awaits.”

-

Kara lands just in front of the accommodation, excited for them to get moving so they can go and see another wonderous sight Krypton has to offer. Esme pushes her teddy towards her and Kara takes it once again. “Come on, let’s go and make some food to take with us and round up your moms so we can go,” Kara says, tucking the teddy under one arm and lifting Esme down from the pod with the other. She’s sure there’s a button she can push somewhere that will make steps protract from the side of the pod, but she hasn’t had enough time to figure it out yet.

They walk into the accommodation like celebrities arriving at a movie premiere, all smiles and waves.”

“Are you guys ready to go see a thing or two?” Kara asks with a grin so wide that not a single person can resist smiling back. Despite that though, not even Lena gets up to greet them.

Esme doesn’t seem to mind, running to her moms with the intent of filling them in on her exciting morning with her aunt. However, Kara is left standing there, teddy in hand as she tilts her head in confusion. “Are you guys not ready?”

“We are. We just know you well enough that we’re certain you have things to do before we leave.” Nia offers up helpfully. “You’re pretty much the queen of doing things at the last minute.”

“I resent that.” Kara huffs, crossing her arms.

Alex pins her with a knowing stare. “So does that mean that we can all go and climb into that pod right now because you’re ready to go?”

“Well, yeah. I just have to pack us some food to take, but other than that, yes.” Kara answers defensively and rolls her eyes when the group starts snickering. “You know what? You guys don’t deserve a nice trip out; you’re all being mean to me and I think I’ll go alone.” She turns on her heel and marches towards the kitchen to the melody of her family’s laughter, all of them seeing through her flimsy threat.

She comes out of the kitchen a while later, food all packed up and ready to take with her and Esme’s teddy still with her since she forgot to put it down before she stomped off. She sets the picnic basket down on a nearby table and walks right past everyone to go and put the teddy away before coming back.

“I’m only taking people with me who apologize for laughing at me.” She announces.

Lena gets up, smiling at her fondly before kissing her cheek. “Darling, you’re not going to win this one. Give it up.” She says, taking her hand and pulling her to the door, her other hand snatching up the basket as they pass it.

Kara is almost to the door before Lena’s charm wears off enough for her to put up a fight. “Wait, no.”

“Come on.” Lena tugs her hand, using their linked fingers to make sure she doesn’t stop. “I want to get going.”

Kara quickly finds herself ushered out of the building and towards the pod, the rest of the group trailing behind them and talking amongst themselves. “You know that I’m offended, right?”

“Kara, you have to admit that you’re kind of known for your last-minute plans.”

“Not always.”

“No, not always, but a lot of the time.” Lena smiles softly, tucking a lock of blonde hair back behind her ear and leaning in once again to press her lips to her cheek. “Don’t worry, I find it endearing.”

Kara huffs but steps back to let everyone climb into the pod before getting in herself. She’s a little grumpy now but Lena sets her hand on her thigh right after she starts up the pod and that helps alleviate her souring mood somewhat, even more so when her nails start softly dragging against the bare skin she finds through the thigh slit in her dress. Lena knows she can’t stay mad when she scratches her softly with her nails, it’s too relaxing. Damn it. Sometimes, it’s annoying just how well Lena knows her.

Kara steels herself whilst simultaneously turning to jelly in her seat under Lena’s tender caress. “You don’t play fair.”

“And you’re only just figuring this out now?”

Kara shrugs. “Sometimes I forget just how many scenarios you can run in your head at once and how you can pick and choose which one to move forward with at any moment.”

“Really?”

“No.” Kara laughs. “Why do you think you haven’t been told the plan yet? I have a very good plan and while you could probably improve it, I think it’ll work.”

Lena shakes her head. “Are you actually going to tell us today?”

“Uh-huh. We start working on stuff tomorrow, so I need you to know what’s happening.”

Stretching her legs as much as possible, Lena rolls the stiffness out of her shoulders. “So, you wouldn’t be telling us if it wasn’t time for us to help with your plan?”

“Exactly.” Kara points at her. “See, I’ve always known you’re smart.”

Fixing her with a deadpan expression, Lena speaks. “And sometimes I think the opposite of you. Do you really believe that taunting a Luthor is a good idea?”

“I’m taunting my girlfriend, not just a Luthor.”

“Double trouble then.”

“What are you two doing? This is disgusting to watch.” Alex complains, her eyes positioned firmly on the back of their seats so she doesn’t accidentally catch her sister canoodling. She doesn’t want to be traumatized more than she already has been by her kid sister and her apparent overwhelming appetite to somehow merge her body with Lena’s based on how much time she spends touching her.

“Babe, let them flirt, it’s cute.” Kelly nudges her.

“If that’s what flirting looks like, then I need to re-evaluate a lot of things in my life.” Alex mutters through her hands as she covers her face, well and truly exasperated.

“Chill out.” Lena turns her head to glance in Alex’s general direction. “This is just how we express our love.”

The redhead huffs in response. “That’s the problem. You can express your love however you want, but that doesn’t mean you get to do it while in a pod with the rest of us.”

“Fine. We’ll tone it down.” Kara jumps in, nudging Lena when her mouth drops open, ready to fire back at her. “We’ll wait until we’re on our own next time, ok?”

“You better do.”

All the while, Nia and Esme are huddled together, utterly oblivious because they’re too busy playing eye-spy out of the window, completely taken by the views the flight is offering them.

Kelly and Alex follow their lead and refocus on looking out of the window for the rest of the flight, and Alex tries to let the sights alleviate some of her irritability.

While they do that, Lena shuffles closer to Kara, resting her head on her shoulder and pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

“Don’t you want to look out of the window too?”

“I’ve already got a good view,” She shrugs, “I’m happy here.”

They fall into a semi-comfortable silence, all of them thinking the same thing. They could use a break from these people when they get back to Earth. They all love each other, but after months of being together almost every minute of the day, they’re done and need a break.

After a while, Kara takes the pod off autopilot, referencing some notes for the directions for a moment, hovering the pod in place while she looks before continuing on for a while.

“We’re here.”

Alex squints, her eyebrows furrowed as she tries to understand how they have reached their destination when they’re very clearly just in the middle of a bog-standard desert. “Did you forget to turn on autopilot?”

Kara rolls her eyes, turning her head slowly before pinning her sister with a freezing cold glare that even has Lena grimacing.

“Darling, I’m excited to see whatever it is you want to show us. Do we get out here?” She squeezes Kara’s thigh softly.

Kara shakes her head. “Not yet. Hold on.”

She had completely stopped the pod, but now she starts it up again, flying close to the ground and going slowly, barely more than a walking pace.

“Are we lost?” Nia asks tentatively, not wanting to be on the receiving end of a Kara Danvers stare-down. She can be scary, and in many ways, she’d prefer to go up against Lena than Kara.

“No, just wait. You’ll see it in a minute.” Kara says, the annoyance evident in her voice even though they can all tell she’s trying to have a little more patience.

They all lean back into their seats, trusting that Kara knows what she’s doing, even if they aren’t one hundred percent certain of that at this exact moment.

The pod keeps crawling forward at a snail’s pace, taking them slowly across what looks like a pretty standard-looking desert, nothing to write home about. The white sand glistens beneath the red sun, coating it in a blood-red hue that is nothing short of magnificent, yet it doesn’t impress them compared to all the other things they’ve seen. 

“Kara, last time we were in a desert, you told us there were snakes. Is there going to be snakes here too?” Nia questions.

“Snakes? No. Not snakes.” Kara rounds a large sand dune and waits for the gasps as everyone spots what she really brought them out here to see.

“Oh, Rao.” Kara gasps, taken aback by the sight she thought she would be unaffected by, but alas, even after all the years away from such a remarkable view, it still has a pull over her she will never be rid of; something she couldn’t be more grateful for. “Now, this is what I brought you out here to see.”

Lena’s grip on her thigh tightens, her jaw slack and hanging open as she squints out into the desert plane ahead of her, a sight taking hold that she never thought she’d see, a picture she couldn’t dream of even if she sleeps for the rest of her life.

Kara tilts her head to look at the rest of the group and smiles smugly at their dumbfounded expressions. “See, I told you, no snakes in sight, just an awe-inspiring view that you’re never going to forget.”

“With a sight like that, I wouldn’t even care if there are snakes.” Nia leans forward, itching to get a closer look.

“No snakes, but there are ducks.”

“In the desert?”

“Yeah…desert ducks.” Kara points generally out of the window.

“You’re lying.”

“I am not.”

“Lena,” Nia whines, trying to get her to step in.

Lena doesn’t react at all, too busy staring out at the vision ahead. Before them lies a quarry of sorts, a large, sunken hole in the ground. That’s not what’s impressive though. What is impressive is the gigantic, majestic sand pillars emerging from the pit's base.

The sand has hardened, or it’s stone or something along those lines. Kara’s not entirely sure, but the sand pillars are taller than the quarry itself, and they imitate the pointed tops of Christmas trees, flaring about halfway down and then sitting steady on a solid ‘trunk’.

Somehow, that’s not what’s taking their breath away though. No, that’s the great sandstorm billowing through the shapes, carving them into their elegant forms with the mighty force only a haboob can hold.

The sand blows up within the wind, forcing it into a dance of abstract shapes, harsh lines and soft gradients in the sky that even a physicist would struggle to explain. It’s nothing quite like what they’ve ever seen before.

“When I was a little girl, my aunt Astra brought me out here to see the ducks and the lizards. She wanted to teach me about them and decided that we could hang out here too. This is a place not many people visit because of the haboobs.”

“What’s a haboob?” Kelly asks, head tilting in confusion and looking like the human embodiment of a Shih Tzu.

“It’s basically a sandstorm. The Plane of Wanan is known for them, but this one is the most famous. It’s trapped in the quarry, never-ending, just lingering and slowly eating away at the pillars. One day, it’ll completely break them down into nothing, escape its confines, and eventually die out. It lives on through its capture. There’s a strange kind of beauty in that.”

“Can we get out and take a closer look?”

Kara shakes her head. “No, I’ll have to move away from it, but there’s a good dune just South of here that’ll be perfect to sit on while we take it all in. When I was little, we used to stare into the sand and try to make out shapes of animals and landmarks.

“Sounds awesome, but I haven’t seen a duck yet.”

“They don’t come out when impatient people are around.” Kara sticks out her tongue at Nia. “Just wait, they’re coming.”

Read the entirety of Back To Krypton on Patreon here!

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[chenfordspiral]

ch 10 - it's you and me against the world

Chenford get used to living together, and Tim has many thoughts. Some people we might not want to see make an appearance.

early April 2024

Officially living together is easier than either of them had imagined. Sure, they have their little disagreements, like whether or not the toilet seat is supposed to be up or down, or not storing every day kitchen utensils in cabinets that Lucy can’t reach. But those were things that they’d always bickered about anyway. So, really - the only actual change is that they no longer spend their time at her or his place. It’s their place now, with both of their names on the mailbox, and both of their cars in the driveway.

It hasn’t even been three weeks yet, and it already feels like the most natural thing in the world to always wake up next to each other, and head home to the same place at the end of each day. Which, again, they’d already done pretty much ever since they started dating, but it’s different now. They no longer have to decide where to go, or worry about running out of clean clothes.

And it’s the ease of officially living together, the ease of falling into a slightly different new rhythm so seamlessly, that makes Tim want to propose right on the spot. They’re getting ready for work on an otherwise super normal, uneventful Wednesday morning, when the thought pops into his head and just won’t leave him alone. He wants this every damn morning for the rest of his life. He wants to wake up next to her, stay in bed and cuddle with her until they absolutely have to get up to not be late for work, wants to make and have breakfast together, wants to shower and get dressed together before heading to work.

It’s not even the first time he’s thought about proposing. No. The first time was actually when they were babysitting Jack and Sofia. The way Lucy had talked about their kids so easily still has his heart racing in anticipation even now, three months later. The second time was when they were in Big Bear, when they’d talked about their kids again, and then decided to move in together. So really, this brings the count up to four already. Because the real first time was when he bought the ring. (And about a dozen other times before that, but who’s counting?)

But he’s still as reluctant to just propose without actually having a plan as he was a few months ago. Sure, he’s thought about it, a lot. But he still hasn’t figured out how he wants it to happen. Lucy deserves for him to put some effort into this, even though he knows she wouldn’t want it to be a big, grand gesture. Well, he’s pretty sure, at least. But he wants to make it count, wants to make it memorable and not just propose at home, especially since he doesn’t actually have the ring with him because Tamara still has it safely stored away so Lucy doesn’t unintentionally find it.

But that doesn’t stop him from imagining what it would be like to propose right now as he looks at her while she’s getting dressed, anyway. Imagines how she’d react when she realizes what he’s doing. Imagines crying his eyes out as he tries to get the words out. Imagines Lucy laughing, but crying right along with him. Imagines her saying yes, and sliding the ring on her finger. Imagines-

“Babe?” Lucy asks, suddenly standing right in front of him, waving a hand in front of his eyes. “Where’d you go?”

keep reading on AO3.

[downwiththeficness]

Shadow and Veil-Chapter Forty

Summary: Eva Moore’s life was a carefully constructed fiction.  Every day, she did exactly what her mother in law, her husband, and his  best friend expected of her. No mistakes. And, that was going pretty  well for Eva right up until a huge complication literally tried to run  her over. Now, she’s faced with trying to keep the pieces of her life  from falling apart while attempting (and failing) to keep her feelings  for her husband’s new business partner at bay.

A/N: This fic is a sister-fic to A Need So Great and A Need Unleashed.  You do not need to have read ANSG or ANU to read this fic, but there  are Easter eggs from those fics in Shadow and Veil for readers with keen  eyes.  This fic is explicit for canon-compliant blood, gore, violence,  and sex. As such, it is intended for an adult audience, only. A/B/O  dynamics come with their own warning. Anyone under the age of 18 should  not interact with this work. I do not consent to reposting this work to  other platforms. Reblog only to Tumblr.  

Word Count: ~2200

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Eva watched Horacio key into the apartment with her mouth pulled down into a frown. This trip felt far longer than the last, even though it was half the distance. At every turn, they were met with delays. A layover that almost caused them to miss their connecting flight, a run-in with customs, and a terribly irate taxi driver who took the turns too fast. It was as if the very universe wanted to keep them out of Mexico.

The hit of the air conditioning across her face was very, very welcome. Eva sighed as she followed Horacio inside and set her bags down next to the door. Her shoulders dropped from where they felt perpetually shrugged up near her ears. The sweat on her brow evaporated, taking all the discomfort with it.

She toed off her shoes and closed the door. Then, she took a look around.

It was...nice.

She guessed.

The walls were freshly painted and the furniture was new. Some artwork dotted the area, like the kind she might find in a hotel. The décor was all clean lines and sharp, shining metal. As if the room was trying to project an air of sophistication that it definitely did not have.

Horacio opened the fridge, “We have groceries.”

“Do we have alcohol?” Eva replied in a wry tone.

He leaned down and plucked a bottle from the shelf, “We do.”

“Thank God,” she sighed, “I have needed a drink for at least four hours.”

“Only four?” Horacio asked as he popped the top off two bottles.

“I was being generous.”

“Oh? I couldn’t tell.”

She rolled her eyes and took the bottle from him, drinking deep, “Do you think that driver actually had a license? Because I have doubts.”

One side of his mouth lifted, “Should I call the union?”

“You think they have a union?”

A shrug, “Its possible.”

“We’ll call them in the morning,” Eva drawled as she dropped onto the couch, “I’m too tired to deal with customer service.”

Horacio sat down next to her, “You didn’t have to come with me. You know that, right?”

Eva cut him a look, “Yes, I did.” A pause and a sigh, “I’m not having this argument again.”

He leaned his head back against the couch. Eva felt his had reach for hers and looked down to see their fingers threaded together.

“Its only for a few weeks,” Horacio muttered, sounding tired.

“I know.”

He looked at her, “I mean it.”

“I know.”

Horacio pushed from the couch with a soft grunt and pointed at her beer, “Finish that, and we’ll see if the bed is any good.”

Three hours and one desperately needed nap later, Horacio was warming tortillas in a pan while Eva plated the rice and vegetables at the island behind him. The bed was...fine. Serviceable. But, she missed their bed at home. Missed that it smelled like them. Missed the warmth of the comforters and the low drone of the fan Horacio insisted had to run at full speed throughout the night.

A knock stopped her hands from throwing the serving spoon back into the pot. As far as she knew, they weren’t expecting visitors. Horacio flicked off the stove top and went to answer it. Eva watched him the whole way, fingers squeezing the handle.

Javier’s face was not exactly smiling when Horacio opened the door, but it didn’t have the usual glare. He greeted Horacio with a firm hug and a pat on the back. To Eva, he sent a nod and something that was very nearly a smile. She returned it and went to get another plate.

There was no dining room in the apartment. The three of them ended out hunched over the coffee table so they could eat. Between bites, the conversation went through the motions of catching up on each other’s lives.

Javier listened to Horacio talk about buying the house, about his promotion, about the bullshit levels of paperwork that came with that new position. He asked how Eva was adapting and seemed genuinely concerned when she talked about how hard it was for her to get a job.

“Why isn’t she working for you?” he jerked his chin at Horacio.

He shrugged, “She could, if she wanted.”

Eva rolled her eyes, “No, thanks. I’ve had enough police work to last a lifetime.”

“The woman has a point,” Javier asserted with a careless toss of his head.

“Thank you,” she replied, primly. The conversation paused for a moment, and Eva decided that they had delayed long enough, “So, what’s the plan?”

Both men looked at her with narrowed eyes, as if she’d broken some kind secret agreement to dance around the topic for a while longer. Eva lifted her brows at them and waited.

Javier dropped his napkin onto the table and took a long swig of his beer, “I’ve got a man on the inside who is willing to let us do transport. I told him we’d need to be conspicuous, but that we would protect the product.”

Eva cast her mind back to their first few meetings. She set aside the razor sharp nerves and the desperate fear that she would be found out so that she could think about what Josh might be thinking. Planning. Scheming.

“That’s good,” she said, eventually. “Josh already thought you were in the business of getting drugs across the border.”

A nod, “Exactly. We’ll do a few laps around town, draw his attention, and then let him come to us.”

Eva could only imagine what that might entail. She kind of looked forward to observing it all from a distance.

Horacio leaned his arms on his knees, “Its not a very complicated plan, but I think it will work.”

“What if,” she began, with hesitation, “he doesn’t come for you, himself? What if he sends someone else?”

Josh wasn’t in the habit of putting himself in the line of fire, so to speak. That was Alexei’s job. And, with the Russian dead, Eva thought he might be even more careful.

“He’s been looking for Diego a long time,” Javier said, “I think its a pretty good bet that he would want to confront him, man to man.”

Eva laughed, “You don’t know m—.” She cut herself off, having almost referred to Josh as her husband. He wasn’t. Not anymore. “You don’t know him. He won’t want to get his hands dirty.”

“Rage can make a man do things he wouldn’t, normally.”

“Are you sure he is enraged?”

“His whole life got blown up,” Javier said, “We took everything from him.”

She fixed him with an even look, “Yeah, but he got it back.”

“What?”

“He got it back,” she repeated, “The house, the money, the schmoozing with bureaucrats? That was just a hobby. What Josh loved was the work. The chemistry. He’s already doing that, now. Or, so I’ve heard.”

Javier was silent for a few seconds, mouth pursed into an ‘o’. Then, “What do you think we should do?”

The tone of his voice was soft, but he clearly wanted an answer. Eva sat back a little and thought about it. There were a lot of options, most of them so complicated that it would definitely extend the timeline Horacio promised her. She wanted to get back to Colombia as soon as possible. If they took the next plane out of the country, it wouldn’t be soon enough. But, how? How, how, how?

“You need to dangle something he thinks he owns in front of him. Something he will want to get back.” Here she paused and added, with emphasis, “personally.”

Javier drew back, “The fuck does that mean?”

Eva picked up her beer, “You said you took everything from him. He got the thing he cares most about back. The only thing he would even want is…”

It was a foolish thought.

A stupid, foolish thought.

Horacio leaned towards her, “Is?”

Eva looked at him, took in the warm brown of his eyes and that way he hadn’t yet tamed the curls that fell over his brow. He looked a bit like he did when they woke up in the morning. Sweet. Adorable.

“Me.”

All the warmth faded from Horacio’s eyes, “You?”

It was a question, but felt like an accusation.

She felt a small stab of insecurity about what she was about to say, but pushed on, anyway. “Yes. Me.” A breath, “I was property to him. A tool he used to do business. I can tell you that getting his operation off the ground here in Mexico was a hell of a lot harder without me to figure out the logistics and manage the money.” Eva looked at them both, in turn, “He’s going to want his tool back.”

Eva did not say the other half of her explanation. There wasn’t a need to remind him that there was something else Eva represented for Josh. That he had plans for her. It would have only pissed Horacio off, and she needed him to agree with her.

“No.”

Eva cut Horacio a glance, “No?”

“That’s right. No.”

Javier reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, “She could be right.”

Horacio’s lip curled, “I didn’t spend almost a year getting you away from him to let you put yourself back in his hands.”

“Let me?”

Hearing the venom in her tone, Javier stood and gestured towards the door, saying that he was going out for a smoke. Eva rose and began gathering the plates in an effort to stem off some the energy that came with her anger.

Horacio, to his credit, realized his mistake almost immediately, “You said you weren’t going to get involved.”

She had said that. At the table over dinner. On the plane. In the cab. She’d said it over and over, knowing that it was a lie. Deep down, Eva’s motivations were more complicated than simply wanting to be by Horacio’s side while he tried to take down Josh for the second time.

“And,” she replied, “You said that this would only take a few weeks.”

He followed her into the kitchen, “It will only take a few weeks.”

Eva scraped the plates clean and set them next to the sink, “You and I both know that’s not true.”

Horacio turned on the water and plugged the sink. While he squirted soap into the basin, he said, “I didn’t know you were an expert in covert operations.”

He didn’t often speak to her with that kind of sarcasm and it made Eva bristle. Nearly seven years of marriage was enough to give her an advantage over just about anyone in the world. When it came to Joshua Moore, she was content expert, and she didn’t appreciate the dismissal in his tone.

“Really?” she sneered, “Because I seem to remember that it took you months to even get Josh’s attention last time.”

She set the dishes in the sink and stepped aside so that he could grab the sponge. Horacio squeezed more soap onto it and picked up the first dish to scrub away the remnants of dinner. “That was planned,” he asserted. “We didn’t want to scare him.”

“Sure.”

He cast her a glare, “He’ll take the bait faster, this time.”

Eva took the clean plate from him and grabbed a towel to dry it, “Or, he’ll send someone to take the bait for him and you’ll end out shot in the back on the street.”

Horacio scoffed, “He’s not that much of a coward.”

“Yes he is!”

He was quiet while he cleaned the next two plates, dutifully handing them to her. Then, he reached down and pulled the plug, “What if he shoots you in the back?”

Eva finished drying the last plate and sighed, “He won’t. If anything, he’ll want to flaunt that he has me back right in front of you before putting a bullet in you. Gloat. Just like you said.”

They stood in front of the sink while water slowly gurgled down the drain. Eva could admit that they were both right, in their own way. And, they were both just stubborn enough to reach an impasse in the argument.

The door opened and Javier peeked around it, “Uh, everything okay?”

Eva shot him a brittle smile, “Everything is fine.” Then, to Horacio, “When you go out parading around town, I’ll go with you. Let him think that you’re using me the same way he did. That will enrage him. That will get him to confront you, man to man.”

Later, while Horacio was asleep. Eva sat on the couch with a beer. In the darkness, she stared out the apartment window to the street. It was quiet, far more quiet than she expected in such a populated city.

Eva drained the bottle and went to throw it in the trash. Then, she padded through the apartment and into the en suite bathroom. With the door closed, Eva flicked on the lights and reached for her carry on bag.

She set it on the counter and pulled open the zipper. Hands spreading two sides apart, Eva stared down at the only thing that mattered inside. The metal gleamed in the light, drawing her gaze down the barrel. The magazine was mixed in with her perfumes and there were extra bullets in her suitcase.

It didn’t really matter to Eva what Horacio had planned for Josh, once they got him in custody.

There was only one way this was going to go for him.

[killedbythehuntress]

Stockholm Syndrome

★·.·´¯`·.·★ .:**:.☆*.:｡.✿ ★·.·´¯`·.·★ 

Also On: AO3 and Wattpad

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three

Tags/Warnings: Rape/Non-Con Elements, Twisted Love, Dark!Sebastian Sallow, alcohol use, kidnapping.

★·.·´¯`·.·★ .:**:.☆*.:｡.✿ ★·.·´¯`·.·★

Chapter Three.

Her mouth felt dry and bitter, her head was pounding, and she'd clearly forgotten to close the curtains before passing out last night because the light was shining in her eyes and making her headache worse. She groaned loudly, her face scrunching up as she rolled over on her bed, burying her face in the mattress next to her. Her brows scrunched together, causing her head to throb. The mattress was still warm - but she never slept on this side of the bed, so why was it warm?

Pushing herself up, she noticed she'd also fallen asleep in her corset, a small ache in her ribs was a complaint from her body. She definitely drank too much last night and decided she was never doing it again - something she may have told herself last time. She'd gotten into this state after seeing Sebastian's sentence after all. Ominis had found her in a mess in the Undercroft and helped her sober up.

Sighing softly, she finished pushing herself up - ignoring the aches of her body - until she was standing, the strange, overly wet feeling between her legs suddenly becoming noticeable. What...?

Suddenly the memories of last night came shooting back to her, causing her to stumble back against her nightstand. She scanned the bedroom, thankful that she was alone, before moving to the door and pressing her ear against it. She couldn't hear much other than some small pops and crackles from the fireplace, but she didn't want to step out, just in case. Instead, she ripped open the drawer of her dresser and pulled out clean clothes. She needed to run, and doing that meant she needed to be wearing more clothes. Shucking off the soiled skirt and the corset, she decided she could clean herself up later as she re-dressed a pair of plain black trousers and a blouse over her chemise, forgoing another corset to avoid any further pain to her already sore body.

Once she was dressed, she pinned her hair up and gripped the dresser, her knuckles whiting before she pushed it to cover the bedroom door. It was an additional layer, a second block that could possibly give her more time. She heard a curse from the main living area, proving that Sebastian was still there. "C'mon, sweetheart. Don't be like that." She heard a push on the door and turned to see him attempting to push it open. She frowned, moving to the window and pushing it open quickly. "Don't. I still have your wand!" He'd managed to push the door open further, seeing what she'd planned to do.

She uses the edge of her bed to leverage herself up, and she's almost out when the door to her room and her dresser disintegrate, Sebastian glaring at her and covering the space between them with barely a couple steps. His grip wraps around her bicep, and she whimpers as he pulls her back into the room. "It seems you still want to be difficult. No matter, I'd thought of that." She didn't know why those words struck a cord of fear through her, but her face and body warmed as well.

"Sebastian, please, just let me go." She asks, looking up at him and giving him a pleading look. One glance at his face, and she knew it wasn't going to happen, though.

"I told you last night; I was never leaving you again." The hand that was on her bicep came up to cup her cheek, and she closed her eyes for a moment, worried he might hit her. But then she felt his lips press against her own in a gentle kiss. "But we need to go. Imperio ." She saw his eyes flash green before she felt a wave of calm falling over her, her vision becoming hazy and tinted as if she didn't need to see anymore. The tension that had built in her shoulders since waking up relaxed slowly; this was Sebastian. She trusted him. No, that wasn't right. She needed to fight this. 'He wouldn't hurt her.' A voice inside her head whispered to her, so kind and gentle and genuine and unwillingly to her; any attempts to fight against the curses hold left her entirely.

"Let's go." He said, pressing his lips to her forehead as he took her hand and began to guide her. He stopped briefly to pick up a bag from the small kitchen table, and had she not been under the curse, she'd have probably noticed that her small cottage was missing a few things. But instead, she found her grip tightened in his as she followed obediently after him through the front door. 'She'd follow him anywhere after all.' That voice seemed to taunt once more, but she couldn't find the will within the calm to object.

— — — — — —

Traveling to wherever Sebastian had planned was honestly a bit of a blur; she vaguely remembered the green of floo flames, a stop at a small - kind of familiar - hamlet where she'd been made to sit and wait while Sebastian collected some things. She swore she saw him purposely bump into someone, but she couldn't be sure.

Once he'd finished in the hamlet, he'd found her and taken her hand again before leading her towards the base of a mountain. A memory seemed to try and push forward through the fog at the familiarity of the area, and she tried to fight the haze to remember. To try and remember why it was all so familiar to her. But then she heard that voice again; it sounded like Sebastian, telling her they were almost there, almost home, and a fresh wave of calm fought off the dregs of the memory for a little while longer.

The walk up the mountain was long; she couldn't remember the last time she'd walked so much - even without Imperio clouding her senses. But there were no more stops or breaks, Sebastian seeming eager to get wherever they were going as quickly as possible. The sight of an opening in the mountain caused her body to stop briefly, her own voice trying to scream at her from wherever it was being hidden.

It took Sebastian a few minutes to notice she was no longer following, his frame turning with a look of confusion. Something on her face must've shown that she was fighting the curse because he stepped forward and gripped her cheeks again. "Shh, it's okay." He cooed, his voice calm and sweet. "I'm going to give you your wand back now. You're in control." The words seemed to snuff the fight straight out of her because 'She was in control.' Her eyes met his brown ones briefly before he pressed a kiss to her forehead, his hand pushing her wand into hers. "There may be some nasty things in there, and we need to get rid of them. Understand?" His words were still soft, and she found herself nodding. "Tell me you understand, sweetheart."

"I understand." The words were said without hesitation or thought, and they brought a smile to Sebastian's face as he took her hand once more, leading her into the mouth of the mountain and to whatever they needed to face. 

— — — — — —

Bones... There were bones scattered on the ground around them, but something was different about them. She was sure they weren't human. 'Goblin bones.' Her own voice sounded. 'Don't worry about them.' Something inside her talked over her own internal dialogue, and her focus was removed; what had she been thinking of?

A screech was heard a little further down the cave, and the hairs on her arms and neck stood, a trickle of fear breaking through and falling down her spine before it was swallowed again. 'It's time to fight.' The voice sounded again as they entered another large hall; this time, there were stairs leading up to a second floor. More bones, this time larger and surrounded by spiders. So. Many. Spiders. This time the memory came back harsher, intense enough to push through the curse.

The roar of the troll, the stench of its breath, several screeches from the spiders it lived with. Duel shouts of confringo, the hum of ancient magic in the air, the smell of burning fabric as their robes caught on dying flames. The words, "Nothing like an angry troll to bring friends together." Followed by Sebastian's laughter. They were in Isadora's cavern. Why were they here?

The feeling of calm was still there, and yet considering where she was, who she was with, and what they were facing, her anxiety should be high. Why was she so calm? 'Fight!' A single word, breaking through her brief thoughts, insistent, harsh, and enough to cover anything of her own back into the haze. She had to fight. The spiders had to go. Gripping her wand tightly, she moved into position, a yell of "Confringo!" bringing along chaos. 

— — — — — —

The heat from the battle was stifling; dirt and sweat covered them both, but it was over. Not a spider was left alive. Walking up the stairs, Sebastian guided them both around the first corner, his hand slipping to hers and taking her wand from between her fingers. "I'll keep that safe for you." He murmured before using the basic cast on the several rune dials hidden about. The sound of the doors at the end of the small hallway opening to reveal the hidden room.

His hand now pressed to her lower back, and he guided her in. Ignoring everything in their path until he guided her to the area with a broken bed. Holding her wand out in front of him, a quick 'Evanesco' removed it from sight. "You deserve so much better than that." He whispered, his lips almost pressed against her ear before he conjured a new bed.

"Sit." The simple word compelled her until she moved and sat on the edge of the bed, Sebastian holding out a small vial to her. "Drink." She took the vial without question, popping the cork and drinking from it, watching as a satisfied smile colored Sebastian's face. "Finite." He said once the vial was empty, waving her wand, and suddenly any calmness she'd felt before was gone. Instantly she flew to her feet, making a reach for her wand but grasping the fabric of his shirt instead, a wave of severe tiredness falling over her.

"Why...?" Was all she said before her legs fell asleep under her, Sebastian caught her. His arm slipped under her knees as he lifted her and placed her on the bed with a peck to her lips. "You need rest." Was his reply. "While I get our new home ready for us." The tiredness she felt increased until she could barely keep her eyes open. "Don't fight it." Was the last thing she heard before she fell asleep once more. 

— — — — — —

She didn't know how long she'd been asleep, and it wasn't like there were any goddamn windows here to let in natural light for her to try and figure out. Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she rolled onto her back and attempted to think back on the vial. It wasn't that big, so surely it meant that she couldn't have been asleep for more than an hour or two. The curtains covering the small alcove - or bedroom - she supposes were closed, keeping her from seeing the main room.

Sitting up, she rubbed at her eyes before realizing her shoes were gone. Sebastian had clearly taken them off when she'd fallen asleep. Pushing herself to stand, a shiver fell over her as her bare feet made contact with the - surprisingly clean - stone floor. Her brows furrowed as she realized that, yes, the floor was clean, as were the curtains. Had this been what Sebastian meant by getting things ready? Stepping nervously up the curtains, she peered out, noting that while the majority of the ruined concrete was now fixed, there was a large pile of rocks and debris covering what was the doorway to the undercroft.

Well, there's that escape option out the door.

Stepping out from behind the curtains, she took a further look around. Sebastian had clearly been busy; there was no more dust or cobwebs to be seen; each surface had been scrubbed, repaired, and, if broken beyond repair, replaced. If it didn't look like a dungeon, you could almost mistake it for a home. Stepping up to the railing overlooking the main area, she did a quick look for Sebastian. Taking note that he'd made a small sitting area near the fire in the center. She also noticed that off to the side, on a table, were several things from her home, blankets, pillows, dishes, and cutlery; even her large collection of books had been brought - and that further solidified the fact she believed Sebastian had no intention of ever letting her leave here.

"Look who's awake." Hearing his voice so close to her, she jumped, her hand immediately moving to her chest above her heart as she blinked at him wide-eyed. "Didn't mean to startle you." He said, hands up beside his head in surrender. "I was actually just coming to check on you. Maybe wake you up and show you what I've done with the place. Seems you beat me to it."

"Why here?"

"What better place than somewhere you and I, and a couple of people who've been dead a few hundred years, know exist for us to stay? No one can find us here." He said off-and, not realizing the sense of dread the last part gave her. More and more, she was regretting her decision to have written to Ominis. To have spent the last eight years holing herself up alone with no friends. To not have asked Ominis at the start of this issue to stay with him.

But there was still a part of her that realized that this was Sebastian. Her Sebastian. Damaged by years in Azkaban, sure. But it was still the person who went out of his way to help her so much at a time when everything was so unsure and scary for her. 'Didn't stop you from betraying him, though, did it?' Her internal words were harsh, causing a grimace to pull over her face. "I'm sorry." Was all she said, the words quiet. She didn't entirely know if she was apologizing for the betrayal, for everything, or something else entirely. But the feeling of his arms wrapping around her and bringing her against his chest was his first reply.

"I forgave you a long time ago; I figured you didn't know enough about wizarding law at that time to understand everything." Was his second. And weren't those the words she'd been telling herself for years? And yet the sound of him saying them caused them to seem cheap like they weren't really an excuse to lock him up for eight years in a literal hell hole. His chin rested on the top of her head, and they stayed there like that, hugging for a while. At some point, she found her own arms winding around his waist, enjoying the hug from the person she'd missed most. Merlin knows he probably needed it as much as she did.

"C'mon, I started cooking a stew. It should be ready by now. Let's eat before it gets too late." He pulled away from the hug first, although she could sense his reluctance to do so. His hand slid down her arm until it reached her hand, lacing their fingers before he guided her back down the stairs to the main floor, where she was assaulted with the smell of food. Her stomach grumbled, reminding her she hadn't eaten in days, and even though a part of her felt like running, the biggest part was happy to let him guide her to a chair and tuck her against the table. She barely had a chance to blink before he was setting a full bowl and spoon in front of her, his hands moving to her shoulders.

Her gaze moved from the steaming meal in front of her to the doors that were not too far away. Chewing her lip, her mind slipped back to just running from him. Forget her wand, forget needing shoes, just run until she lost him - or she couldn't anymore. The feeling of her hair being pushed aside and something cold being pressed to her neck pulled her back to the present, though her hands flew up to see what it was. "Just something to help you remember your place." He murmured against her ear before moving down to press a kiss to her neck. She heard a whispered Incendio , and the back of the choker - no, collar - got hot. "And there we are; you can't remove it now. Eat up."

Sebastian moved away from her, and she turned in her seat to watch him; the sounds of chains clinking and dragging from her movement caused her to startle. Her eyes found the chain on the floor, wrapped around one of the center pillars and leading directly to the back of her neck. She blinked at it a few times, her brain taking a moment to catch up before she stood suddenly, the chair she'd been sitting on flying backward. "You chained me up?" Her words were louder than they needed to be, considering their close proximity, but she was too stunned by the turn of events to care. "That's enough, Sebastian. I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt, but clearly , you completely lost your mind in Azka-"

Her words were cut off sharply as her back slammed against a different stone pillar, Sebastian's forearm pressing into her neck and taking whatever breath she had left from her. "Shut up!" He hissed, his face dangerously close to hers, and if it wasn't for his arm, she'd probably gulp audibly from fear. "Shut up; you know nothing of what it's like there! The only thing that stopped me from losing my mind was the thought of you. Of us, together. Now sit back down and eat, sweetheart." She nodded slowly, unable to take her eyes off him, even as he released her and pushed her back into the chair she'd been occupying previously.

She didn't pick up the spoon, though, the shift in mood between them still jarring to her. It only took another moment before he joined her at the table, his own bowl of stew in front of him, and her eyes fell on him again. "Unfortunately, I think that necklace is goblin silver from the design." He mentioned, pointing at her neck with his spoon and completely calm as if the last few minutes hadn't happened - he clearly couldn't hide his distaste at the word goblin, though. "I found it on one of the tables, and even if it is goblin silver, it's still beautiful. More so around your neck." The fact he kept calling it a necklace instead of what it actually was being used for - a collar - was a little unnerving. But for fear of him falling back into anger, she let it be, picking up her spoon to play with the meal he'd prepared before continuing the conversation.

"It wasn't goblins." She mentioned quietly, remembering that she hadn't been able to tell him what she'd found out before he'd been taken away. "That cursed Anne, I mean. It wasn't goblins." She was a little fearful of what his reaction would be or if he was hearing her, but the sound of his spoon clanging against the bowl told her he was.

"How can you be sure?" He was watching her with narrowed eyes, and she could see he was warring with himself internally on whether to believe her or not. "And I told you to eat." He ordered, realizing she hadn't even attempted to taste what he'd given her. Without saying anything, she scooped up some of the broth, blowing it softly until it cooled enough to eat. Making a show of it to him so he'd leave her alone. The moment the mouthful hit her stomach, though, it growled, demanding more and making her realize just how hungry she was.

She didn't answer his question straight away. Instead, her focus moved to the meal as she quickly inhaled the entire bowl. Only when she was finished, and her spoon was sitting in the empty bowl, did she look back at him, only to see a satisfied smile on his face. "Good girl." He murmured, and she felt her stomach clench, having to hold back a whimper, though she had no idea why. "Now, what did you mean by it wasn't goblins?"

She sighed and wrinkled her nose, leaning forward on the table and pushing her face into her hands. She hadn't told anyone this story since Ominis after Fig's memorial. "It was Rookwood." She finally said after a few moments, those words breaking the dam within her until she'd explained everything that had happened that day and how she'd found out. She'd explained how towards the end of their battle, she'd attempted to get the answer for a cure from him but had failed when he'd attempted to use the killing curse on her, having to use her own magic to defend herself, and he'd ended up dead. "I'm sorry." She finished, unable to look up at him, and instead stared down into her empty bowl forlornly.

It was silent for a few minutes, and her anxiety spiked, tempted to look up at him but afraid of what she might find. "There's no need to be sorry; you tried. I'm thankful." He said softly, and those words were enough for her to finally look up at him with tired, sad eyes. He scooted his chair closer to her, his hand coming up to cup her cheek, his thumb running over her lips slowly. "I'm just glad you told me. And I'm glad I'm with you now."

Sebastian leaned forward, pressing their lips together, and she released a small sigh. They hadn't shared any before the last twenty-four hours, and yet his lips seemed almost as familiar as her own. The kiss was chaste, though, as if he was hesitant to push things further again so soon. "I love you, and I will spend the rest of my days proving that to you. That's a promise."

His words sent pleasant tingles down her spine, and while it did make her happy, she was also anxious. Could they really be together when she was chained in a cavern deep in the mountain, and he was a wizard on the run? Her brain told her no and that she should continue trying to find ways to escape. But her heart said otherwise - although sense seemed to be attempting to beat that into submission currently.

She couldn't let her guard down, though; her brain was right - she couldn't very well live down here - they couldn't live down here. Perhaps there was a way... No, there was likely no way Sebastian could be a free man - especially after escaping Azkaban. 'What was she thinking?' She couldn't possibly be considering any of this. No, she needed to keep her wits about her; she needed to try and keep a clear head. She needed to find a way out of this collar and away from him.

"It's getting late; we should probably clean up and head to bed." His words broke through her internal monologue, and she looked up at him, staring blankly. "I'll clean if you wanna head up?" He offered, and she shook her head, the rule instilled in her from childhood coming through. "No, you cooked. I clean; it's only fair." She said, standing slowly and taking both bowls from the table, and heading over to the makeshift basin Sebastian had clearly set up as a sink. She felt him come up behind her, his arms wrapping around her waist, his lips pressing against her scalp before his cheek rested in its place.

"The chain should be long enough for you to get up to the second floor from the stairs; I'll meet you in bed." He told her, no room to argue as he gave her a soft squeeze before departing. She washed the dishes slowly, dragging out the time before she'd have to head upstairs. Hoping against hope that all he actually wanted to do tonight was sleep. 

[waltwhitmansbeard]

Perc'ahlia Week Day 6: Yours/Later

ahhhhh after this, only one day left of @percahliaweek!!! hope y'all are ready for this one: definitely rated e and not for everyone, if you catch my drift. also available on ao3!

Percy paces the long length of the chamber, back and forth, back and forth. He cleans the lenses of his glasses on the hem of his suit jacket, even though they've been spotless for minutes now. His speech has been circling through his mind since he finished writing it this morning, and now the cacophony of it in his ears makes him miss the approaching footsteps from behind. "You'll wear a whole through the floor, darling, and Whitestone's coffers will not fix a palace."

And just like that, the knots in his back loosen, and he turns to face his wife, who looks devastating in a figure-hugging dress with a high neckline. "I don't suppose you'd like to give the speech for me?"

Vex clucks her tongue impatiently, adjust the lapels of his suit jacket. "Now this is not the man I married. Where is the confidence of the Percy who shot off a teenager's fingers and told him his soul was forfeit?"

He pouts. "Well now you're just being cruel."

"And you're being ridiculous. It's the Council, Percy. You act like half of them aren't over for tea every other week."

"I've never had to make a proposal like this before."

"You're going to be fine. They already know you're a genius. Think of how much better Emon will be once the taller buildings have your lifts installed."

And even though he has undoubtedly done far greater and far more world-changing things in his time, he can't help but feel proud of his latest invention, a mechanical moving platform that can carry people and objects between the floors of buildings. "If they get installed."

"Percival, you weren't this nervous at our wedding! Either of them! Including the one I died in!" And he watches her eyes flick, a sure sign of danger if he knows one. "I know what will clear your mind."

He frowns. "And what might that—hello."

Because she's pushing him, sending him tripping backward as he tries to stay upright, until his back is against the wall of the guest chamber they've been given for their stay here in Emon. He's instantly flustered as she drapes her body along is, all liquid and smoke. Her lips trail up his neck, along his jawline, to whisper in his ear, "Sometimes, that big brain of yours needs to learn how to shut up."

And then she's on her knees.

Percy's head cracks back against the walls as slowly, agonizingly, she unbuttons his trousers, exposing him inch by inch. He can feel it, the surge of blood at what must be alarming speed far, far away from his brain. When she puts her mouth on him, it is teasing, just enough to make his hips jerk, not enough to satisfy the urge boiling up through his chest. Any thoughts of speeches or councils or lifts flutters out of his head like a leaf caught in a breeze; his entire world shrinks down to the size of her lips, which slowly, cruelly slide their way down the length of him.

"Oh gods," he groans, his forearm coming up to cover his face. It takes all of his strength not to cant his hips forward into her mouth and knock her backward, but she's tantalizing him, pulling back just as his breath begins to shorten and his stomach tighten.

"The gods have nothing to do with this," she murmurs, before trailing just the tip of her tongue up the underside of his cock. "No gods, no kings—just me."

"Just you," he pants desperately. The fingers of one hand curl into his hair as the other claw at the side of his thigh. "You're...everything."

She hollows her cheeks out, and his knees almost give out. She pulls off with a pop. "And who are you?" Her hand, fingers perfectly manicured but still callused from years on the bowstring, coax the answer out of him, up and down.

He can barely hear her over the blood rushing in his ears. "Yours. I'm yours."

"That's right."

And then she gets to work. His wife is known throughout all of Tal'dorei for her many exquisite talents, famed now more for her judgement and leadership than anything she ever did with a bow, but Percy can't help but pity all those who will never know how truly exceptional she is at sucking dick. Maybe it was all those years of using her silver tongue to haggle and bargain, because now, as it curls so sinfully around the head of his cock, he can't imagine not giving her everything her heart could ever desire. His fingers itch to weave into her hair, to urge her on, but far be it from him to lecture an expert in her craft—and besides, her hair looks exquisite, and she might just bite his dick off if he ruins it.

His entire body is throbbing, a hot rash of pleasure and want rippling through him like riptide, and all of his thoughts, his anxieties, his fears, his name, they've all been torn out to sea, and he is adrift. Behind his closed lids, phantom light dances as the siren he married lures him farther and farther from shore. It is no time at all before he is panting, gasping, sweating, and then the dancing light explodes, and he is spilling, keening, slumping against the wall, rent asunder and floating.

Vex'ahlia is, of course, a lady, and thus she does not let a single drop escape onto his trousers or her gorgeous dress. He is useless to help as she tucks him away and rebuttons his pants, and he certainly has nothing to give when she gives him the hardest, filthiest kiss he can imagine. When she's done debauching him, she brings her thumb up to wipe away her lipstick. "I think you ought to return the favor, darling."

Before he can say anything, there is a knock at the door. "Lord and Lady de Rolo? They're gathering in the Council chambers."

With a levity that, to Percy, borders on worrisome, Vex calls over her shoulder, "Thank you, dear, we'll be right down!" before turning her gaze back on him. "Later."

He nods fervently. "Later." Anything her heart could ever desire.

And then she's sauntering away, a satisfied swing to her hips, and Percy thoughts have been reduced to a low hum. Vaguely, he's aware that he's supposed to be giving a speech, well, now-ish, but as he stumbles forward after Vex, there is little space left in him for anything resembling anxiety. He shakes himself off and falls into an easy stride, a confident smile on his face. He's got this, because he's got her, and the last thing he's going to do is question the judgement of Lady Vex'ahlia de Rolo.

[suspiciousasphalt]

first post here 🤪

jongerry wip

i’ll probably post on ao3 once i’ve got more written.

There’s something wrong.

They can tell as soon as they wake up.

The blanket over them is too thick, thicker than any that they own and musty with disuse. They open their eyes slowly, taking stock of their surroundings. There is a coffee table in front of them. (Are they on a couch?) The table is clean, except for several stains, tea maybe? Or coffee? Their eyes flick up and they jump back, shoving into the back of the couch.

“AHhhh” Whoever is in front of them also jumps back a bit, tripping on the coffee table, and stumbling to catch his balance. “Ah, um, sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I-I’m Jon.”

“Right, and where am I?”

“Uh, the breakroom? The Archives breakroom? In the Magnus Institute, that is. I, uh, I was leaving for the day, and I saw you in here?” Right- Gerry remembers, now. Gertrude had them hunting down a Leitner. Except it hadn’t just been a Leitner, whoever came across it had it for too long, and had fully Become by then. It was so far gone that it’d begun growing patchy fur, and its ears were sharp. Gerry’d spent hours running through London, weaving through alleyways until they'd finally gotten a jump on it. Gertrude demanded an update, and as soon as they finished, they crashed on the break room couch.

“And who are you?”

“Right, Gerard, they/them for now. I… freelance, for Gertrude.” Gerry popped their neck, and watched Jon. Instead of the usual confusion that they’d come to expect from the stuffy academic types that seemed drawn to the Magnus Institute, Jon just nodded and stuck out his hand.

“Jonathan Sims, he/they. Just call me Jon, though.” Gerry smirked in amusement.

“Well Jon, nice to meet you, but I doubt I’ll be seeing you with enough frequency to call you anything.” Jon sputters a bit, and grows red in the face (In a way that is totally not cute, shut up brain) and occurs to Gerry that maybe that was a bit rude. “Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by that. I just don't tend to stick around the Institute longer than I have to.”

Jon just raises an eyebrow and looks at Gerry's current tangled-in-a-blanket state. Now it’s Gerry’s turn to blush.

“Well, usually. In my defense, it’s been a long bloody day, and I needed to crash.” Jon looks curious at that, but decides not to ask. A wise decision- Jon would get no answers from them. “Anyway, I better be off.”

Gerry gets up and pulls on their jacket, but pauses when they see the clock.

“Wait, why are you just leaving? It’s like 7:00? And what are you doing in the archives? Nobody ever really comes down here.”

“You’re down here.” Ah so Jon’s a prickly one. Gerry just gives him a Look, and Jon blushes again.

“Mr. Bouchard told me that I’m transferring to the Archives tomorrow, as an assistant. And that was at 5:00, and then I tried to finish up my work so no one in research would be stuck with what I didn’t get done. Then I was about to leave and realized I should probably go meet my new boss… So then I came down here and Gertrude just glared at me a bit before stomping off upstairs. I waited around for a bit, because I thought it might be rude if she came back down like only a few minutes later and I was already gone? But it doesn’t seem like she’s coming back anytime soon. And then I, ah saw you in here? And I didn’t think anybody else was down here, um, ever? So I just came in to look, and now we’re… here?”

Okay, so the rambling is a bit cute, and Gerry has half a mind to be amused, but there are more pressing concerns.

“Sorry, did you just say you’re going to be an archival assistant?”

“Um, yes?”

“Have you signed any papers yet?” Gerry’s properly concerned now, and Jon seems to be getting agitated.

“Yes? I signed the transfer papers?”

“Damn, Gertrude’s not going to be happy with that.”

“Excuse you, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh Gertrude has been absolutely refusing to get new assistants for years. I would have thought Elias would have wanted to avoid pissing her off. No wonder she hasn’t been back yet. She’s probably ripping him a new one” Jon visibly bristles.

“Well excuse me, but I hardly see how having an assistant would be a bad thing. I mean, if the state of this place is anything to go by, then she certainly needs one.”

“Oh try telling her that. Or don’t,” Gerry gives a cynical snort, “she’s going to be right pissed no matter what anyone says.”

“Whatever,” Jon scoffs, “Too late now. She’ll either have to deal with me or take it up with Mr. Bouchard.”

“Oh I imagine she is.”

It isn’t until Jon is storming away, and stomping up the stairs that Gerry realizes that they were probably being rude.

“Well Shit”