#flat rate cabs

[sherwoodtaxi]

Airport Shuttle Sherwood Park Provides Door-to-Door Convenience

Airport shuttles provide true door-to-door service, picking up passengers right at their home and taking them straight to the terminal entrance - no need to worry about parking, transfers, or finding your way around the massive airport grounds. Sherwood Park airport shuttle companies have vehicles operating 24 hours a day, so you can schedule a pickup time that works for any flight schedule, even very early mornings or late nights.

[flatratecabs]

Choosing the Best Flat Rate Cab Service in Sherwood Park

Whether you're a resident of Sherwood Park or visiting the area, choosing the right cab service involves considering various factors beyond just price. From reliability and service coverage to driver professionalism and booking convenience, each aspect plays a crucial role in ensuring a pleasant experience.

From researching online and checking customer reviews to evaluating booking convenience and safety measures, each factor contributes to a seamless travel experience. Whether you need daily transportation or special event services, understanding these criteria will guide you toward selecting a cab service that meets your needs effectively.

Here are the key points to consider when evaluating flat-rate cab services to find the perfect fit for your needs.

Online Search

Start by using search engines like Google to find "Flat Rate Cab Sherwood Park." Check out their websites for pricing, service areas, and customer reviews. This will help you narrow down options and gather key details before choosing the right service for your needs.

Ask your Friends and Family

Seek recommendations from friends and family who have used flat-rate cabs. Their firsthand experiences can provide valuable insights into service reliability, customer satisfaction, and any potential issues to consider. This personal referral process helps you gather trustworthy recommendations and make a more informed decision when choosing a cab service.

Availability

Ensure the flat rate cab service you choose operates in Sherwood Park and covers your desired locations. Check their hours of operation, including availability during peak times or late-night hours if needed. Confirming their service coverage ensures you can rely on them whenever you need transportation in the area.

Punctuality

Choose a flat-rate cab service known for its punctuality. Reliable services ensure drivers arrive on time for pickups, minimizing waiting times and ensuring you reach your destination promptly. This reliability is crucial for both daily commutes and special occasions, enhancing your overall transportation experience.

Conclusion

Choosing the right flat-rate cab in Sherwood Park is crucial for a stress-free travel experience. By prioritizing factors such as reliability, service coverage, and customer feedback, you can ensure you're getting the best service possible.

Ready to find the perfect flat-rate cab in Sherwood Park? Consider Taxi Sherwood Park, known for providing reliable and professional cab services tailored to your needs. Start by researching online, asking friends and family for recommendations, and evaluating punctuality and professionalism. Your ideal cab service is just a click or call away—begin your search today and enjoy hassle-free travel wherever you need to go.

[astrocabss]

Is online taxi booking reliable?

Well, it is much more reliable than traditional cab services. Due to the online facility, anyone can book a cab from their comfort zone at any time. So if you ever need to go somewhere in the city, you should definitely reserve a Flat Ride Sherwood Park Cab.

Common Purposes of Booking

Airport Transfer

Special Pickup

Important Appointment

Job Interview

An Emergency

Now you might want to find an excellent company that provides online Taxi Services In Sherwood Park. In this case, reaching out to Astro Taxi is the right choice. They offer cab services at a low cost.

Astro Taxi

Address: 12 Blackfoot Rd #5, Sherwood Park, AB T8A 4P4, Canada

Contact: +17804672222

Email - info@astrotaxi.co

Website - https://sherwoodpark.cab/

Map

[misseviehyde]

HELL HEELS

Olivia Pryce sighed as she tiredly rubbed her eyes and checked her schedule. She was as busy and as overworked as always - and yet despite her many opportunites and efforts, her success rate was far below what it should be.

Despite years of experience, she felt old, tired and defeated by the challenges of life. She ached and hungered for more. There was a dark, jealous, wicked part of her that burned with envy for what other people had. She tried to keep her dark side (which she thought of as Livia) under control, but sometimes it would sneak out.

Olivia was a realtor, selling expensive houses to exclusive clients. She'd been doing it for years and she could claim a commission for every house she flipped, yet she was beginning to lose ground to her competitors. Her boss had told her that if she didn't make some big sales this month, she was going to be fired.

Olivia needed this job. She needed to be successful. These thoughts were foremost in her mind as she walked past a shoe shop and saw a pair of sexy Louboutins in the window. They called out to her at once. A pair of sexy heels, the kind of heels a powerful, dominant woman would wear. She imagined herself in shoes like that and her heart throbbed with a dark thrill.

Olivia stared and lusted at the heels. She needed them. She needed them NOW! There was something strange about the shoes, other shoppers walking by were barely glancing at them. It was like the heels were calling out to HER. Demanding she buy them.

Olivia glanced at the price tag. They were nearly a whole months pay and she was already behind on the rent... but... she HAD to have those shoes.

Walking into the shop she quickly made her purchase and excitedly emerged holding her prize. Hailing a cab, she demanded it take her to her next property. She would be there early... perfect.

Once at the apartment, Olivia let herself in and ran upstairs to the bedroom. Sitting on the bed, she tore off her boring flat shoes and opened the shoe box containing her new heels.

She lovingly stroked them. They felt amazing, so expensive and luxurious. The stiletto heels were long and wicked, the soles a delicious bright red. They were black and shiny, yet there was something about them that almost suggested they could be whatever their wearer needed them to be.

Shivering with delight, Olivia slid her foot into a heel. It was almost sexual. As her sole made contact she actually groaned and she wiggled her toes in delight. Picking up the other heel, she effortlessly slid that on as well. Her feet felt so good. SHE felt so good.

The heels on her feet hungered to taste their wearers soul and Olivia's eyes widened as she felt a delicious connection with the heels being created. She and the heels were one now - her soul was being bonded to them. These were no ordinary heels, she was no longer an ordinary woman.

"Ohhhh fuckkkk what's happening?" she moaned as her body burned with dark desire. Her soul was flowing into the heels, they were becoming as much a part of her as her flesh was. But the heels were also changing her.

Olivia felt the weakness that had plagued her all her life burning away and she laughed in delight. "Fuck yes, transform me... make me worthy to wear you," she hissed. She threw back her head and moaned in pleasure as her sagging tits pushed up and out. Her modest business suit melded and tightened into a tight black leather pencil skirt and a jet black halter top. Her hair whipped up into a bitchy pony tail and cruel lips curved into a dominant smile as sharp nails shot out from every finger.

Olivia's soul was being corrupted. Her goodness and kindness burned away. The dark part of her that had always watched from the shadows was taking control. She was becoming Livia the evil bitch.

Livia moaned as her tight pussy throbbed and her nipples ached with desire. She screamed and gasped in pleasure, loving the feeling of her new improved body and squeezing her breasts as she orgasmed.

"I'm a bitch, I'm a bitch, I'M A BITCHHHHHH!" she screamed as she creamed her panties and her corruption and transformation into something better than human was completed.

"Mmmmmh, ohhh yes, that's soooo much better," purred Livia as she let go of the old her and laughed as she became the evil bitch she had always been destined to be. The heels on her feet now contained her soul, this body was now just a shell. She and the shoes were intimately bonded as one. She hungered and ached to corrupt and destroy more souls now.

Clopping over to the mirror, Livia smiled at how perfect she now was. Freed of the petty concerns of morality, she could do whatever she wanted. Becoming the greatest realtor this city had ever seen would now be easy to her.

"Time to sell some houses," she purred.

***

SIX MONTHS LATER

Kate slid her hand into her husband Colin's and felt him give her a reassuring squeeze. The two of them had been married for nearly 20 years, although Kate had been young when they'd met (high school sweet hearts) so she was only just coming up to forty now.

The two of them knew each others moods well. Kate had been wanting her rich and successful husband to buy a bigger place for years now, but he had resisted. She had used gentle persuasion to at last convince him to at least take a look.

Their realtor Livia was said to be the best in the business. Kate wasn't so sure. She felt intimidated by the confident and beautiful Livia and there was something hungry and predatory about the other woman.

And this house! It was nearly twice what she had asked for. Sure, they could probably JUST afford it, but only by asking Colin to sacrifice nearly everything he wanted to put her up in this kind of luxury. She couldn't ask her kind-hearted husband to do that. He'd have to cancel his membership of the golf-club, sell his expensive cars - just so she could have a dream house.

She didn't understand why Livia would start by trying to sell them this place.

"Colin - why don't you go check out the garden," smiled Livia. "I just want to show your wife one of the features upstairs quickly. Come on Kate, this is kind of one just for the girls. Trust me."

Colin wandered out into the garden and Livia led Kate to the top of the house into one of the bedrooms. "Listen hunny, I'm sorry to trick you - but I wanted to get you away from him. I can see you really want this house, but he doesn't want you to get it right? I hate a controlling husband, I feel women should always be in control right?"

"Wh...what?" muttered Kate. She hadn't expected this at all, yet as Livia took her hand a strange numbness and desire to please the other woman took hold.

"I... I guess he has talked about wanting to be modest, but it's not like I love this house that much."

"Sure you do, you want this house. You want it more than you've ever wanted anything, and you'll do anything to get it."

Kate found herself nodding and suddenly... suddenly she realised she DID want this house. A hunger rose in her, she needed this place and she had to find a way to make Colin agree.

"Y...yes. You're right Livia. I do WANT it. I NEED it," she panted breathing heavily.

"Don't worry hunny, I'll help you. You know your problem Kate is that he doesn't take you seriously as you're so short and unassuming. Now if you had a pair of heels like mine on - then Colin would do whatever you wanted. Trust me. Wanna try mine on?"

Kate hesitated. This felt weird. She watched hypnotically as Livia slid off her expensive Louboutin's. They looked nice... they looked really hot. She imagined herself wearing them. She WANTED the shoes.

"Yessssss," she hissed, nearly drooling as she kicked off her own shoes and slid her feet into the heels. It was almost orgasmic to wear them.

They fit perfectly, they fit so nicely. They felt goooooood. Kate could feel her willpower being drained. The heels were taking control.

Meanwhile with a groan Livia began to transform into red smoke. Her body simply evaporated into mist. Kate convulsed and moaned as Livia flowed around her body and sank into her mouth. taking control, possessing her.

Livia smiled and moaned. "Yessss, doesn't it feel so good to wear my shoes, to be like me? Soon you will be. Don't fight it. Don't fight ME."

Kate shook and her mouth dropped open as she moaned in pleasure.

"N...noooo," she moaned trying to fight, but it was no use. She gulped and gasped greedily sucking Livia's soul inside as the heels tightened possessively on her feet.

"Yesssss, your body is mine now bitch," purred a voice in her head. "You are becoming me. Don't try to fight it."

Kate felt pleasure and lust rise within her. Her white dress turned red and grew shorter as her blonde hair grew thicker and more wanton. Wicked red lips curved into a smile as her breasts grew two cup-sizes and white nails shot from her fingers.

Livia's soul corrupted and merged with Kate's, the other woman was just a passenger in her own mind now. The stronger more powerful bitch was in control.

It felt good to be Livia - to have the evil soul of the realtor inside her. It promised her so many things and she was too weak to fight it. Kate let go and felt Livia settle into her body.

"Mmmmh as me you will have EVERYTHING you wanted. Your body is mine to use, I'm going to fuck your husband and enslave him."

Kate was an evil bitch now and it felt good. She was Livia.

"Mmmmh, this body feels nice," grinned the new Kate as she stood up and admired herself in her new body. "Mmmmmh your memories and knowledge are delicious too. So much wasted potential. Your husband has far too much control, but we'll deal with that. You ARE buying this house."

Clopping over to the stairs with a dominant strut, Livia made her way down and grinned as she met Colin on the stair-well.

"Babe, where have you been? Where's that realtor... w..wow, you look amazing. Were you wearing that earlier?" he gasped in shock.

"Of course I was sweetie, you're SO unobservent," pouted Livia using Kate's mouth. "I've been talking to the realtor and I think I've bargained her down a little. I really want this house. I need it. You're going to buy it for me."

Colin gulped.

"I... you know we can't afford it, you said we were just looking,"

"Shhhhh," purred Livia as she pushed her husband up against a wall and slid her leg next to him. "Having money and nice things makes me HORNY. You haven't spoiled me for so long and I want this house so much. If you give me what I want, I'll be such a fucking slut for you... Daddy."

Colin groaned as his wife's hand went to his crotch and she began to unzip his fly.

"Wh...what are you doing?" he groaned as she slid his cock out and began to pump it.

"Showing you what a horny bitch your wife will be if you give her what she wants, what she needs. I want to hear you tell me you're going to buy this house as you cum inside me."

"But what about the realtor?" he groaned as his cock got harder and harder in his sexy wife's hand.

"What about her? She's doing something upstairs and who cares if she sees. Your cock is mine and I want it... NOW."

Sliding to her knees, Livia hungrily slid her wet pink lips around Colin's dick and began to suck. She moaned and slurped, taking him deeper than she ever had before... using skills and techniques he didn't know she had.

"Ohhhh fuck, Kate... you're, ahhhh it's too good."

Livia sucked and slurped, her pretty blonde head moving forward. She loved the power and control she already had over this weakling. The heels on her feet shone red with dark light as they tasted Colin's soul.

This body was a definite improvement to her old one. Why be a realtor when she could instead be Kate, busty and blonde and rich. She could live in this house and have everything she wanted. This was her body now she WAS Kate. At least... for now.

Removing her mouth with a wet pop, Livia stood up and hiked up her dress. Sliding her g-string to one side she rubbed her shaven pussy and grabbing his cock to guide it in, she slid the length of Colin's dick slowly into her tight wet, airtight cunt.

"Ohhh fuckkkkk," he groaned, "Since when did you shave your pussy?"

"Shhhhh, shut up and fuck me," she growled, then giggled as she began to throw her ass back so his cock slid in and out of her with hot wet slaps.

"Yesss, fuck me baby... fuck me and tell me you love me."

"I... I love you," he groaned. "Oh shit, this is amazing. How did you learn to fuck like this? You're a Goddess."

"I AM a Goddess, now tell me you will give me whatever I want."

"I... ugghhh, I will give you whatever you want."

"You will buy me this house!"

"I will buy you this house."

Livia moaned and felt Colin grab her hair. He began to fuck her harder and harder, unable to control his lust.

"Yesss you slut, I'll give you everything you want - I'll treat you like a fucking Queen and spoil you rotten. Ohhh fuck, I'm gonna... ughhh, I'm gonna cum."

"YESSSS, yesss, do it you bad boy. Fill me up and give me your fucking soul," laughed Livia.

Colin shivered and groaned. He began to cum, the most powerful orgasm of his life. His new evil wife satisfied him in ways he couldn't explain. He needed to satisfy her and as part of his soul was consumed by the heels, his ability to resist his wife was removed permanently. He was now her simp and slave.

Livia moaned and laughed, loving the feeling of Colin's cum filling her up. Loving the feeling of power and control it gave her. She'd just made another successful sale, but she was going to keep this body for now. Being Kate felt good.

"Ohhh fuck babe, I'll give you everything you want. But what are we gonna tell our daughter Abbie? She's back from University this month and this is gonna hit her University trust fund hard."

Livia's lips twisted into an evil smile. "Of course, our beautiful eighteen year old daughter Abbie. How could I forget? Let's wait on buying the house until I can talk to her..."

"Whatever you want darling," smiled Colin. "You're in charge..."

***

Livia gazed lustfully through the open door of the bedroom at the sleeping figure of Abbie. The girl was beautiful, young and had so much potential.

Abbie's bare feet stuck out of the bed, her tiny dainty feet just aching to be improved with a pair of heels.

Livia's evil soul yearned for a new host. Inside Abbie she'd be a spoiled young brat with a tight pussy and the ability to bend her weak parents to her will.

Sliding the heels off her feet, Livia walked into the bedroom quietly and shut the door behind her. Colin was busy unloading the car, by the time he was done it would be too late.

"Your slutty little body is going to feel so good," laughed Livia as she gently slid a heel onto Abbie's foot. The girl moaned in her sleep, already aroused by the evil power starting to course through her body.

"That's it bitch, suck me inside you... become a fucking evil whore," laughed Livia as she slid the other heel onto Abbie's other foot.

Kate's body went rigid and Abbie's eyes shot open.

"Wh... Mom?" she gasped then she screamed in pleasure, her mouth dropping open in a groan of ecstasy.

Kate shook, red smoke billowing out of her mouth and forcing it's way into Abbie's body. The girl convulsed, moaning and gasping - sucking Livia's soul in like it was delicious.

"Mmmmmh, ohhhh fuckkkk yessss," she hissed as Livia's evil soul entwined with her body and their souls began to merge.

Kate's breasts deflated and her body returned to normal as she fell to the floor hacking and coughing. Her daughter meanwhile was stretching and moaning in glee as the power of Livia's soul supercharged her body and made her a Goddess.

Evil red nails sprang from her fingers and her tight frame cracked as she became even more feminine and slutty. Mean pink lips curved into a cruel smirk as Abbie shook back her silky soft hair and giggled like a naughty little brat.

"Nnnnooo I have to resist," gasped Abbie trying to fight.

"Your tight little body is mine now," gloated Livia in her mind. "I'm filling you up, making you a fucking bitch. You love how it feels to be bad!"

"Unnnnffff yessssss, take meeeee!' screamed Abbie as she lost control and allowed Livia to absorb her and become the new owner of her body. She felt Livia's knowledge and experience flow into her and she willingly submitted to the dominant older woman as she allowed her body to become a vessel for the more powerful bitches soul.

Livia purred as she reached down to touch Abbie's super tight pussy. This was all hers now. "Fuck yes... I'm a tight little bitch now 'Mommy.' Im going to be so evil, break so many hearts and ruin so many men. I love it."

Kate was groggily sitting up from the floor. She remembered nothing, but her corruption from Livia had left her permanently tainted. Her once kind soul was now more like Livia's - evil and twisted. She was also now totally subservient to her bratty daughter.

"Go get Daddy. Tell him you're going to buy that house you saw today for ME. You both live to serve me don't you?"

"Of course dear," smiled Kate. "And your pathetic Father will do whatever we tell him."

The new Abbie walked over to the mirror and blew herself a kiss. This body felt good and looked amazing in her heels. Giggling naughtily Livia felt her eighteen year old pussy get wet at the thought of all the frat boy cock she was gonna take.

"Being a spoiled little bitch is going to feel so good. I am Abbie now and until I find a better body to possess I'll have fun in this one."

Abbie was going to get everything she wanted and eventually she might give her shoes to another slut to wear. The heels needed to keep feeding on souls. Livia and the heels were one being now. One delicious being of pure evil.

She was the Hell Heels and the Heels were her...

THE END

[octuscle]

Teens work out free all Summer

Jakob was done. The day had been exhausting. And somehow he couldn't cope with two or three exhausting days in a row as well as he used to. He was now 27 years old, his 28th birthday was only a few weeks away and the days when Jakob had been described as sporty were long gone. Even during his studies, he had spent less time at the gym or in the swimming pool than when he was at school and the slight tummy bulge with which he had accepted his master's degree and started his career had developed into a veritable paunch. Climbing stairs? Only in an emergency… Walking or cycling? What were cabs for… Jakob was done and he knew why.

It was trade fair in the city. The last one before the summer break. The hotels were full, you couldn't get a table in the restaurants and there were no cabs to be had either. So Jacob bit the bullet and walked to the nearest bus stop. Sweat was pouring down his forehead. And there he saw this sign: “Teens Workout Free All Summer”. Sure, he was no longer a teen. But he also earned enough money to afford a gym. All he had to do was sign up. Just for the summer. Since he didn't have any school-age children, he didn't have his vacation until mid-September. What was the worst that could happen? He could lose a few kilos and cut a better figure in the late summer sun on the Croatian coast. “I'll sign up first thing tomorrow,” Jacob thought to himself. And then it hit him. "Shit, don't keep putting it off, I'll sign up now. Now and immediately. And if they have a store for gym gear, I'll start training today."

It was hot in the gym. The place was obviously not air-conditioned. It smelled of sweat and sneakers. It smelled like the changing rooms in the schools gym earlier. Loud music blared from the speakers. The reception and training area merged seamlessly. The monotonous sound of people on treadmills and the groaning of people lifting iron was mixed into the booming music, occasionally interrupted by the sound of dumbbells falling into the rack or onto the floor. This was certainly not the kind of gym Jacob wanted to work out in. He was almost on his way out again when the lad behind the counter approached him. “Hi bro! Are you here for our summer offer?” Jacob said that he was here for a membership, yes. But not for the offer. ‘Why not, bro? My name is Liam, by the way. And you are?’ ‘Jacob,’ Jacob introduced himself. ‘Cool thing, bro! Don't worry, we'll get you in shape here.’ Jacob thought for a moment. Of course he would make a fool of himself here among all the beefcakes, but better here in front of people he didn't know than in some stylish gym where customers, colleagues or neighbors would make fun of him.

Liam was already hammering away at his keyboard. “So, your name is Jake. What's next?” “Jacob,” Jacob corrected. “Goldsmith” “Smith, Jake Smith. Your birthday?” Jacob wanted to correct Liam first, but maybe a pseudonym wasn't wrong. “August 12, 1996.” “Bro, I'll put in August 12, 2006,” Liam said with a wink. “Nobody checks here anyway. And I get a commission when I sign contracts for the summer offer.” Address? Jacob was just about to give his address when he thought to himself that he was here anonymously or under a pseudonym. So he gave the address of his parents' house, where they had all lived when he was at school. His parents had sold everything last year and moved to Provence, but as Liam said, no one would probably check it. “Please be so kind,” said Liam. Jacob looked surprised at a flash of light. And a few seconds later, a plastic card came out of the printer. His membership card, his ticket back to a life where climbing stairs wouldn't lead to panting and sweating. “Because it's your birthday in the summer, you get a water bottle and the water flat rate. Do you also want the protein shake flat rate? It's on special offer today. 20 pounds a month, 50 pounds for June, July and August together.” Jacob nodded and asked if he could also buy something to wear here. “That's my lad,” said Liam with a grin. “Get started right away, no hesitation, very good. No, you can't buy anything, but there's a treasure trove at the back. Just take what you need. I'll let Colin know in the meantime, he can show you around and show you everything.

Slightly disgusted, Jacob went to the corner with the lost-and-found treasure trove. It was obviously a source of odour. But it was surprisingly neat. Shoes, shorts, tank tops… Everything was neatly sorted by size. Only the socks were in a big box. It took Jacob a few minutes to find a pair. And while he was looking, he heard a throat clearing behind him. “So you're Jake, the new guy?” Jacob turned around, startled. Behind him stood a mountain of a man. Probably his age. Maybe a few years older. But someone who had never skipped chest or leg days. Never in his life. He obviously didn't take his personal hygiene that seriously. Colin was smelly. Jacob pulled himself together. “Jake, nice to meet you. You must be Colin.” “You can be sure of that! And now stop making a fashion show out of it.” Colin unerringly grabbed a tank top, shorts, shoes and even a matching pair of socks. And a jockstrap. He stuffed everything into a rucksack. Jacob shuddered. “The changing room is over there. Don't look for girls and boys, it's a lads only place here. Hurry up, we should allow two and a half hours for a training session." Jacob was beginning to feel sure he had made a mistake. Okay, at worst he had lost 50 pounds… But it was a mistake.

There were no cubicles in the changing room, no lockers. Things went on open racks. Shoes and bags on benches or on the floor. There was no one around. Only by the sinks was a lad, maybe 16 years old, showing off his enviably fit body in front of the mirror. Jacob sighed. He'd looked something like that when he was 16. He undressed and put on the unwashed clothes that Colin had stuffed into his bag. He looked in the mirror. He looked silly. He was wearing the washed-out clothes of an obviously much more muscular man… The shorts were too tight. The tank top too loose. The socks had holes in them. But at least the shoes fitted. Jacob sighed. And the torture on the dumbbells began.

Colin hadn't given him puppy protection. Colin had worked out with him as if they were training partners. Of course, he had reduced the weights for Jacob. But when Jacob couldn't do any more, he had shouted at him. Four more, three more, two more… Somehow Jacob had always managed the last repetition. The two of them were the last ones in the gym. Liam had already called it a day. Colin gave Jacob a fist bump. “Good training, mate! You've got bite and talent. You'll be something!“ Jacob would have blushed if his head hadn't been glowing anyway. ‘By the way,’ said Colin. ‘Hot water is turned off after 10 p.m. You can take a cold shower. Or…’ ‘I'll take the ’or',” Jacob chastised and grinned. He went into the changing room and packed his clothes from the office into his rucksack. He walked to the bus stop with the last of his strength. The city was full of fairgoers. Some raised their eyebrows in pique. Yes, he had to stink. But he had to get home now. He didn't care about anything else.

When the alarm clock woke him up at 06:00, he felt like everything was gone. He had fallen asleep sitting on his bed. He had just managed to undress. His office clothes were still in his rucksack. His sports kit was scattered on the floor. And he had slept half-sitting, half-asleep on his bed. In a puddle of sperm. Because he had obviously had at least one wet dream. And his morning wood was already standing at attention again. Jacob started to jerk himself off. Damn, did his cock feel good. Jacob smelled his own cold sweat. He smelled male. And he had a hard-on. He had smegma under his foreskin. Just like when he wasn't so serious about personal hygiene at school. He smelled his hand. Damn, that smelled like youth and manhood… And at that moment he came. He cummed all the way up to his chin, even though he had obviously emptied his balls at least once tonight. Shit, he thought to himself, breathing heavily… The training is paying off. As exhausted as I am, I'm more agile than I've been at any point in the last ten years.

Jacob went into the kitchen and stirred protein powder into his cottage cheese. He didn't question where the protein powder and cottage cheese came from. He drank two bottles of water because he felt completely dehydrated. He wolfed down his breakfast and made himself five more scrambled eggs. And another protein shake. Shit, he was starving. And late. He jumped into the shower. He didn't take a really thorough shower. He didn't shave either. He emptied out his rucksack on the floor and stuffed yesterday's clothes, which were still damp with sweat, into it. His bus was leaving in ten minutes. He had to walk. Cardio was never his thing. He was more of a weightlifting man.

He got lots of compliments in the office. He was told he looked fresh. He was told he'd lost weight. He looked younger. But he also got a few unpleasant questions. What was so smelly here. The old rucksack was standing next to his desk. And it stank. Jacob simply ignored the questions about the rucksack. He felt fit and full of energy. For lunch, he had a salad with three turkey breasts. His colleagues looked at him questioningly. “Mass phase,” he said apologetically, chewing with his mouth full.

Today was leg day. Colin had told him that he should allow three hours for warming up, stretching and maybe a bit of fitness training if he was serious. And Jacob was serious. He finished his work very punctually. Unusual for someone who was always the last one. Yes, he was on the verge of promotion, but his fitness was important to him. As soon as he entered, he pulled the access card out of his wallet. He looked at the photo with a grin. He was 23 on it, that was two years ago. What a slim man he had been then… Liam greeted him with a fist bump. Colin could be heard grunting from the chest press throughout the hall. Jacob greeted his bros as he entered the changing room. It was busy. Of course, most of the people here were still at university, unemployed or tradesmen who had already started work at 06:00 in the morning. There were few armchair farters like him here. But that didn't matter to him. Today, all that mattered was the weight on the leg press. And how much protein he could swallow from his flat rate. Protein and the leg press was a toxic combination. But protein farts didn't bother anyone here. They were part of the workout. And when he finally left the gym with Colin at around 11 p.m., there were a lot of protein farts in the air. Neither Colin nor Jacob had been bothered by that during the final cardio workout. Damn it, how could a beefcake like Colin be so limber!

His morning routine was well established. Alarm clock at 05:30. Sit-ups and press-ups. Breakfast, running gear on, run to the office, shower there, and be at his desk by 08:00. Sitting was the new smoking, he hated it. Jake was 22, he had just finished his bachelor's degree and as a trainee he couldn't afford to make any mistakes. His colleagues knew after a few days that he was a fitness junkie. The carefully labeled Tupperware containers spoke for themselves. Jake had to eat something every two hours. His trainer had told him to. Jake had been an ambitious bodybuilder since the age of 16. His tight ass and broad shoulders showed this even when he was wearing a suit. And many of his female colleagues and even some of his male colleagues appreciated the fact that Jake always wore tight and crisp-fitting suits.

This afternoon was going to be an ordeal for Jake. He had promised Liam that he would take over the shift from 21:00. If he wanted to work out properly before then, he had to get off work at 5:00 p.m., 5:30 p.m. at the latest. The meeting went on and on. Jake looked nervously at his mobile again and again. At 5:15 p.m., over an hour later than planned, it was finally over. Jake breathed a sigh of relief. And then his boss asked Jake and two colleagues to stay for the minutes and the upcoming tasks. FUCK! He should have accepted Colin's offer and taken over the management of the gym after graduation. But his tutor at university had convinced him that auditing was his future. Holy shit. Now he'd have to skip cardio training.

05:30. Damn, that was early. But Paul, his roommate, was obviously already awake and seemed to be making breakfast in the kitchen. Yes, Jake was actually disciplined. Otherwise you didn't stand a chance when studying at the sports college. But at least sleep until 06:00 for once, he thought to himself… While he did his burpees to wake up. Paul was Liam's little brother. The two had met at the gym last summer. And Liam and Paul had convinced Jake to study sports economics. He had never regretted his decision. If only because sharing a flat with Paul was a cool thing. The two of them constantly motivated each other. And they also fucked each other from time to time. Hey, tighter asses were hard to find on the whole campus! Today was mostly sports on the timetable. Just one statistics lecture. It wasn't worth changing for that. Jake enjoyed riding his road bike to campus in just shorts and a cut-off tank top. And if the clothes weren't freshly washed, they were at least aired out by the breeze. Of course, the business students sitting in the statistics lecture would get upset about the smelly sports economists again. But hey, Jake already knew the game. It wouldn't be the first time one of these Oxford-shirt-wearing snobs would follow him to the toilet after the lecture and lick his hairy armpits. And it wouldn't be the first time he'd take someone home for a shag or join the gym as a new member. The first was fun, the second earned him a small commission.

“Jake, my darling! It's time to get up!” His mother looked into Jake's teenage room. His bed had already been made. Jake stood behind his mother in sweaty running clothes and quietly went “Boo!” His mother winced. Jake deliberately hugged her tightly so that his sweat made her nightgown damp. “Honey, when did you get up? It's the middle of the night!” Jake replied that he still had body fat to lose before his first amateur competition this weekend. He pulled off his wet running jersey and did a double bicep pose. “Jake, more important than losing body fat would be a shower.” his mother laughed. “Fuck, mom, I'm late. And by the time I've ridden my bike to school, I'll be sweaty again anyway.” “Don't talk back, otherwise there'll be no breakfast.” The threat worked. Jake reluctantly trotted into the shower and his mother prepared his ten-egg omelette.

A poster announcing the national bodybuilding championship hung above the reception desk. With local hero Jake Smith as the favorite in the juniors. You could find those posters everywhere in the neighbourhood. Jake was somehow a local hero. Liam greeted the studio's up-and-coming star with a fist bump. Male rituals. Jake enjoyed that. He wasn't turning 18 for a few days, but here he felt like a full-fledged man. Liam said that ten new members had signed up to the teen-working-out-for-free-in-the-summer promotion last week alone. And eight said they had come to the gym because of Jake's fitness channel. Jake should get in touch with Colin and there would be a special bonus. Hehehe, thought Jake. That could be an extra 50 pounds. Or a shot of extra protein from Colin's cock. With a bit of luck, both. But Jake wasn't greedy. Either would be enough for him.

Inspiration by @olivierlefou, pic by @ki-kink

[ms-nesbit]

Title: cosmic (a jason todd x reader fic)

Chapter II of ???

Rating: 18+ (eventual smut, language, violence i guess, and mention of past abuse)

Tw: abuse, violence, and smut.

Summary: 

y/n meets dick and barbara, who try to set y/n up with dick’s big little brother.

ao3 

note: i will be primarily posting on ao3 since tumblr is not working for me lol

The taxi stopped at the bottom of the hill before the great gates at Wayne Manor.

“I’m not allowed past this point, Miss.” the driver said. “Judge’s orders.”

Y/n nodded as she removed seventy dollars from her wallet and pushed it past the slot on the bottom of the glass divider, leaving the cab and shutting its door behind her. 

Before entering the manor, y/n stuck out like a sore thumb: it wasn’t a black tie gala, but the attire was more formal than y/n was anticipating, with women wearing sumptuous dresses that complemented their bodies, and men wearing sharp suits. Y/n contemplated hailing the cab back down to return her back home, but decided against it when she locked eyes with Barbara, who was finished shaking hands with a political figure in Gotham. “Y/n!” she called, promptly walking toward y/n wearing a long, gold dress with a square neckline, and her copper hair down and flowing. “I’m so glad you can make it. I love the skirt you’re wearing!”

Y/n blushed as she looked down at her attire: a black button down tucked underneath a redwood pencil skirt. She reached out her arm for a handshake, but was taken by a hug from Barbara instead. “Thank you. You look incredible.” Y/n smiled. “Am I too late?”

Barbara shook her head. “Fashionably on time, I’ll say. Do you want me to introduce you to the criminologist? Or do you prefer a different sector of the department?” She glanced over her shoulder, as if to let y/n in on a secret. “Or do you want to meet Dick’s younger brother?”

This was the third time Barbara mentioned Dick’s brother to y/n, and although intrigued, y/n already had done her research: according to public records, Dick doesn’t technically have a brother, so who was this mystery man?

Yet y/n was hesitant, and instead wanted to meet the criminologist; after all, Gotham was a safe haven from her past, and all she wanted to do was gain speed on her career. “Let’s meet the criminologist.”

Barbara frowned, but respected y/n’s wishes, anyway, showing her to the inside of Wayne Manor. Inside, it was dimensionally transcendental - despite the exterior being over two acres, even the foyer itself was deemed bigger than y/n’s shared one bedroom flat. “So, y/n,” Barbara began, tossing her hair onto her other shoulder, “this is lead criminologist Dr. Ashanti Ludwis. Dr. Ludwis, this is y/n…”

“Y/n y/l/n, pleasure to meet you.” Y/n extended her hand to shake, which Dr. Ludwis took. “Commissioner Gordon has told me about you.”

“Yep! Y/n here is a graduate of NYU with a major in criminology, and she is eager to gain experience wherever it is needed, right, y/n?”

Y/n nodded, her hair bouncing. “Yes. I did not disclose this with Commissioner Gordon, but I did graduate with a double minor as well, and I am certified bilingual, if appropriate.”

Dr. Ludwis gave y/n an unreadable look. “Very well. If you would like to pursue this, you do know that this isn’t a fairytale, fiction-driven type of career, yes?” Her accent was thick, each word ending in an emphasis of its last sound. Y/n relished the information, nodding along as Dr. Ludwis informed her of the process. “Okay. If you would like to join my team, I do have an opening for apprenticeship; however, it is only paid at eighteen dollars an hour, and you do not have benefits until nine months, around when you will complete your examination to determine eligibility to become a member of the GPD. Is that understood?”

“Crystal clear.” Y/n nodded once, her hands folded in front of her. “If I have any questions about the apprenticeship, where should I direct them?”

“Commissioner Gordon has my contact information and will forward them to you, correct?”

“Correct, Doctor.” Barbara agreed.

“Good. Well it was a pleasure meeting you, Miss y/n, and please, enjoy the party. Do not get wrapped up in the nonsense of the elites.” She directed her eyes to a gathering of people in a group, all wearing luxury brand articles of clothing. After motioning her salutation, Dr. Ludwis disappeared back into the crowd of lavish attendees, leaving y/n with Barbara, who was chatting with a police officer.

“I need to use the restroom, if it’s okay.” y/n whispered to Barbara.

“Oh yeah, there’s plenty if you go that way.” Barbara lifted her chin in the direction of one of the hallways, dimly lit and leading off into an unknown area. Nervous, y/n made her way toward the hallway, before being promptly stopped by Dick.

“Hey, y/n, party’s this way.” he grinned warmly.

“I just have to use the restroom…” y/n trailed sheepishly.

“Oh.” Dick blinked, as if he had never heard of a woman having to use the restroom before, “Y-yeah, of course, yeah. Uh, where’s he…Alfred! Excuse me, Alfred?” Dick began searching around, straightening his posture to overlook the crowd before spotting someone. “Excuse me, Alfred, could you please show Ms. y/n to the restroom?” he pointed to y/n. “Y/n, this is Alfred, Bruce Wayne’s personal assistant. He will direct you to the restroom safely, okay?” Dick patted y/n’s back before heading back to converse with Commissioner Gordon.

“Hi, Mr. Alfred, thank you.” y/n grinned as Alfred showed her away from the gala, the noise of chatter subsiding with each step.

“You can just call me Alfred, Miss. y/n, but thank you.” he replied, turning his head to meet y/n’s eyes with a friendly gaze. “Mr. Grayson thought it was best that you were directed to the lavatory, as this is your first time visiting Wayne Manor, yes?”

Y/n nodded. “That’s correct.” 

She followed Alfred past the library and near the conservatory, where a bathroom was hidden as a cabinet. Alfred pushed into the center of the panel, which disengaged the lock and opened the hidden door. “There is a button on the underside of the toilet for emergencies,” Alfred informed. “Do you need me to stay nearby, or are you able to retrace your steps?”

“I can find my way back, Sir, thank you.” y/n replied before stepping into the bathroom and locking the door, amazed at the cleanliness of the unit, its bright color scheme a stark difference from the gothic theme just on the other side of the door. She looked around the corners of the room for security cameras, and placed her finger on the mirror to determine whether or not it was a two-way mirror, watching her reflection ‘touch’ the tip of her real finger.

After ending her security check of the bathroom, y/n used it, and remained in the bathroom for a few minutes after washing her hands to calm her nerves. Y/n wasn’t used to formal outings after her departure from New York; she felt disdain toward it, and wondered if her vocational future in Gotham would revolve around such pompous activities, or if it was less frequent.

Upon leaving the bathroom (and struggling to re-secure the hideaway part of the panel), y/n  headed back up the corridor toward the commotion, but stopped at a pair of long, slim walnut doors with gold engraving similar to the walls beside them. Hoping it was a balcony, y/n quietly opened the door and stepped out, finding herself near a bronze guided ledge rail.

This was it: y/n made it outside past the noise of the elite, past the imminent danger she felt since her time in New York - it was almost as if she closed the door to it behind her, and all y/n was left with was her self and the outdoors, freedom from the pains of her youth.

She stared at the crash of the waves of water on the cliff below her, and breathed in sync with the waves: inhale, rise; exhale, crash. Y/n was encompassed by the sense of calm she felt, her guard down, completely unaware of the man now staring at her from inside the manor.

Finally, y/n let her shoulders slump, fixing her pencil skirt from any dirt or water debris collected from the cliffside. Before turning around to head back into the party, she said her goodbye to the cold night that accompanied her, wondering if it would be the last time she would hear the crashing waves.

Reaching for the door handle, y/n found that someone else already opened it for her, as her eyes met with the man’s chest, before looking up at his face. The man was staring at her with an intense gaze, impossible to detect what he was feeling about her, and it made y/n anxious.

“You know, there’s no way to get back in on your own.” He said, voice low and matter-of-fact. “I’d know - I’ve been here plenty of times.”

Opening her mouth, y/n wanted to say something, anything, but couldn’t find herself to utter a single letter, let alone groups of them. “You know, a thank you would suffice.” the man added, tone almost combative, as a corner of his mouth turned up to a smirk.

It was the eyes. Y/n’s stare worked itself from the man’s red button up, to his long neck, all the way up to his chin, and the scar on his cheek, the tissue telling that the injury was clean like a blade or knife. Then, y/n’s gaze met the man’s, and she was locked in - his eyes were intense, of course, but there was the calling; the gray streaks in his irises were barbed wires, and the green was the earthy comfort he felt deep down.

Or maybe y/n was reading too much into a stranger. “Sorry, thanks. I didn’t mean to…excuse me, I must be going.” y/n focused her eyes onto the ground, avoiding eye contact with the man as she hurried past him and back up the corridor to the gathering, where she found Barbara and Dick talking together.

“Hey, Barbara, Dick, I really appreciate you two inviting me, but I think I should get going.”

“Get going?” Dick furrowed his brows. “What for? Are you okay? Something happen?”

Barbara gently placed her hand on Dick’s shoulder, stopping the ensemble of questions stumbling out of his mouth. “That’s fine, y/n. Thank you for coming. Did we forget to give you our contact info?”

“Yeah, I completely forgot about that.” y/n admitted.

Barbara reached into her clutch and pulled out a paper and pen, writing down her phone number, then Dick’s, before handing it to y/n. “Seriously, it’s no big deal. You could stop by the headquarters, but I doubt you want to be around the police that much.”

“That makes two of us.” A voice said behind y/n, slightly startling her.

[writing-intheundercroft]

Only You - S. Sallow

AO3 Link

Word Count: 5,034

Rating: E (Smut, Oral and Vaginal Sex, NSFW, MDNI)

Summary: You decide to surprise Sebastian with lunch at the auror office.

A/N: I said I'd do a smutty follow up to The Night Shift, and here it is!

“You didn’t have to come, you know.” Sebastian says, gently guiding you into the elevator.

“I wanted to,” you insist. “You’re always supporting everyone around here–someone has to support you.”

Sebastian gives you a soft, shy smile as the door shuts behind you both. He’s been utterly dedicated to helping you get adjusted to your new daytime schedule, his career taking the backseat in your daily conversations.  The two of you were leaving the courtroom, where several surviving ashwinders were just sentenced to life imprisonment in Azkaban. You knew he was nervous about the Wizengamot trial, having to confront the offenders who’d set up a surprise attack for the aurors all those months ago. Sebastian had recovered quite well in the months that followed, but you’d caught him trembling at the thought of sitting in the stands, identifying each one. Trials had always made Sebastian nervous, knowing deep down that Azkaban had almost been his fate, if not for you and Ominis.

You push that memory out of your mind. Sebastian is now an upstanding member of society, a decorated Auror who you’ve just found out is up for promotion thanks to his heroics.

“Dinner, tonight.  You and me.” Sebastian declares, leaning against the wall. “I’ll pick you up straight from the hospital.”

“I’ll be disgusting.” you remind him.  You’d taken a few hours off to attend the trial, and were already dressed in your uniform to go to St. Mungo’s.  You wouldn’t be off until the late hours of the evening, but it didn’t seem like Sebastian cared.

The doors to the elevator opened and you politely stepped to the side, letting the woman who’d entered step into the center.  As the doors shut, she turns to Sebastian, a saucy grin on her face.

“Sebastian Sallow, it’s good to see you.” she says sweetly.

You immediately frown, taking note of her casualness around him.

“Marlene, nice to see you again.” Sebastian is polite and gentlemanly, keeping his eyes glued to her face.  

She steps towards him, completely ignoring you in the elevator with them. “Glad to have that trial over then?” she asks.

Sebastian lets out a puff of air, nodding gratefully. “Very glad.  Was a nightmare to relive the whole situation.” he admits.  His eyes flit over her shoulder to you, but you pay her no mind–she must be a coworker in the auror office.

To your shock, the woman steps forward towards Sebastian, placing a hand on his chest. “I was so sorry to hear about you and Rebecca.  You know, I still haven’t forgotten about that night–”

Steam was about to pour out of your ears, no pepper-up potion needed.  Mortified, Sebastian pushes her hand away, gesturing to you on the other side of the cab.

“Marlene, this is my…” Sebastian trails off.  The two of you hadn’t quite put a label on your relationship yet.  Despite the time that had passed since your reunion, and the fact that you’d all but moved into his tiny flat, you had yet to call him your boyfriend.

The woman jumps back, blushing. “Oh!  I’m so sorry, Tony had said you were unattached at the moment.”

“It’s nice to see you, Marlene.” Sebastian says quickly, grabbing your hand as the door opens to the ground floor. “I’ll see you around the office.”  he quickened his pace, tugging you out from the elevator.

You yank your hand out of his, brushing your now sweaty palms on the front of your dress. 

“So, Marlene.” You seeth. “A friend of yours?”

Sebastian’s face turns scarlet red, scratching at the freckles trailing down his neck. “Come on, now.” he strains. “We both have histories, we know that.  It was five years, we can’t pretend there wasn’t anyone in between.”

You feel guilt pooling in your stomach; Sebastian is right, after all.  Up until a few months ago, you had an entire fiance–someone you were going to marry, raise children with, spend the rest of your life with.  You also couldn’t lie that there had been men before him.  Imelda Reyes had said it best–the only way to get over Sebastian Sallow was to get under someone else. 

“I at least avoided anyone I worked with.” you grumble, crossing your arms.

Sebastian lets out a low sigh. “You’re right.  It wasn’t the smartest move of mine, but I assure you–you’re the only woman for me.” he says gently, his hands finding your hips through your unflattering St. Mungo’s uniform. “Forgive me?” He pouts.

You roll your eyes, fighting back a smile. For as much as you want to be mad at Sebastian, you can’t resist the puppy dog eyes he gives you anytime you even remotely disagree. Not that there have been many disagreements lately anyways–Sebastian has been nothing but entirely amenable since you’ve returned to his life.  There was only one time you thought you might actually fight over Sebastian littering used teaspoons all over the flat, but he’d more than made up for his behavior by spending the better half of an evening with his head between your thighs.

“Fine.” You purse your lips, hiding the smirk you know Sebastian is searching for. “I’ll meet you outside of the hospital at eight o’clock.”

Sebastian Sallow’s boyish grin will be the cause of your downfall someday, but not today.  His beaming smile and flushed freckles makes your heart beat a little faster, and you feel completely alive.

You walk tentatively into the auror office, clutching the basket of lunch you’d just made for Sebastian.  His favorite–a ham and pickle sandwich on sourdough bread, apples you’d picked up together at the market, and some homemade cookies (Anne’s recipe, obviously–you’re rubbish with baked goods).  After feeling quite homely in your St. Mungo’s uniform, you decide to dress up today.  The move is inspired completely by the way you’d caught Sebastian admiring the dresses you’d moved into his now fully stuffed wardrobe. You’re wearing one he spent a good minute looking over, likely imagining how low the neckline could possibly lay.  You’d swatted him, scolding his cheeky glance, but had decided to wear it anyway after he’d left that morning.

You hear your name over your shoulder; turning around, it’s Everett Clopton, a big grin stretched across his face. His dark curls are tucked behind his ears, sporting his classic gold wire glasses.

“I was wondering when we’d see you here.” Everett bowed his head slightly, hands in his front pockets. “Bringing a snack for Sebastian?”

You blush, gesturing to the basket. “Where is he?” you crane your neck, looking over the office.

“Lucky bugger just got promoted after the trial,” Everett rolled his eyes. “Something about bravery or whatever. Got his own office and everything.  I think he was moving his things in.” 

Even more of a reason to celebrate, you think.  Sebastian had been toiling over the prospect of the potential promotion over the last two weeks, and all of his hard work was starting to pay off.  You thank Everett, sauntering your way over to the door at the end of the hall, a little gold plaque marked S. Sallow on the front.

“Surprise,” you call out cheerfully as you push the door open.  Your smile fades into shock when you see a pretty woman perched on top of the desk, flicking through a box of Sebastian’s belongings.  

Marlene, you remember.  The woman from the elevator.

She smiles at you as she slides off the desk, pressing creases out of her dress. “I didn’t know Sebastian was expecting any visitors.” she says kindly. “And how sweet, you brought him lunch.”

You clear your throat. “I have.  Do you know where he is?” 

Marlene presses her lips firmly together. “Off to the loo.” 

You fidget with the basket in hand. “Right.”

“You two haven’t been together long, have you?” Marlene asks, walking slowly towards you. “I would’ve heard about it, I should think.  Sebastian and I do spend quite a bit of time together.”

You can feel your ancient magic bubbling over with your anger. “Do you?” you spit out.

“Working, of course.  Amongst other things.” Marlene nods, patting your shoulder. “Sebastian can be such a sweetheart,” she purrs. “Yet such a fickle lover, don’t you think?”

You turn on your heel, bolting from the small office.  Tears are pricking at the corner of your eyes; clearly, Sebastian hasn’t spoken about you to his colleagues yet.  It makes you feel quite silly, considering all the other healers in your unit are constantly fawning over the daily flowers Sebastian sends.  Yet you cease to exist in the auror office, with only his two partners and your former schoolmates knowing of your existence.

You could hear your name being called, but nothing could stop your feet from hitting the ground, nearly breaking into a sprint in your effort to remove yourself from the vicinity. Before long, you’re in the main lobby, heels clacking on the black tile as you make your way to the floo flames. Just as you’re about to floo to your own home for the first time in weeks, you run into a solid body.

“I’m so sorry–” you begin, blinking rapidly as you recognize the suit in front of you.  Eyes trailing up, you see a familiar set of eyes, and a smile you thought you’d never see again.

“Hello you,” your former fiance proclaims, his hand on your elbow. “What in Merlin’s name are you doing here?”

If there could be awards for terrible days, this one would take the cake.  Not only are you running from Sebastian’s former fling, you’re now faced with the man you utterly destroyed a few months ago. It isn’t a fond memory, but you can recall the distraught look in his eyes as you arrived at his flat in the wee hours of the morning, clutching his engagement ring. He still looks just as handsome as you remember him–dark hair, a well groomed mustache, and bright, sparkling blue eyes that could even rival Ominis Gaunt’s (not that you’d ever let Ominis hear that you’ve made a comparison).  

For as handsome as you find him, his face is still not the one you crave the most.  

“Pet,” you hear from behind, Sebastian gasping for air. “Did you not hear me?”

Great, you think. This makes your day even better.

“Who is this?” Your ex-fiance asks, a slight frown on his face.

You turn to look at Sebastian, who is slightly panting as he puts a hand on your shoulder.  He looks slightly disheveled, his crisp white shirt rolled up to his elbows, the top unbuttoned.  He looks at you, and then the man next to you, trying to put the pieces together.

“This is Sebastian Sallow,” you gulp. “He was my patient.”

Your ex-fiance gives him a full glance over. “You’re one of those aurors from the ambush, aren’t you?” his eyes narrow. “Freshly promoted by the minister himself.”

Sebastian frowns at him, eyes trailing down to the grip he has on your elbow. “And you are?” he sneers at the stranger. 

Your ex-fiance keeps his hand on your elbow. “Eric McNair. Junior secretary to the minister.” he grits.

Sebastian stands tall. “A pleasure, Eric.  If you don’t mind, the lady and I have somewhere to be.” his hand remains on your shoulder, and you find yourself sandwiched between two men you’ve loved–each for very different reasons, and in very different ways.

“This is him, isn’t it?” Your ex-fiance says flatly.  His blue eyes pierce your soul, clearly in pain.  It’s almost as bad as the way he looked at you when you shoved the pretty red velvet ring box back into the palm of his hand.  You had lied that night, claiming there was no one else that had changed your feelings–it was your fault, not his.  That had only been partly true, considering the freckled bastard beside you had planted the seed of doubt.

“I’m sorry,” You wince. There’s no dancing around the subject, especially with the way Sebastian has his hand curled around your shoulder.

Ever the gentleman, your ex-fiance lifts his grip on your elbow. Bowing his head slightly, he purses his lips as he backs towards the floo flames. 

“I hope you two are happy together,” he says curtly, before disappearing into the green fire.

Taking in a sharp breath, you turn to Sebastian.  He’s looking down at you, slightly stunned. 

“Will you please come back with me?” Sebastian nearly wheezes. “You and I need to talk.”

You nod dumbly, letting him guide you back to the elevator.  The two of you are silent, Sebastian’s hand lightly gripping your gloved hand.  Once you’re back on the fifth floor, Sebastian guides you through the office to his.  Larson is now sitting on Everett’s desk, giving you a goofy wink as Everett complains about his crumbs dusting the tabletop.  You glance sideways, seeing Marlene looking quite frustrated, sitting at her own desk now.

Sebastian shuts the door behind you; the office is still empty, Sebastian’s meager belongings in boxes around the room.  He mutters a quick locking and silencing spell, so that others might not hear you if you decide to argue.

“I wish you’d told me you were coming,” Sebastian huffs. 

You set the basket down on an empty shelf, whipping the gloves off your hands as you rest them on your hips. “So you would know not to have a pretty little coworker sitting on your desk when I arrived?” you snip at him.

Sebastian rolls his eyes. “That’s not what I meant.” he says bitterly. “I just…I would have made things nicer for you, that’s all.” He’s fidgeting now, which is most unlike him.  

“Do your friends know about me?” You snap at him.

“Everett and Andrew know, but it’s no one else's business. They’re not my friends, they’re my colleagues.” Sebastian argues. 

“Colleagues you’ve slept with,” you retort.

“That’s ancient history, and you know it.” Sebastian declares. “Marlene is a colleague–she’s one of the secretaries in the office, we have to work together.  Besides, it was over a year ago when it happened, and I’ve turned down every advance since.”

“Well, she clearly thinks she still has a chance.” you bite back.

“And what about that man in the lobby, then?” Sebastian argues. “Just a friend of yours? The two of you looked fairly chummy.”

A frown settles into your lips. “Really, Sebastian?  Surely you’re more perceptive than this.”

Sebastian’s frown turns into confusion, and then clarity once he’s put it together. 

“Your fiance?” His eyes widened. “The pencil pusher?”

“Ex-fiance, thanks to you.” you grumble. “And I told you not to call him that.”

Sebastian’s face turns red as he begins to pace around his office.  Now that he knows, his head is surely filled with all the scenes of your past relationship.  Eric was a man you’d known well–well enough that you’ve laughed with him, slept with him, even agreed to marry him. 

Sebastian falls into his chair, blinking at you rapidly. “He looks nice,” he admits.

You are frozen in place, looking down at him and his sheepish face. “A perfectly nice man whose heart I broke.” You echo. “Because like the massive arse I am, I fell back in love with you within five days of seeing you.”

Sebastian holds a hand out to you, and your body reacts instantaneously, feet shuffling towards him.  He hooks his hands behind your thighs, pulling your body close.  Digging his face into your skirts, he grumbles his apology.

“I didn’t even mean for her to be in my office,” Sebastian strained. “She offered to help carry boxes.”

You know he’s telling the truth, but that’s not what’s really bugging you. “She didn’t even know who I was, Sebastian.” you bite your bottom lip. “I’ve told everyone who you are, how important you are to me.  Yet she feels like she can put her hands on you.”

Sebastian looks up at you, his big brown eyes filled with remorse. “What can I do to fix this?” he asks, slightly panicked.

“Tell me what I am to you,” you ask gently, tipping his chin up towards you.

“You’re everything,” Sebastian breathes. 

Ruffling his hair, you roll your eyes. “Be more specific.”

Sebastian wrinkles his nose. “Bit juvenile to call you my girlfriend, isn’t it?” He pulls you in tighter, pressing a long, languid kiss to the front of your bodice. It sends shivers up your spine, wishing there were several less layers of cloth between you two.

“You can call me that for now,” you murmur, nimble fingers moving towards his chest.  You give him a coy smile as your fingers start playing with the buttons of his vest. “But I would much rather you change my title sooner rather than later.”

“Yes, madam.” Sebastian’s eyes start roving over your body. He leans back, letting you slip your knee between his legs. You plant your hands firmly on his shoulders, looking down at him.

“I was hoping to see this dress on you soon,” Sebastian licks his lips. “Bend over for me, will you?” 

You roll your eyes, swatting at him. “You brute,” the laugh rolls off your tongue, but there is no hiding how badly you want him.  

Sebastian pinches the fabric of your dress between his fingers, eyes dancing over your decolletage. “I’m the luckiest bastard in the world,” he murmurs. “A promotion, my own office, and my dream girl.” You feel his hands slide around, squeezing your bottom through the fabric. “I’m quite tempted to take you right here, right now.”

It’s indecent, you think.  His coworkers are right behind the door.  But your baser urges drive you to pull away, making quite a show of sitting on his brand new, empty desk.  Sebastian watches you, slack jawed, as you cross your legs, pulling the fabric of your dress over your knees to expose your silk stockings.

“Tempting, you say?” you murmur, uncrossing your legs to show your body underneath the petticoats.

Sebastian launches himself off the desk chair, groaning as he tangles his hands in your hair.  You laugh against his lips as one of his hands trails up your leg, stopping where the lacy edge of your stockings meet your soft thighs. 

“You’re mad, woman.” Sebastian pants. “Only you could drive me to this.”

You bite back a moan as Sebastian’s fingers slide against you.  He gives you the filthiest smile when he feels how wet you are for him–he knows no matter how mad you are, he can reduce you to a trembling mess with his hands.  Always has been, you think.

“I want to hear you beg for it,” Sebastian urges you, curling his fingers inside.  You gasp as he adds a third, clutching onto his shoulder while he gives you the cockiest look you’d ever seen on him.  No, it’s Sebastian who should be begging.  Sebastian who should be quaking beneath you, begging for your forgiveness after the conversation you’d just had.

Even though you whine at the loss of his fingers, you push him backwards.  Sebastian is slightly shocked until he lands into his desk chair, bouncing into the leather seat.  Again, he’s at a loss for words as you surge forward, one hand on the chair back, the other popping the buttons of his trousers.

“What would you call me?” you ask him innocently, brushing your fingers against his clothed cock.

“W-w-what?” Sebastian sputters, looking down at your hand.

You tilt his chin back up to look at you. “What would you say I am to you?” You murmur, sliding your hand under his undergarments, tightly gripping his length.  He feels so soft and smooth, yet impossibly stiff at the same time. “Answer me, darling.”

Sebastian let out a stuttered groan, his head falling back against the chair.  When he doesn’t answer, you lighten your touch; he whines in response.

“You’re my girlfriend,” he moans.

“Hmm, I thought you said that wasn’t good enough.” Your thumb swipes over the crown of his cock, spreading a glistening bead of precum against his skin.

“My lover then,” Sebastian pants, tilting his head down to look at you through darkened eyes.

You smile sweetly at him, slowly kneeling between his legs. “You’ll tell all of your colleagues I’m your lover?”  You keep your eyes on his face as you press a sweet kiss to his tip, and Sebastian might just explode right then and there. “Seems like you’ve had quite a few.”

“The only one I’ve ever loved,” Sebastian moans, patting your hair as you slip your mouth around him, rolling your tongue against his cock. "Only you."

You hum in approval as he chokes out his praise for you, sweet names of endearment for you spilling out of his mouth as you hollow your cheeks.

“Sweet little thing– fuck, the sexiest witch I’ve ever laid my eyes on,” Sebastian rasps, looking down at you with pupils blown out in pleasure.  He chokes as he pushes you off of him, blinking while you wipe the saliva from your lips on the back of your hand.

“On the desk,” Sebastian’s voice falters. “Now.”

His mouth crashes against yours as you scoot your bottom onto the desk; Sebastian rucks your dress up to your waist, desperate to reach your hot skin underneath.  Your hands tug his trousers down, palming his round bottom as he groans into your mouth.  You can feel his cock pressed against your thigh, wet and throbbing.  Teeth smashing, tongues tangling–you simply cannot get enough of one another.

You’ve had months of sweet love making since your reunion, you think.  The urgent, feral fucking you’re about to receive is quite welcome.

Sebastian wastes no time sinking his length into you, pressing his forehead against you as his breath stutters. Looking up at you through his dark lashes, Sebastian has never looked more beautiful. You wrap your legs around him, allowing as little space possible between your bodies.

“I love you,” Sebastian grunts, thrusting his cock into you.  “ Only you.” The sound of those words coming out of his mouth again has your head rolling backwards. You’re thankful for the silencing charm Sebastian has cast on the door; the sound of his skin slapping against yours fills the small office.

“Sebastian,” you moan, falling back against the mahogany desk.  Your hands splay out against the surface, back arching as he rolls his hips just the way you like.  You’re both moaning with every hurried thrust; Sebastian’s hands are wrapped around your thighs, nails digging into the lace edges of your stockings. 

“I love the way you look sprawled on my desk,” Sebastian growls. He leans forward, kissing the tops of your breasts. “You’re a dream come true.”

“Am I?” You gasp, arms thrown around his neck. “Tell me more, Sebastian. Use your words.”

“Don’t think I haven’t been dreaming of this since the night you showed up at my bedside,” Sebastian warns, his sweaty forehead pressed against yours. “Merlin, I want to feel you come around me so badly.”

“What am I, Sebastian?” You murmur, fingers lightly wrapped around his neck.  He’s broadened with age, your small hands barely fitting around his neck.  But in this position, you can feel his quickened pulse, which makes your stomach flutter.  You feel the coil inside of you tighten, waiting for him to say the magic words that will push you over the precipice. 

“You’re the love of my life,” Sebastian rasps, eyes glued to yours. “Always have been. Gonna–I’m gonna make you my wife someday.” he whimpers.

You let out a satisfied cry as you finish around him, hands trailing up to grip his unruly hair at the root.  Sebastian is not far behind you, cursing as he spills his seed inside of you. His hips stutter against you on the edge of the desk, whispering filthy promises alongside the sweet reassurances of your future together.

After a long, passionate kiss, Sebastian pulls away, tugging his pants back up.  You blush, dropping your skirt hem back over your legs.

“Christened my desk,” Sebastian winks cheekily. “I was thinking we needed to, but I wasn’t quite expecting it to take place today.”

You roll your eyes, laughing as you slap his shoulder.  You’ll never stop loving him for his attitude, you think.  Sebastian can be so serious, chivalrous and determined.  The next, utterly depraved and passionate.  But underneath it all, Sebastian is filled with laughter and sweetness–something you’d forgotten after five years of trying to hate him.  It’s a sweet reminder of the boy you met when you were fifteen, who’d raced you to Hogsmeade on your first day of classes.  The boy who’d so bravely taken the fall for you when you’d snuck into the restricted section, and had swept you off your feet at sixteen.  

He’s a grown man now, you think.  But he’ll always be that Sebastian in your heart.  And one day, he’ll be your husband–you’re positively sure of it this time.

“Ham and pickle, my favorite.” Sebastian smacks his lips.

You smile at Sebastian as you unpack another box.  After your frenzied lovemaking, you actually started helping him with the task at hand.  His files are now meticulously organized, and you were working on his box of desk trinkets while he sat against the door, tucking into the lunch you’d packed for him.

“Still your favorite,” you remind him, carefully taking out a wooden picture frame.  You thumb over the glass; it’s of him and Anne as children with their parents.  You set it on the corner of the desk, next to the lamp.  There’s another small frame–Sebastian standing next to Ominis and Anne on their wedding day.  It pangs your heart to realize that you missed it, and that you’ll forever be absent in their photos. In fact, there are no photos of you in the box to display on his desk.

“What can I say?  I’m a creature of habit.” Sebastian says with his mouth full. 

“Y’know, I rather think my picture belongs on this desk.” You say, putting your hands on your hips. “I should think I’d get top billing.”

He beckons you; you fall to your knees, shuffling towards him, and you snatch the sandwich out of his hands, taking a large bite for yourself.  Surprisingly, Sebastian doesn’t protest–instead, he dips his hand into his trouser pockets.

“I keep a photo of you a little closer,” he confesses, digging out his wallet.  You remain stunned as he fishes through it, pulling out a creased photograph.  It’s the two of you on your graduation day from Hogwarts; you’re laughing at the camera, pointing at whoever was aiming it (it’s been so long, you can’t remember who).  Sebastian’s eyes remain glued to you, completely ignoring the photographer. It’s the last time you’d ever worn your Hogwarts robes, pointy black hats adorning your head as you both clutched your diplomas.

You swallow thickly, taking the photo in hand. “I can’t believe you still have this,” you murmur.

“One of my favorites.” Sebastian gulps, pressing his lips in a tight line as he tucks you into his chest. “Fished it out of my memory box, right after we got back together.  Should I find a frame for it?”

You feel silly for ever doubting him.  Sebastian has always known what you are to him–no title needed.  Blinking back tears, you look at the brunette, pressing your palm against his cheek. 

“I want you to keep it on you at all times,” you declare. “Right in your pocket, you hear me?”

“Yes ma’am.” Sebastian purrs, kissing the top of your head. “Perhaps we’ll have a more formal occasion to take photos soon.  Wedding photos, I think.” he teases.

The two of you finish unpacking his belongings, polishing off what remains in the lunch basket.  The hem of your dress is torn from dragging against the splintered edge of his desk, so Sebastian casts a hasty reparo charm on it.  You double check that you’re both decent before opening the door to his office, confidently striding out hand in hand.

It must be late afternoon already, as most of the desks are abandoned.  Marlene’s eyes are glued to whatever file she’s reading, ignoring the two of you.  You smile haughtily to yourself as Sebastian wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you in tighter.

“You two are disgusting,” Everett rolls his eyes. “As if we didn’t know what you two were up to all afternoon.”

“I beg your pardon,” Sebastian scoffs. “The lovely lady was helping me unpack my office.  And that’s no way to speak to your senior officer now, is it?” 

Larson lets out a booming laugh as he pulls on his jacket. “Well, should we all hit the Leaky Cauldron then?  Rest of the office is bound to be there already.”

Sebastian looks down at you proudly. “No, I think I’ll take the missus home.”

You can’t hide the blush on your face when Sebastian looks at you in such a way.  The two of you bid a hasty goodbye to Everett and Andrew as you walk hand in hand to the elevators, swinging the wicker basket.  When the elevator doors close, Sebastian pushes you up against the wall, putting a hand on your waist.

“Speaking of home, I think it’s time we start looking for a bigger one,” he announces. “I’ve found a few listings for new places, considering we’ll have to get a separate bedroom for your clothes. Plus, we should live a bit closer to the hospital for you.”

“Braving the London housing market together,” you sigh gloomily. “The next test of our relationship.”

Sebastian lets out a sparkling laugh, pressing his forehead against yours. “Pet, after everything we’ve been through, I think this will be an easy task.”

You bite your lip, smiling up at him.  He’s right, you think–nothing these days seems too difficult with Sebastian back at your side.

“I can’t wait.” You admit.  

The doors open, and Sebastian pulls you out into the light.

[sassenach77yle]

||COUNTDOWN ||SEASON 7 EPISODE 05 || SINGAPORE ||

#83daysofoutlander☆

She pressed her back against the tunnel wall, hands flat on the rough rock, and thought. That’s where they’d gone, then. It made no difference, but she closed her eyes to improve her concentration and summoned up the pages of the massive binder—presently on the seat of the vanished truck—that contained the structural and engineering details of all the hydroelectric stations under her purview.She’d looked at the diagrams for this one last night and again, hastily, while brushing her teeth this morning. The tunnel led to the dam, and had obviously been used in the construction of the lower levels of that dam. How low? If the tunnel joined at the level of the turbine chamber itself, it would have been walled off. But if it joined at the level of the servicing chamber above—a huge room equipped with the multi-ton ceiling cranes needed to lift the turbines from their nests—then there would still be a door; there would have been no need to seal it off, with no water on the other side.Try as she might, she couldn’t bring the diagrams to mind in sufficient detail to be sure there was an opening into the dam at the far end of the tunnel—but it would be simple enough to find out.

SHE’D SEEN THE TRAIN, in that brief moment before the doors closed; it didn’t take much fumbling round to get into the open cab of the tiny engine. Now, had those clowns taken the key to the engine, too? Ha. There was no key; it worked by a switch on the console. She flipped it, and a red button glowed with sudden triumph as she felt the hum of electricity run through the track beneath.The train couldn’t have been simpler to run. It had a single lever, which you pushed forward or back, depending on which direction you meant to go. She shoved it gently forward, and felt air move past her face as the train moved silently off into the bowels of the earth.She had to go slowly. The tiny red button shed a comforting glow over her hands, but did nothing to pierce the darkness ahead, and she had no idea where or how much the track curved. Neither did she want to hit the end of the track at a high rate of speed and derail the engine. It felt as though she was inching through the dark, but it was much better than walking, feeling her way over a mile of tunnel lined with high-voltage cables.It hit her in the dark.

For a split second, she thought someone had laid a live cable on the track. In the next instant, a sound that wasn’t a sound thrummed through her, plucking every nerve in her body, making her vision go white. And then her hand brushed rock and she realized that she had fallen across the console, was hanging halfway out of the tiny, trundling engine, was about to fall out into darkness.Head spinning, she managed to grab the edge of the console and pull herself back into the cab. Flipped the switch with one shaking hand and half-fell to the floor, where she curled up, gripping her knees, her breath a whimpering in the dark.

“Holy God,” she whispered. “Oh, Blessed Mother. Oh, Jesus.”

She could feel it out there. Still feel it. It didn’t make a sound now, but she felt its nearness and couldn’t stop trembling.She sat still for a long time, head on her knees, until rational thought began to come back.She couldn’t be mistaken. She’d passed through time twice, and knew the feeling. But this hadn’t been nearly so shocking. Her skin still prickled and her nerves jumped and her inner ears rang as though she’d thrust her head into a hive of hornets—but she felt solid. She felt as though a red-hot wire had sliced her in two, but she hadn’t had the horrible sense of being disassembled, turned physically inside out.

A terrible thought sent her surging to her feet, clinging to the console.

Had she jumped? Was she somewhere—somewhen—else?

But the metal console was cool and solid under her hands, the smell of damp rock and cable insulation unchanged.“No,” she whispered, and flicked the power light for reassurance. It came on, and the train, still in gear, gave a sudden lurch. Hastily, she throttled back the speed to less than a crawl.She couldn’t have jumped into the past.

Small objects in direct contact with a traveler’s person seemed to move with them, but an entire train and its track was surely pushing it. “Besides,” she said out loud, “if you’d gone more than twenty-five years or so into the past, the tunnel wouldn’t be here. You’d be inside… solid rock.” Her gorge rose suddenly, and she threw up.The sense of… it… was receding, though. It—whatever it was—was behind her. Well, that settled it, she thought, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. There bloody well had to be a door at the far end, because there was no way she was going back the way she’d come.

There was a door. A plain, ordinary, industrial metal door. And a padlock, unlocked, hanging from an open hasp. She could smell WD-40; someone had oiled the hinges, very recently, and the door swung open easily when she turned the knob. She felt suddenly like Alice, after falling down the White Rabbit’s hole. A really mad Alice.A steep flight of steps lay on the other side of the door, dimly lit—and at the top was another metal door, edged with light. She could hear the rumble and the metallic whine of a ceiling crane in operation.Her breath was coming fast, and not from the effort of climbing the stairs. What would she find on the other side? It was the servicing chamber inside the dam; she knew that much. But would she find Thursday on the other side? The same Thursday she’d had when the tunnel doors had closed behind her?She gritted her teeth and opened the door. Rob Cameron was waiting, lounging back against the wall, lit cigarette in hand. He broke into an enormous grin at sight of her, dropped the butt, and stepped on it.

“Knew ye’d make it, hen,” he said. Across the room, Andy and Craig turned from their work and applauded.“Buy ye a pint after work, then, lass,” Andy called.“Two!” shouted Craig.She could still taste bile at the back of her throat. She gave Rob Cameron the sort of look she’d given Mr. Campbell.

“Don’t,” she said evenly, “call me hen.”

His good-looking face twitched and he tugged at his forelock with mock subservience.“Anything you say, boss,” he said.

Tunnel Tigers ~ An Echo in the Bone

[zet-sway]

Fanfic: Girasol

Or, Shepard and Thane get frisky over a crowded nightclub

[Read on AO3] - Rated E for SPICEEEY

Pairing: Thane/FShep | Rating: 18+ | Words: ~6400

“Imagine it, Siha,” he says, his chest flat against her back as he nips her jaw. “The dancers below are none the wiser, for a time. And then one looks up,” he gestures out over the dance floor and takes a deep, long breath. “And there you are. Bent over before me, colored lights sweeping across your skin, shaking as I take my fill of you.”

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Thane smiles when he says “I know a place.”

A place for a night out - somewhere he promises will be both free of prying eyes and luxurious in its indulgence. A fancy dinner date that demands the kind of attire Shepard seldom gets to wear. 

So it is that she finds herself leaning too close to her bathroom mirror, eyeliner pen in hand and its cap in her mouth as she draws out a black, knife-edged wing over each eye with practiced ease. Like riding a bike, she thinks, before she steps back to take one last look at her appearance, making last minute adjustments. 

The dress is black, form-fitting, with a high collar hugging her neck to pronounce the defined angles of her jaw. Below, a diamond of exposed skin in the center of her dress reveals the shadow between her breasts. The garment ends a little more than halfway down her thighs, and she stands a few inches taller in her heels. She smirks to herself, heels clicking on the tile floor as she steps over to the sink and tidies her makeup bag.

Thane knocks softly at the bathroom door before sliding it open. She can hear the low purr of appreciation as he moves close. 

“Siha,” he murmurs, low and reverent, subvocals thrumming with excitement and desire. “You look radiant.”

Shepard dips her head, booting up her omni-tool to check their reservation. It’s something she does to deflect his attention from her blushing cheeks. “What,” she says, giving her all to sound nonchalant. “Were you expecting sweatpants and a t-shirt?” The clock in the bottom corner of the mirror ticks up by one minute and turns red - time to leave.

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Thane turns her to face him, cupping her elbow as he slides an arm around her. As his lips ghost over hers, she clamps her hand around his bicep and pushes back. “Come on, we’re gonna be late.”

His dark eyes gleam at her from across the skycar cabin. They’re headed somewhere swanky, but he still hasn't told her exactly where. Shepard tugs the bunched up edge of her dress out from beneath her thigh and bites her tongue. He’s already called her impatient at least three times and she’ll be damned if she’ll give him reason to say it again. Assassins and their secrets. 

Their vehicle whisks past the neon landscape of upper Tayseri Ward, the light of the nearby Widow Nebula casting facades and spires in bright lavenders and deep cobalts. The passing shadows gleam across the broad, deep V of scales at his chest, exposed between an immaculately trimmed double vest and pressed button-up with rolled sleeves. 

He glances, a knowing look in his eye, looking for all the world like he’s about to make a smart remark about the way her foot taps rhythmically against the seat across from her. Whatever he’s thinking, he elects to keep it to himself as the cab finally slows.

They’re just meters from the bleeding edge of the ward, the furthest possible stretch from the Presidium. Before her, a golden glow emanates from the most expensive looking restaurant she’s ever seen in her life. 

The cab VI pings softly and announces, “Now arriving at Girasol Restaurant, Tayseri Ward. Thank you for choosing Citicab.”

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They’re seated beneath an infinite panorama of stars. Ships pass overhead, and far off, they can just barely make out the Widow relay, distant flashes of light reaching their eyes with the steady churn of the relay queue. They’re served what might be the first multi-course meal she’s ever had. 

This far out on the Ward, simulated rotational gravity is more comfortable than she’s used to. Heavier, but far closer to the SR2’s environment than the Presidium has ever been. The station’s rotation is actually perceptible from here, with so many ships flying in and out. 

“So, when were you going to tell me you were close friends with the owner of the most expensive restaurant on the Citadel?”

Thane actually laughs, his face cracking into a wide, amused smile.

“Serana is a known ally for someone of my employ. She’s more of a trusted business partner than a close friend.”

Shepard polishes off the rest of her drink and side-eyes him. “I’m not the jealous type, Thane. You don’t have to blow smoke.”

He pulls both elbows up on the table and loosely cups his hands together. “No smoke, Siha. Only the truth. I’ve only met her on one occasion. She owns multiple establishments on Tayseri ward, and has a reputation for the kind of… discretion that assassins and their clients are looking for.”

“So, a safe meeting place, then?”

“Yes,” he nods. “Ask for the right table, and it’s all taken care of from there.”

A teal-colored asari with golden tattoos collects their empty glasses as she passes by, and a set of refills is immediately behind. There’s one other drell dressed in neutral colored leathers conversing with a salarian at a nearby table, and another two across the restaurant engrossed in deep conversation with two hanar. It strikes her that this is more drell than Shepard has ever seen in one place before. 

“So you brought me to the super secret assassin speakeasy. Very cool, Thane,” she smirks, “I can cross that one off the bucket list.”

He smiles at her, enormous dark eyes gleaming with admiration. “You're quite welcome. There are few perks associated with my profession. I'm glad to share this with you.”

Shepard leans back in her chair, thinking, one wrist resting on the table. “They probably think you’re here to kill for me.”

“Siha,” he says, closing his hand over hers, “The very reason we met is because you asked me to kill for you.”

Quirking a brow, she says, “You make it sound so romantic.”

“As I recall, it was you who initiated the romance.”

She shrugs. “What can I say? I have a weakness for moody, leather-clad aliens with plunging necklines.” Shepard nods in the direction of his buttondown, the first three buttons of which are undone, perhaps more than would be tasteful in polite company. She could say she's used to seeing him like this - it's how he's dressed from the moment they met. But sometimes…

Thane’s smile turns catlike, and he squeezes her hand. “Indeed, I feel the same.”

She gives him a playful nudge with her foot. “Damn, I walked right into that one.” 

“In case I haven’t mentioned it already,” he says, leaning forward, voice low, “You look ravishing in that dress. Please, give Kelly my regards.”

Not unaffected by his lower vocal registers, Shepard offers a nonchalant rebuttal. “I think Kelly’s been chomping at the bit for your ‘regards’ since she first laid eyes on you.”

Thane smiles with a wave of his hand. “I’m spoken for, as you know.” 

He relaxes back then, removing the napkin from his lap and folding it neatly before setting it on the table before him. The golden light above their table gleams off the deep V of exposed scales on his chest, and Shepard feels the not-so-distant rumbling of desire in her blood. She loves him like this - laid back, cocky, with a kind of easy bombast that he only brings out for her. 

“Alright, Sere Spoken For,” She grips his hand, nails touching his palm in silent excitement. "Dinner was great. Why don't we get into some trouble?”

“I'd like that,” he says with a smile.

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Lower Tayseri ward is wreathed in neon and shadow. They make their way to a nearby taxi pavilion and Thane casually slides a credit chit across the volus caretaker’s desk. 

“Right this way,” he breathes heavily, leading them to a parked cab. The doors swing open and the seats slide back as they enter, revealing a wide hatch and ladder beneath. Thane descends first, Shepard close behind him. She's slower than she would like in these shoes, her mobility not improved by the tight confines of her dress.

“I know you’re getting an eyeful down there.”

Thane catches the sole of her foot as she very nearly plants her heel on his face, and he stops his descent, almost certainly to raise his eyes to the clear shot he must have between her thighs. 

“I was not, until you suggested it,” he muses. “I love that color on you.” 

Leaning to peer down the ladder at him, Shepard winks. “I know you do.”

They dismount the ladder one at a time, metal grating beneath their feet. They’ve arrived in some kind of tunnel system. Distantly, Shepard can hear the pounding bass of a nightclub. 

“I’m relieved to hear the club is still operating,” Thane says, as though he were the type of guy to be pressed about a nightclub being closed down. They begin to make their way down the corridor. It’s too narrow to walk comfortably side by side. Shepard settles for admiring his ass as he leads ahead of her. 

“You’re taking me to a nightclub?”

“It’s called Cernunnos. Their DJs are a crowd favorite.”

A keeper crosses their path ahead, and they pause to let it pass. Shepard takes the opportunity to pull herself in close, savoring the feel of his muscled frame beneath her hands. “You have a favorite DJ?”

He doesn't answer, offering that classic little smirk-smile he only shares with her. This man, she thinks. 

“Come, Siha. It isn’t far.”

They traverse the winding network of grated catwalks, narrow corridors, and dusty passageways, lit by dim red wall panels reminiscent of a submarine and lined with a concerning number of locked, unlabeled doors without handles. It would be so easy to get lost down here, spend a few hours well and truly alone - a thought that’s becoming more and more interesting as she wonders what Thane plans on doing to her when he finally has her cornered. 

At last, they come upon one large door with a glowing red lock. Thane presses a panel beside it, revealing a console so well hidden it may as well have not been there at all. Seconds later, the lock turns green, the doors open, and they're swept up in the colossal sound of pounding bass and dancing bodies. 

“Holy shit,” she says under her breath, the sound of her voice lost to the music. 

They arrive at a horizontal catwalk stretching along the curved wall of the club from one end of the dance hall to the other. There’s maybe 12 inches of space between their heads and the ventilation ductwork, and the guardrail is trussed with lights, circling in neon patterns over the dancers far below who frolic over a mirrored floor lined with still more lights that give the space an otherworldly feel. The bass shakes her bones, settles hard over the pounding of her heart. Incredible, what freedom a bit of loud music can bring. 

She takes a step up to the railing, soaking in the energy of the crowd and the beat. Thane’s arms slide around her waist. It never gets old - the way he pulls her back into him, letting his breath wash over her neck. He presses close, giving a thoughtful hum as his lips ghost over her ear. 

“I once chased a target to this very spot,” he says lowly, in a haze of memory. “A human woman. Red of hair.”

Shepard leans back into him, smirking. “You brought me all this way to tell me stories? I love that about you.”

He brushes his nose against her hairline, presses his cheek close. “She was a fierce combatant. Slipped through my fingers more times than I could count as I pursued her across systems, through relays, until at last I cornered her here, on the Citadel.”

Their current arrangement is not lost on her. Leaning against a narrow metal guardrail with the galaxy’s most feared assassin at her back, she can't help the excited jump in her pulse. 

“Next you’re gonna tell me you prayed for her before you dropped her over the edge,” Shepard teases. 

“You mistake me, Siha.” His hands wander to her hips. “My hunt had only just begun when we reached the Citadel. After I infiltrated her ship and earned her trust.”

That gets a genuine laugh out of her. “Mixing business with pleasure, Thane?”

“As all assassins do,” he agrees without a shred of shame or discomfort. “One might argue that by the time I caught her, she openly goaded me to chase her.” His lips touch her neck. “To claim her.”

“So you cornered her here,” Shepard replies, leaning her head back against his shoulder, inviting his wandering hands, his warm mouth on the curve of her neck. 

“As I have cornered you, now,” he says, voice low. Seductive.

“How'd you do it? A quick snap of the neck? A knife? An unfortunate, ‘accidental’ fall?”

“I never said I killed her, Siha,” he says, with a playful lilt to his voice. His hands smooth down over her abdomen, over her thighs, fingertips pressing close to her apex. She knows this touch to be exploratory, communicative, a subtle ask from his body to hers. What a simple thing it is to respond in kind, pressing her backside against him.

He gives a quiet laugh, kissing the spot behind her ear. 

“I see how it is,” she teases, arching her spine, pushing her backside into his hips. The unmistakable warmth of his arousal pushes back, and she feels her own desire begin to smolder. “You know all of my secrets but I can't know yours?" 

His arms tighten around her and he lets out a low rasp. 

"You offer your secrets to me voluntarily. Perhaps you would do well to watch your mouth."

"Oh?" she says, turning to face him, setting her elbows back on the railing and arching her neck in a silent invitation. In the low light, his eyes are hungry. "Say that again, to my face."

"I said, watch your mouth, Siha." He touches her chin. "If you prefer, I will find better use for it."

He kisses her, then. Pulls her body flush with his; the way that makes his mouth and tongue feel like a full-body experience. Heat flares beneath her skin, and she only gives fleeting consideration to their location as she considers all that she wants from him, wants to give him, right here and now. 

"You really think that'll shut me up?"

"An untested theory," he says, nipping her bottom lip, one hand sliding down to cup her ass. “Perhaps if we...”

She gives his belt a quick tug and pulls it free, her eyes never leaving his. The sound he makes is deep and desirous as she pushes him up against a shadow-washed bulkhead. Eyes locked, she descends to her knees before him. 

"I never feel more humbled than when you offer me your mouth," he whispers  as she strokes him. He’s rock hard, pulsing in her hand. In the darkness, she counts the swirling lines that sweep along his length. They flank the coronal ridge of his head, flowing along the shape of him and meeting again just past his sheath. 

"This mouth is famous," she reminds him, peering up to meet his eyes as she teases along the underside. "Some might even say infamous."

"And yet none have known it as I have." He relaxes against the wall and touches the side of her face, sliding his fingers into her hair. The intention in his grip is unmistakable, but he's so pretty when he begs. Gazing up at him, she flutters her lashes, swipes her tongue across his glans and hooks her fingers around his shaft. The colored, moving lights off the club sweep across his face. 

"Please, Siha,” he says sweetly, tilting his hips to nudge his tip against her mouth. 

She smiles, hand tightening around his length. And then he's sliding between her lips, venom burning on her tongue, sinking as far as she can manage into her throat.  

He groans. His hips tense as she pulls off him, hollowing her cheeks as she goes, sucking hard and following with a soft tongue. For all his bluster, Thane is a man like any other - spellbound and lost in the heat of her mouth. He fists his hand in her hair, nails raking along her scalp, guiding her with steady strength. The base of him tingles with his natural lubricant, envenomed and leeching into her blood as she stretches her lips around him and swallows him to the hilt. Christ. She wants him so badly it aches. 

He abruptly tightens his grip on her hair, stalling her. 

“Siha,” he groans. “Siha.”

Shepard releases him with a pop, and he only takes a moment to sag against the wall before hauling her up against him, pressing his tongue against hers. His hands are on her thighs, gathering her short skirt, bunching up atop her hips. He backs her up, step by step, until the railing pushes into her back. 

"Turn around,” he says with a rasp as he spins her, caging her between his arms against the guardrail.

The crowd of dancers below moves like an ocean, swelling and crashing between the mirrored floor and sweeping lights, tangled limbs and bodies lost in one another. She surveys the tables and bars ringing the dance floor, at once both curious and worried to know if they've been spotted. Her search is almost enough to distract her from Thane’s hands sliding beneath her bunched-up dress, scaled palms gliding with unmistakable intent across her skin.

“I want you,” he murmurs in her ear. “Right here, just like this.”

He rocks his hips against her, slow and firm. 

“I thought you'd never ask,” she says breathily.

He nudges her legs apart with a booted foot. "Do we have an audience?"

She shakes her head. “Do you want an audience?”

He kisses her again behind the ear. "Perhaps you will give them due cause. You always make the most delicious sounds when I take you from behind."

Fuck. His voice vibrates between her ears, down her spine, and settles in her throbbing cunt. She aches, her blood pounding with the bass. 

Thane pulls her hips back toward him, pulling her panties to the side. She breathes out a soft moan as traces her seam with just the tips of his fingers, sliding toward the top of her mound and back again before slipping with ease into her channel. 

"Wet," he murmurs. "Does the taste of me arouse you so?"

Shepard bites her lip and whines, and he continues, fingers sliding in and out of her at a slow, dragging pace. There’s no doubt that this insufferable tease is avoiding her clit on purpose, and she reaches between her legs to pleasure herself. Thane intercepts her before she can make it there. 

"Mind your hands, Siha,” he warns, placing and curling her fingers back around the metal. “We wouldn't want our hosts to get the wrong idea.” The low rasp in his voice is driving her mad. The moment he lets go, she reaches back behind his neck, arching herself toward him, intent on capturing his lips. 

“Or what?” She rasps. “Go on, Krios. Threaten me with a good time.”

This time, his grip is firm. Just shy of bruising. He cinches her wrists together with one strong hand, as the other reaches between them to hook a finger around the crotch of her panties. He tugs at them, aggressive, urging them down her thighs until they fall to her knees at an angle, still hooked on his finger. 

Shepard steps out of the garment one leg at a time. Heaven only knows what thoughts are locked in his fathomless mind, but she loves where this is going. Loves to egg him on, deny him just enough to leave him dangling on one, fragile thread of frustration and ever more eager to ravish her. Thane is never one to disappoint. 

He lifts her damp panties to her wrists, and in a series of swift movements, binds her hands to the guardrail. Perfect. An excited chill races down her spine. No one plays dirty quite like he does. 

He nips at her neck, and then her ear. “Shall I pardon myself, Shepard? Leave you here for a time, with nothing but the music and your desire to drive you to madness?” 

“You wouldn't,” she taunts back, testing her makeshift restraint. The fabric isn't made for any sort of strength; it wouldn't take much to tear free, but she'll wait till the right moment for that. 

“No. I am nothing if not generous, as you are aware.” His cock is a hard line against the crack of her ass, his hands returning to her body, feeling the contour of her breasts, her hips. He makes a low sound when he returns to the heat between her legs and effortlessly spears her with his fused fingers. 

“Generous, my ass,” she taunts. “They teach you not to play with your food in the Compact?” Her gut clenches and she moans “Fuck” against gritted teeth as he curls into her walls, hitting her exactly where she likes it.  When he withdraws, he wraps his arm around her shoulders.

"Taste, Siha," he whispers, fused fingers leaving a wet trail along her cheek as he pushes them inside her mouth. Flooded with lust, she accepts without a second thought. The salty flavor of her own arousal hits her tongue and she groans around his hand, sucking his fingers just like she’d sucked his cock. 

At last, he adjusts himself, nestling his velvety tip against her opening. 

Thane's fingers tear free of her lips and settle on her jaw, gripping tight, forcing her head to the side, pressing his face to hers so she can feel his breath coming hot and heavy against her cheek. Bound before him, all she can think about is his cock, his head hovering just inside her folds, thick and heavy and slick, primed to penetrate and fuck her right here and now on this dusty catwalk-

"Goddess preserve me," he breathes.

And then he's sliding home, the wide head of his cock prying her open inch by inch, every one of his ridges like fire licking the ring of her opening as she stretches and pulses around him. 

There's no substitute for this - the deep throbbing heat, the pressure, the incredible stretch as her body conforms around his beautiful alien cock. She wishes she could bottle this feeling, inhale and relive it during her many sleepless nights aboard her ship - fuck, she’d never want for anyone ever again. It steals her breath. White knuckles on the railing, her head pitches forward with a long moan as their hips go flush. 

His voice is shaky as he mutters her name like a prayer into her skin. Hard, unyielding, and sheathed to the hilt inside her, he kisses with unfocused, desperate lust against her mouth and cheek. It feels like he could swallow her whole, pulled flush against his chest with hands trembling.

Stars - she could grind herself to oblivion on him. It’s killing her that she can’t touch him.

"You will be the death of me, Siha. The things you let me do to you-” his hips abruptly snap into hers, followed by a few short, shaky thrusts before he settles into a heavy rhythm that makes her cunt throb.

“This turn you on, Krios?” She laughs, the sound ragged. “Fucking me over the dance floor of a crowded club?”

It's a struggle to keep her voice level, but it's worth it. His forehead briefly comes to rest between her shoulder blades and he tightens his fingers on her hips, pace unfaltering. These little tells, she knows, speak volumes of his control, his desire.

“If I didn't know better, I'd say you want them to watch.” She thrusts back against him, leveraging her hands on the guardrail.

His pace stutters. He gives a sudden, sharp thrust, swallowing before he manages, “If I wanted them to watch, I’d have stripped you bare.” 

Shepard lets out a breathless chuckle. “I think I struck a nerve.”

Thane makes a low, desperate sound. “You are my savior and my tormentor,” he rasps. 

He rocks back slowly, stroking her walls with every ridge until he comes free. Shepard chases him with her hips, empty and aching, until his hands close over hers and he begins to thrust wetly against her seam. She can feel every single contour of his cock dragging over her sensitive, swollen pearl, bringing her closer to the brink as he backs down from his.

“Imagine it, Siha,” he says, his chest flat against her back as he nips her jaw. “The dancers below are none the wiser, for a time. And then one looks up,” he gestures out over the dance floor and takes a deep, long breath. Two steps backward. Drags her hips with him until she's almost at chin level with the guardrail. 

“And there you are. Bent over before me, colored lights sweeping across your skin, shaking as I take my fill of you.” His hands drag over her curves, lingering at her breasts, squeezing, flirting with roughness. “Whether they wish to be you or be inside you, they can only watch and wonder - what must it feel like to put one's hands on such a beautiful creature?"

Her cheeks are on fire. Yeah, she's struck a nerve alright. His fingers massage her nipple through the fabric of her dress, and she can tell by his uncharacteristically clumsy grip that he’s at least thinking about tearing holes in her dress. 

A hand comes to rest on her belly, holding her tight against him as he eases the tip of his cock inside her again, pushing, seeking. He’s still maddeningly restrained. All he allows her is what remains of his patience: long, slow, deep thrusts. Her skin itches, body aching for the full, unleashed strength of him. He squeezes her breast again, pushing deeper into her cunt now, and all at once, the realization hits her. 

"Are you-" she chokes, "Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

She can imagine it - the hands of a stranger freeing her from this damned dress, sliding over her skin, kneading her breasts - tongue drawing circles around the taut bud of her nipple - Thane fucking her all the while - 

As though he can hear her thoughts, he pulls her hips sharply back into his, and she gasps. The fantasy takes her by surprise and her eyes squeeze shut, arousal boiling beneath her skin.  

"Maybe we could try that sometime," she heaves, and she can tell by the way his body shudders that she’s under his skin now, too.  

He pauses, slipping out of her, and for a moment she thinks he's actually going to make good on her suggestion. Instead he adjusts his stance, pushes her hips forward until they're flush against the railing bars and thrusts back inside her at an angle that leaves her gasping. 

"Siha," he groans into her neck, "The mere thought of sharing your pleasure with another…" His voice is ragged as he begins to fuck her in earnest. "To imagine them… on their knees before you… tongue devoted to your pleasure as I move inside you. Merciful gods."

He grips her waist, pounding into her at an angle that makes heat flash along her spine like lightning. Shepard struggles to keep her eyes open, as though by watching the dance floor, she could somehow keep them from watching her. They’re in too deep now - but there’s something intensely arousing about being had in this state. About knowing any wandering eyes might catch the sight of Thane taking his pleasure from her. Knowing how, despite her (frankly excessive) state of dress, it would be immediately obvious what was happening. 

His hands moves between her legs, sliding against wet, warm flesh, focused where she’s spread wide around his girth. He circles her clit in frantic, jerky circles that give away just how much his control is fraying at the seams. Shepard is on the edge before she even knows what’s happening, spellbound, vividly imagining Thane fucking her into oblivion beneath a stranger's hands and mouth. 

"Thane-" she chokes, a lip between her teeth. Hands lock around the cold steel railing and she struggles to breathe, lurching forward, spine bowing, until she's truly hanging on for dear life while her climax shreds her nerves from the inside out. And he doesn't stop - 

It feels like heaven. Glowing, white hot, and savage jabs of ecstacy ripping through her as he braces himself against her hips and fucks her for all he's worth. The force of him makes her stumble, the binds at her wrist tearing thread by thread until they unravel, torn elastic whipping away from her hands and falling uselessly into the crowd below. Whoever they land on is the furthest thing from her mind. He's deep, so impossibly, brilliantly, earth-shatteringly deep inside her, every thrust rocketing through her on forked flashes of lightning until her eyes roll back and she chokes out half-formed words in the vague shape of his name.

Swallowing a moan, she manages only a few clear words: "Fuck me, Thane." 

He makes a low noise, something between a moan and a growl. Teeth drag against the curve of her shoulder, driving spike after spike of incandescent pleasure through her body. And then he shudders, gasps, and grips her hips to the point of pain as his cock pulses hard between her legs, and fuck - 

She can feel it - the wet, warming gush of his release painting her deepest reaches. The feeling conjures new, unbidden fantasies in her mind - a body on its knees before her, mouthing at the wet heat of their joining, perhaps even daring to meet her eyes as they dragged their tongue between the swollen, blushing lips of her cunt to collect their mingled essence. 

Her cheeks burn. 

Yeah, she admits to herself. She wants that. A third partner.

Would they fuck her through the dregs of Thane's venom? Sliding between her legs to occupy the space he vacates as he finally separates from her with their hot mouth, their fingers, their cock, anything - pushing up into her channel with barely concealed lust, drinking from her; saliva and fingers and come dragging hot against oversensitive flesh. Her whole body feels heavy - drugged with a deep, buttery heat that’s slowly cooking her from within.

Who could they…? 

She's running through the possibilities in her mind. Hiring someone feels too risky because her name is so well known. Someone closer to home, maybe? Someone they trust. And all at once, it's clear. There's one person on her ship that she trusts enough to either be discreet, or let her down easy. 

Shepard turns to Thane and pushes her hands into the open collar of his shirt, dragging her nails against his chest and her tongue against his throat.

Fuck-drunk and breathless, she asks, “You’d go for a threeway with me?” She squeezes her thighs together, his release threatening to flow from her at any moment.

He blinks, and she’s sure he’s having some kind of post-climax revelation about what the hell they’ve just done - but fuck it. She’s unbuttoning his shirt, his sculpted chest rising and falling rapidly in the aftermath of his exertion.

“Yes,” he says, pulling her flush against him. She bites her lip, feeling the wet drip of him between her legs.  “Provided we agree on the partner.”

“Garrus,” she breathes. “What about Garrus?” and she can feel Thane’s sharp intake of breath beneath her wandering hands. 

"You have bold tastes, Siha. Are you certain?"

Thane grips her ass, every mottled inch of his body pressed up against her, and raises her thigh with a guiding hand so he can slide his fingertips along her leaking seam. 

"He wants me,” she says between fevered kisses. "He doesn't know how to say it, but he does."

“You've built a career on uniting the galaxy's various species,” he replies. “It's only fitting that you should do the same in your bed.”

Thane pushes his fingers up inside her and her lips rip from his as she gasps, feeling the bulk of his spend fall from her only for him to press it back into her mound, grinding his palm up against her clit. She releases a pathetic moan, buries her head in his shoulder, rolling her hips against his hand. His come feels so good, some bizarre quirk of biology giving it a warming quality when it comes in contact with her own wetness.

Blindly, she reaches for him, dragging her tongue along his neck when she finds him hard and ready. 

“Is that a yes, then?”

He seems to consider her with a thoughtful hum, working his hand between her legs, infuriating in his unending patience. She tightens her palm around his cock, and his lips trace the shell of her ear. 

“I'd like that, Siha.” 

She moans, muffled against his neck, and sinks her teeth into the sensitive ruby flesh beneath her mouth. He growls in turn, winds his free hand into her hair to force her lips back onto his. 

“We should return to the Normandy,” he murmurs, breath ragged. 

He's right, of course. But she can taste the potent citric salt of his venom and she knows she's too far gone, by miles. She can't get enough of him, mind swimming in fantasies of him and Garrus taking turns with her, converging on her, filling her mouth, her cunt, her everything with brain-melting pleasure. She's sure of only one thing - they're not making it back to her ship. 

“Negative, soldier,” she breathes. “How well traveled are these maintenance corridors?”

Suddenly she's in the air, legs clamping around his waist as he physically lifts her and carries her down the catwalk. 

“Storage loft, on your left,” he manages. She reaches a hand blindly to the wall, releases an overloading charge from her omni-tool that singes both her palm and the lock’s control panel. There's a rush of cool air as the doors whiff open. 

No sooner are they inside than she's wriggling free of his hold, pushing him down onto the nearest moderately flat surface, peeling her dress off, and mounting him. It's quieter here. She can hear the low catch of his breath as she takes him to the hilt. 

He feels positively divine. Warmed from within by sex and venom, she begins to ride him. She rises until his tip rests at her entrance and plunges back down, the whole of his length rocketing through her like a thick, ridged bullet, over and over again, endless, perpetual, and fucking perfect. 

Thane's eyes are fixated on her, reflecting the dim fluorescent lines that flicker above them in time with the bass of the club just outside the door. One hand splays itself over her belly as though to steady her, and then he licks his lips, fingertips sliding down, down, warm and rasping scales sliding over her slick pearl. 

Wherever she's supposed to be right now, she only knows she's here, right on the edge of nonsense and drunken need, Thane rolling her again and again up the precipice of climax like Sisyphus and his stone. She falls over him, tongue wrapping around his, impaled on the burning tower of his desire, his hand curling around her breast, thumb flicking over her nipple, rutting up into her with equal vigor - 

The first shock of her climax flashes like a spark between her hips. She clenches, involuntary, gasps against his mouth - tries in vain to hold back the tsunami that's already racing toward her, but it's too late. She shudders and gasps into him, and he's only seconds behind. He closes his teeth around her lower lip as he floods her, tip to root, warmth blooming along her spine. 

She lays atop him, panting in the aftermath. Her forehead rests against his. His arms are trembling as they wind around her shoulders. 

“Wow,” she breathes, after a long moment. Now that they're both still, she can feel how the floor - the crate - below them shakes with the club's bass. 

He offers a sated “Mmm” in response, nuzzling her head, breathing hard.

“Have I ever told you that you're the best sex I've ever had?”

“You haven't, Siha,” he says, voice low. “But I inferred.”

She pushes a playful, weak palm against his arm. “Smartass.”

She moves to stand, but he seems loathe to release her. His hands trail down her shoulders and arms as she sets one shaky foot on the ground at a time, heels clanging on the dusty metal floor. Shakes the dust off her dress before sliding it back on with a wince. 

“Were you serious, about Mr. Vakarian?”

Shepard wrinkles her nose. “He's going to say no if you call him that.”

Thane sits up on the edge of the crate, tucking himself back into his pants. 

“You were serious, then?”

Shepard states at him, still moderately high, doing her best to seem coherent, as though his spend isn't rolling down her thigh. 

“Yes,” she says, matter-of-factly. 

He extends a hand, then, and pulls her by the arm to stand between his knees. With a deep inhale, he kisses her, sweet and tender. “I will approach him then, when the time is right.”

Shepard sighs with contentment, leaning against him for a moment, inhaling the clean, dry scent of him as she rests her head on his shoulder.

“Pretty sure my underwear fell onto some guy's head.”

“You'd have kept them if you had not challenged me, my Siha.”

“As though you wouldn't have torn them off me at some point,” she retorts. 

“As though you wouldn't have begged me to do so,” he says with a smile.

Then he stands, removing his vest. 

“A concession,” he offers, holding it out for her. “And, if you'll permit me, I will replace your lost garment. Perhaps a deep blue, if our turian friend should accept our invitation.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Shepard says as she bends gracelessly and uses the fabric to wipe the mess from between her thighs. He takes it back from her when she's finished, folding the soiled side of the material into itself and tucking it into his back pocket.

They step back onto the catwalk, the air heavy with sweat and sex and smoke. As Shepard twines her fingers with his, Thane takes a moment just to gaze at her, his enormous dark eyes catching the light of the club below. He places a soft kiss to the back of her hand. 

“Come, Siha,” he smiles. “The night awaits.”

[rare-clone-fic-exchange]

Nine Lives for Sergeant O'Niner

A/N: This is a collaboration between @anxiouspineapple99 and @dystopicjumpsuit , written as a gift for @deewithani

Pairing: Sergeant O’Niner x Reader (GN)

Rating: M (minors DNI)

Wordcount: 1.5K

Warnings and tags: angst; fluff; little bit of smut (nipple play; implied oral sex); not canon compliant; everyone lives AU

Summary: Sergeant O’Niner must have nine lives. How else could he have survived the battle of Rishi Moon?

The Coruscanti rain pelted the window of your office, relentless as the ache in your chest as you sat sipping tea and flipping through the latest issue of the Bar’leth Journal of Galactic Archaeology. You normally loved the soothing pitter patter of water on transparisteel, and even now, you would have been relaxed by it if it weren't for the nagging anxiety that plagued your thoughts. 

It had been one week since the news broke that the Separatists had attacked Rishi, and the outpost had been destroyed. One week of pure torture as you waited for word about O’Niner’s fate—all the while, keenly aware that the GAR would never notify you directly, given that your relationship with the sergeant was not only unsanctioned, but perilously close to forbidden. It felt unfair—even cruel—but there was no way you could discover what had happened to him through official channels.

As the days passed, your despair grew, until late one afternoon, your comlink chirped, and when you answered, you saw the beloved face you’d come to believe you might never see again. You tried to say his name, but all that came out of your mouth was a broken, hoarse croak as tears of relief stung your eyes.

“Ner cyare,” he murmured, holding the holo close enough that all you could see was his face.

You instinctively reached out to touch him, pulling back as your fingers encountered nothing but air and light as you whispered, “I thought you were…”

“I know,” he replied quietly. “I’m sorry; I commed as soon as I could.”

“Are you all right?” you asked, your voice finally coming back to you.

“I am,” he replied. “And so are all the men. I still can’t believe we all made it out alive.”

You let out a relieved laugh that sounded more like a sob. “I swear, you must be a loth-cat with nine lives.”

“You didn’t think my name came from my CT number, did you?” he grinned.

“What happened?” you asked. “How did you survive?”

He chuckled. “That’s a good story, and I can’t wait to tell you in person.”

Your heart began to pound. “In person? Are you coming back to Coruscant?”

“As soon as—” He cut off abruptly as he heard the approaching footsteps of a group of troopers. “Gotta go.”

The transmission cut off abruptly as O’Niner ended the comm. You waited for him to call back, staring at the chrono on your desk as minutes ticked by at an agonizing pace. The call never came, and you accepted that O’Niner might not be able to find an opportunity to call again. 

The afternoon passed in excruciating slowness until at last, you decided you had suffered long enough and began to pack up to go home. The downpour had relented to a miserable drizzle by the time you made your way to the platform to hail a speeder-cab. 

Your eyes fluttered shut as your head rested on the headrest. The anxiety that had swirled in your gut all week had now transformed into a dull, unyielding ache of longing and missing and wanting and needing. Your mind wandered, and you were so distracted that you missed the quiet ping of your datapad as your home security system alerted you that it had been turned off.

As the speeder-cab pulled up to your building, the rain began to fall in a torrent, and you darted through the downpour toward your door, hastily keying in your code and ducking inside your flat. You shook the water off and pulled off your raincoat, reaching to hang it up when you heard a soft sound from the other end of the flat. You froze, then turned around slowly.

A light was on in your refresher; you could see it shining from under the closed door. You crept down the hallway, and suddenly the refresher door opened. You shrieked with alarm and flailed your raincoat at the intruder, then whirled and fled down the hall, running for your life.

“Cyar’ika, wait!” a familiar voice called.

You skidded to a halt and turned around slowly. O’Niner stood just outside the refresher, wrapped in nothing but a towel as steam poured from the open door.

“O’Niner.” His name left your lips as a desperate whisper. “You’re home!”

A soft smile crossed his lips and slid up to his sparkling amber eyes. You bounded toward him without wasting another second, colliding with his body as you wrapped him in a tight embrace. A hiss of pain rushed through his clenched teeth.

Startled, you pulled back. “I’m so sorry!” 

“Worth the pain, darling.” He chuckled, pulling you back into his arms as he pressed his forehead against yours. His velvety voice sent chills dancing down your spine. “Were you planning on beating me to death with your raincoat?”

“Maybe.” Your eyes flicked to the fresh bacta patch obscuring his abdomen. “You’re hurt. You said you were okay.” 

Suddenly every new bruise and scrape was illuminated in the low light of your apartment. Your brow knit tightly in concern as you leaned back to inspect his injuries.

“I’m alive, little one,” he said softly. “That means I’m fine.”

“That’s why the holo was zoomed in on your face!” Your voice rose slightly, worry lending it an accusatory edge.

“I’m. Fine,” he enunciated firmly as he grasped your shoulders.“Don’t look at me like that. If I’d told you I’d been shot you would have panicked.”

“I do not panic!” you objected.

He chucked you under the chin, a soft smile crossed his lips. “You’re panicking right now.”

“No, I’m not—Fine. Yes. I might be panicking a little,” you pouted. He may have been right, but you didn’t have to be happy about it.

His other hand caressed and massaged your hip as he leaned closer to you. “You know, you still haven’t kissed me yet.”

You drew in a shuddering breath, pushing down your anxiety and irritation as you tried to focus on the present: he was home; he was alive; he was with you. You raised your fingers to his face and traced the lines at the corners of his eyes, then slid your fingertips into his dark hair that was flecked with gray as you drew his face closer to yours and pressed your lips against his forehead. You kissed a trail down the side of his face until you reached the corner of his lips, and then he wrapped you in his arms and pulled your body against him as his mouth captured yours in a heated, passionate kiss.

He was still soaking wet from his shower. The glistening water droplets sliding down his firm, brown chest and abdomen soaked your shirt, and you didn’t care a bit. It didn’t matter anyway, because his deft fingers were already undoing your buttons and pushing the shirt off your shoulders.

You kissed down his neck, and then down his chest, but you hesitated and pulled away, staring at him with troubled, anxious eyes.

“I promise, I’m all right,” he reassured you. “But if you’re so concerned, you could always kiss it better. One kiss for every injury, ner kar'ta?”

His heated smile reassured you more than anything else he could possibly have said, but you weren’t letting him off the hook so easily for trying to hide his injuries from you.

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” you pointed out.

 “You would deny a dying man his final wish?” he teased, desire plain his eyes.

“You said you were fine.”

“Mmm,” he grunted softly as his gaze swept over your features wistfully while his hands lingered at your waist. “I may have spoken too soon. I’m suddenly feeling so… very… weak…”

“Incorrigible,” you muttered, peppering his chest with kisses, licking up the shimmering water droplets that still clung to his skin, scraping your teeth softly over his nipples in the way that you knew drove him wild.

He rumbled quietly as his fingers tangled in your hair, gently urging you to go lower. You glanced up at him with a mischievous light in your eyes as your tongue swirled over his nipple, refusing to continue your progress until his breath became ragged and he was starting to moan and whimper, just the way you liked. At last, you drew away.

“I think you’ve earned a real bed, don’t you?” you asked.

He nodded, his eyes dark with lust as you took him by the hand and led him into the bedroom. Your fingers trailed down his body until you reached his towel, and with a quick tug, it fell to the floor. 

“As much as I’d love to tackle you onto that bed, I think it might be better if you just lie down,” you murmured. “I’d hate for the night to end with you in a hospital.”

“Might be worth it,” he smirked.

You traced over his shoulders, then gently pressed on them until he complied and lay down on his back.

“We can play rough some other time,” you whispered as you knelt between his thighs. “Tonight, I’m going to be very, very gentle.”

“Not too gentle, I hope,” he said before sucking in a loud breath as your tongue glided over the tip of his cock. “Holy Maker, cyare.”

“There’s nothing holy about what I’m going to do to you,” you promised. “But I have a feeling that won’t be the only time you pray to the Maker tonight.”

#sergeant o'niner

[dystopicjumpsuit]

Tup à Trois

Happy Tup Tuesday! Inspired by this delicious (and NSFW) Tup Spicy Alphabet Headcanons post by @deejadabbles and the absolutely unhinged conversation that followed.

Rating: Mature/18+/Minors DNI

Pairing: Tup x Fem!Reader x Jesse

Wordcount: 2,519 words of filth

Warnings: SMUT; threesome; oral sex; femdom; lingerie/stocking fetish; exhibitionism; voyeurism; cum eating; PIV

A/N: this didn't seem that kinky when I was writing, but now that I see all the warnings written out, I'm starting to think I might be desensitized. There must be something in the water. Anyway, here's my beautiful boy.

Previously, on Tup Tuesday | Masterlist | Join my tag list here

“It’s just sex,” he says. “No reason to make it weird if everybody’s down.”

Your gaze drifts over Jesse’s body. You’d be lying if you said he wasn’t hotter than Mustafar, but his particular brand of arrogant swagger does nothing for you. You far prefer Tup’s sweet, quiet sincerity and understated confidence. But if it’s just sex? Jesse looks like a wild ride.

He stretches casually, showing off the muscles that bulge beneath his uniform, and when you look back up to his face, he has a smug expression that makes you want to throw something at him. Like a drink. Or your pussy.

“See something you like?” he asks insolently. 

You dart a guilty look at Tup, realizing you’ve been ogling his brother right in front of him, but to your surprise, his eyes are trained intensely on your face, his pupils dilated so wide that you can barely make out the rich brown of his irises. You recognize the desire in his gaze, and you realize—Oh. He likes that idea.

You’ve learned that Tup likes to watch. He’ll lie in bed next to you, watching you play with yourself for hours as he whispers sweet words of lust and encouragement. In fact, he often brings new toys for you when he comes home on leave. This is the first time the toy he’s offering is one of his brothers, though. Your eyes dart between Jesse and Tup, and they watch you with the same expression: pure, unbridled craving.

“Want to get out of here?” Jesse asks.

You turn to Tup, and he nods. You slide out of the booth so fast you nearly pitch forward onto the floor, but Tup catches you, and the three of you stumble out of the club. As Tup hails a cab, Jesse pulls you back against him and slides his hands over your hips, dropping his mouth to the junction where your neck meets your shoulder and licking his way up to your earlobe. His facial hair is a little more prickly than Tup’s, and the unfamiliar rasp of it sends shivers through your body.

Distantly, you hear some jackass cat-calling the two of you, but you’re too aroused to care. Tup rejoins you, and he kisses you with a sweltering intensity before he tugs you across the landing platform and helps you into the waiting taxi. Jesse slides in next, and then Tup, and soon you are flying through the skylanes toward your flat. 

Jesse, clearly not shy about performing in front of an audience, continues his exploration of your body, his mouth and hands roaming over your skin, sliding under your dress to tease you through your silky undergarments. Tup sits back and observes, his erection prominently tenting the front of his uniform. You meet his eyes, silently inviting him to join in, but he just murmurs words of lewd encouragement as Jesse redoubles his efforts.

“Why haven’t you kissed me yet?” you ask as Jesse buries his face between your tits.

“I didn’t know if your mouth was off-limits,” he says. “Tup?”

Tup looks to you, and you give him a tiny smile.

“Give her what she wants,” Tup orders.

Jesse’s kiss is overpowering, breath-stealing, confident, assertive—just like the man. He ravages your mouth with tactical precision, all tongue and teeth and heat. When you reach your flat, the three of you crash through the door in a tangle of limbs and lips. Jesse kicks off his boots without ever pulling his mouth away from yours, even as you unfasten his uniform jacket and shove it down his arms. You fumble with his belt buckle, and his trousers are next to go, leaving him in only his boxers and undershirt. 

You slide your hand inside the elastic waistband of his underwear and grasp the hot, rock-hard length of his cock, and you feel a sticky wetness on your wrist where his tip brushes against you. Reaching lower, you cup his balls.

“That all you got?” he asks with a cocky grin.

Raising an eyebrow, you take him in a firm hold, and a harsh groan wrenches from his throat as he thrusts against you. So he likes to play rough. Interesting.

“Enough,” Tup’s voice cuts through the need that clouds your brain, startling you with its harshness. “Jesse, strip. I want her to see you.”

You shoot an uncertain look at Tup, but Jesse only smirks.

“Enjoying being in command, little brother?” he asks, a taunt clear in his voice.

“Shut up and get naked, Jesse,” you order, and his eyes dart to yours in surprise, before darkening with arousal.

“Tup, you didn’t tell me she was so mean,” he says as he pulls off his shirt. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

“Nobody asked you to talk, pretty boy,” you reply.

“Shit,” he breathes, his movements slowing to a halt as he stares at you, his jaw slack.

You tilt your jaw imperiously, and he drops his boxers and steps out of them, and then he stands before you in full, glorious nudity. You try to maintain your bravado, but holy kriff, Jesse is something else. You know he’s older than Tup, and you can see it reflected in his body. Tup is strong and undeniably fit, but he’s leaner than Jesse, whose bulk is almost intimidating now that you can see the full extent of it. He has incredibly broad shoulders, a thick chest and solid core, and absolutely massive thighs. You reach a hand out to stroke down his abdominal muscles, and he shoots you a slow smirk that says he knows exactly how good he looks.

Undaunted, you make your way around him in a languid circle, stopping to admire his frankly incredible ass. He turns to watch you over his shoulder, and you notice that he subtly flexes his muscles as he does so.

“This isn’t a strip club, baby,” he says. “You can touch the goods.”

“I’m not your baby,” you say, but you slide your hand over his ass anyway, digging your nails in a bit as you squeeze the firm muscle.

As you circle back to stand in front of Jesse, Tup steps close behind you, hands drifting over your shoulders as he kisses your neck. You lean into him, and you hear the faint sound of a zipper lowering as your dress goes loose around you. He lets it drop to the ground, and you step out of it, still wearing your heels. Jesse hisses out a curse when he sees you standing in nothing but a sheer, lacy bra, matching panties, and thigh-high stockings held up by a flirty little garter belt.

“She isn’t mean to me,” Tup says with a smirk.

“Fuck me,” Jesse says, awed.

“That’s the plan,” you say.

“Do you think he’s earned it?” Tup asks.

You eye Jesse speculatively. His gaze is riveted to your tits, and you can tell how badly he wants to touch you by the way his hands clench and release. Tup sees it, too, and he torments his brother by stroking his big, calloused hands over your body, cupping your breasts and thumbing your nipples through the lace of your bra, then sliding a hand down to slip inside your underwear and caress your cunt. His fingers circle your clit and then slide inside, and your legs nearly buckle from pleasure.

“I’m not convinced,” you say, forcing yourself to keep a steady voice. “Maybe if he begs… On his knees.”

Jesse’s eyes snap to yours, and he gets that cocky look again—the one that says he’s not going down that easily, but Tup intervenes.

“God damn, you’re wet, baby,” he says, and you know he’s doing it on purpose to goad Jesse, because he never calls you that. “Sweetest little pussy in the galaxy. You should taste her, brother. I swear you’ll never want to eat anything else.”

He withdraws his fingers from you and brings his arm across your throat as he raises them to his mouth. You tilt your head back onto his shoulder and watch as he sucks your taste from his own hand. When you look at Jesse, he’s watching too, and he doesn’t say a word as he sinks to his knees.

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” you tease. “Unlike your cock. Maybe I’m not the only one who sees something to like.”

You step a foot between his knees and brush your leg against his erection. Fuck, he is absolutely rigid and dripping precum. He thrusts against your shin, smearing himself on your stocking. 

“You’re making a mess,” you say.

“Clean her up, brother,” Tup commands.

Jesse wraps a hand around the back of your calf and slides it up to your knee, raising your leg to his mouth. Tup stabilizes you from behind, his strong arms holding you steady. He still has one hand on your breast while his other arm drapes across your throat, and the pressure is just enough to make you lightheaded. The coarse wool of his uniform scratches your skin, driving you wild with the thought of Tup, fully clothed, watching a fully nude Jesse explore your body. Jesse licks the sticky fluid off your leg, then begins working his way up, kissing and licking, and occasionally taking the sheer, delicate fabric of your stocking in his teeth and pulling it away from your skin, only to let it snap back against you. The pair will be ruined after tonight, but it’s worth it to see the frantic lust in Jesse’s eyes.

When he reaches the top of your thigh-high, he pauses his progress to slip his hand inside and stretch the fabric, eyes trained on the movement of his fingers beneath it. He spends so long admiring it that you nudge his cock with your high-heeled foot, just hard enough to pull another one of those delicious, ragged grunts from him. 

“Pussy isn’t going to eat itself,” you say. “Be a good boy and get back to work.”

Tup makes a helpless sound in your ear, and Jesse takes a deep, shuddering breath. Obediently, he slides his hands up your thighs to squeeze your ass, brushing across the scrap of fabric covering your entrance, and then he tugs your panties down your legs.

“Clever girl, wearing them on top of the garter belt,” he murmurs.

“Fortune favors the prepared,” you smirk, but you don’t get to enjoy your victory for long, because Jesse hooks his shoulder under your thigh and plunges his tongue into you. “FUCK!”

Tup huffs a breath against your face as you scream out the curse, and you can feel his cock pressed against your ass. He stares down your body to where Jesse is joined to you, devouring your cunt with the ardor of a starving man. 

“Can you hold her, brother?” he asks softly.

Jesse nods his head without ever pulling away from you, and without warning, Tup lifts you off the floor as Jesse pulls your other leg onto him so you’re seated fully on his shoulders, straddling his face.

Fuck, he’s strong, you marvel, as he supports your weight without difficulty. His hands grip your ass, angling you perfectly into his mouth, and within minutes, you feel your body tightening in on itself. You grab onto Jesse’s head as your hips instinctively begin to writhe, and when he scrapes his teeth across your clit, it shoves you violently over the precipice. You scream as you fly apart, but it isn’t Jesse’s name on your lips. Tup makes the sweetest sounds you’ve ever heard when he hears you chanting his name as he watches you come on his brother’s tongue.

“Can you take another, love?” he whispers hoarsely in your ear. “Will you let Jesse fuck you while I watch?”

Jesse is still working his tongue at a maddening pace, and your body jerks and thrashes between the two men. You’ve lost the capacity to speak, but you nod your head frantically, and Jesse finally withdraws from you. Tup lifts you off him and holds you, one arm under your knees and the other supporting your shoulders, as Jesse stands.

“Where?” Jesse asks.

“Sofa,” Tup says.

Jesse crosses to the couch, and Tup deposits you gently on his brother’s lap, then retrieves a chair from the kitchen table and sets it in front of you. He strips efficiently, and by the time Jesse has the two of you arranged, Tup is seated in front of you, legs spread wide as he lazily pumps his cock. 

“Are you ready?” Jesse asks, his breath hot against the back of your neck.

“Yes,” you say, and you can’t quite keep your voice from shaking. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, and you can tell without looking that he’s grinning against your shoulder.

He eases into you slowly, and once he’s fully seated, he starts to move. You hang on for dear life as he fucks into you, your legs straddling his, and your arms stretched over your head to hold onto his neck. He cups your tits roughly, his fingers digging into your soft flesh, and when he pinches your nipples, you know he’s getting revenge for your little stunt with the high heel.

“Don’t hurt her,” Tup warns.

“She can take it,” Jesse grunts, his voice strained. “Can’t you, darlin’?”

“That all you got?” you ask, parroting his earlier snark.

He reaches down to play with your clit, and as he does, he leans the two of you backward so you’re nearly lying flat on top of him, which has the happy effect of laying you open on full display for Tup to appreciate.

“Oh, shit,” Tup breathes, barely audible. 

Jesse pounds into you until your legs cramp and your body slicks with sweat. You keep your eyes on Tup, watching as his hand moves faster and more deliberately, until at last he grips himself in a tight fist, and with three final, brutal thrusts, he comes, shooting thick spurts of sticky, white cum across his torso. That’s all you need, and you convulse around Jesse’s cock, crying out in bliss.

“Fuck!” Jesse pants in your ear. “Shit—You’re going to make me—where do you want me to—”

“Not inside,” you gasp. “Come on my ass.”

He pulls out of you, and you drop to your knees on the floor between Tup’s thighs. Jesse scoots forward, and you can feel the slap of his cock and fist as he jerks himself against your ass. Leaning forward, you lick the cum off of Tup’s skin, delicately lapping up every last drop as he watches you from under hooded, sleepy eyelids. Jesse lets out a rough groan, and you feel liquid heat splatter on your lower back and slide down your ass.

He flops backward with a whimper that almost makes you want to go for a third round, but Tup gazes down at you with adoration in his beautiful caramel eyes, and you snuggle against his torso as he wraps his arms around you.

“You’re amazing,” he whispers. “Thank you.”

---

Tagging: @blueink-bluesoul @secondaryrealm @spicy-clones @wings-and-beskar @523rdrebel @goblininawig @merkitty49 @anxiouspineapple99 @sinfulsalutations @arcsimper5 @starrylothcat @clio3kantarella

[anncanta]

Psyche

Fandom: Dracula (2020)

Characters: Agatha Van Helsing, Original male character

Relationship: Original male character/Agatha Van Helsing

Rating: Explicit

@alma37 @hopipollahorror @moremoveslessannouncements-blog

Read on AO3

Or read below

Agatha left immediately after Dracula was released from the Harker Center. She left her office, took a cab and, as soon as she got home, she pulled out her suitcase and began throwing things into it. When the suitcase was almost full, she stopped, realizing that she no longer perceived herself as Zoe. She tried to remember when she changed. She remembered her way from Kathleen's destroyed house, how she looked out the window of the company car, periodically falling into a semblance of sleep or stupor. And when they got to the center, she was Agatha. Absolutely sane and completely healthy. And this did not surprise her at all.

Agatha didn't have time to think about it. She needed to leave, and as soon as possible. Rummaging through Zoe's memory of places she could go, she remembered a tropical island in French Polynesia where Zoe spent the summer in her first year after graduating from university. The relief soon turned to horror when, after calling several travel agencies, Agatha discovered that all tours for this season were sold out.

Renfield unexpectedly helped. While searching for an old notebook where the phone number of her friend, the owner of a small travel agency, was written down, in her bag she came across a business card that a strange lawyer had given her before he left.

Agatha didn't know why she called him. But Renfield helped her. As she exited the taxi at the airport, Agatha asked herself why she thought she could even trust him, but she brushed the thought aside. Renfield was reserved, businesslike, silent, confident. He didn't ask any questions, answered to her desperate request that he would see what he could do, and an hour and a half later he called and said that he had sent information about booking accommodation on the island and plane tickets to her email.

‘Why are you helping me?’ asked Agatha. In response, Renfield smiled thoughtfully and said nothing. In parting, he shook her hand and wished her to take care of herself.

With that, she left.

The island of Moorea was sunny, tiny, and filled to the brim with peace and joy. Having settled in a small bungalow on the shore of a sandy beach, Agatha spent the first few days simply sleeping, eating, and lying on the snow-white sand. Lying on her back, she stared at the clouds, looked closely at the birds soaring above, squinting from the sun, and absorbed the surrounding silence with all her body.

Nobody bothered her. The bungalow she stayed in was the only one left from the old hotel complex. A couple of decades ago, several huts standing next to it were washed away by a flood, and the hotel was closed. But this small house survived, and from that time on it became a refuge for newlyweds who love solitude. Agatha liked it immediately.

She spent whole days splashing in the bright blue water and gorging herself on fruit, and after sunset, she lay for a long time dozing on the sand. There was something primordially crazy about it. She even refused to wear clothes – why would she, if the beach is closed and there is no one in this part of the island for weeks?

The days were the same and it was wonderful. Agatha, who was always responsible for something, was always in a hurry somewhere and was worried about something, physically felt something inside her being smoothed out, like a crumpled sheet of paper on which there was an important thing written that until now no one couldn't make out – because it was squizzed in someone's hand for too long.

That evening she came for a swim just after sunset. Coming ashore, she shook herself off like a cat and, anticipating several hours of sweet slumber, lay flat on her stomach.

Later, in the bedroom of a small hut, lying alone and looking into the tropical night, Agatha asked herself why she wasn't surprised, didn't twitch, wasn't scared. Why, when there, on the beach, a man's palm lay on her back, she didn't turn around and drive the stranger away.

She lay there, inhaling the sea-salt-saturated air, spreading out across the cooling sand, not trying to get up or move. He had large palms, warm and strong, they slid over her skin, collecting the remaining water, moving down to the small of her back, gently squeezing her thighs. It was so strange to realize that she was completely naked, and he didn't even have to spread her legs to get to... Agatha held her breath as his fingers lightly touched her. Moving up and down, teasing, he began to lazily caress her. He was in no hurry. He was in no hurry at all.

Agatha lay motionless. She felt that now he was closer, felt the touch of his lips on her shoulder, but he still simply caressed her, then approaching, then moving away, then pressing his fingers to the most sensitive point, then releasing it. It was like he was catching a butterfly.

Agatha moaned and bit her lips. Ready, crazed, revealed. When she came, his hands lifted her by the hips, and without turning her over and still remaining invisible, he plunged into her. He was big, and it would probably hurt if she didn't want him so much. She lay with her arms outstretched, feeling him thrust, carefully and gently, and the beach beneath her became a thin line on which she balanced, as if on a tightrope, and then disappeared altogether. Agatha hung in the air, and her body was a gift to this stranger who lifted her into the heavens.

When Agatha woke up, the first stars were lighting up in the sky. She was alone on the beach, a cool evening wind was blowing from the sea. She was terribly hungry. Laughing, she stood up and, taking a towel, walked towards the bungalow.

She didn't go to the beach for the next few days. Half of it was because she was afraid to break the spell – the next morning the crazy adventure began to seem like a fantasy, an afternoon dream. She didn't even ask the maid, who came every three days, if she had noticed anyone nearby. However, even if she asked, how would she describe him? She didn't see him. Agatha laughed at her stupidity and, the more time passed, the more convinced she became that she had simply imagined everything.

A week later, she woke up in her bedroom in the hut to a slight movement of air. Turning over on her side, she managed to notice the high outline in the doorway of the terrace. That night was burning, prickly, sweet. And this time she screamed.

He always came to her after sunset, and she saw neither his face nor his figure. She knew that he was tall, strong and that he had a big dick. In the morning, while making coffee, Agatha thought about what Zoe would say. But Zoe had a turbulent youth, so perhaps she would have shrugged her shoulders and advised Agatha to enjoy it.

The days on the island, as before, were viscous and languid, like drops of honey. Agatha was saturated with them, as all northerners strive to be saturated with the warmth of spring. She was accustomed to the spartan atmosphere of Budapest, to the prickly frosts – and loneliness. Therefore, she unmistakably felt when it was time to leave.

She guessed that he was watching her, and since she didn't like goodbyes, in the morning the day before departure, she sent the maid away, saying that she would clean the rooms herself.

But he came anyway. Agatha was walking from the corridor to the bedroom when he grabbed her and slammed her into the wall in the dark. It was like that day at the beach. Agatha felt him on her back – his palms, shoulders, fingers. Not affectionate, as then – hot and angry. Pulling up her nightgown, he spread her legs and entered. He took her hard and severely until Agatha gave in, letting him in and submitting. He thrusted, sharply, painfully, finishing, and pulled out of her, leaving a taste of melancholy and parting.

The next day, Agatha went to work at the Harker Center.

Agatha did not feel any inconvenience from living and working under Zoe's name – her great-niece seemed to ‘meld’ with her, becoming her full-fledged part. Overall, none of them were seriously injured.

None of the employees were surprised by her presence, just as they were not surprised by her departure. Agatha once again mentally congratulated Zoe for hiring Kate Bloxam, the ideal crisis manager, and plunged into a routine.

The Foundation needed a new vision of the future, reforms, and financing. At the end of the fourth month, she was finally able to find suitable sponsors, and since the negotiations were successful, she planned to open another laboratory. Agatha worked from dawn to dusk, sometimes forgetting to have lunch. The adventure on the island of Moorea remained on the periphery – consciousness, soul, and memory. Until one day, in a rare free minute, scrolling through the internet, Agatha came across an advertisement for a closed nightclub.

She read the ad once, and then twice, and reached for her phone.

‘Renfield,’ she said.

‘Miss Van Helsing. How can I serve you?’

Agatha paused, hesitating.

‘I need to book an evening at the Cupid and Psyche club. For two. On Friday.’

‘With whom?’ Renfield seemed not at all surprised by either her call or her strange request. It was as if women he barely knew were calling him every day and asking him to book an evening at a club for erotic meetings.

‘You know with whom,’ Agatha answered.

‘I obey,’ said Renfield after a pause.

After saying goodbye, Agatha hung up.

Entering the door on Friday evening, above which a sign with the words Cupid and Psyche was softly glowing, Agatha loitered a little.

The closed club Cupid and Psyche was intended for intimate meetings of a special nature. According to its rules, one of the participants had to remain blindfolded throughout the entire date – or the meeting had to take place in the dark. In the latter case, the participant who was chosen to play the ‘sighted’ role received a photo of the partner in advance. This made it possible to achieve the effect of a one-sided blind date.

Agatha entered the hallway, took the key from the elegantly dressed head waiter, and moved to the second floor, where the meeting rooms were located. She booked a date in the dark, so when she opened the door, she couldn't see anything inside. Entering, Agatha closed the door behind her and stood for a while, trying to get her bearings. Having taken a step, then another, she felt that she had hit an obstacle. Realizing that she had found a bed, Agatha sat down on it and began to wait.

‘When did you understand?’ a voice came from the darkness.

‘I think right away,’ Agatha smiled.

‘Renfield?’

‘Renfield.’

Silence.

‘But if so, then why …’

Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and still, she saw only his silhouette approaching her.

‘I think I guessed from the very beginning,’ she said again. ‘But it's difficult ... you know, to admit that you love dates.’

‘Dates?’

‘An instrument of sin,’ Agatha said with a laugh. ‘That's what we were taught at the monastery school. Dates and chocolate and I don't know what else. Everything that brings pleasure has a flaw. Dates make you thirsty. Chocolate destroys teeth. And you are a murderer.’

‘I haven’t killed anyone since I started drinking donor blood.’

‘Seriously?’

‘Absolutely.’

Agatha looked up at the dark spot in front of her. It probably would have made her nervous if she hadn't slept with him every other day under similar circumstances.

‘What do you want?’ Dracula asked her.

‘You know, what I want,’ Agatha answered.

The bed dipped and he sank down next to her.

‘But why?’

Agatha raised her hand and pulled him towards her.

‘I want to feel you.’

They always understood each other. In a monastery, on a ship, on an island.

She felt him bend down, smooching her, and she found herself in his arms. He was everywhere, from all sides. It was as if she was inside him. ‘So huge,’ Agatha whispered, smiling. He pulled her close to him. His lips slid from her cheek, along the chin, warmed the skin on the neck.

He drinks her like expensive wine, a priceless beverage. Like an offering, he had waited too long for. And when he breaks away from her, Agatha feels her fingers trembling on the back of his head, tangling in strands of damp hair.

For a short moment, it suddenly seems to her that they have switched places, and it is he who is lying on the evening beach, and she comes up to him from behind, touching his shoulder.

Smiling, Agatha frees herself from his embrace and looks at him for a minute. He's still just a blur against the darkness, but she sees him. Now she sees him.

And yet... Looking around, Agatha gets up.

After taking a few steps, she feels the heavy velvet with her hands. Here. She finds the edge, grabs it.

‘You must have a blindfold. Those are the rules,’ she says. ‘In case the guests want mutual impenetrable darkness. I have.’

‘Me too.’

‘Put it on.’

‘For what?’

‘Put it on.’

A fuss is heard in the darkness, then a rustling sound.

After waiting another second, Agatha moves the curtain aside. A bright light floods the room, falls on Dracula and on the bed. Dracula sits blindfolded, turning his face to Agatha.

Letting go of the curtain, Agatha approaches Dracula. She takes him by the hand.

‘Tell me, do you feel good?’ she asks.

‘Incomparable,’ he brings her hand to his face, lightly biting her fingers.

She smiles.

‘Then open your eyes.’

She sits on the bed, watching as he takes off the bandage, as he blinks blindly, realizing that he is bathed in sunlight. He brings his palms to his face.

‘How … can it be?’

‘Some beliefs are important to check sometimes,’ Agatha laughs. ‘There is a large archive dedicated to vampires in the Harker Center,’ she said, still smiling. ‘Quite a lot is known about them now. Some wrote diaries, others were told about by those who lived next to them or ran away from them. None of them were afraid of the sun. There is no evidence of anyone being burned by sunlight. I thought you couldn't be that unique.’

They were silent for some time.

‘I love you, Agatha Van Helsing,’ said Dracula.

‘I know.’

‘Is that your answer? In the spirit of this unfortunate ... What's his name?’

‘Han Solo. You drank my blood. You know the answer.’

‘I need to hear it.’

‘Count Dracula, I love you,’ said Agatha. ‘Satisfied?’

‘Almost. Marry me.’

‘For God's sake. We live in the twenty-first century.’

‘I am tormented by the pains of noble honor.’

Agatha burst out laughing.

‘After so many years?’

He looked at her completely seriously.

‘Marry me,’ he repeated.

And she agreed.

‘We'll spend our honeymoon in Moorea,’ Dracula said, pulling her towards him.

‘There are good beaches there.’

‘Sunsets.’

‘And understanding staff.’

‘Almost like in my castle. Five-star service.’

‘And we will spend our wedding night in the light.’

Dracula laughed and threw her onto the bed.

‘Do you want to see my eyes when I take you?’

‘I want to see you cum.’

‘Well, why wait?’

***

Renfield turned off the computer and stood up from the table. Preparing for a wedding is a tedious thing, he admitted. On the other hand, the good news is that he won’t have to organize night celebrations. Dark lords, of course, can have their quirks. This does not mean that you have to pay the waiters double tariff because of this.

[ten-cent-sleuth]

A Galling Yoke, Part 4

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for the “Where did you get this?” square on my July Break Bingo card

See this post for main info, including a masterlist and synopsis. See this post for warnings.

Word Count: 2.8k

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x f!Reader

Rating: Teen

Plagued by thoughts of Sherlock, you did not find the peace you thought you would once he stopped coming around to Voss House every day. Fortunately, Rogers had kept the calling card from his first visit. As you made your way down London’s bustling streets to the address on that card, you replayed the arching of your butler’s eyebrow at your request for Sherlock’s information and cringed for the impression you must have left.

But it wasn’t how it looked. You didn’t miss Sherlock, at least not so strongly you couldn’t last a sennight without seeing him. No. That wasn’t what was happening here. Only, you couldn’t stop thinking about how lovely that conversation in the guest bedroom had been; with a few days’ distance, you could even appreciate the first half of it, the serious half.

You pressed your lips together to not break into a mad-looking smile in public. Talking to Sherlock had been…had been… Oh, who cared what the word was? The material point was that upon reflection, you would retract your decision to keep to yourself your suspicions of Edmund’s infidelity. Getting them off of your chest was an appealing prospect, and getting them off of your chest to Sherlock could only be a relief.

Right?

You paused on the doorstep of 221 Baker Street. Yes…what if he wasn’t as supportive or as understanding as he had been when hearing about your injury? What if—

The sharp clack of a hackney wheel knocking a cobblestone loose behind you made you jump. Watching the groom slow and calm down the horses as he argued with his passenger about where he was supposed to stop, you chuckled away your doubts. The last few days had shown you that you would not get anything done until you’d cleared your conscience of keeping something from Sherlock, and if he didn’t care after that, it wouldn’t matter. Your heart didn’t rely on his steadfastness.

At least, not anymore.

You knocked on the door and waited. If nobody was in now, you could come back in an hour, but surely—

“Hello!”

Turning, you recognised after a moment the passenger that had just been gesticulating at that hackney driver. You frowned now that you had a closer, better look; with her light curls and rosy cheeks, she looked entirely too young to be taking a cab by herself.

“Hello,” you returned with a healthy dose of hesitation. A glance around easily told you that there was nobody who could properly perform introductions for you two, and you had never been made to introduce yourself before. “Do you… Do you live here?”

With a flourish, the girl pulled out a key and squeezed around you. “No, but my brother gave me a key in case I ever needed to stop by. Which I do today. Well, clearly.”

She laughed, and you found your wariness seeping away. “You would trust a stranger to let her into your brother’s flat, then?” you teased.

“Certainly not,” she retorted as she pushed the door open. “I’m simply letting you into the building, see. And if you’ve nefarious business for anyone else, that shall only increase business for my brother—or, even better, for me. So as long as you’re not to rob 221b, then feel free to…”

You gasped and took the old calling card out of your pocket. “But that is— You are—?” Regathering your wits as you followed her up the stairs, you said, “Miss Holmes, I presume?”

The girl whirled around on the top step, her eyes wide. After giving you a once-over, she guessed your name and title, though a grin was spreading across her face even before you confirmed her deduction. “Oh, I had hoped to meet you!” she exclaimed, unlocking 221b and ushering you inside. “Sherlock’s told me all about your case—well, okay, not really. Sherlock’s told me all about you and how you were the best of friends at Ferndell and how he’s been helping you recently. He was quite eager to seize this opportunity to renew his acquaintance with you, you know. Fifteen years apart! How horrible! Is it true you were married within months of your coming-out?”

You smiled wanly. “Unhappily, yes. I had not realised that was my father’s plan, else I would not have come to London with such little protest.”

Miss Holmes returned your smile with sympathy. “Sherlock told me that you both thought you would return to Shropshire within a six-month, and that was all that soothed the pain of separating at all.”

“Indeed?” You paused to raise your brow at her. “He certainly tells you a lot, Miss Holmes.”

Reddening, she waved away your words. “Well, he told me the first part; I could deduce the second. In any case, you must call me Enola! No one calls me ‘Miss Holmes’, even that nincompoop Tewkesbury.”

Your brow rose higher, but she paid no mind as she went on—

“It is splendid you two have reunited. You are here to visit with Sherlock, then? Oh, I am pleased—no one should be alone all the time. A friend would do him well.”

“Enola, I am happy to see him today, but…,” you chuckled awkwardly. “We are only working together on a case, see, and, well…”

You shrugged, and with a thoughtful hum, she disappeared into the kitchen asking how you liked your tea. After answering her, you took the chance to take in Sherlock’s living space. You brushed your palm across the back of a chair and smiled, endeared by the familiar atmosphere of the refined comfort and organised chaos that had always clung to Sherlock at Ferndell and that had evidently followed him to London. The only difference that left an impression on you was the addition of a heady masculine scent, still entirely Sherlock in quality but a facet that had been underdeveloped when you had left Shropshire all those years ago. Breathing it in, you lowered yourself onto the chair and dispelled the heartache that Enola had unwittingly brought back to the fore. You had not yet forgiven your father for his deception, but that was no reason to be gloomy in such cheerful company.

Re-entering with a tea tray, Enola resumed the discussion of her brother’s isolation: “Sherlock does not even like to talk to me about his concerns, although he is frustratingly ready to discuss anything troubling me. Well, anything professional troubling me, of course—surely I do not need to tell you that he avoids talk of feelings and personal thoughts as one avoids the plague.”

You stifled a chuckle with a sip of your tea. “No, indeed, you do not. Is that all your sibling relationship comprises, then? Crime and mystery?”

“I’m working on it,” sighed the poor girl. “I came today to ask him for advice about an issue that is not exactly a crime or a mystery. See, at the market I overheard Mr Ramsbury of Marylebone Road talking about his daughter’s broken engagement with a Mr Gibbon, and I could not resist looking into it when he sounded so vexed. Unfortunately, now I am in quite the pickle, as I do not know whether to share my findings with him. Mr Ramsbury did not hire me—I’m still having trouble getting somebody to, I confess—but perhaps he would want to know. He is quite exasperated with Miss Ramsbury at the moment, but if he knew that Mr Gibbon used to strike her, surely he would not blame her anymore.”

“Has Mr Gibbon interfered with Miss Ramsbury?” you asked.

“No,” she answered with a set to her jaw that you had never seen before in someone her age. “Apparently, he was only interested in her for her dowry, and he recently came into an inheritance that can take care of him for life; he has made it clear to his acquaintances that he desires no woman encumbering him at all now.”

You nodded. “Has breaking off the engagement harmed Miss Ramsbury’s prospects?”

“Oh, not a whit,” said Enola, her countenance lightening. “I had plans to check in on her main current suitors after seeing Sherlock—” She broke off with a blush. “Er, only perfunctorily, of course; I wouldn’t want to violate anyone’s privacy.”

“I am certain Miss Ramsbury would be grateful to have a guardian angel, if she were to know,” you said. “Though I do not think the family need know. If she has not told Mr Ramsbury, she does not want him to be aware; if the only problem that telling him would solve is his frustration with her, doing so is not necessary for her safety and happiness. Should he find out, he may exacerbate the situation by quarrelling or brawling with Mr Gibbon. Fathers, and brothers for that matter, tend to do that, do they not? In this affair, I would follow Miss Ramsbury’s lead—she knows her father’s character and their familial dynamic, not to mention her own needs, best.”

Enola’s eyes were round and bright as she listened to you think aloud, and once you concluded, she pried open her reticule and pulled out an ivory pocket notebook. “That is excellent advice,” she muttered. “I shall do as you instruct.”

You leapt to your feet and hurried to her side. “That was by no means an instruction!” you cried. “I was merely thinking through the problem. You have yet to ask your brother, you recall, and—” You froze as you saw the embroidered ribbon threaded into the notebook’s hinge. Your sense of propriety overcome by awed surprise, you lifted the ribbon. “Where did you get this? This notebook?”

Enola furrowed her brow for an instant before realisation smoothed it back. “Oh! I had forgotten this was originally yours.”

“Yes,” you said, wading through memories you had not thought of in a very long time. “Your mother gave it to me as a birthday gift one year, as a matter of fact. I did not think to bring it with me when I came to London. This ribbon though, it was Sherlock’s. I was trying a new pattern, and while it turned out well, I did not quite like the look of it. Your brother offered to take it so it would not be wasted. I never knew what he did with it.”

Enola shrugged. “Perhaps he used it as a book-marker originally? I know not; by the time he gave the notebook to me, these two were attached. He said you carried it around with you everywhere, so I might find it useful for my investigations. I have, by the way,” she added. “Being able to erase my notes after I’ve transferred them to a permanent journal or no longer need them so I can reuse the same pages over and over is rather handy for a detective with a minimised budget. Oh,” she gasped, “should I give it back to you?”

“No, no, that is quite all right,” you reassured her, letting go of the ribbon and stepping back to carry your point. “I am glad it serves you well. I am only surprised that Sherlock had them!”

“From what I have gleaned from Mrs Lane’s and Mother’s stories of the time before Sherlock and Mycroft left, your brother—Lord Pashbroke, is it?—ensured any of your effects that he did not want getting lost or ruined in your absence were spirited away to Ferndell. Sherlock must have decided what to keep at home and what to bring with him here.” Her eyes flashed with a certain glint that you had not witnessed since you fared the Holmeses well for the last time; that spark of mischief must run in the family. “You know, I suspect I know where he hides that box of keepsakes here, for I glimpsed it when he gave me the notebook. Would you like me to—”

The squeal of door hinges cut her off.

“Enola, I know you are here. What have I told you about being in my rooms when I am not—”

You had shot to your feet at the sound of his voice, and now that he finally noticed you, you curtsied. “Mr Holmes, I apologise for—”

“No, I— You are welcome here, of course, my lady.” He blinked. “That is, so is my—so are you, Enola. I only meant that I trust you, my lady, to not move everything.”

His eyes cut to his sister, who scoffed in outrage.

“I do not move ev—”

“How are you?” he asked you, his soft gaze entirely at odds with how he pointedly ignored Enola’s grumbles. “Is your”—he paused to glance at your knee—“all right?”

You smiled, hoping he would understand your gratitude for his discretion. “The weather has been warm enough recently for the walk from Voss House to 221 Baker Street.” You, perhaps, should not have stood up so sharply at his entrance, but you need not worry him with that knowledge…though you did not begrudge yourself a gentle return to your seat once he had also claimed a chair. “Enola and I have been discussing you and your…field of work, sir.”

The girl giggled at how Sherlock’s face fell. “We’ve enjoyed each other’s company very well!” she told him. “I’ve only been in London with you for a few months, Sherlock, but it’s lovely how our circle is already growing. The three of us shall be a merry group, shall we not?”

You looked away from watching him closely, unprepared to see how he would take that question.

“Isn’t it amusing?” she went on. “For a whole year, we lived quite closely, yet this is the first time we’ve been in the same room after such a separation that I don’t even recall the last time.” 

“I do,” you couldn’t help but laugh. “You were sick all over my dress. Eudoria said it was salvageable, but I elected to consign it to the fire anyway.”

Enola flushed. “I…feel as though I should apologise?”

“All is forgiven. After all, you were a very dear girl even at that age. I regret not having witnessed your childhood and adolescence.”

“I as well,” interjected Sherlock.

She beamed. “Well, we can be the best of companions now.” Her smile turned sly as she glanced between you and her brother. “I’m happy you’re even sharing your workload with someone, Sherlock.”

“I work alone,” he reminded her with a frown.

You opened your mouth, some inexplicable instinct compelling you to argue against that, but you paused—what argument did you actually have?

Enola jumped over your hesitation: “Oh, come now, Sherlock! She may not have the sensory processing and extended reasoning skills that you do, but she is quite proficient at understanding social implications and personal consequences.”

“And how, pray tell, have you come to be so certain of that?” he griped.

“Why?” she demanded. “Do you disagree?”

“No, but—”

“Excellent!” she said, clasping her hands. “Perfect, even, since she came here to discuss her case with you…yes?”

You nodded at her inquiring look. “Yes. I… I had a thought about what might have factored into Mr Sulyard’s murder, if he did indeed die as my father believes.”

“I suppose that is fortuitous timing,” sighed Sherlock. “I have just received the report from the coroner, anyhow—he was quite put out by my request for papers so old and took his time finding them for me. We may discuss both developments.” He glanced at Enola. “Later, that is.”

Waving a hand, she climbed to her feet. “No, no, you see that I am off now, so you may discuss sensitive information at leisure,” she said as she shut her reticule and adjusted her clothes. “It has been a pleasure to meet you once more”—she smiled and nodded at you—“and an absolute delight to see you again, Brother, as always.”

He rolled his eyes. “Good day, Enola.”

“Wait,” you said, “did you not have your own business with Sherlock?”

His gaze darted to you, and you realised—too late—that you had let his Christian name slip out in his hearing for the first time in a decade and a half.

Enola grinned. “No, I have gotten precisely what I was looking for.”

With that, she was gone, and you and Sherlock were left alone in his flat. He huffed and shook his head, but the corners of his eyes and of his mouth were soft with fondness.

Perhaps…it would not be such an unthinkable thing, being Sherlock’s friend again. Perhaps he had changed—grown—more than you thought.

“Shall we begin, my lady?”

For once, you allowed your smile to be without constraint. Shall we begin, indeed. “Yes, I believe I would like that, Sherlock.”

Thank you for reading. Please let me know if you would like to be tagged for updates. :) I hope I didn’t screw up my first attempt at characterising Enola haha. Feedback is always welcome!

[rom-e-o]

Sore (Ebenezer/Constance drabble)

Walking in heels is tough, especially when pregnant. Old habits are hard to break, but Ebenezer is there to reassure her.

(Just a fun, fluffy story. Rated PG. Enjoy!)

Heel to toe, heel to toe. Walk straight.

Constance DoGoode-Scrooge had been on her feet for eight hours. Eight hours walking from block to block, chasing cabs, and taking multi-floor lifts across the city. She known in advance she’d been meeting with clients all day, but even her expertise at walking in seven slash eight-inch heels was tested by the London cobblestones and brisk pace of the city foot-traffic.

By the time she keyed into the expansive loft she shared with her husband, she felt like there was a second heartbeat in her ankles. Each pump of blood felt like her veins were pins and needles.

Not to mention, with her pregnancy coming to its four-month term, her belly was distending and messing up her balance even more. That, combined with her clumsiness, was proving to be a wake-up call.

Constance entered the foyer with tender, awkward steps - her footfalls a bit slower than usual. A visible weariness was etched across her features.

Upon entering the living room, she gracefully sank into a cushioned chair, a small wince escaping her as she began to remove her shoes.

She removed her shoes, one Manolo Blanhik at a time. “Ow. Owwww ow ow.”

Sure enough, there was blood on the heels. That had definitely never happened before.

Ebenezer, having heard his wife enter, ceased his work in the study to come greet her. He usually liked to greet Constance at the door whenever she arrived home after him, but upon her initial entrance, he’d been attempting to wrap up a business call.

After another expedited goodbye, he entered the room with a smile, but stilled curiously upon noticing her obvious discomfort.

"Long day, my love?" he inquired, concern evident in his voice. He then noticed her shoes and her outfit, complete with a snow-dusted wool coat, and his gaze went wide. “W-Wait, were you out? Walking?”

Constance nodded, sighing. "Yes, and these heels are killing me."

Before Scrooge could even make a comment about the weather or her pregnancy, she raced to beat him to it and explain herself.

“I know,” she admitted. “I’ve spent full days in heels before, and I should have called you to pick me up, but ... I just kept going, and before I knew it, I was almost home, and - ow!"

Her her fervor, she's swung her heels against the wooden leg of the chair. Her whole body rattled with pain as she went to clutch it.

Ebenezer approached her and gently took her hands. "Maybe it's time for a change, especially with the baby on the way. Flatter shoes, perhaps?"

She looked down at her aching feet, then her slightly distended belly, contemplating his suggestion.

"You're probably right," she admitted, a hint of reluctance in her voice.

He smiled, lifting her hands to place a soft kiss on her knuckles. "You're always beautiful to me, Constance, heels or no heels. Your comfort is always more important.”

Constance chuckled, appreciating his understanding. "You're sweet, Ebenezer. You're right. I know you're right, it's just...old habits die hard, I suppose. I don’t think I’ve worn flat shoes since I was…sixteen, maybe eighteen?”

So young, he thought. Both his mother and Jen were never much into fashion or trends, and once Jen was pregnant, she wouldn’t even entertain the idea of wearing kitten heels.

"I'm sure you'll look just as stunning in flat shoes” he said, offering hand to help her up (slowly, of course).

“…Really?” she asked.

The older man smirked. “I’ve seen you sans heels, not to mention sans clothing, but I have nothing but sterling reviews.”

Constance dissolved into giggles, her face red and eyes sparkling, Ebenezer joined in her mirth with a press of their foreheads together. It was a soft and chaste gesture from afar, but the act of basking in each other’s emotions in such close proximity was a treasure beyond any price tag.

With their faces so perfectly slotted together, resisting the urge to kiss was impossible. As their lips met softly, one of his arms came up to hold her waist, his fingers splayed to cradle her back.

When the kiss concluded, Ebenezer slipped an arm beneath her legs and swept her off her aching feet. She bristled at the sudden shift in gravity, but the same glowing smile from before quickly returned.

“We’ll talk shopping later,” he said, “Right now, I want to make sure you stay off those feet of yours. For the entire evening.”

@quill-pen She absolutely calls Bess in for shopping support.

Thank you everyone for your support! @crimson-phantom-designs @ray-painter @thedivinelights @st0r-fruit

[thethirdromana]

“A terrible country, Mr. Wooster! A terrible country! Nearly eight shillings for a short cab drive! Iniquitous!” He took another look round the room. It seemed to fascinate him. “Have you any idea how much my nephew pays for this flat, Mr. Wooster?” “About two hundred dollars a month, I believe.” “What! Forty pounds a month!”

That's $4,849 in today's money following the US inflation rate, or £2,297 following the UK inflation rate. Not too bad for a 4+ bedroom flat in central New York.