#thank you dusty for insisting on the close up of his profile

[with-eyes-closed]

What are you going to sing next? She Loves You.

[greensleeves888]

Widow's Pique - Chapter 31

Overview: Penny is a 41 year old mother of one, existing day to day in the normal world until a chance encounter changes everything, for everyone.

Author’s Notes: Hey Tumblrs! So this is my first ever story (not counting the shit I created at school). So be easy on me! I apologise for any typos, and for my misunderstanding of basic punctuation. This story has a little bit of Yours Truly woven into it. It’s a slow burn, full of angst, inner monologues, and insecurities but promises a happy ending of sorts! Using just my imagination and countless hours “researching” Mr. Cavill, I hope I can portray a different side to this fascinating man. Please indulge me …

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Plus Size/Curvy OFC (Penny) Chapter: 31 of ?

Word Count: 10.5k!

Warnings: Angst. Pregnancy. Alcohol. Weight issues. Foreplay.

Disclaimers: This is all fiction baby!

Over 18’s only. No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it or parts of the source material, and claiming it as your own.

MASTERLIST

Big kisses in advance for your Re-blogs, Comments, and Likes - they mean SO much to me xxx There is a Spotify playlist that accompanies this story - to listen click here

Widow’s Pique

"White or Pink Pen?"

"White, always white" Penny shouted from her office over the sounds of Dusty Springfield.

She was dancing on the spot as she worked on an intricate collage piece at her idea bench. Moments later a large, warm pair of hands crept onto her hips as Henry joined her.

"I'm sorry to interrupt the artist at work honey, but I just couldn't resist those wiggling hips".

Penny spun around and laced her hands behind Henry's neck, continuing her swaying. Henry took the opportunity to steal a kiss from her smiling lips and a squeeze of her ample backside in the process.

She rested the side of her head against his chest as they continued to move to the music. Henry peppered her hair with more kisses as he squeezed her close.

"You ok mama?" he asked as the song finished.

"I'm good thanks." she spoke dreamily.

"What can I do for you, get for you?"

"Nothing Honey, I have everything I need." she rested her head back against his chest as she rubbed her hands over his strong, smooth back, tucking her hands up under his t-shirt to feel his soft, warm flesh.

"Was that Fernando on the phone?"

"It was indeed."

"All ok?"

"All is ok. Going swimmingly in fact"

Henry had kept his word and had made the wedding planning as stress-free as possible. In the space of two weeks the date had been set, invites sent, catering and entertainment sorted and even the flowers. By using the professionals (and throwing undisclosed amounts of money in their direction), most of the hassle was out of their hands, leaving Henry and Penny just to make the fun decisions. The venue was easy; Penny's back garden was perfect for an informal late summer wedding. The field behind would house a marquee for the meal and evening entertainment. All that was needed to finalise was Henry's suit and Penny's dress.

"So are you excited to sort out your dress tomorrow, Pen?" he asked, knowing she was apprehensive.

"I am, I just hope they can make me something comfortable and pretty. God knows how much bigger I'll be in another two weeks time!"

Henry rumbled a small laugh, placing his hand on the side of Penny's stomach, rubbing it gently.

"You're going to look stunning Pen, I have no doubt."

He was careful with his choice of words, knowing how uncomfortable she had become lately. He was also worried the baby might arrive before they had the chance to get married. Penny certainly looked ready to go. She hardly complained though, in fear of him becoming even more over protective of her.

Henry insisted on driving Penny to the dressmakers, parking up in a secluded alleyway to access the discreet entrance for high-profile clients. Marianne and Helen were already inside, sipping champagne despite it only being 11am. He wore a tracksuit and baseball cap as his 'disguise' as he graciously helped Penny out of the beast. He made sure Penny was happy and comfortable inside the boutique before being shooed away by his mother.

"I'll meet you all back at yours later ok?"

"Yes dear, now clear off darling, you're not supposed to be here." Marianne quipped as she waved her hand dismissing Henry from the lavish room. Henry grumbled and kissed Penny gently on the lips.

"Any issues, call me ok honey?"

Penny nodded and crossed her heart as she helped move him towards the door.

A tall elegant lady and two young assistants wafted into the room to greet Penny.

"Ms Green? I'm Lily. It's a pleasure to meet you, thank you for choosing us to make this special piece for you."

Penny blushed, not sure she was up for all the fussing. "Thank you, Lily. And thank you for seeing me so quickly, as you can see, time is of the essence." she laughed as she patted her bump.

Although Penny had been trepidatious, the experience was unfolding to be much more relaxed and enjoyable than she'd expected. Despite spending most of the time in just her wedding underwear she enjoyed being swathed in different fabrics, Lily draping and folding the most stunning lace and silk around Penny to find the look that worked best. There were even a couple of pre-made maternity wedding dresses that Penny could try on. Unsurprisingly these were too small still for Penny, making her feel huge again. Lily was so serene and patient, listening intently to everything Penny liked and disliked. The idea of the dress slowly came together from shape ideas and inspiration from the other dresses she was shown. All of Penny's concerns were met, and Marianne and Helen even managed to keep their stronger opinions to themselves.

Once Penny was back in her own dress she hugged Lily and popped to the loo whilst Helen brought her car around to the side entrance.

Helen's drove a Tesla Model 3, which seemed like it was on the ground when Penny tried to sit elegantly in the passenger seat. She regretted wearing such a figure hugging outfit, adding to her inflexibility.

"I hope you're hungry ladies as I've booked a table for lunch at Bertrand's."

"Oh, I thought we were going back to yours Marianne? Won't Henry be waiting?"

"He'll be fine with Colin, It'll do you both good to have some time apart."

Penny wasn't sure what she meant by that but her stomach growled happily in the anticipation of food.

The beautiful Art Nouveau facade of the swanky restaurant opened up into a vast maze of eclectic but lavishly furnished booths, perfect for discreet dining. On their way to their table they hardly saw any of the other diners, but the hubbub of conversation proved that the place was full. Penny was glad of this, really not wanting to get recognised in her current state.

After a delicious array of crudités Helen and Marianne revealed their motivation behind the lunch.

"Penny, we wanted to talk to you about the wedding." Hells began, glancing nervously at Marianne.

"We, well a few of us are a little worried that this might be a bit too much for you at the moment. If you wanted to change your mind no-one at all would think bad of you."

Penny finished crunching a radish as she took in what was being said. Marianne took this as a bad sign.

"Penny, dearest. You know I adore you both, and I know Henry better than he knows himself. Once he puts his mind to something he's a force to be reckoned with. We just want to make sure that you're not feeling too pressured. We just worry, that's all."

Silence fell on the table as Penny slowly sipped her water.

"Honestly, you have nothing to worry about. I'm ridiculously calm about the wedding. It's as much my idea as it's Henry's, he's not pressurising me into anything. I swear. If anything it's been taking my mind off birthing this huge-ass baby."

Helen snorted, and instantly covered her mouth in embarrassment.

At that moment Marianne's phone rang, it was Henry.

"We're just grabbing a bite to eat darling. Penny was famished." Marianne winked at Penny as she continued to 'uh-huh' and 'ok' to Henry's call.

"She's fine Henry, we are taking good care of her, it's all very private here too so please don't stress. See if you can help your Dad move the treadmill upstairs while you're waiting." All three ladies chuckled at the thought of Henry wrestling the machine up the staircases.

After the call, lunch progressed as normal. Talking of their outfits and the guest list.

"Henry's requested no phones at the wedding too, that'll be interesting. He's also hired security! I've never heard of security at a wedding, I think it's a bit OTT really."

"It's all quite standard for this kind of do Penny. Let's just hope the press don't get a whiff of it beforehand, you don't want helicopters buzzing over the house." Helen joked, but Penny suddenly sat up a bit straighter, looking concerned.

Marianne held her wrist "Are you ok my dear?"

"Could that really happen? I not a big fan of paparazzi or helicopters." Penny shuddered thinking back to the time Henry was whisked away from her.

"There's always a small chance of it being leaked, but Henry is more than on top of the privacy for everyone, especially you my darling." Marianne squeezed her wrist again before finishing her fish.

Penny sat back, feeling a small braxton hick threatening. Her appetite for her fancy sandwich suddenly lost.

Four days before the big day the house and grounds were already buzzing with people. The marquee was set up. the walkways being laid, the car parking mats covered the field next door, and swathes of festoon lights were being hung in every space. A small barn-style building was being constructed at the end of the garden. This was the covered area for the wedding, where Penny and Henry would stand. It was beautiful, even before it was decorated. Penny wondered if they could keep it.

Today Lily was visiting with the final fitting of the dress, Penny couldn't wait to see it. Henry's tailor was already downstairs, making final adjustments to Henry and Ben's suits.

"Jesus George, the waist is cutting into me, is that right?" Henry complained, feeling a bit hot and bothered.

"Well, Henry that will be because you are a little bit fatter than the last time I measured you. I'm going to have to let this out, quite a lot too by the looks of it."

Henry breathed in and looked in the mirror. Ben sniggered at him.

"Hey, short stuff, the same will happen to you when you get to my age." Henry joked as he breathed out again and patted his pooch. He'd not paid that much attention to his own physique of late. Especially as he'd cleared his schedule and had cut down on the training. What he'd forgotten to cut down on was his calorie intake. He looked again in the mirror as George fussed around his waistband, getting impatient with Henry's movement.

"It's not too bad is it George?" Henry rubbed his stomach, purposefully pushing it out even more for comedic effect.

"Hmm, nothing that a girdle wouldn't fix, now keep still."

Henry looked at Ben and pulled a face like a naughty school boy.

"No competition for Mummy's though Ben, right?" he joked "Don't tell her I said that please!" he added, suddenly becoming serious.

Ben motioned locking his mouth and putting the key in his t-shirt pocket.

The gate buzzer seemed to be going off every 10 minutes with one delivery or another. This time Colin was sent to answer the door as Lily and her two assistants arrived carrying a huge garment bag between them. He smiled, nodded and again wordlessly ushered them towards the stairs.

Penny was in her bedroom with Kate helping her tie her hair back. She was already suffering in the heat, a large fan blasted warm air at her in an attempt to cool her down. She fiddled with the back of her white bra as Kate swotted her hand away and sorted it for her. She'd resorted to bearing a belly band to support her bump. Henry helped her with it every morning now, it gave her some relief on her aching back and hips. He'd also cradle her bump for her as he stood behind her. It was such a relief until he gave up complaining it was uncomfortable and pulling his back.

A light knock on Penny's bedroom door signalled the arrival of Lily and The Dress. At this point Penny just wanted something white that fitted. Lily greeted Penny like an old friend, Penny loved how elegant and serene she was. She hoped some of that would rub off on her right now.

"Are you ready for this Penny? Any adjustments we can make today, we have our kits with us, so don't worry at all ok?"

The garment bag was hooked onto the top of the door frame as the two young assistants Eloise and Suni slowly unzipped and lifted it out to present to Penny.

"Oh, my, god Lily! It's absolutely stunning, you're a freakin' wizard! The detail, the fabric, it's, it's, just beautiful - so beautiful." Penny covered her face as she shuddered a huge cry into her hands. Kate rubbed her back as she too hitched her breath with tears in her eyes.

"Right, enough of the hormones Mrs Bump. Let's wrangle you into this and see how it looks." Kate barked, knowing that they needed to get a move on.

Another knock at the door signalled mild panic thinking Henry was trying to come in until Marianne spoke from the other side.

"Is it here? Can I see it Penny?"

Carefully, the several pairs of hands helped Penny step into the silk slip under-dress. Lily skilfully began lacing the back as the cool, soft fabric began to mould around Penny's curves. The bias cut of the fabric clung to Penny's shape without restricting her movement.

Next was the sheer lace part. Suni and Eloise laid this out on the floor in front of Penny. She carefully stepped into the centre as the delicate fabric was lifted up carefully. Marianne stood with her hands over her mouth. Tears in her eyes, unable to speak. Kate was also uncharacteristically quiet as she swallowed her emotions, not wanting to set Penny off again.

Slowly Penny threaded her arms into the long sleeves, thankful that the fabric had some give to it. Nothing felt tight, everything fitted so well. Lilly and Suni began to fasten the tiny buttons at the back as Eloise adjusted the fabric to the right position. Penny smoothed her hand over the beautiful open mesh cotton lace, tracing the large swirls and leaves.

"Now Penny, the good news is that we just have half a dozen buttons to reposition, tell me, how does it feel? How do you feel in it?

At this point Eloise angled Penny's floor mirror towards her. She stared at her reflection, unable to find the right words, amazed at what she was seeing. Her large bump looked perfectly at home within the dress, something Penny never expected. Her hips were smooth, her arms looked slender, and even her boobs were flattered but tamed within the stunning outfit.

Realising that everyone was waiting for her to speak, Penny cleared her throat.

"I - I bloody love it!!" as she jumped up and down on the spot squealing.

Everyone else followed suit as downstairs in the kitchen Henry, Colin and Ben stared up at the ceiling.

"Either the dress looks good, or there's a huge spider in the bedroom", Henry joked as he picked up Ben for a hug. "Let's go check on the progress outside, short stuff." and they went to track down Fernando, the wedding planner.

After lunch more pampering arrived for Penny, a fresh hair colour and spray tan whilst Marianne and Colin readied the spare rooms for more guests.

Even Callum was helping by re-gravelling the track and tidying up the entrance through the farm.

Penny had needed another nap so Kate left her to rest whilst she surveyed the back garden, marvelling at how pretty it already looked. She found Henry in the marquee looking frazzled.

"Hey, hot stuff - how's it all going?"

Henry blew a sweaty curl from his forehead as his face cracked into a tired smile.

"It's ok, there are a few delays with some bits and bobs, but on the whole, ok. There's just so much last minute stuff. Is Penny ok?"

"Yeah, she's having a cat nap. I thought you had a guy for all this running around?"

"I do, I just want it to be perfect."

"Well it won't be perfect if your blood pressure is through the roof and you feel like shit will it? Now come inside and have a drink and a sit down - no buts."

"Yes Mrs Roberts" he saluted as he followed Kate back through the garden, his beady eye checking off other things he still needed to ask Fernando about. Kal bounded up to him, knowing he need a bear hug.

"Leave the dog Son and come and get a cold one, you've done enough for today." Colin instructed.

Henry laughed at everyone's concern, he felt truly grateful of how helpful everyone had been. He grunted in discomfort as he sat down at the dining table, grabbing for some buttered bread.

"Why don't you get an early night after you've eaten poppet?" Marianne suggested.

"You all trying to get rid of me or something?" he muttered with his mouth full.

"Not at all, you just need to save some energy for the big day son, and of course tomorrow evening."

Henry had refused a stag do, convincing himself he would jinx everything and send Penny into early labour if he were to go somewhere, so instead his brothers were coming to the farm to give him some kind of a traditional send off.

Kate had organised a similar evening for Penny despite her reluctance too. Henry had pleaded with Kate not to do anything too rowdy.

"It's not a stag do Pops, just a few of us having a couple drinks and playing some poker ok?"

"Of course, of course." Colin winked at Ben, who had been clinging to his new grandad like a limpet since he arrived.

Henry decided an early night was very appealing if it meant escaping the fussing, and the chance to spend some alone time with his Penny.

"Hey sleepyhead." Henry whispered as he kissed Penny's forehead.

"Oh, shit. It's dark already, you should have woken me up." Penny groaned, as she shuffled and shifted to sit up. Henry went to help her but she clamped her arms down in defiance "I'm fine Henry, I can sit up myself!"

Henry stood back, hands in the air. Too tired to laugh or get annoyed at her snapping. Instead he began undressing on the way to the bathroom to clean his teeth.

Moments later Penny appeared to use the toilet.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't wait." she apologised for her unladylike gesture.

"You can poop in front of me my dear, I really don't mind."

"I'm not pooping, just having a wee. Your daughter is using my bladder as a yoga mat."

Henry chuckled, she was always 'his' daughter when she was causing trouble. He had a feeling this would still be the case once she arrived. He was more than ok with that, already knowing she would have him around her little finger from day one.

Back in bed, Penny remained sitting up as Henry plonked himself down face first and wrestled with his pillow for a comfortable position.

"You're exhausted Hen." Henry murmured into his pillow. Penny reached over and began rubbing his shoulder muscles, Henry groaned again. After a couple of minutes he shifted to lay on his side, taking Penny's hand and kissing it.

"You shouldn't be fussing over me, I should be fussing over you, my love"

Penny smiled softly "You've not stopped for days, you're going to be exhausted by Saturday."

"I'll be fine. I'm strong, like ox" he joked as he flexed his bicep half heartedly.

"I'm sorry for snapping earlier, I know I've been a prize bitch lately."

Henry smirked and blinked slowly. "You've not been a bitch, you wouldn't know how. So you've been a bit testy. So would I carrying around our not so little beany baby 24/7. You're doing so well honey, I'm so very proud of you."

Penny's skin shivered with his praise. Henry schooched up to sit closer, his large warm hand atop Penny's round stomach. Henry dipped his head towards her belly and kissed it. Penny rested her hand over his.

"Mummy and I can't wait to meet you our darling girl. Just keep on baking nicely, ok?" he kissed her again as Penny wrapped her arms around her beautiful, sweet man. Overwhelmed with happiness and emotion. She began to cry, a regular occurrence lately, as Henry shushed her, peppering her hair with kisses as they both drifted off to sleep together.

The next day seemed just as hectic as the last few. Not helped by the arrival of more Cavill's.

Kate's sole purpose seemed to be in following Penny everywhere she went, making her sit down and drink and eat enough. Whilst Kate had to visit the loo Penny escaped into the back garden to check on things. She found Henry and Callum helping roll barrels of beer towards the marquee. It was only 10am but the sun was already scorching hot. Both men were red faced and very sweaty.

"You know there are dozens of guys here that are hired to help with this kind of stuff!"

Henry straightened up, his back obviously hurting him.

"Why are you out here Penelope?" he scowled at her, ignoring her comment.

"Because I'm sick of being under house arrest, I want to help."

"Somehow I don't think you're going to be much help at the moment Penny." Callum joked.

Henry shot a worried glance at Callum.

"I'm pregnant, not useless Callum." Callum looked at the ground, knowing he should have kept his mouth shut.

"Pen, most of the stuff is lifting and shifting stuff. You really think that's a good idea?"

She pursed her lips, knowing she had a weak argument.

Surprisingly Henry added "Find Fernando, he's in the marquee, he might have a job for you."

Penny perked up and turned on her heel as she tried her best not to waddle away towards the marquee.

Callum gave a surprised look in Henry's direction.

"Don't worry, Fernando will send her away. He's terrified she's going to have the baby any second now." Henry laughed.

"Aren't we all?" Callum added as they shared a concerned look at each other.

The plan that evening for the 'non' Hen and Stag do's was for Helen's girls to host a fun games and pizza night for the children upstairs, whilst the men tested out a section of the marquee and the bar outside. This left the ladies with the downstairs of the house. Whilst Penny was upstairs trying to find something to wear the other ladies were setting up balloons and decorations as a surprise. Henry poked his head in through the back door only to be shooed away by everyone.

Out in the marquee, Colin was mixing up cocktails as Charlie and Simon cooked up a meat-fest on the barbeque. Tom was in the DJ Booth, reliving his youth whilst Callum helped Piers and Nik set up the poker table. Henry purposely didn't want any celebrity friends there tonight, despite feeling guilty for not inviting them. Some he'd invited to the wedding though but he didn't want it to feel like a showbiz event, it was about him and Penny.

Callum was surprised to get an invite tonight. He wasn't sure if it was the best idea considering his feelings towards Penny. Over the past few months, he'd tried to keep his distance, but Penny and Henry both tried to keep him in their lives.

Henry arrived back from the house "So let's get this fucking party started then boys!" Much to the amusement of the other Cavill brothers. Despite strict orders from Marianne, they were going to make their brother's 'stag do', an evening to remember.

Kate found Penny rifling through her wardrobe, piles of clothes already discarded on the bed. Penny was red faced and swearing under her breath as she fanned her face with her spare hand.

"Oi, Green, what the hell are you up to?"

"What does it look like? Trying to find something to fucking wear! Nothing fucking fits!"

"Woah, alright Gordon Ramsay, chill. Let me chose. Where's the first thing you tried on?"

"On the bed." Penny gestured, with a petulant look on her face.

Kate could help but smirk at her attitude, but was careful not to rile her up too much. She flipped the pile of clothes over and found a simple round neck bodycon dress made from a beautiful dusky pink stretchy fabric.

"What was wrong with this one Pen?" Kate asked.

"Too clingy, looked like Kim K on a very bad day." Penny tried to joke, knowing she was being difficult.

"But does it fit?"

"Yes.."

"And is it comfy?"

"Hmm, I guess so…"

"Great, that's what you're wearing. Put it on and stop your whinging woman."

Penny sighed and stomped over to grab the dress from Kate.

"Henry bought me this, I look like a fucking sausage in it Katie."

"I don't care, no-one cares. They just want to see you and celebrate with you ok. Stop being so difficult woman." Kate knew she was pushing her luck being so bolshy with her, but she figured it was the only way to get the night started.

Penny readjusted her boobs once she pulled the dress down. Kate grabbed some hairspray and fluffed up Penny's hair. A quick flick of mascara and lipstick and Penny was finally ready.

"Fucking Kim K would wanna look like you Pen, you look hot honey!"

Penny daren't even look in the mirror, knowing Kate was just trying to make her feel better.

After copious amounts of barbequed protein, the men readied their bravado for the poker game. The Cavill brothers, in particular Charlie, seemed supremely confident that he would fleece everyone before the night was over. Colin quietly smirked, knowing from experience that the opposite would be more likely.

"Deal me in, I'm just going to check on Pen." Henry slurred, already several beers in.

"Woah, woah, woah!" came the combined protest "Leave the woman alone, if there was a problem, you would hear about it Hank - so sit the fuck down." Piers barked.

Henry sat down with a pout.

Kate led an anxious Penny past Ben's room after goodnight kisses, and loudly announced her arrival to the gaggle of girls downstairs.

"Surprise!!!! Happy Hen, Engagement, Baby Shower Penny!!!" the well practiced chorus sang out.

Penny clutched her chest and held back more tears as she saw the beautiful balloons and banners that the girls had put up whilst she was getting ready.

"We thought we'd roll them all into one Pen, as you don't like to waste any time!" Kate whispered as she patted Penny's backside.

Julia walked up to Penny, giving her a huge double cheek kiss and then tying a pretty flowery belt around her waist as Charlotte placed an equally tasteful floral crown atop Penny's head.

Several photos were taken with the custom balloon backdrop as Marianne poured the Prosecco.

Penny reluctantly agreed to a couple sips before complaining it was giving her heartburn.

Her dress was a big hit, with everyone admiring Penny's impressive bump.

"When I was pregnant with Hughie I swelled up like a balloon, do you remember Pen? It was fucking awful, you're just all belly Pen Pen, like you were with Ben. So not fair how you can look so good when you're so pregnant!"

"Did Henry pay you all to make me feel less huge ladies?" Penny asked, half seriously as she was feeling super self-conscious in her figure hugging outfit.

"I see Hank is trying to compete with you Pen in the belly department." Heather joked, nudging Penny with her pointy elbow.

"Heather, now that's enough. You know better than to comment on Henry's weight, he can get very sensitive about it." Marianne chastised.

"He's always the first to take the piss out of my Charlie if he's starting to look a little chubby, it's nice to see the tables turned." Heather continued, as Vicky and Charlotte nodded in agreement.

"Well I love his new tummy, it suits him too." Penny added, feeling bad that Henry's weight was being discussed.

"That man can make anything look good, even a gut!" Kate chuckled.

"Well that's enough fat-shaming our lovely Henry, let's all grab some food and then we can get the games underway." Helen instructed.

"Games?" Penny asked reluctantly.

"Read 'em and weep." Piers gloated as he laid down his winning hand amidst groans and obscenities from the rest of the table.

"Fuck this, I need a piss." Tom threw his cards down and headed off into the dark field outside, tripping over two guy ropes on the way.

"So bloody lucky Piers, next year we're going to Vegas son." Colin added

"You're on Pops, as long as we can take Hank to pay for everything."

Henry sat up from resting his head on the table, struggling to keep his eyes open after the constant flow of whiskey.

"Shall I run in and get coffees?" David suggested, being the most sober of the group.

"I'll come with you." Henry lurched out of his seat.

Callum stood to support him, "Maybe let Dave go for now Henry, you might want to sober up a bit before you go back inside."

"Hmm, kay." he agreed, feeling lightheaded from standing up so quickly.

"Let's finish up this meat and get the after party started boys." Charlie added with a chicken drumstick already in hand.

"Report back on the situation inside will you Dave?" Nik asked as David wove his way back to the garden.

The Hen party was well underway as David tried to sneak in the back, it took 5 seconds for Helen to spot him.

"David, what are you doing here?"

"Coffee." was his deliberately short response.

Helen was too tipsy to question him, "How civilised!" she chuckled before heading back to the makeshift dance floor.

Penny was trying her best to keep up with everyone despite being the only fully sober adult in the building. 'My humps' came on the sound system and one by one the ladies grabbed cushions, bowls and spare clothing to shove up their dresses to mirror Penny's impressive humps of her own.

Penny was screaming with laughter at the ridiculous sight before her. Glad that Kiri and Marianne were taking lots of photos to document it. Penny joined in as best as she could rubbing her bump against the others.

David looked up from the kitchen, shaking his head in amusement.

"There we're doing what?" Colin asked, confused by David's explanation.

"They'd all wedged cushions up their dresses to give them big bellies, like Penny's." he repeated as he set the heavy tray of coffee and cups on the bar.

"What the fuck? That's hilarious." Tom piped up.

"What was Pen doing?" Henry asked, now leaning against the bar, messily making himself a coffee.

"Dancing and laughing."

"Jesus Christ, if those women put her into labour there'll be hell to pay." Henry grumbled, trying to squint through the opening in the marquee towards the house.

"Chill bruv, she's in safe hands." Simon added, trying to stop Henry worrying.

"Maybe we should go back in the house with cushions up our tops and join them." Piers joked.

"Dad and Henry won't need the cushions though P" Charlie quickly quipped.

Henry broke the laughter with his angry rebuttal "Fuck off Chuck, I knew you couldn't help but take the fucking piss."

"Ah come on Hank, I'm only joking, so what, you're carrying a little extra timber these days."

"Don't they call it a sympathy belly?" Nik retorted with a snigger.

"Both you and Simon did the same when your girls were expecting." Nik pointed to Charlie.

"I can still take you all down brothers, just remember that."

"Let's fucking have it then!" Charlie shouted with excitement as he practically ripped off his shirt and ran towards Henry, attempting to wrestle him to the ground.

Several minutes later a bemused Tom, David & Callum leaned against the bar as they watched the five large men act like kids again, shirts off, clumsily trying to pin each other down onto the floor. Henry was bearing the brunt of most of this after his challenge.

"Are they always like this Col?" Tom inquired, as Colin sighed and nodded.

"Fucking hell Piers, mind my face." Henry grunted as he tried to get away from his brothers. They helped him to his feet as he grumpily wiggled his nose, checking for damage.

"Let's try something a little more civilised shall we chaps?" Tom began, as the Cavill boys wiped their faces with their tops. "A little arm wrestling competition will sift the boys from the men I think…"

Callum looked up at the ceiling and chose to Irish up his coffee…

After an enforced break to let Penny rest, the classic baby shower games began. Labour or orgasm faces, famous baby photos, nappy snacks, and guessing the weight of the baby.

Ben sneaked down to check on Penny and see if he was missing out on any fun. He made sure to give Penny the biggest hug, with a kiss for his baby sister too before he scampered back to his own party.

Penny was helped up to go and cut the stunning three tiered buttercream cake. It had edible flowers pressed into the icing and a beautiful gold crepe paper flower on the very top. The ladies had all worked up an appetite, so before long they all were tucking into the deliciously moist masterpiece.

Penny stood looking out into the back garden, the festoon lights making everything look romantic. She could see some movement inside the marquee, but it was too far to make out what was what. She could guarantee that Henry was already three sheets to the wind, but she was glad he was letting his hair down after how hard he'd been working lately.

"Right-ho, everyone pair up and get comfy. Remember the rules gents, and may the best man win." Tom announced as he sat down to square up to Charlie. David was against Simon, Callum against Piers, and Henry against Nik.

They took turns so they could watch each match. The aim was to all arm wrestle each other, and the two with the most wins face-off at the end.

Callum was reluctant to join in, not sure if he was up for the testosterone-fuelled challenge, but he was also a little curious to see if he could beat Henry.

Nik, Tom, Henry, and Callum all faired well unsurprisingly. Tom gloated knowing they'd underestimated his natural strength. All that rock climbing was finally paying off. Charlie pouted every time he lost, only managing to beat David. Henry was being pretty cocky, sure that no one would be a match for him. He knew Nik was his biggest opponent, so braced himself for a challenge. But his flippant attitude to Callum led to a quick surprise defeat. Henry's pride was dented. His brothers found this beyond hilarious. Tom and Callum were deadlocked in their match for so long that the others started to get bored. They were both evenly matched. But Callum's larger frame eventually won for him. Finally once the scores were totted up the last match to decide the winner was on. Henry vs Callum.

Both men shook their arms and stretched. Trying to revive their overworked muscles after so many matches. Both tried pretending that they weren't too fussed about winning, but once they sat down, face to face again the atmosphere changed. This time Henry wasn't going to underestimate the farmer, he knew Callum would love to have bragging rights from this, but Henry wasn't going to allow it. He was fucking Superman for crying out loud, his inebriated brain kept reminding him.

After the first minute, both held up their sides. Each huffing and puffing with exertion. Sweat dripped off the end of Henry's nose, whilst Callum's neck and face were bright red.

"Ready to quit yet Supes?" Callum goaded.

"Just about to ask you the same thing Giles." Henry spat, with gritted teeth.

The other men shouted out their support and tried to put them off at the same time. Charlie was filming on his phone, adding to Henry's annoyance.

After another few minutes of stalemate, Colin piped up.

"Boys, you're going to cause yourselves some mischief like this, let's just call it a tie now."

Both ignored Colin and looked into each other's eyes. Neither wanted to give up, but neither felt they could keep this up much longer. Henry's bicep and forearm were on fire, his fingers threatening to cramp. The tendons in Callum's neck looked painful as he breathed heavily through his flared nostrils.

"Decorative muscles don't always equate to real world strength Cavill." Callum muttered, using what felt like his last attempt to put Henry off.

"And shoving your arm up a cow's arse does too then?" Henry added with a cocky smile.

From nowhere Callum found some extra energy as he managed to push Henry's arm to the side. Henry dug deep and used every ounce of strength, but at this compromised angle, he just didn't have the power to come back. He grunted loudly and suddenly the back of his hand hit the table, he'd lost.

"What the fuck Hank?" Charlie shouted at him.

Henry stood up, knocking his chair over in the process as he angrily walked back to the bar to reclaim his drink before heading out into the field.

Callum was amazed he'd properly beaten him, after accepting that their first match was a lucky punt. Disappointingly he didn't feel as elated as he'd expected either. He stood up, rubbing his arm as he received several pats on the back in congratulations.

Penny leaned against the kitchen island nibbling on some red peppers, one of her main pregnancy cravings, as she shifted her weight to her other foot. Marianne walked up behind her giving her a small back rub as she passed.

"Do you want me to check on them Penny?" she asked.

"Who?" Penny replied, knowing exactly who she meant as the kids had only just been checked on by Helen.

"The boys outside my dear, I can see that you're fretting a little."

"Am I that obvious?!" Penny chuckled, holding her bump as it moved. "I guess I'm feeling a little needy, I just hate being apart from him at the moment. I feel safe when he's around."

Marianne wrapped her arm behind Penny, giving her a tight squeeze.

"That's very sweet my dear, not needy at all. And perfectly natural in your condition too."

"I'm sure they're having a good time, and don't need us checking up on them," Penny admitted, making herself drag her focus away from the garden.

When Henry didn't return to the tent Callum poured a couple of whiskeys and went in search outside.

He found Henry sitting on the wooden ceremony platform at the back of the garden. He'd watched as Penny looked wistfully out into the garden and her sweet interaction with his mum. Tears had tumbled down his cheeks.

"Hey" Callum announced.

"Hey", Henry added, sniffing and wiping his face as he gladly accepted the scotch.

Callum plonked himself down beside Henry, almost losing his balance in the process.

They sat in silence for a few moments, just watching the ladies inside, smiling at their happy faces and bursts of laughter.

"Looks like they're having a good time?" Callum interjected.

"It does."

"You ok Henry?"

"Yeah, just needed some air."

Callum swigged the last of his whiskey down with a grimace. He was feeling bad thinking he'd upset Henry.

They both looked up again as a loud cheer was heard from the house. They could see Penny hugging Kate and creasing up in laughter.

"You're a fucking lucky man, Cavill."

Henry turned to look at Callum, wondering where this praise was coming from.

"I know - I know it's no secret how I feel about Penny, but above all I'm just glad she's happy again. You make her happy. Despite your noodle arms."

Henry chuckled and nudged Callum sideways, grabbing him before he toppled over.

"Thanks mate. I never thought I'd find her, I thought I'd never find this kind of happiness. We just need to find this for you too buddy." Henry put his arm around Callum.

"I'm working on it. I'm working on it."

"Don't fanny about this time though, Life is too fucking short."

Callum nodded, sucking in his emotions as they threatened to escape.

"Come on, let's go back to the lads." As he hauled himself up and held a hand out for Henry.

Karaoke was the next segment of Penny's Hen do. Heather and Charlotte started off the proceedings with their duet of "Islands in the Stream" and Helen continued the theme with her very warbly version of "Nine to Five". Penny was quite enjoying being the sober one amidst the gaggle of loud, sozzled women. Kate decided to attempt her favourite Van Morrison tune, dedicating it to Penny, even though she had blue eyes. A few of the kids sneaked downstairs to see what all the noise was about before deciding that they preferred their video games to their mothers vocal talents.

Heather was desperate for Penny to join in, but she felt far too comfortable in her chair, and sober to be tempted. So Heather roped Marianne and Julia into a murdering of 'It's Raining Men'.

Back in the marquee Tom was back on the decks to his one loyal fan, Charlie. Reliving their Ibiza days. Henry walked straight past, spying the last sausage and grabbing for the scotch. Piers beat him too it as he flung his arm around his little brother and poured them both another drink.

"Can't believe you're finally tying the knot little brother." he shouted.

Henry nodded, and grinned. "About bloody time eh?" Henry raised his glass, "To my beautiful bride to be." he shouted as he staggered back slightly. All the men raised their drinks.

"To Penny!" they all cheered.

Tom returned to the main table where the conversation had turned to ex-girlfriends.

"Si, remember that girl you used to date with the lazy eye?" Charlie began, getting far too excited by his recollection. "whatever happened to her?"

Simon gave Charlie the death stare and raised his middle finger to his annoying younger brother.

"She broke my heart Charles, you know that you little runt."

The rest of the brothers and Colin all found this hilarious.

"What about that Spanish girl Charlie?" Simon retorted. "the one you bought a car for and she left you the week after?"

"She was Portuguese actually, and it was only a Fiat 500, not a fucking Porsche, no biggie." as he returned the middle finger gesture enthusiastically.

"What about that nice young girl that you used to court Henry? The one with the dubious family background." Colin asked, with a knowing grin already on his face.

"She was lovely, but unfortunately her brothers were the next Krays and frightened the absolute life out of me." he turned to Tom "They threatened me with castration if I dishonoured their sister!"

"Castration eh? Who would threaten such a thing?!" he winked back at Henry.

A quite lull in the conversation allowed the baseline of one of the karaoke songs to drift through the night air.

"They fucking singing in there?" Nik shouted, standing up to look outside. "Right boys, I think it's time we merge these parties, who's coming?"

"Finally!" Henry shouted, feeling glad to see his Penny again.

Helen was just starting 'Copacabana' As Charlie, Tom and Piers noisily flung open the back doors to announce their arrival.

"Someone ordered the Dreamboys Ladies?" Charlie shouted as he made a beeline for Heather with his sexiest walk.

Penny craned her neck to see the newcomers as she spotted Henry and Callum stumbling through the door together. Henry's shirt was partially unbuttoned. And what buttons were fastened were in the wrong holes. Callum was still topless as was Nik after the arm wrestling tournament.

Callum suddenly felt a little conspicuous now with several females eyes upon him.

"What the hell have you lot been up to? You all look like you've been pulled through a hedge backwards." Kate laughed as she tried to fix the mess that was her husband's hair.

Henry reached the back of the sofa and kissed Penny's forehead as she leaned back to smile at him. He then dramatically rolled over the back of the chair, narrowly missing Julia's drink.

"Woah, steady on honey." Penny added, chuckling at her lumbering man.

Henry composed himself and with a soppy smile manouvered himself to sit close up to her.

"My beautiful Pen Pen. I missed you." he smooched, lips searching for hers.

"Missed you too Yogi, did you have fun?"

"I did, I may have had a lickle too much to drink though, sorry." he pouted, looking up at Penny with puppy dog eyes.

"That's ok Hen, I don't mind. Just don't throw up on the carpet later."

"Right!!" Tom spoke loudly into the mike, making Penny jump. "All you lovely ladies have been making the sweetest of sounds, but now it's time for the men to show you all how it's done. Big man, come here and serenade your betrothed." He gestured to a reluctant Henry as Penny smiled and pushed him a little to gee him up. Everyone shouted encouragement and before long he relented and hauled himself off the sofa, slightly swaying as he finally straightened up. Tom walked over to him and ushered him back to the karaoke machine.

"So, what will it be cherub? Pick something that'll make her cry." Tom whispered into his ear.

After a bit of deliberating Henry pushed his hair out of his eyes, rotated his shoulders, and took a deep breath as the first chords began. All eyes were upon him as Penny cringed in embarrassment.

She grabbed a cushion to hide behind when she realised what he'd chosen, knowing she'd be in tears before too long.

Henry's deep baritone attempted the American screech of "Oh Lord, won't you buy me, a Mercedes Benz.." Only Penny knew the significance of this and laughed as the others looked at each other and her in mild confusion. Henry kept his gaze fixed on Penny during the whole song, enjoying her reaction. They both thought back to that bitterly cold, grey Saturday in January. Such a chance meeting. A real turning point for them both. It truly felt like fate had intervened in their lives to make their paths cross. As Henry finished the last note Penny shuffled to stand up, Henry's strong arms ready to help her as she stood and they embraced. Their tears weren't the only ones after witnessing their dedication to each other.

"Oh honey, that was beautiful." she managed to say, as Henry's broad shoulder muffled her face. Henry kept hold of her for the longest time until Charlie grabbed the mike…

----

Penny had just finished what felt like her thousandth toilet visit of the day to find Henry waiting for her outside in the corridor. A naughty look in his eyes.

"Henry."

"Penelope." he replied as he stepped towards her and swept his hands around her curves. "This dress is un-fucking-believable Pen. I've been trying so hard not to ravish you in front of our friends and family. I'm literally struggling right now." He took her hand and led it over the impressive bulge in his dress shorts.

"You're kidding right? I look like an over-stuffed sausage Hen." Penny blushed, enjoying Henry's continuous exploration of her stomach, boobs and bottom. She tilted her head back as he gently pushed her back against the door.

Henry ignored her comment, leaning forward to press his forehead against hers.

"Can we have lots of babies honey, I want to keep you like this forever." Henry breathed heavily his eyes dark with arousal.

Penny raised her eyebrows at him "Christ almighty Cavill, you're practically feral tonight. Let's just get this little Princess sorted first before we talk about any more. And then we'll see how frisky you are when there's a newborn in the house."

Again, Penny's words washed over his inebriated brain and he continued to paw at her and kiss down her neck, pulling at the neckline of her dress attempting to find her nipple.

Tom walked around the corner nonchalantly and smacked Henry on his backside.

"That's what got you into this situation you horny fuckers, move aside, I need to drain the lizard."

Penny chuckled, relieved it wasn't either of Henry's parents that caught them.

"Come on honey, let's get you some water to cool you down." Penny suggested as she ushered her big bear back towards the party and Heathers singing.

Henry was stolen away by Simon, Charlie and Colin to sing Bohemian Rhapsody whilst Penny stood stretching her back against the kitchen island, wondering whose hangover would be worse tomorrow morning.

Callum sidled up to her.

"You ok Penny?" he asked, trying his best to sound more sober than he was.

"A little achey, but enjoying the entertainment." she chuckled.

"You look amazing by the way." he mumbled, instantly regretting his compliment. His cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

Penny looked up at him, trying to judge his emotion after his unexpected praise. He looked over at the others with an unconvincing passive expression on his face.

"Thanks Callum, everyones been so sweet trying to make me feel less like a bloody whale."

"No!" he stated, louder than they both expected. "It really suits you - being - being, pregnant. You're - glowing Penny." Penny looked back up at him, to see him looking back down at her. A strange expression on his face. Penny smiled, hooking her hand around his arm and giving him a small side hug.

"I'm genuinely happy for you, you know that right?" he continued, Penny looked over to see Henry's eyes on them briefly.

"Thanks Callum. You ok?" she asked, squeezing his arm and resting one hand on his shoulder.

He nodded and smiled. His eyes glassy with tears as he drank from his beer bottle.

Penny opened her mouth again to say something, anything. But an increasingly loud squeal broke the moment as Julia and Kate (who were getting on like a house on fire) barrelled up to Penny to grab her away.

"Pen-Pen, you can't say no. They've fucking got it!" as she pulled Penny away reluctantly. She looked back as Callum smiled and shooed her away. Julia unsubtly stayed behind to seize her opportunity with the farmer.

"No, No, No. It's been too long." Penny protested, seeing what she was being dragged towards.

"Come on Pen, let's have it!" Tom encouraged as Nik and Charlie joined in.

Henry stood watching this with a befuddled expression as Marianne adorably re-buttoned his shirt for him.

"Can't chicken out now Pen, unless you're too old to be cool babes." Kate goaded.

"Fuck off Roberts, give me that mike." Penny narrowed her eyes at her bestie as she abandoned her awkwardness for the challenge.

Penny launched into her memorised and well-practised rendition of 'Alphabet Aerobics', not dropping a beat or missing a word. Most of the Cavills were agog at Penny's unexpectedly skilled rap, Charlie was bouncing around like a puppy with excitement.

"Shit the bed Penny! You were fucking amazing!" Charlie shouted, draping one arm heavily over Penny's shoulders. Henry appeared to rescue her as Charlie switched to Henry's shoulder. "Did you know about your woman's hidden talents Hank?!"

"She's a woman of many hidden talents young Chuck." Henry purred with a dramatic arched brow.

"Rap Battle it is then Penelope Green." Tom announced as Penny shook her head.

"I'm too pregnant for all of this Thomas!" she protested.

"Come on! You don't hear Dre making that fucking excuse do you?" He began to giggle, finding his own joke hilarious.

Penny relented easily and performed several more hip hop classics alongside Heather, Kate, Tom, Charlie, and even Henry.

The lyrics to 'It's Tricky' coming out of Henry's mouth were hilarious for all involved. Henry hammed it up as only actors can do and gave it his best shot. Penny genuinely thought she was going to wet herself at one point with laughter.

Eventually, the singing turned into a more chilled end to the evening of chatting, drinking, and more eating. Penny was back in her comfy spot with Henry and Kate sat on either side of her, both having their own conversations with her unborn child.

Kate leaned forward, hands cupped on the globe of Penny's stomach. "Listen up short stuff, Auntie Katie will be making such a fuss of you when you finally get here. You might have been a surprise.."

"Kate!" Penny exclaimed as Kate dismissed her with an annoyed wave of her hand

She continued "You might have been a surprise, but you will be so loved and will bring us all so much bloody happiness. Now stay in until the 10th as I have money riding on that date."

"Katie, you're incorrigible, and so bloody soppy. Love you." she reached as well as she could and pulled Kates head towards her lips.

It was Henry's turn to offer his wisdom. "Mummy's done a fabulous job of baking you, my little cupcake. Can't wait to see your pretty little face and kiss your tiny toesies. Now just keep chilling for a few more days, my little girl." He instantly held his hand over his mouth. Realising his slip up.

"A girl?!" Kate asked "A Girl!!" she then shouted as everyone's attention was caught.

Penny shot pretend daggers at a cringing Henry as their news was out. She didn't really mind, and seeing the joy it brought everyone who now knew she couldn't be angry at him.

Kisses, handshakes, and hugs came from all directions as Marianne burst into tears. "Just perfect darlings, we needed more girls. Wonderful news." she sobbed as Colin patted her back.

Penny stifled another yawn just as Henry looked around.

"Right Mama, you need to sleep, let's hit the hay."

Penny protested politely, but was more than ready for her bed after such a full on evening.

Henry grasped her hands and slowly helped her stand, he could tell she was in a reasonable amount of pain despite her smiles.

"Thank you everyone for making this such an amazing evening, I'm sorry to be such a lightweight but feel free to keep the party going!" Penny spoke as Henry held her tight.

"Thanks guys, love you all!" Henry added as he ushered Penny past several more kisses and hugs.

If Henry had been sober he would have carried Penny up the stairs seeing how uncomfortable she was. Instead, he tried his best to guide her hips forward to take some of her weight. He also couldn't resist grabbing her arse in the process too.

They poked their heads into Ben's room to see them all fast asleep and the room filled with bodies. Penny had never known so many people to be in her house overnight.

Despite his lack of coordination Henry tried to help Penny to clear away the pile of clothes on the bed, left from Penny's earlier stress. After removing her floral decorations she began to wriggle out of the dress. Unsurprisingly Henry appeared to help. Kissing her shoulders in the process.

"Hmm, Pen, you're gonna get me all worked up again honey," as they stared at each other in the floor length mirror. Both watching Penny disrobe. Henry abandoned his clothes by his feet as he stood behind Penny and watched his reflection massaging her heavy breasts and taut stomach.

"Hold that thought, Cavill. I need to pee." as she made a dash for the bathroom. After cleaning her teeth and removing her makeup she returned to the bedroom to find Henry asleep on the bed.

"Gah!" she complained, as she haughtily pushed his knee over to his side of the bed so she could enter her cave of cushions. After finally finding a reasonably comfy position Henry snorted himself awake.

"Ung, fell 'sleep" he mumbled "Sorry baby," he said, his voice muffled by his pillow. He reached his arm up and plonked it heavily onto Penny's bump.

"I noticed." Penny said with subtle annoyance, hoping to get some time alone with her bear.

Henry sat up, with one eye open. Penny chuckled at his comical expression.

"I'm awake now!" he stated with a cheeky grin. He sidled up to Penny, mirroring her pose.

"Did you have a good night honey?"

"I did indeed, although I missed you lots." he admitted coyly.

"Missed you too Yogi, even though you were only in the field."

After a moments silence Henry piped up.

"Pen. Do I….. do I look fat?" he asked sheepishly, staring down at his stomach. "I'm sorry I've let myself go lately, I'll work extra hard to get back into shape."

It took everything Penny had not to laugh at his endearing comments, but she knew how much of a sensitive subject this was.

"Henry, honey." she took his hand and squeezed it. "First off, you don't look fat, you're not fat. You can be whatever shape you want to be, whatever makes you happy. Not me, not your family, not your fans, you honey. You're so used to trying to maintain an unrealistic physique, exhausting yourself, depriving yourself, and for what? A few photos, a few moments in a movie. It's crazy. And actually unhealthy in lots of ways. This is normal honey." she rubbed his softened stomach.

"You still think I'm sexy Pen?" he asked in all seriousness.

"You're fucking kidding me right? I'm sat here like this and you're the one thinking you're fat and unsexy?!"

Penny stared at him, seeing that he was still full of doubts and insecurities.

She pulled his head towards her chest as his arm cradled her belly.

"Baby, you're such a doofus at times. Do I really need to tell you that you are the sexiest freakin' man alive?!! That all I want to do every time I see you is run my nails down your back and lick your chest."

Penny flung aside her largest pillow and with all her strength swung her leg over Henry and straddled him.

"Fuck, Pen. Steady on honey." he gasped, as his hands automatically grasped her waist. "Christ almighty" he continued as his hands roamed up and down her. She was wearing a soft cotton sleep bra and matching knickers. She rested on her side and slipped off her bottoms before sitting back over Henry again.

"Pen, oh god. This is so fucking hot. But Pen, Pen." he threw his head back onto the pillow as she grasped his cock, tugging it and then rubbing herself over it. He rutted upwards as he grasped her thick thighs, Penny supported her back as she moaned loudly in pleasure.

"Pen, stop, we can't."

Penny took Henry's hard dick and lined him with her entrance. Henry was torn, reaching out to massage her breasts. She began to slide down onto him slowly as he grasped her arms.

"No! Pen, we can't risk it." again she ignored him, lost in her passion.

"Stop!" he shouted, finally able to make her listen.

Penny looked at him in confusion and hurt. "Why?" she asked.

"The baby, Pen. What if you go into labour?"

Penny continued to sit down further onto Henry, feeling the delicious stretch. She clenched, making him throw his head back in pleasure again.

"I'm fine honey, I've got weeks until she's due."

"I just don't want to risk it before the wedding Pen Pen." He held his large paw against the side of her pouting face. "Lay back down and I will help ease your frustrations, my love."

Penny relented, pouting, feeling tired and uncomfortable now the moment was lost. But she soon perked up on feeling Henry's strong digits delving between her legs. Penny ground against his touch, needing more friction. Henry's tongue swirled noisily around Penny's nipples as he readjusted his position, kissing her as he moved. He knelt on the bed, between her legs. Smoothing his hands up along Penny's legs, hips, waist, and breasts. A greedy grin on his face. Penny clenched at his electrifying gaze. His desire and lust felt ready to explode. Unexpectedly he froze and scrunched up his face. He raised a finger.

"Hold that thought, Pen" as he leaped off the bed, hopping as one foot was wrapped in the sheets, heading for the bathroom. At first, Penny thought he was going to throw up, which would have made her feel absolutely devastated, considering where he'd just been, but the familiar sound of him peeing like a racehorse echoed from the ensuite, and a loud "Ahhh…" on top.

Penny chuckled as she waited for him to return. After some noisy hand washing and fumbling in the dark, Henry plodded back over to her, locating her feet first and climbing between her legs again.

"Right. Where were we..?"

"Actually, Hen. I'm feeling super tired again, sorry…"

"Oh.." he said, surprised by her sudden switch. "Ok, my sweetness. I'm sorry for ruining the moment."

Penny didn't disagree with him. "Just make sure our wedding night is more romantic honey," she said, sleepily. Tucking her pillows around her as she made herself comfortable.

Henry leaned over and kissed her shoulder, helping tuck another pillow behind her at the same time.

"Just you wait Penelope, Daddy's going to pull all his tricks out of the bag."

They both giggled at his bravado as Henry snuggled up behind her, smoothing his hand up and down the contours of her hip and thigh as she quickly succumbed to her sleep.

Authors Comments I hope you enjoyed the run-up to the big day. The interactions with their friends and family. I really enjoyed writing this chapter, I hope you liked reading it!! Thank you all for your continued support with this epic saga that is slowly coming to its natural end xxx

Chapter 32 coming soon...

[10kiaoi]

Tactical gear appreciation post lol.

CW: canon typical violence, issues related to death. Notes: Very much unbetaed and written with increasing desperation. Please go easy on me?

----

The first time Bond sees the boy, it’s in the busy shopping streets of Bangkok. 

It’s midday and sweltering but the Pratunam district is buzzing with activity. 

Bond idles along the street side vendors, ambling through the makeshift tents and racks. The crowd is thick enough that he brushes shoulders with others every few steps or so. He keeps half an eye on the lovely trinkets - little wooden carvings of various local fauna. The other half is firmly fixed on a man rumoured to be delving into the international arms trade. 

He inspects a figurine of an elephant, tuning out the shopkeeper’s enthusiastic pitch in broken english. 

A scream pierces the air- a high pitched shriek that sends the crowd careening backwards. As Bond is shoved backwards by the masses, he spots a man toppled over on the ground, motionless. Around him, there are yells in Thai, in English, in various other languages of the disturbed tourists. 

He quickly scans the panicked crowd but catches nothing more than a flash of deep brunette melting away into the throngs.

It’s an unexpected sudden end to his current mission. 

----

Berlin is a mess. 

The woman Bond is tasked with assessing is KGB- turncoat and now looking for a new master. Bond strides into a small chain cafe on a quiet street. The cafe isn’t too busy- the few customers present are already seated and distracted. Anya Pavlova is seated in the far corner up against the wall, engaged in her book and a cup of coffee.

Bond heads to the counter, places his order. It arrives in short order and he chooses a seat by the window. The occasional autumn breeze is refreshing in the stuffy cafe, after sunny, tropical Bangkok. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Pavlova slips into the washroom. 

Bond tucks into his meal. 

She slips back out after a brief pause, prim and proper, returns to her softback. 

No one else gets up. Bond slides into the washroom. The note is exactly where Bond expects it to be. He glances quickly at the series of numbers- a phone number, tucks it into a secure little pocket in the lining of his jacket. He flushes the toilet, washes his hands and steps back out. 

Pavlova waits for him to sit back down at his table before putting away her possessions into the little handbag at her side.

The waitress comes over smiling, a tray with a single cup. Bond frowns, ready to reject the clearly mistaken order. “With compliments, it’s already paid for!” the waitress chirps. Bond pauses, then graciously thanks the waitress as she transfers the cup to his table. He resolutely does not turn to look at Pavlova who is making for the door. 

It’s a lovely rich black, no cream or sugar.  

The napkin is folded neatly under the cup. 

Bond looks down to check his phone.  Pavlova steps out from under the shelter of the awning. The cashier’s cheerful “come again!” switches to a screech of horror, followed by several others both in and outside of the cafe.  

Bond whips up with his heart pounding, only training preventing him from dropping his phone on the way. There’s a telltale metallic glint from a far off high rise, no more than a shimmer off what most would assume is reflective glass. It lasts no longer than a flash.  

Pavlova is dead before she hits the ground.     

----

M is understandably spitting mad. 

One doesn’t come by an enemy agent offering their services everyday and Pavlova could have been a terrific addition to MI6’s arsenal of covert long term operatives what with already being in the KGB and all. 

The morbid hilarity of the entire situation - Bond hasn’t done anything to influence such an outcome. A textbook execution practically. 

And yet it has gone all tits up.

A fuming M marches him down to Q Branch with carte blanche to use all resources to find the leak. “Something we should have done since Bangkok!” M rages in a rare moment of self reproach as Bond bears her fury with silence.

A forensics team is sent to the building the sniper is suspected to have worked from. They find nothing. Q Branch fares no better, the few low res security cameras of little help when it turns out they have all gone down simultaneously around the time of the incident. 

He’s grilled on what he remembers. Every tiny detail dragged out to be examined on all fronts to determine if he has missed anything.  

There’s little else they can do with no other leads. 

----

In Mexico City, Bond destroys an entire warehouse’s worth of hard drugs before it ever reaches his country’s shores.

The explosion is magnificent- a great blooming flameball and a sound blast that blows out every window in a one kilometer radius. 

It’s almost makes up for being whacked hard enough atop the head that he blacks out instantly. 

----

Miguel Garcia is a terrible host. 

Bond watches as the man drops the unfortunate minion into a pit of crocs. The screams still ring in his ears when Garcia starts in on him. His earwig is long gone. For once, he misses having Q Branch in his ear. 

Standard villain interrogation routine- a couple of hits here and there, a good deal of verbal threats, a few electrocutions to top it off. Nothing a double oh hasn’t been trained to take. 

Bond laughs and screams through the entire facade, a savage grin splitting his face apart. He shoves the desperate need to know that someone is coming into a tiny box and pushes it into a dusty corner of his mind where a stone mansion lies. 

Garcia is coming apart at the seams and for good reason. Between the two of them, Bond would garner Garcia’s in deeper shit and he gleefully tells Garcia so. 

The lacerations with a dull knife are worth the brief terror turned rage across Garcia’s face. 

----

Bond is thrown into a dark room and left to rot without food or water.

His body is a mass of bruises and pain - there isn’t a part of him that feels like he could sleep forever. The relative silence is a much cherished balm against the earlier violence. He’s just drifting off into a light doze- all the better for maintaining his energy reserves when the single shot echoes around the facility. 

It’s loud and forbidding. 

Bond jerks awake, adrenaline rushing through his veins. 

There’s yelling and panic, a desperate attempt to mount some kind of defence but a great deal more bellows that cut off in the middle. 

Bond’s heart pounds painfully in his chest. He staggers up, ignoring the painful pull at all his wounds. 

Somewhere in the distance, there’s a bang of a grenade. 

Outside his prison, there’s a crack. The door swings open. Bond squints at the sudden brightness. A familiar silhouette appears in the light of the doorway. 

“Heard you needed backup, brother!”

Bond could just kiss him. 

--------

What the hospital staff doesn’t know won't hurt them. 

Bond makes it a point to share a drink with Felix whenever he’s in town. Langley isn’t too far from DC and it’s been a while since they have had the opportunity to catch up. 

Well, that and the man rescued him from the clutches of Garcia. Bond owes Felix more than a round of drinks.  

Bond steadily ignores the disapproving looks Felix aims at his shots. More than for the company, it’s an informal exchange of information- information locked behind red tape and bureaucracy in other circumstances. It’s efficient and lays bare the minute details Bond has to work to hunt down otherwise. 

Felix tells him about an operation in Alaska of all places. Bond tells him about Bangkok. They both down a stiff drink. 

Felix pauses, a momentary lapse that blares like an alarm to Bond’s trained eye. 

Bond narrows his eyes. “What is it?”

Felix grimaces. Something like suspicion and dread creeps over Bond. 

“About that, we found the warehouse because of a tipoff. Garcia was already dead when we got there.”

----

Felix doesn’t quite let him in to the CIA secure archives but it’s a pretty close thing. 

He leaves Bond waiting in one of the meeting rooms, blinds drawn. When he returns, it’s with a thin folder. There’s also a ziplock with tiny metal pieces no bigger than pennies. Bond turns a skeptical gaze at Felix.  

Felix waves the reports like a carrot on a stick. “All our agents’ reports of suspected encounters we have had with our man. Maybe you’ll see something our profilers haven’t.” 

Bond’s gaze at the file turns covetous. Felix smirks.

The cases weren’t unlike his own experiences- clean kills, in and out before anyone is aware enough to act. Security cameras were as good as useless with how the feed has clearly been tampered with. Nothing he hasn’t already deduced from his own encounters. It’s entirely frustrating and Bond feels the prickle under his skin, a clawing need to know. 

“Paranoid, that one,” Felix declares, settling into an empty chair. Bond snorts. 

“He knows he’s being hunted,” Bond corrects. 

“No one’s actually seen him, you’d be the first,” Felix admits, leaning backwards.

No traces left behind, no witnesses. Professional to the extreme. 

Bond hisses in displeasure. 

----

Felix insists on sending him to the airport despite his protests. Dulles International Airport comes into sight like a hulking grey beast, ugly and utilitarian. 

“Take care, brother,” Felix wishes over their hug, leaving with several commiserating pats to Bond’s back, carefully avoiding the still healing areas. 

A call comes over the speakers as Bond heads through the express security lane: boarding for flight SQ2522 has begun. There’s a flash of brunette curls in the distance- Bond’s heart lurches, mind flashing back to Bangkok. But no, it’s a lady, petite but tall.  

For one irrational moment he thinks that it’s Vesper. Brilliant, gorgeous, traitorous Vesper with her wit and charm and lovely red lips. 

But the woman moves out of sight towards her gate and the moment’s over and Bond is drawn back into the monochrome present.  

----

It’s a random thought- one driven more by instinct from years in the field rather than any rational explanation. 

He boards his plane- a direct flight back to London. It is after the stewardess has come round offering champagne that Bond pulls the memory of the little slip of paper Pavlova left behind for him in that Berlin cafe.

Pressing send feels akin to stirring a hornet’s nest.  

----

“Thank you for the coffee. It was most delightful. See you soon.”

----

There isn’t much in Pavlova’s handbag- her phone, a softcover likely plucked from a discount bin, a half used tube of lipstick, a writing pad and a fountain pen. 

It is the pen Bond focuses his attention on.

Q Branch excels in the technical fields. They’ve done their bit and gone through the cell. As expected of someone like Pavlova. The phone is clean - clearly a burner phone. It is a dead end.

Bond’s expertise is in people and their sentiments. 

The fountain pen’s barrel glints, polished despite the corners where the gold has gone dull with age. The nib is uneven, as though grounded down by constant pressure on one side. There’s a ring around the feed and the section, perhaps originally gold like the decorative edgings and on the clip but the gold’s almost completely faded. Bond twists the ring. 

A blade springs out from under the nib. 

----

Taipei is unfinished business. 

The cheap street food is an utter delight. Jiufen is beyond crowded on a weekend and going through the long narrow streets is a slow shuffle sandwiched between local hikers and curious tourists. Bond finds himself with a stick of some grilled meat in one hand, 

Several meters ahead, a man walks on oblivious, arms laden down by souvenirs. 

There’s a flash of brunette in the corner of Bond’s eye. His snack falls to the ground, abandoned as he slices through the crowd. Outraged yells go up behind him but his concentration has locked onto the scene before him.  

It is deja vu.  

He barrels through the horde, grasps the slender wrist in an iron grip. 

He’s pinned by a wide eyed stare, brilliant green eyes shocked and surprised behind glasses. 

Then the blade in the pen is abruptly twisted towards him. 

The crowd topples backwards, shrill screaming accompanying the wave of people attempting to flee the altercation. It’s utter pandemonium. 

Bond leaps backwards to dodge the blade, but the assailant follows, a dogged determination in his eyes. They grapple in the narrow stone street, amidst the fleeing crowd. The boy shoves him into a display counter of traditional snacks. He lashes out with a kick to the sternum, sending the boy into the corner of a wall and knocking the breath out of him. 

They clamber to their feet and circle each other, bruised and all the more vicious for it. 

The boy hisses under his breath, like a cat with its tail stepped on. Bond answers with a snarl of his own, blood dripping from the laceration on his cheek. 

The streets have emptied by now, the target having slipped away in the commotion. 

There’s a momentary flash of indecision, of uncertainty. Inexplicably, the boy turns and darts down an adjourning alleyway. 

Bond curses, bolts after the flash of military green parka around the tight corners. He leaps five steps at a time down a steep stairway carved into the street, charging past the backs of residential houses. 

He skids to a halt in the middle of a crossroad, utterly alone. There’s a familiar looking pen on the ground, its owner nowhere to be found. In the distance, there are sirens. 

Bond sends a fist into the ground, knuckles white beneath the bruises. 

----

Wang Guo Pei is a pale faced man, still green from the attempt on his life. 

He is also the younger brother of the man killed in Bangkok, whose death has and still is sending ripples across the networks. The interrogation room is bleak and bare. The cold lights enhance the man’s sickly look, hallowed by fear and anxiety over the threat of death even through the filter of the camera.  

The Underworld really doesn’t care if one is just a foot soldier, not when one is relation and have access to the inner workings of the organization. MI6 has no such qualms either. 

Bond has lost track of how many lesser devils MI6 has had to make a deal with to nail bigger fish. 

He watches as the interrogation is repeated, fiddling with his own souvenir. Unlike Pavlova’s, this model sports a two barrel converter on top of the hidden blade. One is filled with regular ink. The other… Bond replaces the cap firmly, slips it back into an inner pocket. 

He doesn’t put much stock in working with an entire team with how often they just slow him down instead of being helpful. But M’s made up her mind and the powers that be agree. He’s on his way towards the waiting ops team and Wang three hours later. 

----

“Now pay attention, 007, this is a bulletproof suit-”

“Yes, thank you Major, I know what a bulletproof suit does.”

“Not this one, you don’t, now pay attention! I don’t want to have to repeat myself. Now see this here, this little bag, it’s been engineered to be filled with blood- ”

“Isn’t that just a water balloon?”

----

Hours later, Bond lands in Changi Airport, Singapore with new orders and new purpose. 

----

Q slips into the office tower easily, waiting for the last few stragglers making their way out to pass by before continuing on his way to the lifts. The night patrol is swiftly dealt with, a quick prick of a gel coated dart with fast acting amnesiac properties. 

The ride up is silent, no cheery elevator music to soften the adrenaline. He uses the time to check on his systems briefly. A flick on his phone brings up the app that mirrors the processes his laptop is carrying out while tucked away safely in his hotel suite. It’s a particular test of his abilities, this city, with all its zealousness in adhering to security measures. His laptop has been running nonstop since the moment he stepped foot on this island. 

The security cameras remain silent in their judgement. His finger twitches, feeling the weight of his missing pen acutely. 

The accomplishment of successful missions has long since worn off. The thrill of travel, of seeing the world and all it offers has dulled with the gravity of the situation he finds himself in. Pavlova’s death is still a fresh wound, the condolences offered by the organization doing nothing to stem the loss and grief that accompanies losing the only maternal figure he has in his life. 

Last one, and then you’re out. 

The rifle is cold and heavy in his arms. 

A robotic female voice announces the level they’ve arrived at and Q steps out. 

Wang is immediately visible in the building across the road, in his office.

Q runs a last check of the cameras. They come back clear so he drops to a knee, setting up his equipment. The thick glass of the skyscraper is easily dealt with, a perfect circle being cut out and lifted away to reveal a small hole through which the rifle can be fired through. 

It takes no more than a few seconds. 

Wang goes down in his office, blood painting the walls. 

Q starts packing up. 

----

Several muffled shots are followed by a heavy thump. 

The man stepping out of the shadows with his Walther primed and ready in his hand is a familiar face. Q can’t tear his eyes away, entranced when the MI6 agent unceremoniously drops the body to the ground. 

Q’s stomach drops, visibly blanching. 

He recognizes the corpse’s issue of equipment- he’s helped design some of it in fact.

He knows for a fact, that particular section never comes alone.

“Seems like you’ve pissed off your employer,” the man he fought in Taiwan drawls. 

Q’s hand goes for his rifle, only to flinch away when the man fires a warning shot. Q freezes. The man motions with his Walter. Q obeys, sliding the rifle away out of reach. He’s mentally flashing through all his equipment, looking for a way to buy time and find an exit, recalling all the areas where he landed hits just days ago.  

“Bond,” the man pauses significantly, “James Bond. 007.” 

Q blinks. Then slowly, “Am I supposed to curse your name as you kill me then?” 

Bond stares, confusion then exasperation. “Oh for Christ’s sake, the one time I try to be civil,” Bond grumbles mutinously. 

Q has to hastily stifle a laugh at Bond’s disgruntlement. There’s a moment of acknowledgement of the ludicrousness, yet it somehow lightens the atmosphere between him and and his would be executioner. It’s jarring, how that one line manages to bring a little humour back to his life. It’s simply another indicator of how much the state of things has deteriorated around him without him noticing. 

It’s almost regretful it isn’t likely to last. 

Q tenses as Bond’s hand creeps to one of his pockets. 

It’s cruel irony, if Bond does indeed intend to use that object as an instrument of Q’s death.  

Q turns distraught eyes upon the agent- a double oh, if he’s to be believed. 

“I gave her that,” Q whispers, eyes locked onto Pavlova’s pen in Bond’s fingers. 

“She gave it to me,” Bond states. 

Q’s face falls. 

“Is what I was ordered to tell you,” Bond continues, voice dropping to a murmur, “But I think you’ve been lied to enough, wouldn’t you say.”  

The full force of grief knocks the breath from his chest once again. 

Q watches with detached fascination as Bond winces, reaching up to remove the earpiece and drop it in a pocket. 

Bond turns back to him in all seriousness, and the dread rises again.

“I couldn’t do this for someone else,” Bond murmurs, catching him around the waist.  And oh, how Q can see the same loss and anguish in the other as if they are kindred spirits. “Someone important to me,” Bond chokes out, “but you have a choice now. You wanted out, this is your chance.” 

How Q wants to believe him. 

He leans in, breathes two words into Bond’s ear. 

Bond breaks out in a small, relieved grin. 

----

Bond cups Q’s face, pressing their foreheads together in reassurance. 

Q takes a steadying breath. His death is now fully in MI6’s- in James’ hands. 

“Now darling, do be a good boy and put this on for me,” James whispers conspiratorially.

[rainy-day-gracie]

Old Friends 10

OMG IT’S HERE

THE FINALE TO OLD FRIENDS

This series will always hold a special place in my heart since it was the very first ever fic I ever wrote. Thank you guys so much for all of the positivity !! I LOVE YOU ALL AND ENJOY :)

Spencer Reid x Reader

Angst, MAJOR FLUFF 

MASTERLIST

__

It was the way my head was throbbing that finally woke me up. Spencer was tied to a chair across from me, not daring to say anything. He looked at me with concerned eyes, asking if I was okay. I gave him a small nod, and he seemed to relax a little. 

We were in an abandoned warehouse of some kind and rat traps littered the floor. “Hello?” I croaked out. 

Mrs. Lorretta came out from behind me and grabbed my face, studying it. Her thumb dug into my cheek, and I bit down on it, hard. 

She screamed out as I licked blood off my lip. “Oh, did I hurt you? I’m sorry.”

“You little bitch!” She shrieked at me, storming off somewhere behind me. Spencer just looked at me gravely. 

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he mumbled. 

“Couldn’t resist,” I whispered, and Spencer rolled his eyes. My hair was suddenly tugged back, and the barrel of a gun pressed into my temple. “Whoa, whoa. We can talk about this.”

“Not before you know your place, Agent.” Mr. Lorretta’s voice hissed in my ear, and Spencer fought relentlessly against his bonds, suddenly extremely panicked. “You hurt my wife, I’m going to hurt you.”

I turned my head ever so slightly, looking him in the eyes. “My team is going to hurt you, buddy. They’re coming for us, are you ready for when that happens?” My fear didn’t show at all in my voice. 

Mr. Lorretta just huffed and walked away, taking the gun with him. I let out a sigh of relief, restating my own words quietly as I heard him walking up some kind of staircase. “They’re coming for us…” Then I remembered something. “Spencer, where’s Lily?” 

The look in his eyes told me all I needed to know. 

Lily was dead. She knew too much, and that got her killed. 

Spencer moved his hands, and I realized he was signing to me. Get the wife, he told me. 

The wife must’ve not truly wanted to hurt Lily, and that would’ve caused a rift between them. She was our only way out of here, and I just nearly bit off her thumb. 

I gave him a thumbs up, telling him I understood. 

Now, he signed.

“Where’s Lily?” I called out, tilting my head back to whoever was behind me. 

Mrs. Lorretta stormed in front of me, grabbing my face with her hand. “Shut up right now or I will shoot you.”

“No you won’t. Your husband will, and he’ll just drag you along for the ride.” She let go of my face, staring at me angrily. Spencer subtly nodded at me behind her back. “I know you don’t want to kill anyone, Mrs. Lorretta.” 

She gave me an open handed slap across the face, tears in her eyes. “Shut up!” 

“Don’t touch her,” Spencer growled as I hunched to the side, bracing for another slap.

I looked Mrs. Lorretta in the eyes as I regained composure. “Think about Lily-” another hit “-she wouldn’t have wanted this-” another hit “-please!”

Mrs. Lorretta looked at me angrily, tears forming in her eyes. “I just wanted to be the perfect mother, and now both my girls are dead,” she whispered. 

“No one else has to die, Mrs. Lorretta.” I showed her a side of me that’s vulnerable, a side of me no one sees. “I’ve had to kill some of the most awful people, and I feel sick about it. I can’t imagine how you must feel. But you can still do the right thing, Mrs. Lorretta.”

She wordlessly took out a knife, and I was scared for a moment she had decided to kill us now. That moment subsided when she started cutting the bonds at my wrists and ankles binding me to the chair.

Spencer gave me a look of relief and signed with his hands. Good job. 

I smiled at him when Mrs. Lorretta cut my final bond, and Spencer looked to her, expecting her to cut his bonds as well. I cautiously stood, facing Mrs. Lorretta. 

She gave me a sad smile, tears flowing down her eyes. “You look so much like Jamie…” she breathed, seeming to be in a daze. 

I had to cover my mouth from screaming as she shoved the knife into her own neck. 

Running over to Spencer, I quickly untied his bonds before the metallic scent of blood completely filled the room. He stood wordlessly and dragged my hand to the staircase to get out of this godforsaken warehouse. 

We ran up the stairs, me barely keeping up with his long legs, and ducked behind crates when we saw Mr. Lorretta looking from across the warehouse curiously. “Honey, everything okay?”

We barely breathed, sure that he could hear the sounds of our pounding hearts. His footsteps were careful, and the sound of a safety being clicked off made my blood run cold. 

We scattered from the stack of crates as he fired the first shot at us, getting separated in the process.

I found another dusty stack of crates to hide behind, seeing Spencer duck behind a column. 

“Come out, come out wherever you are Agents,” Mr. Lorretta drawled. My heart sank as he moved closer to Spencer, and I ducked closer to him. 

“It doesn’t matter if I’ll go to prison. I’m too good for that, and with my resources I’ll be able to get a deal easily.” Mr. Lorretta taunted us, creeping around the cluttered warehouse. 

He laughed suddenly. “Dr. Reid is it? Do you like working for the FBI? Get scared sometimes?”

Chills went up my spine as Mr. Lorretta continued taunting Spencer. 

“I would be scared too… if my bitch was also my partner in the field.”

Spencer leaped behind Mr. Lorretta, pulling both of Mr. Lorretta’s arms back. 

Time seemed to slow when the gun went off as they both fell to the floor. I ran out from behind my hiding spot and grabbed the gun that had slid across the floor. Mr. Lorretta got to his feet to run at me, and I fired the gun twice Once in his chest and the other in his head. 

I was already running over to Spencer before Mr. Lorretta fell limp to the floor. Blood was seeping out of Spencer’s stomach, and I ripped off my blazer to stifle the flow. 

“I told you we should’ve taken a sick day,” Spencer mumbled. 

I laughed despite it all, tears pricking my eyes. “I should’ve taken you up on that offer.” I heard a door being kicked in and the familiar voices of our family calling our names. “Over here! We need medical, federal agent down!” 

I seemed to be in a daze when Morgan and Prentiss pulled me off of Spencer, they were saying words but all I could focus on was the way the cold floor turned red with Spencer’s blood. 

“Please, come back to me Spencer. There’s still so much more for us.” 

__

I’ve always hated hospitals, but never as much as I do right now. Prentiss and JJ had helped me wash off Spencer’s blood, but they couldn’t erase the images of his pale face from my mind. 

My foot tapped incessantly in the waiting room, my palms sweating in the hours of waiting for any news of Spencer. 

Rossi held my hand firmly, and I gripped it like a lifeline. Nobody spoke, what was there to say?

“It’s my fault.” I mumbled, not realizing anyone could hear me. 

“Don’t say that.” Rossi gripped my hand harder, getting me to look at him. “This is not your fault.”

“Lorretta insulted me… Spencer got angry and reacted… that’s what got him shot.” I kept replaying Lorretta’s words in my head.

I would be scared too… if my bitch was also my partner in the field. 

Rossi shook his head. “Don’t do that kiddo. Reid saw an opportunity to get him and it backfired. Don’t make something Reid chose to do somehow your fault.”

A doctor walked into the waiting room. “Dr. Reid.” We all stood, holding our breath for the results. “It was a close call, touch and go for a while, but we managed to stop the bleeding from his stomach. And who is YFN?”

I released a deep breath. “That’s me.”

“He’s been asking for you. He’s still slightly delirious, but he has been wondering where you are. Says he misses you.”

I smiled, tears streaming down my cheeks. “May I see him?”

The doctor nodded, guiding me to Spencer’s room. 

He looked so happy when I walked in the room, but also heavily drugged with painkillers. “YFN… you look like a goddess.”

I chuckled and sat gently on the end of his bed. “Hey, pretty boy. I was really scared.”

Spencer offered me his hand, and I took it, not wanting him to strain himself. After a moment he fell asleep, and I took the chair next to the bed, letting him rest for as long as he needed. 

Looking at him, wounded and on heavy painkillers, I knew what I needed to do.

__

Spencer was checked out of the hospital a week later on the insistence that he needed to go back to work. 

I took some personal time, which Hotch graciously gave. 

We spent our days being lazy around Spencer’s apartment, reading different books and watching Doctor Who religiously. 

I was dozing off on Spencer’s shoulder one night when he hit me with a bombshell. “I know you’re not coming back to the BAU.” 

I sat straight up, looking him in the eyes. “Why do you say that?”

Spencer gave me a small half smile. “Because when Lorretta insulted you, I was impulsive, and you don’t want me to do something like that again because of my feelings for you.”

Damn, I sometimes forgot he was a profiler. “I can’t have that on my mind constantly in the field, worrying about you or me making a bad call because of personal feelings. Also…” 

“You want to teach.” Spencer finished my sentence, a sparkle lighting up his eyes. “You don’t want to be looking at crime scene photos all day, and I understand that. Whatever you do, I will support you.”

I smiled at him, tears pricking my eyes. “I was thinking of teaching a language at Georgetown, or maybe some form of mathematics. I’ve already told Hotch, but I want to stay in the city. With you.”

“I love you, and I will do anything to make you happy, YFN.” Spencer stood up, pulling me by my hands to stand with him. After a moment, he ran off into his bedroom, seemingly looking for something. When he returned, a small black box was tucked into his hand, and he seemed much more nervous than before. Spencer sank to one knee, and the tears really started streaming down my face this time. He took a deep breath, staring into my eyes deeply. 

“I bought this about a week after we started dating… the more recent time.” I giggled, watching his sheepish face become full of love. “After everything we’ve been through together since we were 16… I can’t imagine spending the rest of my life with anyone else. YFN YLN, will you marry me?”

It took about two seconds for me to make my decision. “Yes, definitely yes.”

__

If there was one thing Rossi knew how to do, it was throw a party. 

It had been three days since Spencer and I had gotten engaged, and word had also spread to the team about me leaving the BAU.

We sat around a large table in Rossi’s backyard, telling stories, laughing, and sometimes crying. When we moved to the makeshift dance floor Rossi had set up, JJ, Garcia, Prentiss and I all swayed in a tight circle, crying and laughing. 

“We will forever miss your badassery!” Garcia rested her head on my shoulder, tears streaming down her face. 

“I’ll still be around!” I assured her. “I’m still going to be at every ladies’ night you guys invite me to, and I’m marrying Spencer! You can bet he’s not going anywhere!” 

JJ laughed, tears also pricking her eyes. “The geniuses are getting married!” 

“You can definitely bet that you are invited to every ladies’ night!” Prentiss hugged me with one arm, a glass of champagne in her hand. 

A strong hand touched my shoulder, and I turned to Morgan. “Oh, Derek, don’t start crying on me too!”

He chuckled and pulled me into a hug. “Not a chance. I’m looking forward to you not constantly making me look unimpressive.” 

I grinned even wider if that was possible. “I never tried to make you look unimpressive. It just kind of happened. I’m just that awesome.”

Derek laughed and Rossi appeared beside him, kissing me on both cheeks.

“Questo bellissimo capitolo termina, al prossimo!” Rossi yelled in Italian, handing me another glass of champagne. 

Hotch pulled me in for a short but meaningful hug. “Congratulations, you two will forever hold on to each other. I can see it.”

I smiled, tears once again filling my eyes. “Thank you, Aaron. That really means a lot, coming from you.”

A hand fell comfortably on my back, and I knew Spencer was behind me. I turned and looked into his coffee brown eyes, the eyes I fell in love with when I was 19, and the same eyes that found their way back into my heart. 

We danced together for hours, whispering to each other on the dance floor about anything and everything. 

“I can’t wait for a life like this. It won’t be easy, but we’re prepared for that. I love you so much, YFN.”

“I love you too, Spencer.”

Questo bellissimo capitolo termina, al prossimo!

This beautiful chapter ends, onto the next!

TAG LIST: @itsarayofsunshine @thesailbells @squirrellover1967 @softpeteparker @parkeroffline

[ssa-lesbian]

this life is controlled confusion (1/3)

word count: 2.85k words

JJ’s relationship with blood and Emily.

-> read on AO3

I II III

(S2E15, Revelations. Contains gore and descriptions of suicide.)

you came and i was crazy for you

and you cooled my mind that burned with longing

-sappho

—

JJ hates blood.

Which is unusual, she supposes, and unfortunate, considering her line of work. Serial killers tended to be gorey, and despite being a liaison and not an active profiler in the field, she’s stumbled upon a few slaughters of her own. She keeps it together, closing her eyes and tightening her stomach but pressing forward with a brave face. It’s only later she lets herself unravel, behind the locked bathroom door and the water at a steaming temperature, scrubbing away at her fair skin until it’s shiny, shiny red.

Maybe if she hadn’t found Rosaline like that, or maybe if Rosaline had hung herself instead, she’d be more okay with blood. JJ tries not to think about it, but when she’s alone, it all floods back to her.

It’s awful. She’d rather remember the Roz who chopped off all her hair when their parents grounded her in a fit of teenage rebellion before laughing and neatly trimming JJ’s own seven-year-old hair, stubbornly insisting that she wanted short hair like her sister’s— Roz, who showed up at the doorstep of Marie Ann, who had stuck chewing gum in JJ’s hair, and delivered a solid lashing to both Marie Ann and her mother.

But it’s hard to erase the tub of crimson JJ found her sister in, eyes closed and head tilted like she was enjoying a hot bath, except her bath smelled like iron and her arms were splayed out to the sides, wrists slit—

JJ hates blood.

When JJ steps into that old dusty barn with her gun and flashlight raised and inhales that metallic scent, the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Immediately, some sixth sense activates— she knows something’s wrong. So, so horribly wrong. They should not have split up, she should’ve stopped Reid and his enthusiasm, she curses.

“Reid!” she hisses out. But of course he can’t hear her, they’re in the middle of nowhere with no cell service and it’s dark and she hates blood—

Just find Tobias Hankel, she reasons. Who may be their brutal murderer, but seemed timid enough that maybe, just maybe, he’s some poor guy with a weird dad who’s—

Why did her shoe make that sound?

Oh God.

She freezes, and very, very, slowly, lowers her flashlight down.

That’s blood. That is a lot of blood.

Her heart leaps into her throat as she shines her flashlight around because good God, that is a lot of blood and no one can lose that much blood—

Her throat closes up as the light lands on a large patch of scarlet and oh my God, that is a stomach.

Something growls, and JJ jerks her light up, and as the beam falls on the glistening blood-soaked muzzle of a canine, she remembers her Sunday services as a little girl and the story of Jezebel— how could she forget— torn to pieces by dogs, and there is not one bloodthirsty dog but two but three—

It leaps at her.

She’s on the ground. There’s straw, dust in her mouth, she can barely swallow, the air tastes like blood. Her arm is throbbing, her right hand sore, and she absentmindedly pulls the trigger. It clicks— the gun chamber is empty, did she use up all her bullets?

There’s a ringing in her ears, blood roaring in her head, and she blinks. It’s dark, JJ thinks. This is a safety hazard.

Her blazer is wet. Damn it, it was one of her nicer ones too, and now it’s completely ruined.

Her head hurts.

“Damn,” she hears, and she shoots to her feet, gritting her teeth as she swings up her gun.

“F.B.I!” she hollers. 

JJ swears to God, she’s going to shoot that Tobias Hankel or whoever the hell. There’s shouting, multiple unsubs, she realizes, and she swings her gun to the moving figures. 

“Don’t move!” 

Jesus Christ, could they hold still, she can’t see a single—

“JJ, it’s Morgan and Prentiss!”

Morgan and Prentiss.

Those are familiar. Sharing coffee, getting drinks, knowing touches—

“Don’t shoot, it’s okay.”

She lowers the gun. That’s Morgan, with his round dark eyes and strong shoulders.

“It’s okay.”

The case. The unsub— why was she here? The world begins to spin— she closes her eyes. God, why does it smell like iron? It’s a pervasive smell, she hates it so much.

“Are you hurt?”

Someone approaches her, hand outreached, and she dully notes it’s Emily, pretty, perfect Emily, with her sleek jet hair and beautiful soft eyes.

“Tobias Hankel is the unsub.”

Morgan’s eyes flashes down and then back up, and there’s something in his eyes that JJ can’t read, she’s too tired.

“Yeah, we know.”

“I’ll go call in an ambulance,” she hears someone mutter, and Morgan voices his agreement, a hand reaching out to touch hers, still gripping her gun. She can’t move her fingers, it’s like they’re attached to the trigger, what was she even shooting at?

“We—we just thought he was a witness,” she hears herself saying, and the coldness of the barn hits her. That’s not iron, that’s blood—

She remembers. The dogs—

“I had to kill them,” she whispers, hands shaking. Oh God, all of the blood—

“JJ, where’s Reid?

The blood puddle, the stomach and intestines—

“They just— completely tore her apart, there’s nothing even left—”

“JJ, look at me.”

A strong, crystal-clear voice. It cuts through her fog, and JJ turns hesitantly to meet Emily’s bright brown eyes, her tapered nose and soft lips.

“Look at me,” she echoes, her hand squeezing JJ’s shoulder. JJ nods.

“Where’s Reid?”

Reid? JJ frowns. “We— uh, we split up, he said he was going around back.”

Hope he’s okay, she thinks as Morgan sprints off. She looks back to Emily, who’s stepped closer to her and taken her hand.

“JJ, it’s me, Emily,” she says.

“I know,” JJ murmurs. “How could I forget?”

“You’re hurt,” she says. “Let me help you.”

Hurt?

JJ doesn’t know where she’s hurt, but she welcomes Emily’s warm touch, the feel of her body pressed against JJ as she slides an arm around and under her right arm, supporting her deadened legs. She is so tired.

“Sorry, I’m really tired,” she mumbles, and Emily shushes her as they stagger out of the barn together.

“Don’t be sorry, Jayje, you’re doing fine,” she comforts, and JJ smiles weakly at her. Her lips crack— that’s not sexy at all— but Emily returns the smile, albeit with an underlying sense of concern. Her mind jars— how is she hurt? 

Her arm throbs in response. 

She glances down, and when they pass into the light of the full moon, she sees the glistening scarlet on her shredded blazer and mangled arm, her flesh all torn up, blood everywhere—

Her knees buckle and she crumples to the ground, dragging down an alarmed Emily shouting her name, but it’s like she’s frozen, she can’t feel her face or her arms or anything but suddenly she’s in her old house’s bathroom, the tiles cold beneath her bare feet, staring at her sister, dear Roz, soaking in a bath of her own blood—

“Medic! Medic, I need a medic!” she hears, and then blocking the moonlight is pretty Emily, eyes round and red lips moving. “Stay with me Jayje, stay with me—”

Emily is easy to focus on. It’s easy to see her, with her high cheekbones and strong chin, and that big nose that she’s a little self-conscious of but JJ has always found endearing. And her eyes— her bright, round, brown eyes— those are hard to forget.

The next two nights are fractured. She’s thinks she’s blocked out as much as she can, only recalling glimpses of Garcia’s bright eyes and Morgan’s accusing glare and Reid’s beaten figure, and when JJ finally grabs onto her little brother, finally holds him as tight as possible and smells the woodsmoke in his tousled hair, she forces everything back. Her arm throbs in complaint, but she ignores it.

After finding Spence, everyone wants to leave, get out, escape this place that took so much from all of them and never come back, but Spence has to stay in the hospital overnight (which makes sense, considering he’s been whipped, drugged, and emotionally tortured), and so the team returns to their rooms in the local motel, save for Gideon, who’s decided to stay at the hospital with Reid.

Guilt, JJ supposes. She pushes down the rising anger at the thought of his pressing, his antagonism, that first destroyed Elle and now Reid—

“Hey, are you showering?”

JJ jerks up as Emily pokes her head out from their shared restroom. She masks the quaver in her response when she realizes Emily has begun changing, her shirt unbuttoned and her cleavage exposed.

“Yeah, you go first—”

“No, you should go,” Emily insists, stepping out, and JJ averts her eyes because good God, she is gorgeous. “Clean your arm.”

“I—”

Her bra is red, striking against her pale dainty skin, and she feels herself flushing. She nods and mutters a quick, “Thanks,” moving swiftly past her coworker to grab a change of clothes and hoping (false hope, she’s a profiler) Emily didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary.

In a small town like this, they were bound to double up on rooms, which wasn’t unusual. Whenever JJ came along with the team came to a small town, it would usually be JJ and Emily, Morgan and Reid (who spent the entire night bickering— the walls were usually thin), and if they couldn’t get separate rooms, Hotch and Gideon. And it was never a problem: JJ prided herself on being professional in any setting, with the decency to not gawk at her coworker.

Her incredibly attractive coworker.

JJ takes her time in the shower, watching the hot water steam up the restroom, scrubbing the grime on her skin off and turning the falling water gray and murky. When she steps out, her bandaged arm is soaked, and the moment she goes to unravel it, the sight of her reddened flesh draws out a hiss from her.

A knock from the door startles her.

“Jayje? You okay?”

“Uh, yeah, I’m fine,” she says, and there’s a pause before Emily replies dubiously.

“You left the bandage in your bag.”

JJ curses herself, of course she did.

“Uh, right, sorry, I—”

“It’s okay, I’ve got it. Can I come in?”

Come in? JJ has nothing on except the measly hotel towel, she can’t really change into any clothes with her hurt arm, and now Emily wants to come in?

“Yeah, sure, I’m just— not dressed.”

The door opens slowly, and Emily emerges slowly with a gentle smile on her face and holding the roll of fresh bandages, cleaning wipes, and disinfectant cream given to them from the ambulance. Her dark eyes flicker down to her arm (or her chest?) before back to JJ’s face, and she stalls at the door.

“You good?” she asks. 

JJ blinks, and she clarifies. “You seem really tired.”

“I am,” JJ answers, and she forces a laugh. “Sorry, it’s been a long—”

“Yeah.” 

Emily watches her, eyes soft, and JJ holds her gaze. It’s intimate but simple, only broken by the brunette’s gentle suggestion.

“Let me help you,” she murmurs, moving forward to gently take JJ’s left hand, and her breath catches in her throat.

She exhales after an awkward pause and whispers her thanks, and the smile Emily shoots her is gentle and genuine, and there is a sudden swell in JJ’s chest that she doesn’t quite understand. Her fingers are slender and soft, and the way she unravels the bandages is so tender that it barely stings. By the time the bandage is cleared, JJ’s muscles are tense, almost shaking. She’s not sure why: the stitches are secured and wounds stayed closed, and all seems good besides a few splatters of dried blood and red flesh. Emily notices and smiles.

“You’re so tense,” she says, her fingers ghosting over the wound, and JJ shivers. “You good?”

“Uh, yeah.”

JJ clears her throat and smiles cheekily at her.

“Sorry, I’m just— I’m not too good with blood.”

The humor disappears as Emily purses her lips, gently dabbing at the stitches and wiping away the dried blood with her touch, light as a feather, before she begins rubbing on the ointment. JJ shudders at the sensation, and Emily mistakes it for pain, stopping and apologizing.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“No, you’re fine,” JJ says, doing her best to put on what she hopes is a reassuring smile. “It’s just sore.”

Emily nods, her eyes doubtful before she begins reapplying the ointment, and JJ feels her shoulders loosening, despite the fact that she’s buck-naked save for the thin towel wrapped around her haphazardly and she’s right next to her very attractive coworker. All good. The brunette catches her by surprise again with a low murmur.

“Must be hard in the field,” she says. “Seeing so much blood all the time.”

JJ hums in agreement as Emily begins bandaging her arm with fresh gauze. 

“Any specific trigger?” Emily asks, then quickly adds, “It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me.”

“Oh.”

She wants to tell her. She really does. Wants to trust her, wants to open up to her. But she stays quiet as Emily finishes bandaging her up, and when Emily clips the bandage in place and brushes her fingertips over it, JJ meets her eyes with a small smile and a flush rising in her cheeks.

“Thanks,” she says quietly, and Emily returns the smile with a squeeze of her hands.

“Of course,” she says. “Anytime.”

Her hands linger on JJ’s before she leaves and closes the door, leaving JJ to stare at her arm in silence, the memory of Emily’s soft touch lingering in her head.

“JJ! JJ, wake up!”

She shoots out of her bed, chest heaving, forehead and neck sticky with sweat. JJ gasps for air, and her gaze darts around, trying her best to ground herself.

Jesus Christ—

“JJ, it’s me. It’s Emily.”

Emily. Pretty, perfect Emily, with round eyes and soft lips and gentle fingers.

“It’s me.”

JJ’s vision refocuses and she pulls together Emily, a dark hazy figure standing by her bed, hands outstretched as though wanting to hold her, eyes wide with worry, lips pursed.

JJ swallows and wipes her forehead. Her heart is pounding— Jesus Christ.

“Nightmare?” Emily asks softly.

JJ doesn’t answer. It’s the only answer, and she can’t even remember it specifically. Just her arm hurts so badly, and now it’s Reid in the red-filled bathtub and it’s Roz torn to shreds in the barn and now her blood is all over her—

“Can you,” JJ says and chokes, stumbling on her words, and she holds her hands out. “Please.”

Emily, pretty, perfect Emily understands, and she climbs into JJ’s bed without any hesitance, taking JJ into a warm embrace. Her head settles comfortably on Emily’s chest, and the brunette holds her until the panting subsides and JJ’s head isn’t spinning anymore. And even then, JJ clings to Emily, taking in her lavender scent and soft skin, holding onto her because she is real and good and here, and that’s all she needs right now.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles, and Emily squeezes her, her hands running through JJ’s matted, sweaty hair.

“Don’t be,” she answers. “We all have our demons.”

What are yours, Emily Prentiss? JJ wants to ask. She curls tighter into her embrace instead.

Emily doesn’t leave her, slowly settling underneath the covers and still stroking her hair, legs tangled together and bodies pressed against each other, and JJ finally speaks.

“I had an older sister,” she says, and Emily’s hands slow. “Her name was Rosaline. Six years older than me, and, um—”

She pauses, and Emily’s chin rests on top of her head. Her fingers knead her back gently, and JJ takes in a breath before continuing.

“She— she gave me that heart necklace I wear sometimes, and then the next day, she—” JJ swallows, and the fingers in her hair and on her back still. 

“She killed herself. She, uh, slit her wrists in the bathtub, and I found her. In the bath.”

She involuntarily shudders, and Emily pulls her tighter into her hold. There’s silence, until Emily speaks.

“I’m sorry,” she says, and very delicately, presses a warm kiss to JJ’s forehead.

“It’s okay,” she says. “It was a long time ago.”

It is the best night JJ has ever had, nightmare-less and warm. 

JJ wakes up first, still curled up into Emily’s body, and she opens her eyes with her face just inches away from Emily’s, her mouth slightly opened in a small ‘o’, and JJ feels herself smile. The blinds let in streams of sunlight, illuminating little streaks across their bodies, and she revels in the simple domesticity of it all. It feels like a burden has been lifted off of her shoulders; her arm doesn’t even hurt anymore.

This is good, she thinks.

This is good.

[beckzorz]

Screwed

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader Summary: There are worse people to be trapped in a bunker with. Warnings: language, smut (oral sex) If you are under 18 you should not be reading this.

“If this is your idea of romance, you’re screwed.”

Bucky twists his head to glare at you. “Listen, sweetheart, maybe if you hadn’t sprung a trap we’d be having a better time.”

“Sure, Barnes.” You lick your thumb and try to wipe a streak of dirt off the collar of your dress. How much money did you spend getting ready for an ‘urban adventure’ with a hot superhero? And how much of it is already wasted, fifteen minutes in? Dress ruined, hair mussed, heel broken. “Because of the two of us, I’m definitely the one with training in disarming traps.”

No response. Bucky tests the smooth walls of the bunker, looking for a crack, a door, anything.

Okay, maybe you shouldn’t have tested that lever. But you’re with an Avenger! You should’ve been safe. Not dropped thirty feet down a chute onto a filthy thick mattress in a bunker.

If only the chute hadn’t closed after you. Bucky could climb out, get help. But no, you’re sealed in like a can of tuna. And with your broken shoe, you’re not much help. At least the mattress is mostly just dusty. No broken glass or anything weird like that. It’s just cold and dark, with only your cell phone flashlight for illumination.

Bucky circles the perimeter. You tug his discarded bomber jacket over your shoulders for warmth. You’re flooded once again by the smell of him, heady and rich and unique. You breathe it in as you watch him work, the shifting of his muscles under his tight shirt plus the occasional glimpse of that perfect profile enough to get your heart beating a little faster. Not to mention the way his black jeans strain against his thighs and ass as he crouches in the corner. You lick your lips and shift on the mattress.

“Might not be romantic, but you’re getting turned on anyway,” Bucky says out of the blue.

You gape. “Excuse me?!”

He smirks at you over his shoulder. “I can hear your heartbeat, y’know.” His nostrils flare, but you cut in before he can comment on anything else.

“Well that’s none of your goddamn business.”

His laugh is bright and delightful and warm, so warm you wonder if you really do need the jacket over your shoulders. Then you breathe in again, catch his scent, and decide yes, you certainly do.

“So,” he says eventually. He’s about halfway around the bunker now. “What would be romantic?”

“Significantly less dust,” you say at once.

He snorts. “Adventures aren’t usually clean, y’know.”

“Well, this is the wrong kind of dirty.”

The words leave your lips before you realize just what you’ve said. A flush pricks at your cheeks, but you don’t correct yourself. He asked a question, and you’re just being honest.

Bucky pauses. He’s crouched down on one knee a few feet from you, his metal hand splayed on the wall and gleaming in the diffused light. Your eyes dart between those sleek fingers and the curve of his jaw.

He turns his head just enough for you to see the glitter in his dark eye. One quick inhale, and he barrels into you, knocking you back onto the mattress with a gasp, his metal hand curled around the side of your neck as his breath washes over your face and his chest brushes yours. You can feel how warm he is even though not one inch of his skin is touching yours.

Then he ducks his head and sucks a mark against your throat. You arch into him, crying out, the sensation shooting straight to your breasts, between your legs. You bury your hands in his hair, tight and barely in control. It’s an eternity before he pulls far enough back to meet your eyes. And his eyes, normally so blue, are utterly black.

“Is this the right kind of dirty?” he murmurs.

You tilt your hips up, teeth bared in a reckless grin as you brush up against the bulge in his jeans. “Not yet.”

A growl. A harsh rip of your dress, and then two of his fingers are stuffed inside you. Your scream is all pleasure; it echoes in the bunker, fading into a desperate moan as Bucky’s thumb circles your clit, your arousal slick. Your panties are shoved to one side, biting into one hip, but you barely register it.

“You smell so damn sweet,” he groans. He shoves your legs apart and buries his head between your legs, hooking one over his shoulder. Your hands are still tangled in his hair, and it’s all you can do to hold on as he swipes his tongue through your damp folds.

The bunker fills with the wet sounds of Bucky eating you out, his mouth working in tandem with his fingers as he brings you to the brink faster than you can ever remember. Maybe it’s the lightness in the air, maybe it’s the danger, maybe it’s him—but it’s minutes before you’re half-blind and babbling, his name falling like a prayer from your lips.

“Bucky Bucky fuck—oh god, yes, please, don’t stop—oh!”

You can’t see his eyes, can’t see his face, but you can feel the smirk on his face as he sucks your clit into his mouth, hard.

Your body seizes up, pleasure lancing through you from your clit to your nipples to your hazy brain, the tips of your fingers and your toes curled, one foot bare and pressed against Bucky’s shoulder. Spasms wrack your body as you ride out your orgasm, Bucky’s fingers still thrusting inside you until you come back to yourself.

You collapse, breathless, your leg falling back onto the mattress and your hands sliding out of his hair. Bucky sits back on his heels, licks his lips, kneads your thighs. He hasn’t even kissed you yet, but he looks more smug than any man has a right to.

“Was that the right kind of dirty?”

“Screw you, Barnes.”

“If you insist.”

As it happens, you do.

For HBC’s drunk drabbles! Thanks for hosting loves! @the-ss-horniest-book-club​

Let me know if you want to be tagged in my HBC stuff xoxo

[actuallylorelaigilmore]

bound to each other's hearts (this love is like wildfire)

Lizzington, The Blacklist. Sequel to Lost In The Forest Of This Heart. Cross-posted on AO3. Important notes can also be found there. 

I’m not in the fandom anymore and I don’t plan to make things for TBL ever again now that this is complete, but I had a surprising amount of fun rewatching the first two seasons in order to wrap up this series. Turns out, I do still love what it could have been. I’m glad to know that! And I’m grateful for the friends I made along the way. You all were definitely the best part of this show for me.

Summary: Between dealing with the Cabal and evading the FBI, Red and Liz try to figure out what the future holds for them both. 

He still doesn’t quite get it, Liz knows: that she wants more than separate lives, occasional dinners together or friendly evenings of chatting over wine and poker. Red isn’t fighting her on that front, but he doesn’t see himself in her picture. And if she’s being honest with herself, she knows that could be because she hasn’t yet decided on the specifics of it.

They settle into a new routine when they leave the Wisconsin safehouse, Liz full of single-minded determination and Red watching her warily whenever her attention is elsewhere. 

Much like he felt when they first went on the run, she is everywhere. Except it’s a different kind of awareness now, because she’s no longer so broken and he’s no longer an enigma. 

When she smiles at him, it’s unguarded, pulling him in. When she reaches for his hand or hugs him, he can tell she’s trying to make it commonplace. They are friends, or as close to it as they ever could be, and it’s eroding what’s left of his barriers. 

Over the next few weeks, they arrange meetings with Cabal members. Rather than by Red’s invitation directly, each is through trusted liasons, and Liz has fun playing with the disguises before they arrive at each site together. 

Red chooses the Cabal members they kill based on several factors, beginning with those who are high-profile and legally untouchable. It frustrates Liz to know it’s true, but some Cabal leaders are too powerful to be harmed by even the world-shaking effects of the Fulcrum leak.

Their list of targets is further trained on people inside the Cabal who have murdered or directed others to murder--especially on a large scale. That makes them especially dangerous enemies and also important to remove. It sends the message that no one who remains is safe.

At the third meeting, they take out two men simultaneously; Liz shoots the head of a multinational corporation before he can finish aiming at Red, and means it when she tells him later that she has no regrets. 

She feels safe with a gun holstered under her shirt again. She’s slowly moving past the guilt she’s been carrying since Connolly.

She feels even safer with Red’s hand hovering at the small of her back whenever they enter new situations. He expects her to hold her own, always has, but his presence--especially the way he’s reaching out more, relaxing around her--is a comfort. 

Liz has trusted him with her life since before it made sense, and that’s one of the things between them that remains the same. 

They’ve killed a handful of high-ranking Cabal members when something slips. 

Red thinks it was Julian, an associate he has trusted for decades. One he will never trust again. Whatever the weak link in his careful arrangements, instead of meeting Ingrid at the deserted farmhouse in dusty Kansas, they’re almost caught by the Task Force. 

Ressler and Samar are there, Samar’s eyes apologetic but her aim unflinching as she trains her gun on Liz. Ressler should be aimed at Reddington just as steadfastly, but his gaze flicks to Liz for the briefest of moments and that’s all Red needs. He takes the shot.

The second he does, chaos breaks loose between the FBI team and the men Red brought with them. Red and Liz take cover behind a rusted truck until Dembe pulls up in an SUV. Samar fires in their direction, but doesn’t stop their escape in the bulletproof vehicle.

Taking narrow backroads after that, they switch vehicles twice and don’t stop moving until they’re in Denver, letting the city swallow them up.

While Dembe is still driving, Red finds a bloody graze on Liz’s arm that she neglected to mention. 

“It was from Samar,” she tells him. "She could have fired on the tires or gas tank and stopped our escape entirely, but she didn’t.”

Their orders were clearly to capture, not to kill. This was just a warning shot.

She frowns. “But Ressler…”

“What about Ressler?” Red’s voice is gruff as he dabs at her arm. Since waving him off didn’t work, she lets him disinfect what’s barely even a wound. She hopes it’ll calm him down. 

“Red, you got a clean shot at him. Should we talk about that?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” He runs his fingers around the edges of her bandage, making sure the adhesive will hold. Reminding himself that this is the extent of the damage. It could have been so much worse. 

Her smooth skin is still warm, alive. Her eyes keep trying to find something in his. He can’t bear to look at her.

“If that were true, I don’t think you would seem so upset. I’ve seen you shoot people before and barely blink. Red--I know you’ve shot Ressler before. So what’s going on?”

“Nothing, Lizzie. We’ve already talked about this. They’ll chase us until this mess is over, one way or another. I gave them a distraction so we could escape. It’s that simple.”

“It’s not simple at all, though, is it. You’ve fought back to back with Ressler now. You know him. To face him and pull the trigger...I can’t imagine it.”

“I hope you never have to. But as you said, Donald and I have a history that goes back to long before you joined the Task Force. We only fought on the same side at times...to protect you. We were both on your side. Allegiances shift. Loyalties change.”

She nods. “That is incredibly sad.”

“Yeah.”

He shrugs and gently pats her arm. “At any rate, his injury, like yours, will be a flesh wound. He will recover. But if we’re lucky, he won’t be able to chase us for a while. We need to regroup.”

****

They move to the coast, spending a few weeks in Seattle, then Portland. The crowds pose more of a risk, especially with the Task Force having seen their faces...but they saw a blonde Liz and Red in a dark wig under his hat. 

Though he doubts that will fool them, he can hope.

Urban areas are the better option for now, even with the risks, because the crowds also offer anonymity. People in cities wish to mind their business and be left alone. Because Red can’t postpone it any longer--the endgame is approaching--Dembe joins them in their various apartments.

Red lights up in his company, and Liz laughs more. 

Mr. Kaplan only contacts them by phone; Red invites no one to meet in person. But well-paid colleagues are still picking off Cabal members, now with stealth and finesse. 

“It’s almost time,” Red tells Liz over dinner. They’ve been ordering groceries, grateful that local markets cater to shut-ins and fugitives, and cooking all their meals together instead of taking turns. She insists.

“Time for…”

“The end of it.” He smiles, slow and satisfied.

Liz takes another bite of the French fish dish he suggested they fix that evening, thinking it over. “But we’ve barely gotten started with the Cabal. Red--what exactly is the endgame here? We’ve never talked about it.”

He glances at Dembe, who nods appreciatively over his food, then aims that dangerous smile her way. “You see, Lizzie, it was so up in the air. There really wasn’t much to talk about while we waited to see what needed to be done. We poked holes in their organization. We weakened their trust in each other.”

“And now?”

“Now it has become clear to me that the best way to stop them, to neutralize them, is not to wipe them off the map. It’s to stoke that power vacuum and step into it.”

“Wait.” She raises her hand, letting her fork clatter on the china plate. “You’re telling me that you want to join the people who want me dead? Who tried to have me framed for murder?”

“These are also the people who had me on the run,” he reminds her. “Even before they became a force in your life. Surely, if you’ve learned anything since we met, it’s that the maxim is true: the closer you keep your enemies, the safer you are from their attacks.”

“We’re their enemies, too. Why would they welcome our involvement in their organization? They have us on the run, Red. They’re winning.”

“Are they? Seven of them have died in the last six weeks. Their numbers are many, but not limitless. They’re unwilling to meet in public. And we put their secrets on full display. I think we’re not the only ones on the run.”

“So you propose, what, a truce? An alliance?”

“Oh, heavens, no.” He dabs at his mouth with a cloth napkin. “Those sorts of things require trust. A level of mutual respect that can transcend disagreement. You cannot form an alliance with someone you know will murder you at the earliest opportunity. No, my plan is much more straightforward.”

He stands, holding his hand out for her plate. Liz passes it to him, waiting for further explanation.

“While we’ve been on our own the last few weeks, Mr Kaplan has been using her many skills to gather information. Following leads, hunting down trails I suspected might be fruitful. Thanks to her, and to Dembe--” he toasts his friend with a glass, “the final pieces are in place. Now we make a trade.”

Her hands, no longer busy eating, are free to grip the tablecloth in a moment of sheer blinding terror. Red loves to make these moves behind her back, playing chess and telling her nothing until checkmate. It would be just like him to trade himself for her freedom.

The exact opposite of what she wants, the last thing she will ever agree to. Bold and brave but completely futile--because the second he gives himself up for her, she knows she won’t be able to rest until she gets him back. 

Will they never stop this? Liz wonders, listening to the pounding of her heart as Red pauses long enough to blink at her.

“A trade of information,” he clarifies slowly, watching her with concern. “Lizzie, are you alright? You look...”

She nods, swallowing the taste of fear along with a fair amount of shame for the conclusion she was so ready to believe. It takes her a moment to gather her words. 

“So, you’re going to blackmail them, to give you a seat at the table. And then you’ll...run the table.”

Red’s smug smile wars with lingering worry. “Quite right. You already know that the Cabal runs through governments and militaries and nation-states alike. With the right leverage, I can make their hunt of us a liability that will hurt them far more than any success would ever be worth. I may even be able to get your former position back.”

“It would be nice to no longer be a fugitive,” she agrees. “Buy my own groceries sometimes. It’s impossible to surprise you with a menu when you know everything that arrives on our doorstep.”

“I understand. You’ll be free to buy whatever you like, then. And invite me for dinner, I suppose, if the mood strikes you. I would be amenable to that,” Red says with a more relaxed smile.

He still doesn’t quite get it, Liz knows: that she wants more than separate lives, occasional dinners together or friendly evenings of chatting over wine and poker. Red isn’t fighting her on that front, but he doesn’t see himself in her picture. And if she’s being honest with herself, she knows that could be because she hasn’t yet decided on the specifics of it. 

She knows she wants Red. That part is easy. 

But if what he’s saying is true, that he can use their leverage to clear her name, she will have more choices to make. Harder ones.  She worked her whole life to become an FBI agent, to earn her place as a profiler. She knows it’s something she’s good at. A career she was made for, even. 

But.

And then.

Raymond Reddington in a box. 

She isn’t that person anymore, if she ever really was--the young woman with the loving husband and the dog, nervous about her new desk job working in DC. The edge she lives with now, the side of herself that can hurt and hunt and kill...part of Liz thinks she has always had that darkness. Since she was a child. Maybe she was born with it. 

God knows that despite the blame she’s flung at Red, he isn’t the source of her darker tendencies. He did everything he could to steer her away from being more like him. And with all the harm she caused, her work on the Task Force also helped her save people. 

Liz stills wants to save people. She wants to use her skills for some kind of greater good. But she can’t pretend she’s a paragon of virtue going forward, no matter how clean her record is once Red gets done with it.

Which leaves her where, exactly? 

****

Liz goes with Red to the summit he sets up with the remaining core of the Cabal. She feels useless there, since he also brings a full guard of men armed to the nines. And he certainly doesn’t need her help to negotiate. Yet he insists on inviting her, shaking his head when she questions him. 

“I’d like you with me,” Red says, without explaining further. The understanding that he means it for himself--that he wants her by his side not to protect her, or humor her need to be involved--is a gift. So Liz takes it, and bites down hard on the urge to speak up during the information exchange.

Even if all her presence does is affirm their new unity as a team, she can see the value in that, for their strength in the eyes of the Cabal. Word will spread in the underground Red travels, making its way eventually back to the FBI.

Everyone will know that Red has made a play for greater power, and that Liz was right there with him when it happened. She wonders what her old friends will think: if Samar will understand her choices, if Aram will worry that she didn’t make them freely. If Ressler will get that defeated look in his eyes and consider her a lost cause. 

She can’t blame any of them for their judgments from a distance--they don’t know what she knows. But she’s never felt clearer, not lost but found. The Cabal can be run by people who want her dead for threatening their supremacy, or it can be run by Red. 

Who she trusts to find the right balance between control and domination. Who she knows will keep the rest of the Cabal on a tight leash. 

As Liz sits with him in a glass-and-chrome boardroom, watching the Cabal give him the command he requires, she suspects he’s already seeking out leverage to hold over each member. 

Mr. Kaplan has been hard at work again, coming to their newest safehouse, passing Red messages. Now that he’s busily reining the Cabal in, he and Liz don’t have to move every few days--and his family can visit safely. Dembe stays over for a week, recommending books to Liz and telling her stories about Red when they first met. 

"Don’t believe a word of it,” Red warns her. “This man is a notorious fibber.” But his eyes shine with joy when he looks at the two of them. 

Liz has never seen him so happy. So settled. Power suits him. 

Red finds her in her room one night, strolling casually through the open door. He has learned the hard way that if he tries to return to polite formality, Liz will roll her eyes at him or ask “What are you waiting for, gold filigree?” without looking up from what she’s doing. 

“It took longer than I would have liked,” he says, unprompted. “But it’s finished.”

“What?” She has no idea what he’s talking about, since the Cabal restructuring was completed a week earlier.

“Your record has been erased.”

Liz sets her book down. “My criminal record?”

She’d forgotten Red was even working on that, and she knows she should feel excited. Or relieved. A rush of something should be washing over her. Instead she feels numb. 

“Yes. It’s been fully expunged, as though none of this ever happened."

And there it is, she thinks. That would be why.

“But, Red,” she corrects him gently, “it did happen. Erasing my record can’t take any of it back. I still have to live with it.”

He sighs. “I wish this could be easier, Lizzie, I really do.”

“Well, it’s not.” 

She reaches out and grabs hold of his hand, tugging him over to sit next to her on the bed. “It’s okay that it’s not, though, Red. It really is. I’m okay.”

“Yeah.” She does look okay lately, he has to admit. Red expected this news to bring her peace, but Lizzie seemed content even before it. 

Now she smiles at him, still holding his hand loosely. “Got a minute?”

“Sure.” He turns a little more to face her, giving her his full attention. 

“Since you mentioned it, I’ve been thinking a lot about what comes next for me. All those choices I have now, you know? With a clean slate.”

Red nods. 

“I could go back to working at the FBI. As a profiler. It might take some string-pulling, but you’re good at that.” 

“I’m sensing a ‘but.’”

“That’s because you know me,” Liz says. “The Task Force only existed because you wanted to keep me close and take down the Cabal. Which means there will never be a Task Force again. Not like there was.”

“I know.”

“But even if they’re not hunting me...you cleared my name, Red, not yours. You will have to stay like this, won’t you? In the wind, still a wanted criminal.”

“Yes.” 

That doesn’t bother him; he’s used to his routine. But Red can’t tell what Liz is working towards in her explanation. It worries him.

“So the only way I can have a normal life is if I never see you again.”

“Not never,” he assures her. “You know that I’m capable of moving freely, off the radar of all manner of authorities. We can still...see each other.” Dinners maybe, he thinks. Game nights with Dembe. Arguing over which movie to watch.

“That isn’t going to work for me.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t want a few secret visits a year, Red, while I pretend to be an upstanding FBI agent.”

“I would argue that you wouldn’t be pretending, Lizzie. Even FBI agents are allowed to have friends. Of all stripes.”

“That’s not really the point. With my past already laid bare for the world to see, who would ever let me keep a low profile at a desk again?”

Red frowns, following her logic.

“You can whitewash my record all you want, but my face was on the news. That future is gone. And without you in it, I wouldn’t want it anyway.”

“Well, then. What do you want?”

“I don’t belong at the FBI anymore, but I still have all my training. All my skills. Red--I think we should start our own Blacklist.”

He clears his throat, genuinely surprised. “Our own Blacklist?”

“Yes.” She let go of his hand to gesture with both of hers. “Just think about it. We stopped a lot of terrible people with the Task Force. We could go back to doing that, now that we’re done running. You have your own access, your own connections, and yours are better than the FBI’s a lot of the time.” 

“Lizzie, I understand wanting to help people--I love that about you--but I worked with the Task Force to my own ends. I was never on a crusade to better the world.”

“So? So what if you’re not looking to atone for your sins and make the world better? It can be my crusade. I have my own sins, Red, and I don’t need your reasons to be the same as mine. I’m asking you to work with me anyway, because we’d be good at it.”

Red flexed his empty hand, trying to imagine it. “I suppose I would be your best resource for catching uncatchable criminals.”

“You would. And if we had leads we couldn’t follow up on, I’m pretty sure we could find a way to tip off Samar or Aram, without giving up our locations.”

Liz bit her lower lip while he thought it over. “Well? What do you say?”

“I think it’s a brilliant idea.” 

Red grinned, his smile stretching even wider when she hugged him. “It sounds perfect for your talents--and I can certainly think of some people whose neutralization would improve my hold on the Cabal.”

“See? Win-win.” 

“But, Lizzie...you’re sure this is the path you want to follow? Playing judge and jury, outside the law? It’s not a decision you can take back, once you begin.”

She nods, a firm dip of her chin. “I’m sure. The worst criminals work outside the law, untouchable. You taught me that. Somebody should be responsible for them, and I’m in a unique position to try. Who will do it if I don’t?”

“Okay, then.” Red pats her leg, pleased. “It will be fun to have a reason to work together more closely again. I’ve been so busy restructuring the Cabal lately, I’ve missed you.”

“Me too.” Liz eyes him across the inches that separate them on her bed. “Speaking of that.”

“Hmm?”

“I want to spend more time together.”

He shifts in place. “As I said, I look forward to it. Getting us settled and safe had to take priority, Lizzie, but of course I hope to have more time with you now. We should decide what to make for dinner.”

“No, Red. I don’t mean--” Liz takes a deep breath, trying to figure out how to explain without causing him to withdraw. 

“I love you,” she begins. 

He smiles at her, soft around his eyes. “I love you, too.”

One of the benefits of things settling down has been watching Red get comfortable with her affection. She says the words often, deliberately. Hearing him say them back is nice...but Liz knows he doesn’t mean it the way she does. 

He hears love and thinks family and friendship. And sure, they’re close in that way too, but she keeps saying it and waiting for Red to hear attraction and commitment, and it just doesn’t seem to be happening. 

With Red, blunt often backfires. Half the time, they end up in an argument, even when that isn’t her intention. But being gentle and trying to drop hints has been totally lost on the criminal mastermind she's all but living with.

So, blunt is the only option she has left to try. 

“Red...I’m in love with you.”

“You--what?”

“That’s what I mean when I say I want to spend more time with you. I want to spend it differently; I want to be closer to you. I want to share my life with yours.” She pauses, scared of the look on his face--it’s unfamiliar, and she knows his expressions well. 

“That’s the future I want: hunting Blacklisters, working together when you’re not busy with the Cabal...but also date nights. Early mornings and staying up late. Being together. Getting to a place where I know exactly what I want hasn’t been easy, Red, but I’m there now. I need to know what you want.”

Of all the situations he has tried to be ready for, Red feels shockingly unprepared for this one. 

A small part of him wondered, when she declared that she loved him in Wisconsin, if perhaps she meant it in this way. But he considered that part a traitor, hope running wild. Allowing himself to hope has often been--historically speaking--both foolish and dangerous. 

Lizzie has always been dangerous, because he can’t seem to defend himself against her. That’s what love is--being powerless. 

He loved her even before he walked back into her world; that was a lifetime of fondness mixed with debt and guilt. But it’s different knowing her as the woman she is now. He can’t imagine not loving her...and though he tries not to think about it, he can’t imagine not wanting her.

Admitting that out loud would be a betrayal of all Lizzie could have beyond him, and of the effort he’s expended to hold himself back from her.

“Being with me would make the target on your back infinitely bigger,” he tells her, hoping to walk the line between evasion and lying. “Combining our lives further...would be a terrible idea. Yours has already seen so much darkness, Lizzie. You don’t need to add more of mine.”

She’s patiently listening, though her hands are pressed down into the bed beneath them. He knows she’ll push back; he isn’t done.

“I need you to really think about what you’re saying. Lizzie, I know you’re a good person. In a way that I’m not. The idea that you and I could--” 

He swallows. “Have dates, or some sort of uncomplicated life, be a couple. It seems unrealistic given what I am, and who you are. You can love me and still keep yourself safe, keep a distance.”

“Reddington, I have no interest in keeping a distance. I’m trying to tell you that.”

Liz reaches up to touch his cheek. “I want less distance. I want you.”

“I will always choose you, no matter the harm to others,” Red explains. “Anyone who is a threat, even those you care about--it will always be that simple for me. I don’t have room for your morality.”

“I know.”

“How can you sit here and say that doesn’t matter to you?”

“Because it used to.”

Liz nods at the way he leans back. “I used to worry, a lot, about the way I felt pulled to you. Knowing everything you are, I worried what it said about me. Because it didn’t bother me--because I don’t care. Not the way I thought I should...the way a good person would.”

“The truth is, Red, I’ve made peace with it. I know you’re not a monster, no matter how often I used to throw that word at you. I know it because I’ve seen the real monsters. The people we caught, they were greedy and twisted and cruel. They were evil. But you’re not them.”

What’s coming next feels inevitable to Red. He can sense it, see it in her eyes. Evasion won’t be enough to save him. Nothing can save him. Salvation was never within his reach.

Sinning, though, he is well familiar with. Give me my sin again, he thinks foolishly, as yearning dislodges errant Shakespeare from the recesses of his mind.

"You don’t kill for pleasure, or entertainment. You’re willing to do whatever you have to, to protect others or save yourself. And we don’t have to have that in common for me to understand it.”

“I understand you,” Liz tells him. “Which is why I know as well as you do, you never answered my actual question. I did not ask you for a list of reasons why I should run for the hills rather than be with you. I asked what you want.”

She says it as though it’s a simple question. It’s probably the most difficult one he’s ever tried to answer.

“Forget the Cabal for a minute,” she offers. “Forget all our other enemies, including my old employers. Forget our complicated history, and think about the future. Yours and mine. What do you see?”

“Lizzie...”

“The manhunt is over,” she says, gazing into his guarded eyes. “It’s just us now. Here, in this moment, it’s only you and me. So tell me, Red...what do you really want?”

You. 

He watches her as she approaches, and doesn’t react at all when her lips meet his. It would be the easiest thing in the world to give in. That’s what scares him. 

When she finds herself kissing a statue of the Concierge of Crime, Liz hums a little in her throat and retreats, studying Red.

They’ve come so far from where they started; he’s not a mystery to her anymore. 

She can read his tensed muscles, coiled so tight he seems like he’ll shatter if pushed. A pulse is jumping along the column of his throat. His hands are motionless on the bedspread, but she sees the tips of his fingers curling into the material–gripping ever so subtly.

Raymond Reddington is holding onto himself for dear life, and that tells her two very important things. First, that he desperately wants to avoid touching her back…and second, that he has to stop himself from doing so with visible effort.

Which means that he wants his hands, and mouth, and skin, on hers more than anything in the world, but will not allow himself the satisfaction.

Liz smiles.

She can work with that.

[leoswritingcorner]

an oracle in olympus pt. 4

wow, this one didn’t take as long! nice.

lucky meets another olympian

part 4 of ?

A week goes by, and then another.

Lucky thinks it's safe to breathe again. No deities have appeared, or tried to spirit her away - save for Lucy and Jamie who occasionally stopped by. The day after they brought her home from Olympus, Jamie had gifted Lucky with a new phone.

“This is, like, one of my older Iris-Phones! It still, like, totally works great though!” Jamie explained, holding the cell out to Lucky. 

Lucky took the phone and looked over its sleek and advanced design. 

“So it’s an...iPhone?” she asked. It was dusty pink and had various heart stickers Jamie had stuck around it. Jamie blew a raspberry. 

“Apple, like, wishes it could be an Iris-Phone. But, like, mortal phones can’t, like, connect to our devices or get service from Olympus. I cleaned out, like, all the contacts, except for Lucy and me. So you can like, keep in touch with us!” She said, smiling brightly. “Also, we’ll keep you, like, posted with Cherry too.”

The phone buzzes and a text pops up on the group chat. Two ½ Immortals. Lucy thought it was a hilarious group name. 

good morning, charmz! xoxo

Jamie’s message pops up right after. 

Happy Fri-YAY!!!! You made it through your second week of work!!! (ten heart emojis followed).

Lucky leans against the wall of the breakroom and types a quick reply. Thanks, y’all! I’m about to start so I’ll text ya both after. Still nothing from Cherry? She taps send and Jamie responds promptly.

Nothing yet, dear :( :’( 

Of course. Nothing. Lucky tilts her head back and sighs. She’s relieved. She thinks for a moment, she might be okay with Cherry never finding out anything concerning Tyche and herself. She could go on being normal Lucky Siddalee Day, twenty-four year old from Savannah, Georgia. Someone who didn’t have anything fantastical happen to her. 

The sight of the ceiling darkens as she closes her eyes, and lets herself a moment of peace before the likely hustle of today’s work. Completely normal. 

It begins slowly, a gentle tingling in her chest. At first, she passes it off as remaining nerves. But this felt different. Her skin prickles as if pins were being poked against her, only then to feel a brush of something light as feathers. It makes her breath hitch in her throat. Lucky’s hand presses to the spot on her chest that kept Hades in question. It felt warm, and only grew warmer as the sensations she felt intensified more and more.

Wake up. Remember. Wake up! Remember!

The words flash through her mind like lightning. They repeated over and over frantically, as if a voice begging from somewhere hidden.

“Lucky! Hey, are you here?”  Rebecca’s voice calls. Lucky’s body jolts and her eyes fly open to see her friend’s head poking through the doorway. “C’mon!” Her coworker urges. “You got three field trips today. Two elementary classes, and one middle.”

Lucky can barely remember the sensations she had felt and her thoughts are her own again. She nods to Rebecca. “Yeah, I’ll be right out.” She answers shakily, slipping the phone into her vest pocket. Taking one last glance into the mirror, she adjusts her work clothes. Blouse and vest, neatly pressed, pencil skirt and short heeled shoes - professional, but comfy for long tours. Especially leading groups of hyper primary students. 

“Welcome to Jurassic World.” Lucky sighs at her reflection.

*

4:30 PM comes around and only thirty more minutes stood between Lucky and the freedom to enjoy her weekend. The museum is mostly empty. A few people here and there, but mainly all moving towards the exit doors. She spies around the Grecian Mythos and Art exhibit, feeling a swell of pride flow through her. Each piece here carried a piece of history on it. Sculptures and painters from centuries ago, able to live on in the artwork they created. She was able to be part of it all. Lucky smiles proudly to herself and sits down on the bench, across from Apollo Sauroktonos and lets feeling come back to her feet and legs with a relieved breath. 

The peace only lasts a moment when she feels someone’s presence by her. They take a seat next to her and huff. “I never liked that.” They mutter.

“Hm?” Lucky blinks, glancing at them. It was a young man, likely around her age. Even from just his profile, she can tell how striking his looks were. Almost just like a well carved statue that stood the exhibit. He turns his head to her and grins.

Lucky stares at him. His eyes practically shine and glimmer in the setting sun from the window. “That statue,” he says motioning his head towards Apollo Sauroktonos. Lucky blinks and takes a quick glance at it. “It...I dunno, it just didn’t capture something,” he continues, leaning back. “Or...too much of something.” 

At that, Lucky laughs lightly. “Well, funnily enough it’s still debated if it’s of Greek or Roman origin,” she begins. “I mean, it is a copy of an original work of Praxiteles,” she explains. Now he’s the one laughing.

“You were a nerd then, T,” he says, “And you’re a nerd now.”

At that, Lucky freezes. Any relaxation that came to her body left, and each muscle within her tensed in alert. He just called her ‘T’. She turns her head back to him and he’s watching her. His eyes really were shimmering gold, as if they held the sunlight within them, practically dancing. That’s when she notices the soft golden hue against his skin. Another Olympian was making an appearance to her.

“I heard you were back, Tyche,” he says with a smile. “Why didn’t you tell me? Hell, I thought I’d be the first one you’d get a hold of.”

Lucky opens and closes her mouth, and shakes her head. “I don’t...um.” 

All words of the English vocabulary have suddenly left her, except for  ‘uh’, ‘um’, and ‘er’ all coming together in a mash of indistinct muttering.

He pauses, looking over her and realization begins to come over. “Shit, you don’t remember, do you?” He questions. Lucky shrugs helplessly. 

“But you gotta remember!” He insists. “I mean, like, we totally love each other!”

Lucky feels her breath catch tightly in her throat. “Y-You’re Clyde?” She asks in a small voice. 

At that he pauses and lifts a brow.

“Clyde?” He repeats, nearly offended. “No! T, it’s me. Lucas.” He says, pointing to the statue, then to himself. “Y’know, Apollo.” 

Apollo, god of the sun, music, light, and oracles…

If anything, something should have stirred within her if she was really Tyche. Lucky stares at him, and tries to imagine, to remember. She takes a breath and he looks at her hopefully.

“I’m so sorry, dude.” Lucky breathes out. “Nothin’ is clickin’. There’s a chance I ain’t even Tyche. My name is Lucky.” 

Lucas frowns, and the light that seemed to shine from him slowly began to dim. The glow of his skin fades slightly. He sits back, looking forward. 

“This can’t be. The best oracle…,” he says quietly to himself.

“Um.” Lucky starts awkwardly, standing up. “I’m really sorry. L-Listen, it’s sunset and it’s close to closin’-”

“That’s it!” Lucas snaps his fingers. Suddenly, there’s a brightness to him again. “I have an idea. We- uh, Tyche and I used to love to do this when we could. It’d piss off Zeus.” 

Lucky looks at him puzzled. “Anythin’ pisses off Zeus.”

Lucas chuckles, reaching into his pocket. He pulls out a pair of keys, flipping them around his finger. “Not as much as taking a mortal for a ride across the sunline.”

Lucky feels her mouth drop open slightly. Lucas jingles the keys. “C’mon, one time across the horizon. If anything, that’ll jog your memory for sure.”

*

Oh what in the blazes was she doing? Was she really about to get into some strange yellow Camaro that was actually Apollo’s chariot? With updates? Lucas opens the door for her and with a resigned sigh she carefully slips into the car and buckles up. 

Guess she really was doing this.

Lucas gets into the driver’s seat and looks to her. “This was one of our favorite things to do. If you don’t remember this, I don’t know what the hell you will remember. Ready?” He asks, starting the engine.

“Ready,” Lucky nods, strapping the seatbelt a bit tighter. 

Lucas revs the car a few times before peeling out. Lucky gasps, her body sinking against the seat. His hands move the steering wheel with grace and ease. Lucky dares a glance out the window. No one seemed to notice the car speeding by. A song pulses through, with Lucas tapping a hand along to the beat. “Lost in Yesterday by Tame Impala.” He calls over the music. “One of my favorites to work to.” Lucky’s eyes dart back and forth between him and the road ahead. Still, they manage to avoid cars, people, traffic of all sorts until it all becomes a blur. The sun seemed to come closer to greet them. Lucky cringes, holding her hands up, hoping to block away the brightness.

“Oh, shit. Sorry.” Lucas says, fishing around the middle console. “Here, Izzy helped me make these. Totally able to block out the sun rays and all that harmful shit,” he says, holding a pair of sunglasses to her. Lucky puts them on. They were tinted a brownish color but she could see everything before them now, sun included.

“We should be over the Pacific now,” Lucas informs her.

“What?” Lucky questions. Sure enough, the road was gone and the car moved over the waving waters of the ocean. Lucky covers her mouth, and looks to Lucas. He grins, turning the car just when it seemed to come to the curve of the horizon. 

“Now for the fun part,” Lucas says, as he changes gears with a loud noise. “Sun’s locked.” He nods, revs the engine, and they take off again.

They drive across the ocean, complete darkness before them, and Lucky watches in awe as night gives way to dawn. Beams of light breaking through clouds that rolled and swirled before vanishing. Hazes of orange and yellow flew along beside them and over the car. Her eyes go wide with wonder as she laughs. “Oh my stars.” 

Lucas chuckles. “Open the window.” He encourages her. Lucky shoots him an unsure look, but he lowers the windows of both sides. He reaches out an arm, keeping one hand steady on the wheel. Lucky watches with wide eyes as the mixing colors of dawn fly around his hand. “It’s safe.” Lucas assures her.

 The wind whips into the car and sends her curls flying back as Lucky leans closer to the window. Hesitantly she reaches out, and feels the cool of the air and spray of the ocean below. Colors seem to dance around her hand and fingers. A stunned and excited look comes over her face. She was practically touching the sunrise. Growing up she had always watched the sunrise back in Savannah, and even a few times on Tybee Island over the beach, but all of those sights now fell short to being the one who lead the dawn across the skies. 

Lucas stops the car, and shifts the gears again. There’s another loud noise and he settles back. “And done. A new day here on the other side of earth,” he says proudly. He gives her a grin and presses his fingers to his lips, making a chef’s kiss. “one of my best.”

“Wow.” Lucky breathes. She tips the sunglasses down, and looks at the forming colors of pink and purple of morning. “That was...i-incredible.” 

Lucas laughs. “I guess. Tyche freaking got a kick out of it, just like you are.”

“Well who wouldn’t?” Lucky laughs. “Thank you for that experience.”

Lucas shrugs. “Thought it would help,” he says, glancing at her. “So...did it?” Lucky looks away from the scene outside and to him. She doesn’t know what to say. Her heart sinks and her stomach feels heavy with a sort of combination between sadness and guilt. She honestly wished that she could say yes. Lucky shakes her head.

He sighs and leans his head back. Lucky isn’t sure if it’s the sunglasses and the light of dawn messing with her, but she thinks she sees growing tears in his eyes. “Well,” he finally says after a moment. “guess I’ll just have to bug you till something clicks.” 

“Ah, join the club,” Lucky huffs. But she flashes him a good natured smile. “Why don’t ya tell me, a bit more about you and Tyche?” She asks. “It might help. Was she a good oracle?”

Lucas turns to her. “A good oracle?” He repeats. “She was the best, and I worked with the girls at Delphi. But Tyche,” He sighs “Tyche was meant for something great. She was favored by most of the gods in Olympus. But mainly me.” Lucas adds. 

Lucky snorts, rolling her eyes. “Course.”

“You got her attitude I see.” Lucas chimes. “So we’re on the right path.” 

Lucky giggles, resting back. “Guess so. Any stories with y’all?”

Lucas thinks for a moment before laughing. “Oh yeah, there was this time when we went cow tipping in Hermes’ herd and one of them turned out to be a minotaur…” He tells her between laughter as he starts up the car, driving off again. 

The sun lingers behind them as they drive back into the night. The reflection of the rising moon catches Lucky’s eyes. A thought like a whisper comes through her mind before it leaves just as softly.

Where are you Tyche?

*

Saturday morning arrived and Lucky missed it. Lucas had brought her home around 10 pm, and who knew traveling through bended time and space would tire her out? At least they stopped for burgers. Lucas had told her some more stories about Tyche, and some of their misadventures; including accidentally setting off a fire at the Theophania festival. He added his information to her phone.

Now Lucky has three gods on speed dial.

A consistent knocking from the door echoes in the small apartment. Lucky snorts awake. She was on the pullout couch, lost under a swarm of quilts and blankets. The Forrest Gump DVD menu played on loop. “Ugh.” She groans, pushing herself up. 

She doesn’t see the half drunk bottle of Rosé at the side of the couch, and she barely pays mind to the scribbles written in a notebook that she kicks under the couch as she stumbles to the door. “Who is it?” She calls out.

The knocking continues. Getting louder and harder.  

“I said ‘who is it’ for, Pete's sake!” Lucky snaps, flinging the door open. 

Eric stares her down and Lucky stares back up at him.

“Mortal.” He greets sharply.

“Trophy husband.” Lucky retorts.

Eric sneers. He’s not dressed as primly as he was in the underworld. This time he wore a dark peacoat and casual clothes underneath. On the lapel of his coat, however, was a silver pin of a skull covered with rose vines.

“What do ya want?” Lucky asks, keeping the door half shut. “Did Cherry find somethin’?”

“No.” He shakes his head.

Lucky scoffs. “Then why are ya here?” She asks, shutting the door. His hand flies out, blocking it from shutting completely. With a surprising strength he opens the door. Lucky stumbles and glares at him. “What is your damage, flower-child?”

“I’m here to get answers for myself. Are yah really Tyche, or not.” He says, stepping inside. “This is a shit hole.” He states, looking around the studio apartment. 

Lucky glares at him. “Ya didn’t have to come in, ya know.” She crosses her arms. “What do ya mean you’re here to get answers?” She demands. Her eyes follow him as he takes a step further into the apartment. 

Eric doesn’t answer her right away, he instead surveys the room, as if trying to find something, a clue of some sort. Finally he turns to her, “I want to see if you’re really Tyche or not. Not just some hack mortal.”

“How will ya do that?” Lucky asks, hoping he didn’t catch the slight waver in her voice. She crosses her arms tightly and tries to muster up a glare. 

Eric grins, answering her lowly. “I have my ways.” 

[lux-i-fer]

Only Yours, Desirable

Ao3 link

Synopsis: In a universe where Lucifer never went back to Hell, Lucifer and Chloe sort things out at a motel in the middle of nowhere.

Rating: T

Notes: This fic is part of the 2019 My Fearless Love Deckerstar Network Fic Exchange. This goes to the wonderful @differenceenginegirl! Their prompt was Stay In My Corner by The Arcs, and unbeknownst to them, it is also one of my favorite songs from the Lucifer soundtrack! Enjoy! 

*Set in an alternate post-S4 where Lucifer never went back to Hell. (No beta we die like men.)

The road in front of them was pitch black and as dead as one would imagine a desert back road would be at three in the morning. The last time they’d seen anything that resembled a town, the sun had been setting. Now the only thing left was the occasional farmhouse and a ceaseless white line that separated the road from the dirt.

Chloe had given up looking at the road thirty miles back. The lines only hypnotized her and the constant stream of nothing had made her head spin one too many times.

Her and Lucifer’s last conversation had been at dinner in the small roadside diner they’d stopped at, but she wasn’t upset by that. The silence was comfortable. It was nice just knowing that he was next to her, passing time and sipping gas station coffee.

Chloe rested her head against the window, and basked in its coolness. It was the time of night when the air turned into that welcoming type of cold. The type of cold that took the place of the AC and slid through her fingertips like silk.

Even though the temperature was a nice change, the glass wasn’t the most comfortable substitute for a pillow. She slumped further down in her seat and propped her feet up on the dashboard, trying to find the perfect position to try and get some sleep.

When she finally settled into the corner of the window, she looked over at Lucifer. With her head laying the way it was, she had the perfect view of him. She shared a private smile with the darkness that enveloped the car. He’d insisted on driving and, for once, Chloe had been totally fine with it. They’d both known that she was too tired to drive five hours through the desert after working a full shift.

She allowed her heavy eyelids to close once more, but before she could slip off, something went wrong. Her neck had a horrible crick in it already and her current position apparently wasn’t helping it.

When she forced her eyes open again, Lucifer’s profile was blurry. Chloe blinked away the sleep in her eyes and sat back up, intent on going to sleep this time.

Her victory was short-lived and a few minutes later, she found herself nodding off, only to be awoken when her head knocked against the headrest. After the third attempt to sleep, Chloe had had enough.

She fixed her gaze on Lucifer, and this time she studied him. They’d been driving for three hours straight and it was starting to show. Lucifer was beginning to shift in his seat more frequently and the hand that wasn’t on the steering wheel was fidgeting with whatever it could touch.

She guessed she wasn’t the only one that would benefit from stopping somewhere.

Chloe laid a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Lucifer,” she said, slurring the syllables together. “Let’s just stop for the night.”

Lucifer, for once, kept his eyes fixed on the road. “Darling, Vegas is only two hours away. Besides there’s nowhere to stop.”

His words were gentle, but Chloe couldn’t help but cringe at how tense he felt under her palm. He’d been like this ever since they’d spilled their feelings for each other that night on his balcony. Things were fine after their mutual confessions and she had even ended up staying the night, but not for sex. Instead, they’d fallen into his bed, exhausted from rescuing Charlie and feeling too raw to do much else.

Then came the next morning. Lucifer might have been all smiles, but Chloe had known the difference between a happy Lucifer and a Lucifer pretending to be happy to save face. She’d let him have his secrets that morning, though.

Now she wished she hadn’t. Things had spiraled in the following week, and while Lucifer was physically present, Chloe knew that emotionally he couldn’t be farther away. She thought the new case and a change of scenery would help the distance between them, but so far all it had gotten them was a silent red-eye drive through the desert.

“Vegas PD aren’t expecting us until the morning.” She took her hand off his shoulder and reached for her phone, intent on Googling nearby motels.

Lucifer sighed. “Detective–”

“Look.” Chloe thrust her phone towards him. “There’s a motel like two miles away. We can stop there for the night. I can sleep an actual bed and you can get a break from driving.”

Lucifer briefly scanned the photo she’d pulled up and scoffed.

“I know it’s not the type of five star hotel you’re used to, but it’s all we’ve got. Plus, if we want to make a good impression tomorrow, I need to sleep in a bed and not in the passenger seat of a car.”

“Who cares what those tossers think,” he mumbled moodily.

“I care, Lucifer.” Chloe closed her eyes and took a deep breath before opening them again. “Please? It’s just for the night.”

Lucifer didn’t respond.

A few minutes later, the dusty yellow glow of a single pair of street lights appeared out of the darkness. On the right was the motel from the Google search. It looked worse in person. Half of the exterior lights had been busted or cracked, and those that remained only glowed halfheartedly, illuminating crumbling sidewalks and weed-choked landscaping. The rooms didn’t look to be much better. The doors were a worn shade of burgundy that only appeared in horror movies and zombie flicks. As they drove closer, Chloe spied a small swimming pool in the middle of the “complex”–if it could even be called that with its single L-shaped building and small check-in office.

The sight was dismal enough to make even Chloe second-guess her request. She thought that Lucifer, assuming that he was seeing what she was, would use it to his further his argument, but to her surprise, he slowed the car and turned into the empty parking lot. He killed the engine wordlessly, got out of the car, and headed into the office, already pulling out his billfold on the way up.

Chloe blinked a few times in shock. For a moment she thought she’d actually managed to fall asleep. Lucifer was only this compliant in her dreams. He had only put up a minimal fight where she’d been expecting to have to commandeer the steering wheel to get him to even think about pulling over. Either he was doing worse than she’d originally thought, or he was more tired than he let on.

She leaned over the center consul and popped the trunk. Then she got out of the car and went to grab both of their suitcases. As she slammed the trunk closed, Chloe glanced towards the office. Through the window she saw a dead-eyed employee handing Lucifer a set of room keys.

“Room 7,” he told her when he emerged.

Lucifer extended a hand to give her the keys, but Chloe took the opportunity to wrap him up in a hug. His arms looped around her waist, but the rest of him seemed to stiffen at the sudden contact.

Chloe loosened her embrace to meet his eyes. “Thank you.”

Lucifer gave a weak smirk and looked to the side. “Think nothing of it.”

She released him, finally taking the keys he’d offered before. Lucifer grabbed their suitcases and started towards their room. As they walked, Chloe observed the motel again. Up close, the plaster looked more gray than white. Paint was peeling off by the foot, revealing an ugly tan color underneath.

She frowned. It wasn’t promising, but it was all they had.

When they came to a stop in front of Room 7, she noticed that they weren’t staring at the room number, but rather the shadow of where it previously had been. The rooms to their immediate left and right were also missing their numbers. Still, Chloe forced herself to shrug it off. A bed was a bed.

She unlocked the door and flicked on the light. A miserable-looking nightstand and an even more miserable-looking bed greeted her.

“I slipped the chap at the desk a Benjamin for the only room that wasn’t pay by the hour,” Lucifer said behind her. “Usually there’s always one or two on hand.”

Chloe didn’t ask how he knew that. She walked in and immediately plopped down on the bed, letting herself fall back onto her back as she did. Closing her eyes, Chloe let herself be absorbed into the mattress. It was lumpy and paper-thin, but she’d convinced herself that it would have to do.

“Detective, wouldn’t you like to put on something more comfortable?”

Slowly, Chloe opened her eyes to find Lucifer peering down at her. Judging by his lack of usual smugness, his remark had been entirely innocent.

“Yeah. Front zipper pocket, can you get it for me?” She gestured loosely towards the top of the dresser where he’d put her suitcase.

When Lucifer pulled out what she’d asked for, he paused. Had she been more awake, Chloe might have blushed, because in his hand was a wrinkled dress shirt. More specifically, his shirt. The one she’d stolen from Lux on her birthday last year. As quickly as she could manage, she was up and snatching it out of his grasp. She muttered a clipped thanks and locked herself in the bathroom.

Chloe emerged five minutes later to find Lucifer, sans belt, shoes, and jacket, lounging on the bed. When he saw her, he gave her the first real smile she’d seen all week. The sheets were already turned down and waiting for her. She joined him on the bed, dragging the sheets over both of them as she went.

“Don’t you want to put on something more comfortable?” Chloe parroted back at Lucifer when he reached over to click off the lamp.

He paused, and had Chloe been able to see in the dark, she would have thought he was staring at her. The silence dragged on for a few more seconds before Lucifer settled back down on the mattress. “Good night, Detective,” he said in lieu of an actual answer.

Chloe wrapped an arm around his waist nonetheless.

She didn’t recall ever closing her eyes, but something found her opening them again. The first thing she noticed was that Lucifer wasn’t next to her anymore. The second thing she noticed was that instead of it being three-something in the morning, it was now four-something in the morning. The bed springs squealed when she sat up and the sheets pooled around her legs.

She got up and checked the bathroom. No Lucifer.

On a whim, Chloe went to the window. She let her fingertips rest against the windowpane, which was already smeared with countless other hand prints. The glass felt cool to touch like it had in the car, and fogged where her breath hit it.  

Their room had a sub-par view of the pool and the parking lot beyond it. Chloe let her eyes meander around their surroundings until they landed on a figure at the far end of the pool.

Chloe barely remembered to grab her key off the nightstand before she rushed outside. The door shut behind her before she registered that she’d forgotten her shoes. And her jeans. Deciding that they didn’t matter, Chloe carefully made her way to the poolside.

The air was pleasant, yet Chloe still found herself pulling the shirt more tightly around her body. As she made her way into the fenced off pool area, Chloe passed by Lucifer’s neatly folded socks, shirt, and pants sitting on a dirty plastic chair. She came to a stop at the other end of the pool when she saw the owner of the clothes.

Lucifer stood half-submerged in the pool. Leaves clustered on the water’s surface and a few clung to his bare skin. Chloe let her eyes take a peek downwards, and felt a tinge of relief when she saw the barest hint of his briefs’ waistband. Her gaze traveled up the curve of his spine and traced over the lines of his sculpted muscles. She followed the solid curve of his shoulder blades, but did a double take when she realized that the skin there was whole and scar-free. It was a far cry from the last time she’d seen it this clearly, but time hadn’t seemed to have changed the uncomfortable feeling she got when she looked at it for too long.

He hadn’t seemed to have heard her approach, so Chloe dipped her foot in the pool and splashed some of the water around. Lucifer looked over his shoulder, seemingly unfazed by the sound. When he saw it was her, he turned around fully, resting his back against the concrete lip of the pool.

“Hi,” she said softly. She hugged herself in some mock-attempt at modesty.

“Hi,” he said back.

“What are you doing out here?”

Lucifer shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep.” He began to swim over to her. “Although if I recall,” he continued when he stopped in front of her, “that was all you wished to do.”

“I guess something just woke me up.” She gave him a pointed look and softened it with a gentle smile.

He rested his elbows on the edge and gazed up at her through his dark lashes. “I do apologize, although I doubt I had anything to do with it. I’ve been out here for about a half hour now.”

Chloe sat down where she’d been standing, undoubtedly giving Lucifer an eyeful of her rather unspectacular panties on the way. She scooted as close to the edge as she dared and stuck her feet in the water, one on either side of Lucifer’s body, and boxed him in. The water was warmer than the air had been, and she could feel the steam licking its way up her bare legs.

“I think you had more to do with it than you know.”

“Oh?” He was gazing fully at her now, but there was something missing behind his eyes. His hands remained clasped between them, and the tension she’d sensed back in the car was becoming more obvious by the second.  

“Yeah.” Chloe reached out to cup his jaw with one hand, while the other began to toy mindlessly with the bullet necklace at the hollow of her throat. Lucifer’s face resembled the way a prisoner might look at an open door. But just as quickly as doors can open, Lucifer’s features slammed shut, morphing back into his usual mask of nonchalance and class.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” Chloe began.

“Of course, Detective.” He turned his face to place a kiss into her palm.

Chloe massaged his cheek and stared absently at the water. “It’s just that you’ve been acting weird all week and I know this… thing with us is still really new and everything is just now starting to settle down after the whole thing with Charlie, but I just want to make sure that everything’s okay and it’s not me or us that’s freaking you out.”

“I’m fine, darling.” He rested his hands on her hips, as if to make his point.

“But you’re not, Lucifer,” Chloe pushed.

Lucifer didn’t try to refute her point. Instead, he leaned into her touch, letting his eyes flutter closed as her fingers continued to dance over his skin.

“If you don’t want to talk about it, can you at least tell me what happened to your back?”

His eyes snapped open and his forehead creased. “What do you mean?”

“Your…” she paused and gestured at her own back with her free hand. “Scars. They’re gone.”

Lucifer frowned. “Do you remember what I told you about them the first time you saw them?”

“That they were a gift from your Father. That that’s where you cut your wings���” Chloe trailed off, her brain snapping the puzzle pieces together. “Oh.”

“Mhmm. And now that my wings have returned…”

“…the scars heal,” she finished for him.

“Clever Detective.” He smirked, but it seemed forced.

A pit formed in Chloe’s stomach. This wasn’t the first time she’d cursed her past self for being so dense when it came to Lucifer’s “Luciferness,” and it wouldn’t be her last. “Lucifer,” she said, voice suddenly serious. She cupped the other side of his face with her other hand and brought him closer to her. He went willingly. “I want you to promise me something.”

“Detective?”

“Don’t ever,” she squished his face for emphasis, “try and do that again. Especially around me where we know you can’t recover. If you ever feel like mutilating yourself like that again, call me. ” Lucifer couldn’t meet her eyes. “Okay?”

“Okay,” he mumbled.

Chloe loosened her hold on him. “I care about you, Lucifer. I don’t want to see you hurting.”

“I know.” Somehow, it seemed as if he’d shrunken down to half his size. It reminded Chloe of the time she’d first tried to touch his back during the Player case. He’d looked so frightened then, like a little kid afraid of his dad. Chloe hid a bitter smile, knowing just how on the nose she probably was.

“Did anyone else know about them?”

Lucifer exhaled loudly. “Maze, obviously. Mum, my brother…”

“What about your…guests?”

He offered up a humorless chuckle. “Jealous, Detective?” He frowned again. “But no, none of them really noticed. If they did, they didn’t really care. Candy noticed, but I don’t think she counts,” he cut himself off at the mention of his ex-wife’s name, as if he’d said something he shouldn’t have.

Before when Lucifer spoke of his “guests,” Chloe would have said she wasn’t jealous, because she wasn’t, not of some one night stand. But of an ex anything, let alone an ex-wife? Chloe wasn’t going to lie to herself. Candy had been a sore spot between them since she’d first come into the picture.  

Lucifer must have noticed her change in mood, because he pulled her closer to him so that she teetered dangerously on the pool’s concrete edge. “Did I ever tell you about Candy?”

Chloe dropped her hands at her sides. It took everything not to roll her eyes. “Lucifer I met Candy.”

“No, I think you misunderstand me.” He reached up to tuck a piece of hair that had fallen from her bun behind her ear. “I never told you about the real Candy. The reason we got married.”

“I don’t know if I want to hear it,” Chloe said petulantly. She ran her fingers through her hair, dislodging the piece Lucifer had just smoothed back.

“You do, Detective, trust me.” Chloe allowed her face to soften. Lucifer took it as his cue to continue. “Candy isn’t a stripper, she’s a singer. And her name isn’t really Candy, it’s Candace. Candace Fletcher. She inherited her father’s bar and also his debts. I agreed to pay her debts if, in return, she posed as my wife to get closer to Mum. And you know the rest, Detective. We got our marriage annulled after everything was said and done.” He lowered his voice. “We never even consummated our marriage, Detective. It wasn’t relative to the deal and, frankly, neither one of us felt up to it.”

She tried to tack on a grin. “Lucifer Morningstar passing on sex? I find that hard to believe.”

Lucifer smiled thinly. “Sometimes I hardly believe it myself.”

They fell into an awkward silence. There was a lot to unpack in Lucifer’s brief explanation. She wasn’t going to act like what he pulled wasn’t a totally shitty move, but it wasn’t like she could pin her anger on Candy, or Candace, or whoever she was anymore.

Chloe sighed. “Why didn’t you just tell me that back then?” she asked quietly.

Lucifer fiddled with her shirt tails and kept his eyes trained away from hers. “I was frightened.” He hesitated. “And confused.”

“What does that mean?”

Lucifer took a moment to collect his response. When he did finally speak, his voice was nearly inaudible. “For the longest time I thought you were a trick, a trap, sent to me by my Father. Something I couldn’t resist.” He met her eyes. “Something that could be my undoing. Even the smallest amount of power over the Devil is worth more than my entire fortune, but the amount of power you possess, Chloe–” he stroked up the curve of her waist. “Is priceless. And it frightened me.

“You looked at me like…like I wasn’t the Devil. And I thought that there must have been some sort of divine intervention, some sort of manipulation, to have made you look at me like that . So I thought if I could scare you away, I could set you free and stick it to my Father. Clearly, I was wrong. About both of those things.

“You asked me before what was the matter, and I suppose this is it. Before, when I was going to leave, you said you loved me.” He choked on the word love. “Did you mean it or did you just say it so I wouldn’t go back to Hell?”

Chloe didn’t know what to say. It was rare that Lucifer showed any vulnerability at all, and it was even rarer that he spoke so candidly about his own feelings. All of her prior anger over Candy had burned up and fizzled away when she saw the uncertainty so clearly painted across Lucifer’s face. Not sure what else to do, Chloe took his face in her hands once more and leaned in to give him a tender kiss. Lucifer returned it guardingly.

“Of course I mean it,” she whispered against his lips. “I love you.”

Lucifer’s hands moved to her back as he pulled her in for another kiss. This kiss, unlike the first, was deeper and more forceful. Chloe shifted her hands to rest at the back of his neck, feeling it tilt up so his lips could capture hers. When he sidled up closer to her, Chloe felt something unravel inside of her.

That knot of tension, the one she’d felt in the car and during their embrace, was gone. The walls Lucifer had constructed to try and hold her back at arm’s length had been broken. She could feel every emotion in his kiss. The fear simmered on her lips, the lust soaked into her skin, and the love coated her tongue like honey. For once, Chloe felt like she understood Lucifer entirely.

Their kisses continued to grow more heated. Chloe began to run her fingers through his hair and Lucifer’s hands were nosing their way up her shirt. Now she was teetering so close to the edge that the water was lapping against her knees. Lucifer must have noticed too, because with his hands still under her shirt, he pulled her off the lip and into the water with a muted splash.

Chloe smiled against his lips and let his supernatural strength support her weight. By now, her shirt was soaked to the point of being see-through and her hair was just barely managing to stay in its bun, but Chloe couldn’t have cared less. The only things she could focus on were Lucifer’s hands moving to cup her thighs and how quickly his mouth was making its way to her throat. When he hit a spot that made her go particularly weak in the knees, she locked her ankles around his waist in a desperate attempt to feel closer to him. With their bodies pressed flush together, Chloe could feel him straining against his thin briefs.

“We should probably go back to our room, Lucifer,” she said breathlessly.

Lucifer halted his kisses down her throat. “You’re tired now?”

Chloe rested her forehead on his and made sure he was looking into her eyes before she grinded against him. “I wouldn’t say that.”

Lucifer grinned and this time it was genuine. “Then lead the way, Detective.”

[inkribbon796]

Leap of Faith Ch 2

Summary: Our heroes are setting sail, hoping that the first leg of their mission goes well and that they find their guide without too much trouble . . . fate has other plans.

A/N: all titles for this story come from JT Music’s Take a Leap of Faith which is an Uncharted fan song but it reminds me so much of Illinois.

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Chapter 2: Gambling with the Hand of Fate

Two days after meeting with Marvin’s friend, Captain Magnum, they were sailing on an actual pirate ship. Roman took to the crew immediately and immediately looked like something out of Pirates of the Caribbean. None of the heroes were in costume, trying to keep a low profile, even though Roman’s skin tone was naturally trying to protect him from the sun by darkening as much as possible without his permission. As soon as he’d noticed it, he just shrugged and let it happen, even staying out in the sun with shorts and without a shirt to get a consistent skin tone. It had started a light shade and now was a dark tan that Roman had taken great pains to make his eyes pop even more with some dark blue eye shadow.

Needless to say, the Captain and his crew had another friend in the Coalition.

Eric would have loved to be able to enjoy it, because it looked like they were having fun. But he was half-bent over the railing of the ship, dry heaving at this point since he’d thrown up enough times to no longer keep anything down.

“Not used to the ocean?” Magnum jabbed.

“First time outside my home city,” Eric admitted, taken over by nausea. “How much farther?”

“Well I’d say wit’ Marv’s witchcraft,” Magnum looked around.

“Not a witch,” Marvin called out, standing on the helm with the navigator, magic visibly rippling in his hands and billowing upwards into the sails. Marvin was wearing a hat that helped him hide his long green hair, and was desperately trying to keep the sun out of his eyes. His lack of mask let Eric see the long claw marks down his face for the first time.

“So ye said a couple hours?” Magnum looked at Marvin.

“Yeah,” Marvin didn’t look back at him, teeth gritted in concentration. He’d only been back at this spell for a couple minutes but needed all the concentration he could get to keep them on track.

“See, we’ll get those feet back on solid ground,” Magnum promised, patting Eric on the back.

“Th-Thanks,” Eric groaned, retching again, clutching the rail in a death grip.

It took a little over two hours to reach shore, and Eric stumbled back onto shore, just clutching the ground as he tried not to keep dry heaving. Roman sat by his side, announcing his presence before he began rubbing soft circles into his back.

After letting Eric’s stomach settle for a bit they walked into town, Marvin trying to use the pin that Host had given them to find their guide. Problem was that Marvin was taking them in circles around the city. The pin was continuously bringing them back to the less affluent areas of the city. They passed by an electronics store about five times before they stopped.

“Just our luck,” Marvin scoffed, trying to adjust his hat without making his hair tumble out. “Bet this thing has a range on it like the rest of the Host’s powers.”

“So what now?” Roman asked.

Marvin frowned at it, wondering how upset Host would get if Marvin powderized it to use as a locator. But then he’d need to make a new good luck charm for Eric. So he just stood in the shade of the electronics building, when it suddenly just started a subtle, flashing glow.

“Huh,” Marvin hummed.

“What?” Roman asked, leaning it. Marvin began to step away from the building and it suddenly stopped. Backtracking brought the subtle glowing back.

“Where did the Host even get this thing?” Marvin thought out loud. Carefully Marvin began heading down an alleyway, barely wide enough to fit a trash can through, and the glowing began to get more insistent.

The pin led them to a little clothing shop. Marvin walking inside first. So far this was the only clothing shop they’d seen in this part of town with a front door to it and not just be an outdoor market connected to a house.

When they walked in there was no one there. Which bothered Roman and the others, a lot.

“¿Olá?” Roman greeted in his rather stilted Portuguese. “Estamos comprando.”

At that point someone did walk out, it was a guy who looked a little older than Marvin. He took one look at them and pulled a gun out.

Immediately Marvin was casting a spell to dampen any sound in the area. Roman threw up a shield in front of him and Eric as Marvin tossed a sleep spell at the guy. He dropped like a rock, his gun hit the ground.

“Nice shot,” Roman grinned at Marvin. The magician was quickly trying to pin the star back onto a very rattled Eric.

“Why’d he shoot at us?” Eric whimpered. Marvin locked the front door so no one else could walk in behind them.

“Well obviously they don’t want our money,” Roman jokes picking up the unconscious guy and dragging him into the back of the shop.

“Wh-What sh-ould we do?” Eric stammered.

“We’re going to figure out what’s wrong with this place,” Roman decided.

“So, wh-at should I do? Eric asked.

“Just watch our backs,” Marvin told him. “We don’t know how many more of these guys are here.”

Eric nodded, instinctively holding his hands closer to him, trying not to touch anything just in case. He nervously watched the front door as Marvin and Roman crept towards the back door of the store that led into the rest of the house.

Marvin made sure the door wouldn’t make any noise as he opened it, double checking the empty room that had a narrow concrete stairwell up to the second floor. The two heroes could hear loud talking from upstairs, none of it in English. Marvin motioned for Eric to stay at the door so that Marvin and Roman could start creeping up the stairs.

The closer they got the better they could hear the speakers, and one of them was starting to speak in English.

“Hey now,” a rather cocky guy’s voice began. “No need to pressure me for an autograph, I know I’m great.”

The sound of someone getting punched followed the guy’s comment. There was no door at the top of the stairs so the two heroes just hid in the stairwell until they could figure out what was going on.

“¡Cállete!”

“No están Brasilenos, pues,” the guy laughed. “Miren, si quisieran robarme, debería a espera hasta que yo volví.”

Marvin looked at Roman, whispering, “Hey, romantic, yah understand any ‘a this?”

Roman nodded, “I’m conversational.”

Carefully, so he was making the least amount of noise possible, Marvin summoned a third eye to spy on the room. There were two guys in nice clothes, both of them armed with at least one gun each, and an Asian-American tied to a chair on the far side of the room. His arms tied and crossed in front of him, and his face was already looking heavily bruised despite the rather smug expression on his face. By the nice dusty tan and from the clothes it was obvious he wasn’t a normal tourist, and Marvin groaned.

“Just our luck,” Marvin whispered. “Found our guide.”

“Really?” Roman whispered back, “does he need to be rescued?”

“Yep,” Marvin groaned, but he noticed their trapped guide looking over at the space where Marvin had cloaked his third eye, deliberately staring at it.

“Vos a llamar tu papá, ahora!” The head goon ordered, bringing Marvin and Roman’s attention back to the hostage situation at hand.

Marvin watched the smile fade from his face, a dangerous look in his eyes, “¿Ehh?”

The guy slapped him, “No voy a preguntar otra vez, chico.”

“Si quieres que lame al Viejo, debería a tomar tus pistolas y disparate en el culo,” the guide ordered, in a clearly threatening tone that even Marvin could tell that things were going south fast even if he didn’t understand Spanish.

One of the goons pulled out his gun and pressed it to his temple.

“Shit,” Marvin hissed a little louder than he should have and the two gang members looked over to the open doorway. The two started talking between each other as the gun was pulled away from the guide’s head.

“What are they doing?” Roman whispered.

“They know we’re here,” Marvin warned, dispersing his third eye and braced for someone to come around the corner.

But there was a loud thud and the sound of a gunshot going off both one of the goons was slammed into the wall and limply began tumbling down the concrete stairs. Eric let out a nervous scream as he landed close to him, his fingers rippling with little explosions, denting the doorknob a little.

Roman rushed inside, his little steel shield up and Marvin followed him to see the other gang member slumped, half hanging off a bed. The guide looked at them, before he gave a huge smile.

“Hey, I was wondering who was on the stairs,” he smiled. “Gringos, right?”

Roman shrugged, “Yeah, we were in the neighborhood.”

“Yeah, I doubt that, the Old Man sent yah didn’t he?” He asked. “I don’t need to be babysat, I can take care of myself.”

“No, but you don’t exactly look like the picture of self-reliance right now,” Roman crossed his arms in front of him. “Obviously, you’re tied up like a Christmas pig.”

He grinned and then maneuvered a file out of his sleeve and began cutting at the rope binding his wrists together. “I was fine, I’ve been in sticker situations.”

“Really?” Roman scoffed, setting his shield down. “Like what?”

“Eh, I lost one of my companions when an entire tomb fell on top of us,” Illinois explained, finally getting enough of his hands free to twist his hand free. “Was pretty bad, lost my entire expedition group, although I came out with a really cool necklace, was cursed and everything.”

“That cursed necklace’s probably what killed ‘em,” Marvin reprimanded.

“Nah, I found the necklace after they died,” Illinois told him, working on freeing his legs now. “It only reveals itself to a man who has survived great loss, my Old Man did not like it when I brought it back to his place. Name’s Illinois, by the way, pleasure to meet me.”

He had a huge shit-eating grin on his face.

Roman chuckled a little bit, clearly more amused with the adventurer than Marvin was. “Yeah, so what was the whole hostage thing about then?”

Illinois waved his hand dismissively at the gang members, standing and starting to walk around the bed to where a duffel bag had been calmly placed on the floor. “Ahh, don’t mind them. They thought I could get them a shitton of money,” Illinois shrugged. “Didn’t work, obviously, my phone’s been dead for two days.”

He cursed under his breath as he pulled out a pocket watch and stuffed it into his pocket. “Had to mess my stuff up.” Finally he gently tugged a fedora out of the bag and placed it on his head.

“So, if the Old Man didn’t send you, why are you really here?” Illinois asked.

“Oh, we were—” Roman began.

“Can we not talk about this in a gang hideout?” Marvin interrupted.

“Oh yeah, Sofie’s probably worried sick,” Illinois agreed and grabbed one of the gang members. He walked towards the other guy and looked down the stairs at Eric.

“Hey, Magic Man and friend,” Illinois called back at them. “This one of yours too.”

“Who?” Marvin asked, looking around the corner to see Eric trying to use the door to shield himself. “Oh yeah, he’s with us.”

Illinois then took off his hat to examine something inside it, something that was glowing at the same time as the pin on Eric’s shirt. Grabbing the gang members, Illinois just eyed Eric suspiciously as he dragged the unconscious assailants, Eric continuing to try and use the door to protect himself.

“What’s up?” Marvin asked as Illinois took stock of the store. He dumped the other two guys on the third gang member. Then he stuck his head out tentatively to check the street. Across the street an old woman rushed over to him. Illinois smiled.

“Senhor,” the woman called out in relief and immediately hugged him.

Illinois smiled and accepted the hug, talking to her quickly in what sounded like fluent Portuguese. He said something and the much shorter old woman slapped him across the arm. Illinois was quick to rush the heroes out of the shop.

“Who’s that?” Roman asked, two other guys from across the street that looked like they could be the woman’s sons walked over, thanking Illinois.

“This is her shop,” Illinois told them. “These guys muscled in and took the place over. I went in to rough them up.”

“And got yourself captured?” Roman smiled.

“Like I said, I was fine,” Illinois said, and then he looked at Eric. “Where’d you get that, kid?”

“Uh,” Eric began to stammer, clearly panicking at suddenly having a stranger’s attention on him. “I-I-I do-don’t know what y-you’re t-talking about.”

“Hey, hey,” Marvin moved in, trying to put himself in between the two. “No need ta be so hostil’.”

“I’m not hostile,” Illinois tried to flash a charming smile. “Just wanna know where the cowardly lion over there got that pin.”

“Why?” Roman asked, feeling similarly protective of Eric.

Illinois glared at him and took off his hat, holding it up so that Marvin and Roman could see the small. Metallic star hidden in one of the small divots of the hat. “Cause the Ol’ Man who gave this to me doesn’t hand these out to your average Joe. So, I’ll ask you again, did you get this from him?”

“Wasn’t old,” Marvin told him, “we got this from a friend of ours, he said we’d need a guide and told us that this would lead us to you.”

“Who?” Illinois urged.

“Hey, fer all we know, yeh could ‘a stolen that thin’ an’ are tryin’ ta get information out ‘a us,” Marvin defended.

“Okay, fine,” Illinois threw his hands up, Eric flinched behind Marvin at the clear anger and frustration in the man’s voice. “All I wanna know, is if the guy who gave this to you is alright.”

“He’s fine, but he’ll be pissed if we don’t get this back to him,” Roman answered, and Marvin had the urge to make Roman’s mouth disappear.

“Good, good,” Illinois said. “Just make sure it gets back to him. So, he sent you to look for me? Didn’t know the prick had a heart, I figured it was just made of ink and spite at this point.”

“We need a guide who knows Portuguese and the jungle to take us to this creepy temple full of weird writing. You’ll probably find more curses.”

“Promise?” Illinois smiled. “What’s the name of this place?”

Marvin pulled out his map, complete with King’s sketches and notes. “Our translator said it roughly translates out ta ‘The Pillars of the Underworld’  more or less.”

Illinois’s eyes shot up, his smile getting wider in clear interest, “Ohhh, how’d I miss this?”

“It’s got some kind ‘a magical spell cloakin’ it from bein’ found,” Marvin answered, I found somethin’ that can get us inside.”

“Say no more, I’m in,” Illinois decided. “How are we getting there?”

“We’ve got a guy who will take us most of the way by boat,” Roman answered.

“Great, I’ve got a Jeep, are we talking a schooner or a rowboat?” Illinois asked.

“Think ‘a the most stereotypical pirate ship imaginable,” Marvin told him, Illinois nodded. “Kay, that’s what we’re dealin’ with.”

“Alright,” Illinois’s smile didn’t fade. “I’ll drop the car off with them before we leave. I think I know who you’re talking about, I was in Angkor with an odd pirate crew. It was great, I was hanged upside-down and almost eaten by cannibals on that one.”

“Somethin’ tells me yeh might be functionally insane,” Marvin deadpanned.

“But you need a guide, right?” Illinois boasted, “Don’t worry, I know this jungle almost as well as the people around here do, and I’m finding that temple with or without you now that I know it’s there. So we can either stick together until the cut, or we can meet up and fight over the treasure and the glory there.”

“We just want some wall etchings, whatever’s left over in the haunted, cursed temple, ye an’ our ship captain can fight over it,” Marvin agreed, holding out his hand.

“We’ll talk details on the ride over,” Illinois didn’t take his hand, securing his duffel bag in front of his body. “I’ll meet you boys by the docks, we should leave nice and early.”

“Right,” Roman agreed, already getting excited.

“We-We’re getting back on the ship?” Eric practically whimpered.

“Yeah, sorry kid, not nearly as long this time though,” Marvin apologized, noting how Illinois seemed to almost be sizing Eric up again. The timid hero had mostly kept quiet, probably to keep attention off of him, and now that he was talking Illinois seemed to be taking a bit too keen of an interest in him.

“I’m gonna be sick,” Eric was already dry heaving.

“I’ll make yah somethin’ fer the trip, yah’ll be right as rain,” Marvin promised.

“Alright,” Eric dry heaved.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” Illinois finally said. “I have to check back in on Sofie, and get some stuff for the trip, try not to get robbed blind.”

“We won’t,” Roman promised bodily.

Illinois just chuckled and disappeared back into the store, leaving the three heroes to head back to the docks, less meandering and aimless than when they’d entered the city before.

[poweredbycoffeeandwine]

12 Days of Christmas (9/12)

I set this day aside for me. I have been plotting this pairing for a while now, and I am still unsure about how often I will write this pairing. (or if ever again) Well, here goes nothing. My mystery pairing and a Christmas party. 

***

Aiming too High - Tigraine Cousland x Alistair Theirin - Dragon Age AU - Fluffy goodness - 1,907 words

***

It wasn’t the first time he’d thought it would have been best for him to remain an unwanted orphan. Getting pulled into the glitzy, glamorous world of Maric Theirin, his father and King of Ferelden, had marvelous opportunity; but, the moments like this left a bad taste in his mouth. Here he was, dressed up in fine clothing and being fawned over by vapid lords and ladies, yet all he could think about was how the money spent to make his attire could have gone to fund repairs in the alienage, and how much food these nobles would waste tonight. The whispers might be right after all, ‘You could take the boy out of the stable, but you couldn’t take the stable out of the boy.’

Sure, he had fine manners and a proper education, Maric had seen to that; but, he would never be able to turn a blind eye to the injustice and suffering of others. His lot was not much different once, he was only where he was now due to an accident of birth. After Queen Rowan passed, his life changed drastically. Her dying command was for his elevation. She convinced her husband and brother that no child should be misused as he had been. A shame he would never get to thank her properly, it would have been nice to have a mother.

It had been years since that day, and while he still had no intentions on the throne, he hoped to make changes for the better. Prayed that Calian would see him as competent, and able advisor, he’d do a better job than Eamon. That man was severely out of touch with reality, couldn’t understand those oppressed. Alistair Theirin may be a Prince of Ferelden now, but he had once been less than nothing. He would never forget his beginnings, those who noticed him when he had not been worth their time.

The bard continued to play beautiful music to accompany the King’s Firstfall Masquerade Celebration. Decorations and ladies alike twinkled, catching the light from torches burning in the Great Hall. He had done his duty and danced with every eligible, but not too important, daughter Maric lined up for him. He was charming, delightful, and bored out of his mind. Nathaniel Howe teased kindly about his father wielding him like a marriageable conquest before he too was shoved onto the dance floor by his mother.

He was in the middle of a turn on the floor with Mistress Somebody-or-Other from the Bann of Elsewhere when it happened. He’d waited all night for Teyrn Cousland and his family to be announced, though he had attempted to not seem too obvious. Calian needled him about his supposed obsession with Tigraine Cousland. He denied it emphatically because a union with her was aiming too high for the bastard son of the king, but he would never pass up an chance to spend time with her.

The only daughter of Bryce Cousland had been wild, impetuous, untamable, and she befriended a stable boy, damn the gossip. Their last meeting had been at least three years ago now, and he’d read every book, seen every play she mentioned. He was ready to compare notes and listen to everything she had to offer. If he could make her laugh, he would consider this night to be a success.

He tried his hardest to steer his partner in the direction of the entrance, but she would not have it. As frequently as she mentioned how dashing Calian looked, he wished he could waltz her in his direction and be done with her. With each movement he searched for his friend, she would be 19 or so now, her hair was dark, her eyes a sunlight forest, but he could not place her anywhere in the crowd. The song ended, he led Lady Calian-Worshiper back to her entourage. He thanked her for the dance, hardly waited for her response, before turning and wading through the throng of people.

She wasn’t anywhere in sight. The Maker damn his luck, she was likely already hiding in a library or out in the garden despite the cold already setting in. She wasn’t one for parties, hated the attention she garnered just for being the daughter of a Teyrn.

He made ready to depart, to search for her until morning if need be when a young lady stepped next to him. The bodice of her dress a deep green, shimmering gold vines spread outward, but the sleeves caused him to take a second look. Her arms looked bare, yet the green and gold leaves twinned around the sheer fabric. Her mask a golden intricate work boasting more leafs, jewels in strategic places-the corners of her eyes, along the brow line and antlers stabbing proudly upward. The lady looked like a woodland goddess.  She faced the same direction as him, her full cream colored skirt brushing against his legs, scanning the crowd as if she too was looking for someone. “I believe I am next on your dance card, your Highness.”

“Why, yes, of course,” he replied coolly, inwardly cursing his delayed escape. “I would be honored to lead you in this dance.”

She took his hand delicately, and followed him out to the ballroom floor. He was still looking about, remembering his goal when the stringed instruments began a slow tune. His newest partner stifled a laugh, and for a moment he felt bad for ignoring her. “You seem to be very interested in the people of the court, your Highness. Is something the matter?”

“No, I apologize. I have such terrible manners. I was raised by dogs you know.”

“I had heard rumors, but one never can be certain with gossip.” Her voice took on a playful aire, one he was sure he’d heard before.

Taking a closer look at the maiden in his arms he looked past the gold plated mask and noticed the striking color of her eyes. Deep, glittering hazel eyes. They were full of wisdom, laughter, and looked as though they were holding a secret. He’d been staring too long, she probably suspected he was slow now, clearing his throat he focused on the lovely girl in front of him, “To be honest, my lady, I am looking for someone. A friend I have not seen in some time.”

She turned then, as if helping him seek his lost companion. Her elegant profile, coloring, the curve of her mouth all spoke of familiarity to him, but he could not place her. Surely he had encountered her at one of the King’s many gatherings, that was all. “I wonder if I could assist you? Would you tell me the name of your friend, or is it a mystery?” She smiled again giving him an overwhelming feeling that he’d seen this particular woman smile just this way.

“I am looking for Tigraine Cousland, do you know her?” he attempted, feeling himself foolish for playing along.

“Lady Cousland, surely she is hiding away. I hear she despises company.”

“I beg your pardon, but she despises nothing. It is true she cares little for extravagant showings such as this, but she is kind and generous. I was hoping to greet her before she became distracted with a large, dusty tome.”

The young lady laughed again, traced her hand from where it had been resting at his elbow up to his shoulder giving it a squeeze, “I meant no offense, your Highness. Perhaps I should let you find her before she finds another stable boy to befriend. Though I doubt she would find one so willing to defend her honor as you just did.”

“How did you...” his hands clenched at the small of her back, fingers gripping the her corset. A small part of his mind realizing he should let go, the placement unseemly, another part registering the soft feel of the satin laces.

“A friend so kind as to insist she was funny, perfect, brilliant, and more than worth the time of the first haughty boy who snubbed her. He called me “horse girl!’ Do you remember?”

“Rainie? Is it really you?” he wondered aloud, sounding more the fool than he’d even been in his life. Here he was looking for his friend, and she’d been scant inches from him for an entire dance!

“Oh, my sweet, Alistair, you haven’t changed a bit. Though you are looking quite fetching in the trappings of a royal, I much prefer you covered in straw.”

He lifted her then, spinning her in a circle, not caring for the glares and shocked gasps of the court. “Maker, you have changed so much. I didn’t even recognize you!”

The song came to an end, and Alistair hadn’t moved, still holding her closely despite her full skirts, much closer than would be proper had he been thinking clearly. He couldn’t force himself to move knowing that someone new would be waiting for him at the edge of the dance floor. “Yes, I’m a far cry from the gangly 16-year-old horse girl. Mother even got me into a proper gown. Can you believe she let me wear something so fanciful? I was sure she would pick something more...” she gestured out towards the other ladies all wearing similar, safe choices.

This time she led him off the floor, and he followed like a love struck puppy. The dress was lovely, enchanting forest goddess indeed. The small jewels sprinkled on it caught the light in the most becoming way, she looked like a fantasy come true. “Yes, that must be it,” he replied thickly swallowing the lump forming in his throat, “the dress. If you’d been in torn trousers, streaked in dirt I would have known it was you on the spot.”

She laughed, the sound just as wonderful as he remembered, and though she looked different, ashamed at his forward thoughts, more womanly, she was still the same and he was glad of it. A nearby woman coughed lightly and when she had his attention declared herself his next partner. Tigraine did not miss a beat, she removed her ornate mask, smiled kindly at the stranger and sweetly refused her, “I am sorry, but you must be mistaken. Prince Alistair is on my dance card for the remainder of the evening.”

The woman began to huff in disbelief but his companion continued, broaching no argument, “King Maric promised father I would have him to myself for the rest of the ball. I do not believe you would wish to cause the displeasure of Teyrn Cousland or His Majesty King Maric, now would you?”

Tigraine stood her ground, playing the spoiled daughter of a nobleman, looking breathtaking and the picture of innocence when the woman muttered her apologies and walked away. Once they were alone again, she giggled pressing her fingers to her upturned mouth, eyes burning with mischief, “Blessed Andraste, it looks like our evening was just freed up.”

She grabbed his hand and directed him towards the castle proper, tucking her arm securely in his while whispering plans about fetching kitchen supplies and hiding the rest of the night away in the library with just him and books for company. The only clear thought he had, as she stole his heart without knowing it, was that he would follow this woman anywhere she wanted to take him, even if he was aiming for the stars.

[petty-and-pearlescent]

Blue Drinks

CONTENT WARNING: alcohol, infidelity

I was cold, wet, and on my way to my first college party. While the night sky had been clear when I left campus, by the time I’d walked 4 blocks I was soaked to the bone. My sneakers were so steeped from my walk across town that I could feel the rain squish in between my toes. The unkept sidewalks riddled with hidden holes only added to the problem, spraying my pant leg with every misplaced footfall. 

Lena, a girl from my calculus class, had invited me to a party across town and against my better judgment I agreed to go. The short blonde seemed ditzy, but the way she talked made it impossible to get a word in edgewise. She was so insistent that I had accepted the Facebook invite before I really knew what I had committed to. The theme was “Freshmen Disorientation”, which made no sense. The Facebook event page was full videos of people chugging beer and dancing on counters. I knew I was getting in over my head, but if I got there and it was too much I could always leave right?

Once I turned onto Porter Street it was obvious which house the party was at. The bass was audible from the corner, and the pulsating light from the windows reflected off the rain as it fell. I could see the silhouettes of writhing bodies outlined against the closed curtains bathed in pastel blues and purples. As I got closer, the black puddles became glistening mirrors as they caught the strobes from inside. Cars lined the street on both sides, and as I watched, a group of half-drunk idiots climbed the front steps and opened the door. Music briefly mixed with the chaos of the late night storm before the group pushed their way inside and closed the door again behind them. 

I took a deep breath and allowed the cold, damp air to loosen the knot in my gut as I walked down the street. I checked the invite on my phone again just to be sure. It was definitely the right house. With each step, the cold air did less and less to help my nerves. The house itself was actually really beautiful. It was a large two story with white trim, an attached garage and cobblestone steps leading up to a mahogany door with an ornate brass knob. If college students lived here, they were definitely living off of Daddy’s money. I swallowed the lump in my throat, turned the knob with my clammy hand, and stepped inside.

The first thing that hit me was the musk. The dusty air of the old house met with rain and sweat to lend an unpleasant earthy taste to the air. A mosaic of muddy footprints covered what little hardwood floor was visible underneath the throng of bodies. The living room seemed to be where the music and dancing were originating from, with the hallways and other rooms being more low-key. Throughout the crowd, I could see several red plastic cups in people’s hands. I was unsure of where to stand, but the sound of the door opening again behind me was my cue to figure it out. As I moved away from the door, the scent profile of the house changed a little: weed, vodka, and body odor began to overpower the more natural scents from outside.

After squeezing through the gaps between other college students I found myself in the kitchen. The counter was covered in beer cans, hard ciders, and bottles of various kinds of liquor. They looked out of place contrasted against the granite and dark wood of the antique kitchen. I watched as a frat boy got on one knee and began chugging a bottle of red wine surrounded by a ring of people egging him on at the top of their lungs. Once he had successfully consumed the massive amount of alcohol, his buddies helped him up, upon which he promptly got sick all over the kitchen floor. Instinctually, I grabbed the paper towels off the counter and bent down to help clean up the chunky burgundy mess.

As I swept my hand swaddled in paper towels across the floor it grazed someone else’s. I looked up and saw that across from me was one of the vomitee’s friends. He was very classically handsome, his strong jaw and face shape reminiscent of a younger version of the guys that star in movies my mom likes. The sleeves of his red flannel were rolled up past his elbows with his hair pulled up in a bun out of his face. He stopped wiping for a beat while we made eye contact, then he flashed me a smile and a nod before continuing to scoop sopping pink paper into the nearby trash can. I paused for a minute before shaking off the awkwardness and doing the same. After the floor was clean (more or less) I stood up and brushed off my knees. I’ve been here 20 minutes and all I’ve done is wipe vomit off the floor, I thought, great. As I washed my hands in the kitchen sink I debated if it was too early to leave. The walk home is about a half hour, but maybe if I call a—

“Thanks for helping with that by the way.” I turned around and there was the awkward-hand-touch guy holding out a red cup of a blue mystery substance. He had taken off his flannel to reveal a fitted black shirt underneath, highlighting the black linework tattoos criss-crossing his biceps. 

“Oh, no problem. Is he doing okay?” I said, trying not to let my eyes veer too far from his. I wiped my hand on my pants before taking the offered cup.

“Derrick? Yeah, probably. He likes to show off but he always gets a little… messy,” he said, punctuating it with another smile. “Do you wanna maybe talk somewhere quieter?” he added, gesturing towards the stairs leading to the upper level of the house.

I nodded, because what was the harm in that? In response, he grabbed my hand to lead me through the crowd of people. I jumped a little, not expecting direct physical contact despite being surrounded on all sides. As I was dragged through the old house I took a sip of the drink he’d given me. Immediately I was hit with what I assumed was strong alcohol poorly masked by something vaguely fruity and sour. It wasn’t bad, but it was definitely created to be barely drinkable. I kept sipping to calm my nerves and felt a warmth slowly begin to spread through my arms and legs. 

Once we were upstairs the smell of damp bodies and rain gave way to dust and old wood. There was a hallway with doors on one side and a banister on the other that overlooked the party below. There were still a couple of people up here standing, talking, and drinking, but it definitely felt more intimate. He led me to the door at the end of the hall, opened it, and pulled me inside. His bedroom. That was unexpected. The only light in the room was a bedside lamp that cast long, dark shadows over the band posters on the wall and gave the space an uneasy warmth. The room itself was very clean: no laundry on the floor, bed made, and most personal effects were hidden away with the exception of a few photos on the dresser. He set down his cup on the nightstand and turned around.

“Sorry, things got a little out of hand down there.” He laid down on the bed with his legs hanging off the side, groaning as he stretched his back before sitting back up. “What’s your story?”

“W-what do you mean?” I stammered. I was at a party, drinking alcohol, and now I was in a boy’s room. It was so many firsts at once I wasn’t entirely sure of what to do.

“You can sit down if you want,” he motioned to the space on the bed next to him, his smile seemed warm and inviting. Not wanting to seem rude, I took off my drenched rain jacket and muddy shoes before joining him. “Where are you from, what’s your major, that kind of thing,” he elaborated. 

“I’m from San Diego, and I’m majoring in Cinema Studies.” There was something about the way he talked that seemed to calm me down. His voice had a warm, smooth quality to it, almost like hot chocolate. 

“Damn, SoCal huh? This must be a whole different world than this shit.” He nodded towards the window, sheets of water flowing down the pane as the storm continued.

“Yeah, just about.” Those three words seemed to hang in the air before falling into silence. We sat there together, the roar of the storm outside letting us almost forget about the vibration of the party coming up from the floor. We were alone together, separate from everyone and everything else.

He re-adjusted himself on the bed and closed the distance between us again. We sat there for a second, inches apart. I could smell the alcohol on his breath, but his eyes were clear and lucid. Despite the near poison I drank, I could feel a chill run down my spine as his hand grabbed my cheek and pulled me in for a kiss.

I guess I can’t say I wasn’t expecting that to happen: he had brought me to his bedroom, after all. The kiss was aggressive, almost possessive. As his hands traveled up my back, I could taste mint on his lips along with the bitterness of his mixed drink. His mouth traveled away from mine to kiss my neck, and that's when I saw it: a photo on his nightstand of him and Lena staring into each other's eyes. At first, I was confused. Then the realization hit me like a bucket of ice water. 

“I should go,” I said, nearly jumping out of his arms as if they’d burned me. I got off the bed and scooped up my coat and sneakers before racing out of the room and down the hallway. As I rounded the banister to take the stairs, I could see him coming down the hallway after me. I put my head down and made a beeline down to the front door. Shoulders bumped shoulders. Disgruntled yells following me downstairs. As my feet hit the ground floor, I could see the door at the end of the hall. I felt someone’s drink cover my shirt as I accidentally jostled their cup. I was almost there. Twenty feet, fifteen, ten, five.

And then I was on the floor. My vision was covered in fuzzy black spots as I tried to catch my breath. When it cleared, I realized someone had turned the music off. Standing above me was Lena with her brow furrowed in concern. She leaned down and pulled me to my feet.

“Sorry I’m late, are you okay? I saw you slip on the hardwood. Why the hell aren’t you wearing shoes?”

“Lena?” I heard some say from behind me before I could reply. I propped myself up on my elbows and turned around. There he was. The bodies that were in the hallway were now packed into the adjoining rooms, leaving only the three of us between the door and the stairs. Lena looked at him confused, then back at me, trying to put all the pieces together. 

In the silence I scrambled for the door, almost slipping for a second time. Lena grabbed my shoulder to steady me and I shrank away from her touch. I didn’t have to turn to know all eyes were on me. I don’t even remember having closed the door behind me after leaving. I began to run home in the dark, socked feet splashing into puddles before I saw them. I could hear people begin to leave the house, likely not wanting to be around for the mess that was sure to follow. 

“What the fuck did you do to her?! Answer me, Kyle!!” Lena’s screaming echoed down the street as people began to turn over their engines. 

I was running as fast as I could, my bangs plastered against my face in the rain as I tried to cover as much distance as possible. After a couple blocks I slowed down and collapsed against the streetlamp I was next to, my feet numb from the cold and my lungs demanded a break. My phone buzzed and I pulled it out. Lena. I declined the call but she called me again, and again, and again. I slide down the pole until I was sitting on the ground with my head in my hands. The tears started, and as they mixed with the rain running down my face I prayed the storm would wash his fingerprints away.

[incandescent-eden]

Surely a Mistake

Desc: Cecil Barnes (who belongs to @sinnabon-cosplay) never expected to go to Heaven, and rightly so. Things do not always go as expected, however. When Cecil finds himself in Heaven, he finds something is very wrong.

Word Count: 2055

TW/CW: death

It was surely a mistake when Cecil Barnes awoke at the Gates of Heaven.

They say down on Earth the Gates of Heaven are pearly gates, but Cecil found the expression wasn’t quite right. The gates are celestial gold, with pearls inlaid depicting scenes of angels.

One such angel came to the gates as Cecil regained consciousness.

“Be not alarmed,” he said smoothly as he approached. Cecil could not see him, so surrounded in dazzling light was he.

“I’m not alarmed at all,” Cecil said, shielding his eyes. His bare arm did little to block the angel’s glow. “But, well, do you mind bringing the brightness down a bit? It’s hard on my eyes.”

The light surrounding the angel pulsed outward once before dissipating. A tan young man with curled blond hair, a braid draped over his left shoulder, stood on the other side of the gates. Great white wings sprouted from his back. When the young man, or rather, the angel, smiled, the gates swung open slowly.

“Cecil Barnes,” he said simply. “I am Ramiel. Welcome to Heaven.”

“Heaven,” Cecil chuckled, moving to get up. “Now I know something is wrong. Is this some kind of joke, Ramiel?”

“It is not a joke, Cecil Barnes,” Ramiel said. The calm smile remained on his face. His hands were folded in front of his white robe, clasped at his shoulder by a golden cross. “Come,” he said, turning around.

Cecil followed. The ground beneath him was white, fuzzy looking, as though covered in mist or cotton, but solid and cool beneath his feet. “Not that I’m cold,” he said as he walked, “but could I possibly get something to wear?” In truth, it was pleasantly warm. One was essentially walking through a courtyard on a sunny spring day.

“Are we not all naked in the eyes of God?” Ramiel asked without turning around. His glowing halo was blinding in the sunlight, bright as though someone had twisted LEDs into a glowing circle around Ramiel’s head.

“Hmm,” Cecil said, displeased. They walked on a little while longer. Little blue sparks danced on Ramiel’s wings, crackling on occasion. For a moment, Cecil was tempted to reach out and touch one of the wings, just to see what happened.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Ramiel said, startling Cecil. “And before you ask, no, I can’t really hear your thoughts, but I can sense your temptation. And I want to warn you that there is enough electricity pulsing through my wings that I can fry your brain.”

“I appreciate the concern.”

Ramiel said nothing more. They walked further. Cecil cleared his throat. “So about those clothes.”

“In due time,” Ramiel said.

“Due time?” Cecil said. “I shouldn’t even be here!”

“Surely, everyone wants to go to Heaven, Cecil Barnes.” Now, Ramiel did turn around. That calm smile remained on his face, but somehow, despite the sunlight, Cecil shivered. Naked in the eyes of God, indeed.

He was not an insecure man, nor a short one, and rarely was nudity a concern, especially around other men. Handsome men, lean and toned as Ramiel, did not intimidate him. But in the angel’s golden eyes, flashing and electric, even Cecil felt small.

“Not everyone,” he answered, startled.

“Have you not often thought of death?”

Cecil froze. “Excuse me?”

Ramiel chuckled. “Do not think to lie to me, Cecil Barnes,” he turned and started walking again. “Doubtless, you will find peace here. Everyone always does. This is Heaven, after all.”

Could it be that easy? Simply to stay in Heaven and be laid at rest at last. How many lifetimes had he lived before he came to this place?

“Where are we going?”

“To supper, of course.” As if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I really shouldn’t be here,” Cecil insisted. He was getting peeved. “I should get back home.”

“Nonsense,” said Ramiel. “You have waited so long to rest. Eat with us. Stay the night. Enjoy all that Heaven has to offer. Many do not want to believe they are truly dead, you know. You are not the first to be anxious to return to Earth.” He stopped in front of marble stairs in front of a large rectangular building: the mess hall of which Ramiel spoke. “Come into the mess hall first, Cecil Barnes. I think you will quite like what we have to show.”

A prickle ran over Cecil’s bare skin at Ramiel’s words. They walked up the steps in silence, Ramiel leading the way. Cecil’s steps pattered, but Ramiel seemed to float, making no sound as the cloudy mist swirled around his ankles.

Once inside, Cecil found himself robed in a white tunic. “How does that work, exactly?” he asked. “I thought we all are naked in the eyes of God?”

“Well, we thought it was a little crude to eat in the nude. Does not do much for the appetite,” said Ramiel. Gone were the Greco-Roman pillars of the courtyard, though the outward appearance of the building would have implied them throughout. They walked in silence as Ramiel led them down corridors with blank white walls, interspersed only with big glass windows showing a blue sky outside. Angels walked in the opposite direction on the other side of the hall, holding files and clipboards, talking as if it was just another day in the office, which, he supposed, was true for them.

The actual “mess hall,” as Ramiel called it, was less of a mess hall and more of a fine dining establishment, complete with crisp white linens and golden candlestick holders. Ramiel led Cecil to a table by a window, where the sun outside cast colden squares across the table. A figure sat at the table, waiting.

As they got closer to the table, the figure leaned forward, into the light.

Cecil gasped.

That square jawline, the sun slanting across his cheek, the glint of honey in his hair - Cecil knew that profile.

“I told you I would show you all Heaven has to offer,” said Ramiel.

Surely, this must have been a mistake. “I don’t… Finick?”

Finick turned. His eyes lit up when he saw Cecil. “Lover! Is it really you? It’s been so long!” And without hesitation, he got up and ran for Cecil, kicking his chair behind him. His smile was so wide, his cheeks must have ached. He clasped Cecil’s hands in his own.

“Finick…” Cecil could only stare. Finick’s palms were warm against his own. His skin literally glowed in the light, his cheeks rosy. He looked healthier than Cecil remembered, less thin, more toned, his hair thicker and brighter.

His bright eyes darted all over Cecil’s face, drinking him in. “Ohh, Cecil, darling, you have no idea how long I’ve waited! I didn’t want you to die, of course, but I thought you were to come shortly after me! I have missed you so, you could not know, my dear.”

Cecil tried to swallow, but his throat was dry. “I think I have an idea,” he managed to whisper.

“What’s wrong?” Finick asked, concerned at Cecil’s tone.

“It’s nothing,” Cecil said. “You just look so,” he paused, searching for the word as Finick looked on in worry. “So healthy,” he said at last.

Finick laughed. “There’s plenty to eat here, no cholera, and it’s never bitterly cold. We’re never beaten or threatened for our beliefs. Is that not the most wonderful thing?”

“Sit, sit,” Ramiel said, ushering them to their seats. “I told you, did I not, Cecil Barnes? Everyone wants to go to Heaven.”

Cecil turned. “I have to get going,” he said apologetically.

Ramiel’s smile showed the first sign of dropping. “But why? Why not stay for supper? You’ve waited so long to see your Finick, and you’re leaving him so quickly?”

Again, Cecil shivered. Something about Ramiel’s tone crept over his skin, inching with furry legs and sneering in his ear that something was very, very wrong.

“This is a mistake. I shouldn’t be here at all,” Cecil said again.

“Cecil Barnes, you begin to sound like a broken record,” said Ramiel, but Cecil shook his head, taking his hands out of Finick’s.

“I have enough guilt and sin throughout dozens of lifetimes to ensure I never crawl out of the pits of Hell - if I ever have even the chance to go to Hell. My first great sin made sure of that.”

Ramiel’s eyes flashed, sparks of electricity crashing throughout. “Your first great sin,” he said flatly.

“Lover,” said Finick with panic. “Lover, what do you mean? To be sure, you are in Heaven now. Why would you not want to stay here? Why not stay with me?”

Now Cecil stepped forward, inches from Finick’s face. “And why would you say such things? My Finick knew my guilt, shared it with me. You who are too healthy, too content by far to sit and wait with angels,” he spat, “who say such sweet words such as ‘lover’ and ‘darling,’ how dare you say those things with his voice?”

Finick’s eyes searched his, widened with surprise. “Lover…”

“Don’t,” Cecil snapped. He stepped back once more. “Don’t call me that, don’t use his words. My Finick was full of love but also moody and full of longing for a life beyond what he had. And guilt. So much guilt shared between the two of us, enough sin to pave the roads to Hell with steps wide enough for the two of us to walk hand in hand. Do you think a thousand years is enough to forget?”

“Cecil, please, I -”

“I don’t know what kind of sick joke this is. But I don’t wish to participate in it any longer.” Cecil turned to Ramiel. “Thank you for your kindness, sir, but I wish to go home now.”

Ramiel’s smile tightened. It looked more like a grimace at this point. “Do you not want to be with your lover in Heaven?”

Cecil closed his eyes, remembering. The soft dip above Finick’s hip when they were joined in bed, the way his golden hair curled around Cecil’s fingers thick as wedding rings, his breath hot and sweet in Cecil’s ear and on his collarbone and his neck and his stomach and beyond. And then there were other things: Finick dozing off when they should have been studying their spells, napping in the warm sunlight as a cat, Finick’s gentle laugh that wheezed with the cold and the dusty heat, Finick’s voice that ran clear and wild as the creek between the forest and the clearing with the big rock where they liked to stretch out in the sunlight when he said, ‘I don’t care what sins they say we’re committing; I know my soul is where it belongs when I am with you, lover.’

A thousand years was not enough to forget such things.

“Of course I do,” Cecil heard a voice, his own, reply. This could not have been his voice, disconnected as it was from his mind, and yet, it was. “But not like this. Not in some cheap mockery of who he was. I would burn in my own personal Hell alone for another thousand years and another thousand after that, and another thousand then, and even after all that, I still would not want it.”

“Then go back to your own personal Hell,” Ramiel sneered. The electricity crackling over his wings appeared more frequently now, and spread onto his body, as well. The blue sparks were stark over his tan skin. “After all, have you not been there all along, with your hundreds of half lives? Always moving around because how long can you stay twenty-eight years old? Will you pay forever for making one mistake?”

“Go to Hell,” Cecil snarled.

And Ramiel smiled once more. “I’m afraid I cannot see you down there, Cecil Barnes.”

Cecil smiled back. “Well, thank God for that.”

He was on the ground, bustling city streets around him. He got up slowly, much to the chagrin of passerby on the sidewalk who yelled at him to get out of their way or frantically asked if he was okay. He waved them all away, repeating over and over he was fine.

It was surely a mistake that he found himself longing to go back to Heaven.

[slverjohn]

19 and s2 flinthamilton :)

EDIT: it’s been pointed out to me that this was meant to be flintham but i misread the ask and it ended up as silverflint??? i’m so sorry?? this is why i shouldn’t do things while i’m sick it’s like my brain only half works

oh my god this was a hard one…i changed the dialogue slightly but the sentiment is the same sdkljghasdkgj

inspired by that one description of flint’s cabin in some early script that mentioned a half painted landscape 

19. “The paint’s supposed to go where?”

It’s dark and dusty in the hold, and beyond that absolutely stifling. Silver’s sweating through his shirt after spending two minutes in the cramped room. Why he’s been asked to look through the stores on the Warship is something of a mystery: Flint had asked for him within minutes of returning with the Ashe girl, and instead of asking him to corral the men or take a headcount, like Silver had expected, he’d sent him below deck without a moment’s hesitation. 

Silver suspects that Flint wants his prying eyes and inquisitive mind away from the Barlow woman for as long as possible. He can’t blame the Captain, really: he’d do the same, if he were trying to maintain some mystery. 

He can’t say he particularly minds, despite the physical discomfort; better here than in the galley with Randall.  Even further, Silver would rather not spend too much time with Flint at the moment. Despite the many years of practice he’s had of self-serving double crossing, standing in Flint’s presence so soon after he’d betrayed him had made Silver uneasy. Something almost like guilt had begun to settle in his belly.

Perish the thought. 

Billy comes down just as he’s finishing his task, only one crate left to sort through. 

“What’s in that, then?” Billy asks, peering over the siding.

“A few jars of paint, I think,” Silver says, double checking the checklist hanging on the wall. 

“You should bring that to the Captain’s cabin. Call it a peace offering. Can’t have you glaring at Flint all the time, after all.”

Silver stares at Billy as if he’s grown two extra heads. “I’m sorry, you want me to put the paint where?”

“Look, Flint’s a bastard. I’m sure whatever he said to make you so cross with him was fucked up. But if the rest of the crew realizes how angry you are with him, it’s going to make our lives a lot more difficult.”

Silver doesn’t think the crew cares quite that much what he thinks of Flint, but he’s still stuck on the paint. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t understand what paint has to do with any of this.”

“Flint’s a painter. Back on the Walrus, if you’d bothered to pay attention, you’d have seen all those half-finished canvases scattered around.”

Silver had seen the canvases, but for whatever reason he’d never quite made the connection between the artwork itself and Flint as an artist.

Billy moves on, asking about Logan, about how Muldoon is taking his friend’s sudden departure, but Silver’s participation in the conversation is half-assed, at best. 

He remembers seeing the paintings, he remembers thinking they were slightly out of place in a pirate captain’s cabin, but he cannot for the life of him remember what was on the canvases. Were they landscapes or portraits? Romantic or realist? Good or bad?

He has no idea, and he’s burning with curiosity. 

It is this curiosity more than anything else that leads him to Flint’s cabin after dinner, the paints in one hand and the other hovering just over the closed door. 

“You could just knock, you know,” an amused voice comes from behind him, and he whirls around to see Mrs. Barlow watching him with a smirk. 

“I was going to,” he insists, though he feels himself color slightly at her raised brow.

“Well, no need to knock now,” she replies, and with that she simply walks in, holding the door open behind her. “Come along, Mr. Silver.”

Silver’s surprised that she knows who he is, but he’s distracted almost immediately as Flint stands abruptly at the sight of him, the heavy desk chair scraping loudly along the wood.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Flint demands, and (though he doesn’t break eye contact with Flint) he could swear he hears Barlow let out a put-upon sigh. 

Silver thrusts the box of paint out in front of him as if it could shield him from Flint’s irritation. “I brought you these.”

And Flint - Flint actually looks surprised at that, like the last thing he’d ever expected from Silver was a gift. Silver doesn’t want Flint to think he likes him or anything, though, so he’s quick to elaborate.

“I found them in the hold, and Billy mentioned that you like to paint. I figured they’d be better off here in your possession than gathering dust in hold.”

“Oh, how thoughtful, Mr. Silver. James so rarely paints, now, hardly ever has the patience for it. When was the last time you did something other than just a charcoal sketch?” The longer Barlow speaks, the more Flint’s eye twitches. It’s truly a fascinating cause-and-effect relationship.

“I must say, Captain, I never took you for such an artistic soul. I’d love to see your work, sometime,” Silver says, like the shit he is, because he wants to see if he can make that vein on Flint’s forehead start to pulse.

He can.

“Fuck off, Silver,” Flint says, but when Barlow clears her throat pointedly, He sighs, then continues. “Thank you, Mr. Silver. Now, please fuck off.”

Silver laughs, then walks forward to place the paints on the desk. Before he can turn to leave, though, Mrs. Barlow starts to talk again.

“James, why don’t we go for a walk on the upper decks? It’s a lovely night, and it’s been ever so long since I’ve been able to look upon the sea in such a manner,” she offers Flint her arm, and the look her companion gives her seems to be a strange mix of guilty, fond, and exasperated. It’s amazing, how expressive Flint is when he’s around her. 

“Fine. Silver, put that box in the empty space on that bottom shelf, will you?” Flint points to the bookcase in the corner, then loops his arm through hers. Before they leave though, Barlow catches Silver’s eye, looking between him and a leather-bound book on the far table pointedly.  Silver nods his understanding, brow furrowed slightly; why would Barlow purposefully point him toward something Flint clearly does not wish to share?

Still, Silver’s always been a nosy son-of-a-bitch, and so as soon as they’re gone he all but shoves the paints away and picks up what he assumes is Flint’s sketchbook.

It’s clear that he’s only just started using it, probably having found it after taking the Warship. The first three or four pages are detailed seascapes, vibrant and lively even in black charcoal. Flint’s gifted. Out of practice, Silver can tell, but good.

Interspersed between the landscapes are little portraits, some barely more than the bare-bones of a person’s face, and some intricate and life-like. At first, it’s mostly Mrs. Barlow, in various states of repose. There’s one of her naked, and Silver nearly tears the page in his haste to turn it, cheeks aflame. 

Then there’s a neat little sketch of Eleanor Guthrie, a scribbled out Gates, a kind-looking man Silver doesn’t recognize, and then -

Him.

Silver feels his brows raise, taken aback. 

It was clearly drawn after one of his earliest addresses: the Silver on the page has a bloody nose, and his teeth, bared in a mean grin, are stained dark as well. It really does look just like him, Silver thinks, and he notices absently that Flint seems to have put the most effort into getting his hair just right.

Maybe he shouldn’t be too surprised: they’ve been practically living in each other’s pockets these past few weeks, and it makes sense that Flint would simply sketch what he’s been exposed to.

The next page is him, too: this time in profile, frowning slightly. The page after that is a full-body sketch from behind; he wouldn’t be sure it was him, if it weren’t for the hair and that old cropped jacket he’d left behind.

He flips through the next seven pages, until he reaches where Flint’s sketches end. Every sketch, loose or detailed, small or large, on the most recent ten pages, are of Silver: silver laughing; Silver dripping wet after swimming to the Warship; Silver pouting; Silver playing with his hair; Silver smirking; Silver climbing up the rigging…over and over again, Flint has spent his free time not only sketching him, but thinking of him.

Silver doesn’t know what to make of that. He closes the sketchbook, cheeks red and mind reeling, and only barely remembers to put the paints where he’d been asked to before slipping out of the cabin.

He doesn’t understand why Flint has fixated on him in his artistic pursuits, as he’s fairly certain the man can hardly stand him. Maybe, at most, he finds him aesthetically pleasing (something Silver would never have presumed before seeing that sketchbook), but that is a far cry from tolerating or even liking him.

Silver decides, for the time being, to put this aside. He’s got Vincent and Nicholas to deal with, and he can already tell that they’re going to be the cause of most of his troubles along this journey.

But when he spots Flint standing with Barlow and the Ashe girl on the upper deck, illuminated by the full moon, he can’t help but wish the captain had made a self-portrait. Silver can’t say he would have minded taking it; he has no artistic talent of his own, after all, and surely that would be the only way to find a likeness of Flint.

He thinks he can almost understand Flint’s urge to put pen to page, if only to preserve the memories of the ones who so define the world around him. There’s some small part of him that would have liked something by which to remember Flint, so that he might never forget that fierce look in his eyes, the sharpness of his brow, the jut of his cheekbones. He’s been nothing but vexing and confusing, yes, but James Flint is unlike anyone he’s ever known. 

Silver will think of him, and his violent, artist’s hands, long after he leaves this rotten Warship behind.

send me a number!

[olive-the-olive]

AA Secret Santa Gift!

Hey y’all! I wrote a fic for @loopsies as part of the Ace Attorney Secret Santa @aasecretsanta2017! You can read it here on Ao3, or below the cut.

Christmas Eve, 2019

When Edgeworth called Detective Gumshoe to inform him that he would be back in the country shortly before Christmas, he expected the detective to offer to pick him up at the airport, as he'd done every other time Edgeworth had a flight.

He was not expecting Gumshoe to say, “Are you sure about flying so close to the holidays, sir?”

The detective had never been the most observant man Miles Edgeworth had known, but he supposed that certain things were obvious after a while. Gumshoe certainly knew more about his personal history than most people. Perhaps more than anyone, at this point. He would know turbulence could trigger an episode, and he was aware that things got worse around Christmas.

“I'll be fine,” said Edgeworth, perhaps more brusquely than he had intended.

“The airport just gets real crowded that time of year!” said Gumshoe, as if that had been his only concern all along. “When do you get in? I can give you a ride home!”

-

Flying the day before Christmas was perhaps more difficult than he had maintained. The crowd and the noise were endurable, barely, but the other passengers got to him, a little.

It wasn't the lone traveler that affected him. It was the families, flying to visit grandparents probably, or perhaps some other member of their extended family. There was something about seeing a couple explain patiently to their daughter what the seatbelt light signified that reminded him, painfully, of his last Christmas with his father.

Thankfully, there was no turbulence.

-

It was 6:02 pm on Christmas Eve when Edgeworth recognized Detective Gumshoe's very secondhand car (which was still somehow nicer than the one he'd crashed during State vs. Engarde) pull up in front of the terminal. The detective helped him with his bags without him saying anything, and was infectiously enthusiastic to see him.

“You sure are a sight for sore eyes, Mr Edgeworth. It's just a shame that you being here doesn't automatically make my job easier anymore.”

“It is good to see you too, Detective. How are things down at Criminal Affairs?” asked Edgeworth, mildly interested in keeping up. Gumshoe did tell him these sorts of things over the phone, but it had been a good month since he'd last asked.

“Pretty busy! They're handing out new cases instead of bonuses this year.”

“And the Prosecutor's Office?”

“Well, they're managing. They don't have the kind of win record they do when you're around though, sir. It was a shame to lose you.”

“Hm.” Edgeworth was quite sure the courts here were a mess without him. Wright's recent disbarment had been proof of that. They'd gotten nowhere on that, and whatever clout Edgeworth had he'd shot to hell with the stunts he'd pulled with the Prosecutorial Investigation Committee. It probably didn't help that he'd slowly moved his career overseas as well.

“On that subject, detective, I appreciate you doing me the favor of picking me up, given that I'm not actively working here and it's not part of your job. It isn't taking you away from your actual duties, is it?”

“No sir! And uh, it technically wasn't part of my job before either, sir,” mumbled the detective,

“My point is that this was not a professional obligation, on your part,” said Edgeworth, frustrated with how the words were coming out. “I'm not on a business trip.” Although technically, the trip wasn't exactly for pleasure either. He was here to do research; he wasn't one to hop on planes needlessly, despite what certain people might say about him.

“Well, I guess I never saw it as a professional thing or an obligation or anything,” said Gumshoe, as if he was thinking of this for the first time. “I mean I guess you were kinda hard on me sometimes, but I wouldn't do this kinda stuff for my boss in the actual police department, even if he was a real hard-ass about it.”

“I find that hard to believe,” said Edgeworth.

Gumshoe was just the sort of person who lived to please, and even when he was trying to not do something for someone, he was often easily manipulated into whatever had been asked of him in the first place. Edgeworth had personally witnessed Wright talk Gumshoe into handing over the entire contents of an investigation in under five minutes.

“I'm just saying, I care about you,” said Gumshoe thoughtfully, eyes forward but maybe not as focused on the road as a passenger would want them to be. “Always have.”

“Ah,” said Edgeworth, not knowing precisely what to say. Gumshoe was usually an easy person to talk to, but he felt tense, like anything he said would likely be wrong. “You have... done a lot for me over the years. And you are right that I was hard on you. I am probably not the easiest person to work with. But I appreciate what you have done. I...” He hesitated. “I owe you a lot, I suppose.”

“I owe you too, pal!” insisted Gumshoe. “I mighta been falsely convicted of a double homicide if it weren't for you!”

Edgeworth scoffed. “Oh please. Any competent investigator would've dragged the truth out of you before long.”

“I don't know about that, I was prepared to take the secret of that Swiss roll to my grave.”

They were strangely silent the rest of the drive. Gumshoe pulled into his driveway, and started unloading the luggage for him before Edgeworth could get to it. He held out his hand for his bag, but Gumshoe held on to it, and Edgeworth did not insist.

Edgeworth walked up to his front door, and noticed several things as he unlocked it and entered. One, there was a severe yet festive wreath on the door. Two, the surface of the small table just inside the entrance was completely free of dust. And three, the house was much warmer than the brisk December air outside.

“Have you been cleaning my house?” He'd almost forgotten that Gumshoe had a key.

Gumshoe carefully placed the bags in the hall, so that they would be on the way to the bedroom. “Well, yeah. Didn't want it to be all dusty when you got home. You're always sneezing in the records room.”

Then clean the records room, thought Edgeworth. “And decorating for the holidays?” he asked, although he already had an idea who was responsible for that.

Gumshoe hemmed and hawed a little, but Edgeworth heard a familiar female voice coming from his kitchen. Two of them, in fact. He made his way towards the kitchen.

“-and that is how I apprehended the foolish fool. I secured his extradition and he'll be facing trial in his home country,” Franziska was sitting at the counter, telling Kay something suitably impressive about her adventures as an international prosecutor, no doubt. The two of them had cups and saucers in front of them, and the kitchen smelled slightly of a tea Edgeworth was certain had cost him a lot of money.

“Franziska? Kay? What are you doing in my house?”

Franziska greeted him with her usual bravado, as if to ask him what he could possible be doing in his house. “Miles Edgeworth! It took you long enough to show up. I'll have you know I am apprehending a thief I caught breaking into your home. Do let me know if you will be pressing charges.”

“Aww, he wouldn't!” said Kay, grinning.

“It looks to me like you are having tea with the thief,” said Edgeworth. “And I will not be pressing charges, but I may ask you to replace the tea.”

“Told you!”  Kay got up and nearly knocked him over with a rib crushing hug. He was certain he would die of suffocation, but soon she released him to hug Gumshoe instead. “What took you and Gummy so long?”

“Well the airport's pretty busy around now, pal.”

“Yes,” agreed Franziska. “I myself had a flight less than a week ago and it was quite packed. So many sentimental fools falling over themselves to visit their families.”

“And yet here you are,” said Edgeworth, matching her self-satisfied smirk. It was essential to make it clear that they were each one-upping each other with every exchange. It was the only way they knew how to communicate.

“Apprehending thieves, as I told you. Although I did think that you, being a sentimental fool yourself, might be happy to see me. I hope you weren't expecting presents under a tree?”

Edgeworth could have laughed. He hadn't gotten presents under a tree on Christmas since he was a child. He was fairly certain the only gifts he'd ever received in the Von Karma household were legal texts, and those had not been wrapped.

“Then the wreath on my door in the shape of a prosecutor's badge was not your doing?”

“That is not a gift, Miles Edgeworth. It is a reminder of what you stand for, and of what I expect you to live up to in the coming year. You cannot let me leave you too far behind. Or, at least make an attempt to try and keep up. It will make it all the more satisfying when I leave you in the dust.”

He noted that she had taken to wearing her own badge, although he knew they had both been taught it was more fashionable to keep it in one's pocket. In truth, Edgeworth didn't really care whether Franziska had “surpassed” him. He was quite happy that her career had taken off. She had closed some very high profile international cases in just the last few months (and kept him abreast of all she had accomplished as soon as it was no longer confidential). But she cared about their supposed rivalry, and was likely still worried he might abandon his profession entirely, despite his resolution to remain a prosecutor.

“Thank you, Franziska. I appreciate the reminder. But I'm afraid I haven't gotten you anything.” Looking back at Gumshoe and Kay he said, “I'm afraid I haven't done any gift shopping at all.”

He wanted to say he hadn't been thinking of the holiday season, but of course that would have been a lie. There were few things that weighed on his mind more heavily.

“Aw, that's okay,” said Kay. “You can just buy me something later!”

“Don't count on it,” he replied, knowing perfectly well that he would absolutely buy her whatever poorly made piece of Jammin' Ninja merch she asked for.

He made some more tea for himself and for Gumshoe, and for a while he just caught up on what everyone else was doing with their lives, and they asked him about his research into foreign legal systems. Kay liked to proclaim that this was extremely boring conversational material, but he could tell she was listening closely.

And he realized after a while that there was a sense of peace, in sitting here with people who were important to him, drinking tea and just talking. He knew the next few days would be bad. He might have nightmares. He could even have a flashback while he was awake. Those were rare for him but it had happened before. And it could happen this week. But in this moment and in this place, he felt peace, and none of his usual bitterness towards the impending holiday or the days ahead.

For the first time in 18 years, he had a family to celebrate with.

[swordandcat]

Three is a crowd but Nine is a party: Ch 4.  Big Changes

(AO3 Link)

Chapter 4 of Book 2 of the Legends series!

Ships: YouYoshi, with KanaDiaMari, ChikaRiko, RubyMaru on side

((Alt Title: Yoshiko is a game addict and Yo is a dumb jock, but somehow it works and they kiss, i guess))

Water rushed around her. Her arms sliced through the water’s surface, bringing with them a slew of bubbles. There was a muffled drone as the pumps brought water in and out of the pool, and the waves lapped gently, but insistently against the poolside.

Yo closed her eyes and was silent for a moment, before she pushed explosively off the wall, her body falling naturally into an aerodynamic form as she torpedoed forward in a stream of bubbles. She could feel the flow of currents all around her as she scythed through the water, legs pumping like the tail of a dolphin.

Sometimes she just swims. It helps her think.

She crossed the quarter line without even realizing it, not even running out of breath yet, but she still surfaced, taking a breath of fresh air and starting to move her arms, transitioning from the push-off into a proper crawl.

I’m going to take a break from Immortal Legends.

Yo couldn’t stop thinking about Yoshiko’s decision. It came as a shock to her, of course, and Yo couldn’t help but feel a little left out that Yoshiko had made this decision without her. It was a selfish feeling, for sure; Yoshiko didn’t owe anything to Yo to include her in these decisions. But still, Yoshiko had promised that they would try their hand at the tournament together, even if in different level divisions.

Beyond that, though, Yo can’t help but be worried. Even though Yoshiko promises that it’s going to make things better, Yo knows how much the game means to her. How much blood, sweat, and tears she poured into it. Putting aside whether it was a healthy habit or not, Yoshiko’s life once revolved around that game. The fact that Yoshiko was willing to stop playing Immortal Legends was… concerning.

But then there was the other thing.

I’d like to spend some more time with you.

Yo felt her stomach flutter just at the memory of Yoshiko’s reasoning for quitting Immortal Legends. She’d been too stunned by Yoshiko’s decisions to properly react to that at the time, but now that Yo’s had some time to think about it, she was surprised at how forward Yoshiko was.

…Yoshiko was trying her best to make their relationship work.

Yo exhaled, trailing bubbles in her wake. Yoshiko was always the one who was trying, the one moving forward. You were always too busy stuck in the past. Stuck in the long-dead hopes that something will happen as long as she pined after Chika for long enough.

Yo felt sick. Self-loathing was a feeling rarely felt by her, but there was no other way You could describe how she felt these few days.

“Watanabe!”

She could only hear the voice of her swim coach vaguely through the water, but it was enough to jolt her back to reality.

She had a split second to slow down before she smashed face first into the side of the pool. She still did smash face first into the tiles, but at least she managed to brake enough so the impact produced little more than a bruised forehead and a wounded ego.

Bobbing up to the surface, Yo laughed self-deprecatingly as she looked towards her coach. “Sorry, Coach Masuda. I was… uh, distracted.”

“No, really?” Masuda sighed, kneeling down by the poolside. “You’ve got to get your head in the game, Yo. Official competitions may be on hold but that doesn’t mean you get to rest on your laurels.”

She gestured for a timekeeper to approach and looked at Yo’s times. She frowned and turned back to Yo with a disappointed look on her face. “Your times have gotten worse by a few seconds. Is everything alright? Have you kept up with training?”

Yo cringed. She didn’t think it would be that bad. “No, Coach. I’ve been training every week. It… it’s probably just not my day.”

Masuda breathed out, and nodded, reaching down and patting Yo on the shoulder. “Let’s hope that’s the case. You’re our team ace, Yo. The first and second years look up to you as an example. Take care of yourself, okay?”

Yo nodded, giving Masuda a sharp, “Yes, ma’am.” Satisfied, Masuda gestured for the next batch of swimmers to enter the water. Yo clambered out of the pool, gratefully accepting a towel from a junior.

“Thanks, Ayane,” Yo smiled at her, eliciting an excited squeak.

“Y-You’re welcome!” The girl said. There was a long pause as the girl glanced towards her friends, who nodded encouragingly. She turned back to Yo and started hesitantly, “Er, Watanabe?”

“Yeah?” Yo tilted her head.

“Um… if you don’t mind me asking…” The first year leaned a little closer. “What… er, rather, how do you know Tsushima Yoshiko?”

Yo blinked. She didn’t expect that question. “Uh… come again?” She asked, thinking she may have heard wrong.

“It’s just… my friends are saying that they’ve seen you hang around Tsushima a lot recently, and they’re curious why that is.”

“Oh! I see,” Yo nodded. She paused for a moment, thinking of what to say. “We played the same MMORPG, is all, and there’s an event in the game that’s coming up.” Not technically a lie.

“Oh. So you’re just, er, gaming friends?” Yo nodded, and the first year breathed a sigh. “I see. Okay, sorry for taking up your time.”

“No problem,” You smiled, and wrapping the towel around her shoulders, she walked towards the changing rooms. Having done her reps and benchmarking tests, she was free to leave.

Just as well, she had something important she had to do.

* * * * *

Yousoro: Tank on left

BigBOI: on it

Yousoro: 10 sec CD on AOE

BigBOI: k

GngsKhan: aight

Yo breathed out, her eyes trained on the monitor. On it was the familiar visuals of Immortal Legends, showing Yo and her party mid-raid. It was a grey, gloomy dungeon, with aged stone bricks and mist drifting across the floor. Yo’s character stood side by side with another devil in heavy plate and an undead lich against a towering skeletal dragon and its horde of zombified dragonlings.

On Yo’s command, the plate warrior ran to the left, blocking off the advance of a small cluster of the dragonlings. By themselves the mobs were fragile, but because the dragon boss kept spawning them it became an uphill battle to hold them off while Yo and the lich kited the dragon to grind down its health pool.

Yo remembered Yohane telling her that most undead enemies had large HP reserves but low mana - once she could bait its strongest skills, it would be a long while until the dragon could perform them again.

Yousoro: baiting the breath attack

Yousoro: khan, refresh necro shield

The lich raised his skull-tipped staff, and an aura of grey particles surrounded Yo’s avatar. She immediately darted forward, using Blink to bypass the front guard of dragonlings and launching a fireball straight into the large dragon’s ribcage, detonating it once it’s inside. The dragon roared in pain, and Yo knew she’d attracted its aggression.

As soon as the fire effect faded away, the dragon hissed and suddenly reared back on its hind-legs, seeming to inhale deeply despite possessing no organs. Glowing black spots coalesced in its maw, and then it suddenly lurched forward, a spray of inky black fire surging from its jaws towards Yo’s avatar in retaliation. She immediately moved to dodge, but even then, the spray had too much spread, catching the lower half of her avatar as she rolled to the side.

Thankfully, with GngsKhan’s shield buff, the attack only took off about a quarter of Yo’s health, putting her in the perfect spot to counterattack. Activating one of the macros that Yohane had helped her set up, her character immediately launched an unavoidable volley of flame-jets, stunning the boss just long enough to set up for the big hit - an orb of lava that consumed most of Yo’s MP. When it hit, though, it clung to the boss’ frame, continuing to burn away at its health until it was easily dispatched by a few sword swings of BigBOI.

As the model of the dragon dissolved into dusty particles, and the spawned dragonlings disappeared as well, Yo let out a deep sigh, typing a quick congratulation into the chat.

Yousoro: Thanks for the assist, guys.

BigBOI: np

GngsKhan: im not gonna leave her highness’ apprentice hanging lol

Both of her party members were acquaintances of Yohane, who agreed to help Yo complete a quest she couldn’t clear on her own.

BigBOI: btw

BigBOI: yousoro

BigBOI: rumor has it that Yohane is quitting

BigBOI: cuz she got beaten by the american champion

BigBOI: is that true?

Yo sighed. BB wasn’t the first person to ask her about Yohane. It was fairly common knowledge at this point that Yohane had taken Yousoro under her wing, so when Yohane went missing for a day or two Yo started getting private messages in the dozens asking about Yohane. Yo answered them in the same way:

Yousoro: She’s taking a break for now.

Yousoro: I’m not at the liberty to say anymore.

BigBOI: i getcha

BigBOI: well if you ever talk to her just tell her we miss her

BigBOI: the raid scene just isn’t the same without her lol

With that, her party members teleported away, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

Yoshiko was a legend in the community. Or rather, Yohane was. Her legacy was much more than just her player character. She’d pioneered raid strategies, inspired top tier players, influenced the beta development of the game, even had a location named after her in honor of a record-breaking expansion raid.

Yo wanted to believe that Yoshiko wasn’t so fragile that a single defeat could make her abandon all that she’s accomplished. She desperately wanted to.

Eying the greyed out entry of Yohane in her friends list, though, Yo couldn’t help but feel a deep unease. She was missing something from the picture, something big. If only she’d looked a little harder…!

She blinked suddenly, as a message popped up on screen.

SakuraSketch: Hello?

SakuraSketch… They’re new. Yo didn’t recognize the name. She clicked open their character profile. Level 1. A complete newbie. They were wandering around the starting town for devils. Sighing, Yo quickly typed up a private message while teleporting to Gehenna.

Appearing in the travel hub of Gehenna, Yo looked around the map for SakuraSketch. After a while, Yo finally tracked them down to the Main Street where all the low- to mid-tier shops and services were provided. Summoning a fiery steed beneath her so she didn’t have to walk the whole way, Yo made her way to where SakuraSketch was on the map. She stopped a few paces away from SakuraSketch’s avatar - a succubus type demon with long dark-red hair and delicate wisp-like wings floating behind her.

Yousoro: Hello.

Yousoro: Is there something you need from me?

SakuraSketch turned around to face Yo.

SakuraSketch: As you can see, I’m just starting out…

SakuraSketch: A friend mentioned that you knew a lot of secrets about getting a good start…

A friend, huh. Yo breathed out, thinking the situation over. Not to brag, but she was one of the better known mid-tier players at this point; not just because of Yohane’s mentorship, but also through legitimate achievements. If SakuraSketch’s friend was someone familiar with the speed at which Yo climbed the ladder, it wasn’t entirely unfeasible.

Yousoro: I see.

Yousoro: Well, I guess I have some time to spare.

SakuraSketch: Thank you very much!

SakuraSketch: Once I’ve gotten used to the game, if there’s anything I can help with…

You sighed, smiling wryly to herself. The student had now become the teacher. Would Yoshiko be proud of her?

Yousoro: It’s fine, call it a welcome package.

Yousoro: I myself was taught by a friend anyway, so… let’s call it paying it forward.

Yousoro: When you get to grips with the game, you go help someone as well.

Yousoro: Anyway, let’s start with the basics…

* * * * *

“Ah~” Yo yawned. She ended up not getting much sleep at all. Even after Sakura had logged off, Yo kept playing, smashing herself uselessly against a dungeon boss. It was one that she had easily taken down with Yohane’s guidance, but now she found it an almost insurmountable challenge.

She’d been relying too much on Yohane as a safety net, maybe.

Shaking her head, Yo tried to stay awake as the bus made it’s way down the road leading through Uchiura, the gentle drone of the engines acting like a lullaby song to her sleep-deprived mind.

“Ah, there she is!”

Yo blinked, just about to slip into a nap when an energetic voice roused her from her sleep. Chika bounded onto the bus like an overactive puppy, running over to Yo and crashing into the seat next to her. “What’s cookin’ good lookin’?”

Riko trailed behind her, looking much less energetic than her girlfriend. Her eyes were slightly red, and she was rubbing at them and trying hard to stifle a yawn. “Chika, if you say that again we’re breaking up.”

“Aww.” Chika pouted, crossing her arms sulkily. “Fine.”

A few seconds later, though, it was like she’d forgotten about the scolding already. “Oh! Yo, have you heard? Apparently, we’re getting a new school director!”

You tilted her head. “…We had an old school director?”

“Well, obviously. All schools have a director,” Riko pointed out.

“Oh…” Yo nodded absentmindedly. “Right.”

Chika frowned. “Hey, are you okay? You seem down.”

Yo suppressed a flinch, looking away from Chika somewhat guiltily. “I… don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m fine! Just… tired.”

Riko eyed her nervously, while Chika just frowned deeper. “How come? I thought you were being careful, what with the friendly swim meet this Saturday.”

Yo sighed. That’s right. There’s going to be a swim meet in four days. She’d almost forgotten. “Oh, yeah. That.”

“Are you really okay?” Chika reached over, trying to feel Yo’s forehead. “Are you sick? You look kinda out of it.”

Yo shrank away from Chika’s touch, suddenly feeling a twisting in her gut. “I said I’m fine, Chika,” She snarled, a lot more aggressively than she’d intended.

Immediately she regretted her decision when Chika flinched back, a look of hurt crossing her normally sunny expression. “Crap- Chika, sorry. I’m just… a little busy right now. That’s all.”

Riko put a hand on Chika’s, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’m sure Yo’s got things under control.”

Begrudgingly Chika nodded, apologizing quietly to Yo for prying. Yo shot Riko a quick look of gratitude, which she just responded with a small encouraging smile.

“Anyway!” And again Chika seemed to recover within moments of being down. “The new director!…”

While Chika blabbered away excitedly at the possibilities (“A secret government agent, looking for talented students to recruit into their top-secret spy project!” “An evil stuffed toy intent on pitting students against each other in a surreal killing game!” “A wizard!”) Yo tuned the conversation out again, unable to maintain her focus.

Everything was a mess. Yo and Yoshiko had bonded over Immortal Legends. But even if they did spend more time together now, after Yoshiko had quit the game, she just felt more distant than ever. Despite Chika and Riko becoming closer by the day, despite Yo giving them her full blessings, Yo still couldn’t let go of the part of her that wished it was her in Riko’s place.

Yo didn’t know what to do. She had no idea what she even could do. Life used to be simple, easy to understand. Now Yo just felt…

Lost.

“Hey.”

Yo looked up. Chika was looking at her with a pensive expression. It wasn’t her usual energy, but it wasn’t accusing or upset either; just, thoughtful. Gentle. “If there’s something bugging you, you can always talk to me about it. You know that, right?”

Yo closed her eyes for a moment, breathing out slowly.

“Yeah,” She nodded. “I know.”

“Okay.”

Chika nodded as well, turning back to face the front of the bus.

Yo felt a little after that. Maybe. She put her hand on her chest, thumbing the Anchor pendant beneath her uniform for comfort.

* * * * *

As it turned out, the new director of the school was not a secret government agent, nor an evil stuffed toy, not even a wizard.

She was a foreigner.

“Hi everybody~!” Ohara Mari said, from the stage in the auditorium. “My name is Ohara Mari, and I’m going to take over the directorial duties of this school starting today!”

It was announced during homeroom that there was going to be an assembly during the last periods of school, where the new director would be introduced and their ambitions for the school explained. Yo didn’t pay much attention to the details, but she probably should have.

Mari was the girl that Kanan was talking to the other day. Also, the girl who beat Yoshiko. And apparently, now she was also the director of the school.

Yo’s head was spinning.

“Now, some of you might be wondering why a student is the director, to which I raise you - screw the rules, I have money!” Mari laughed, and it was so absurd that a few students even started laughing along before Kurosawa Dia, who had been standing behind Mari, fixed the assembled students with her steely glare.

“Your goals, Ms. Ohara.” Dia coughed into a fist.

“Oh! Yes, that,” Mari nodded, shuffling through what looked like a stack of cue cards before losing track of the card she needed and just tossing the stack aside eventually. Clearing her throat, she paused for dramatic effect before launching into her speech.

“As some of you might be aware, our school is suffering from a crippling lack of new students. As part of my installment as director of the school, I am to bring this academy out of obscurity and into the limelight as one of the forward-thinking and modern educational institutions in the region!”

Yo snorted. Ura Girls was many things, but ‘forward-thinking’ and ‘modern’ were definitely not words Yo would have used to describe the school.

“Which is why I’m going to start by adding a multimedia room into the school, equipped with state-of-the-art audiovisual equipment, and an array of custom-build computers optimized for the most high-end tasks. I have also drafted up a ‘digital education’ syllabus which we will be implementing on a rotational trial basis, allowing students access to this multimedia room during class time.”

There was a murmur of approval that went through the assembled students. One of the biggest issues with the school was how backward it seemed, especially compared to some of the fancier schools in big cities like Tokyo, or heck, even Numazu.

“Of course, this means there’ll be free wifi for everyone in the school.”

A cheer erupted through the hall, though it was once again quickly silenced by Dia’s unrelenting glare.

“And the other thing this school needs is publicity. Whatever we implement into the school, this is still a small institution in an insignificant region of Japan. We won’t get many more students coming in if we don’t get the Ura Girls name out. In fact… there is a possibility that the school will be shut down if we don’t improve our school’s prospects.”

A ripple of concerned whispers went through the student body, but Mari just smiled confidently and cleared her throat again.

“This is where I come in. Not many of you may know, I transferred here from America. In America, I was involved in a video game - an MMORPG - called Immortal Legends. I was ranked first amongst some 6 million players in the US alone. There are four servers active for Immortal Legends: the US, China, Europe, and Japan. In returning to Japan, I also transferred my Immortal Legends character to the Japanese server.”

Oh.

Oh.

Yo could practically see all the pieces fitting into place. All the disparate events she’s witnessed over the past month were starting to come together.

She looked around wildly, trying to spot Yoshiko in the crowd.

“Upon arriving in the Japanese server, which has a healthy 1.5 million odd player base, I challenged the #1 player in Japan to a duel. I won that duel. It has been less than a week since then, and I have already received more than thirty interview invitations, and have been featured in a dozen large-scale publications. An estimated 30% of the Japanese population now know my name. Imagine the possibilities if we put that publicity towards this school!”

Yo couldn’t find Yoshiko - the first and second-year classes were too far apart. Yo bit her lip nervously and turned her attention back to Mari, who was still continuing with her presentation.

“But that’s not all. Why stop at myself? There is an event in the game coming up, a national tournament that will also attract the attention of gamers across the globe. In it, teams of nine players will be pitted against each other in glorious combat. Imagine the news, when a team comprised entirely of our school’s students beats out the nation’s best professional players in their own game! Not only will it bring raw publicity, it will also showcase our school’s willingness to embrace the future, demonstrating our openminded school spirit!”

Yo glanced at Dia. The girl looked faint, staring at Mari in abject horror. There was muttering in the crowd, equal parts excited and doubtful. But ignoring all that, Mari pushed on.

“Everyone, we stand at the threshold of greatness. The potential is there, I know it. Everyone in this school can shine and excel in their own way, but only if they’re given the chance to. This tournament is that chance. So I ask you, students of Uranohoshi Girl’s Academy: are you with me? To protect our school? Or are you willing to see the school fade forever into history?”

So that was Mari’s game this whole time.

It was a plan that Yo couldn’t even begin to imagine on her own. As she stared at the girl on stage, her image started to overlap with the confident, extravagant avatar she’d witnessed in Immortal Legends.

It was wildly ambitious, a borderline insane gamble. But… it might just work.

Mari stepped back, allowing Dia to take the mic. She stepped forward shakily, looking at Mari with wide eyes, before clearing her throat.

“Er… that was our new director… Ohara Mari.”

At first, it was just a lonesome clap, awkward and tentative. But then more students picked up the call, and soon there was a storm of furious applause as the girls cheered and clapped for their new, innovative school director.

“Shiny~☆” Mari waved at the cheering students as she exited the stage, disappearing backstage. Dia glanced at her, then at the clapping students, and eventually sighed and allowed them to work off their excitement as she followed Mari backstage.

Yo, however, was too busy pushing through the crowd in search of Yoshiko to notice. She managed to cross over to the first year section, locating Hanamaru and Ruby, who mostly just looked confused.

“Ruby! Hanamaru!” Yo said breathlessly, managing to find a spot next to them. They turned and nodded politely at Yo, though their expressions quickly shifted to concern at Yo’s anxiousness. “Have either of you seen Yoshiko around?”

Ruby moved to shake her head, but Hanamaru seemed to think for a moment. “I think I saw her leave a little bit before the end, zura.”

“Okay, thanks!” Yo said, and pushed back into the crowd towards the auditorium exit.

After a great deal of jostling and trying to avoid the flow of girls now starting to migrate towards the exit as well, Yo managed to get ahead of the crowd and ran out of the auditorium, running out into the school courtyard. She looked around, out of breath, only relaxing when she spotted a familiar cascade of dark blue hair from behind a bench.

Yo jogged up to Yoshiko, who was sitting quietly on the bench, her expression focused and contemplative. After a few moments, Yoshiko looked up at Yo and smiled faintly. “Hey. Why the hurry?”

“I—” Yo hesitated. “I wanted to talk to you. About… that. Just now.”

Yoshiko’s composed expression flickered, and Yo could definitely spot a flash of a grimace before she managed to recover.

“What about it? I think it’s a wonderful plan. I couldn’t have thought of it,” Yoshiko said, diplomatically. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from the woman who defeated me.”

Yo shook her head. That wasn’t what she wanted to hear. “That’s not… what I want to talk about, Yoshiko.”

“Then what do you want to talk about?” Yoshiko looked at Yo. There was a level of wariness, a guardedness to her, that made Yo feel ill. Like she’d been kicked in the guts.

Yo breathed in to steel her nerves. “Are… are you going to compete?”

Yoshiko stiffened, a myriad of emotions flashing across her face - surprise, hope, apprehension, sadness, then… then just tired resignation. “No. I said I was going to take a break, and I mean it. I’ve already been beaten, anyway. What’s the point?”

“But—” Yo tried to argue, but Yoshiko just stood up, her hands balled up into fists. “I said no, damn it!”

Yo stopped, staring at Yoshiko. Yoshiko stared back, breathing heavily.

“I’m…” Yoshiko’s gaze slowly dropped down to the ground. “I’m sorry.”

“N-No. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed the topic,” Yo shook her head. She reached out for Yoshiko’s hand, tentatively, but Yoshiko just shied away from the gesture.

Trying to ignore the stabbing pain in her chest, Yo closed her eyes and turned away from Yoshiko. “So, um… are you going to come to the swim-meet this Saturday?” Yo said, clumsily trying to change the subject.

“Uh.” Yoshiko had to take a moment to adjust to the new topic. “Yes. Er, if you want, I can come.”

“Please do.”

“I will, then…”

Yo nodded awkwardly. Yoshiko nodded as well, just as awkward.

“I…”

Yoshiko picked up her back, which was on the bench next to her. “I need to go.”

Yo didn’t try to stop Yoshiko as she walked away, her head down, her posture stiff.

Yo felt like she was about to cry.

Everything was a mess, and Yo had no idea what to do to fix it.