#not counting the drunken kiss with [redacted]

[simmingkatie-writes]

Corey and Ian walk along the small dirt path, their hands intertwined. Corey is talking a mile a minute, but honestly Ian isn’t hearing much of what he’s saying. Instead, he’s watching. 

He’s watching the way Corey’s eyes shine with excitement, his lips as they pull into different shapes. He’s watching his hair, shining in the specks of sunlight coming down through the trees. He’s so beautiful, he thinks.

As they walk, the sky begins to darken. Thunder rumbles in the distance. 

“Is it supposed to rain today?” Corey asks. This time his lips form a frown, and this is what draws Ian’s attention to his words. 

“I don’t think so… but then, we are in Glimmerbrook. I didn’t think to check the weather here,” Ian responds, gazing up at the sky. As he does, a large drop of water smacks into his face, just below his eye. “Oh… guess that answers that. We’d better find some place to keep dry.”

But Corey has already come to this conclusion. He’s excited, pointing ahead of them. 

“Ian, look! A greenhouse! We can stay dry there. Plus, we’ll be able to see all the cool plants!” Corey is racing ahead, towards the greenhouse. 

Hope the owners don’t mind us taking shelter here, Ian thinks, following Corey into the glass building.

They are surrounded by gorgeous plants of all kinds. The air feels cleaner in here, but also humid. The windows are cracked open at the top, swinging outward. They allow the smell of the rain in, without actually letting the rain reach their occupants. 

Corey walks through the greenhouse, gazing at all the plants. 

“I’ll bet you didn’t know this, but I really love plants. Flowers, especially.”

The rain pounds on the glass roof, slides off the windows. Thunder crackles overhead. It’s beautiful in its own way. But it pales next to the man Ian shares the greenhouse with. Ian settles on the brick of the greenhouse floor, watching Corey wander through the plants. He can’t think of any thing more he’d rather be doing, any one he’d rather be trapped in this greenhouse with. Truthfully, he wouldn’t even mind being stuck out in the rain with him.

After he’s seen all there is to see, Corey joins Ian on the floor. 

“Sorry I didn’t check the weather. I guess this must really suck for you, huh?” Corey says, looking a little embarrassed. 

“What? No way. This is amazing. I like plants, too. I just have a black thumb. I’ve never been able to grow anything. Not to mention…. There’s some really great company in here.” He wraps his arm around Corey, gazing into his eyes and smiling. Corey’s face turns red, and if it’s even possible, Ian thinks it makes him that much more beautiful.

“Corey?”

“Hmmm?”

“Would you mind terribly if I kissed you right now?”

But he didn’t get the chance. Corey was already kissing him.

@hopeneverbroken​

[pompomegranate]

curiosity

fandom | nanatsu no taizai

pairing | ban x reader

word count | 2.6k

warnings | 18+. smut. dirty talk. denial. minors dni.

a/n | so there isn't a lot of rhyme or reason to this i just wanted to imagine the possibility of ban's thot days pre-elaine :/ i just know that [REDACTED] is big and i wanted to write about it <3 this isn't heavily proofread and i haven't written an "x reader" fic before so be gentle pls (also kudos are appreciated)!!

read on ao3

You were curious. Maybe a bit too curious.

You’d heard the infamous Bandit Ban was back in town after a successful quest – no one really knew when he was leaving and when he was coming back.

He was like a stray cat in that way. All roaming, no settling, sitting down just long enough to get fed and take a nap before he was off again.

And as you eye him across the parlor, arms stretching behind his head, legs splaying out lazily, he looks cat-like too.

All sleek limbs and a nonchalant look, like he’d rather be anywhere else.

A couple drinks later, the cat-like look dissolves into one of a milk-drunk one, all blushing cheeks and a relaxed stance.

But his eyes… his eyes are the same. Bright and calculated and precise.

And cat-like.

Your breath hitches in your throat when you realize he’s staring right through you.

And you’re curious. So goddamn curious.

His lips upturn into a smirk, one that has your thighs clenching, and he knows this. He can tell exactly what you’re thinking.

You turn back to your drink and take a sip, trying not to crack under his lazer sharp gaze.

When you look back… he’s tipping back his mug, no doubt lapping up the last drops of ale.

He slams the mug down with a bit too much force, startling the bartender, who quickly tops him up.

Ban’s tongue darts out to lap up the foam clinging to his lips, getting it all in one firm swipe.

You can’t help but wonder just how long it is as it stretches around his mouth.

He knows you’re staring now, but you can’t seem to think about anything but the lazy grin spreading across lips long enough to care that he’s found you out.

He breaks first, turning to speak to the bartender.

You take your chance to stand up and head for the door, heart racing like never before. You saw Bandit Ban. You stared at him and he caught you and… you weren’t scared.

He’d been painted out to be this horrifically scary guy with a ruthless attitude and a murderous stare, but he wasn’t any of that.

He was gorgeous – oozing with sex appeal. With confidence. Like there was no doubt in the world that he could bag any person in every room.

You make it outside and the air is cool on your cheeks, warm from the ale you’ve been sipping on. Or maybe it was Ban – you couldn’t tell.

“What’s a pretty little thing like you doing at a shitty bar like this?” A voice calls from behind you – above you.

You turn, expecting to hurl an insult at a drunken idiot, but instead are met with him. All six – seven? – feet of him.

You barely stifle your gasp of surprise as you crane your neck up to look at him.

He’s leaning against the railing, thigh perched on it, arms crossed in a laid back gesture.

His face twists into a grin the second your eyes meet his.

“I was just leaving,” you blurt, already blowing it.

“Oh, were you? Assumed you were stickin’ around,” he teases, quirking a brow.

You realize that you left the bar with a half full mug.

“Stealing’s punishable by law, ya know,” Ban says, leaning forward to tower over you.

“I, uh, I didn’t mean to – I promise –” you stutter, holding the mug out to him apologetically.

“Like I’d take the word of a stranger,” he laughs, snatching the mug from your hands and tipping it back.

You watch as his Adam’s apple bobs with effort, stray droplets of ale streaking out the corners of his mouth. He quickly catches them with his tongue, swiping the back of his hand over his mouth, sighing with relief.

“Best fuckin’ ale I’ve ever tasted.”

You nod, chewing your lip. “I’ve never had anything like it.”

“Once you’ve got a taste –” he says, leaning forward again, crowding your space, his face getting closer and closer, “– You’ll never be satisfied again.”

You find yourself struggling to stand upright. Is he still talking about ale?

“Let’s cut to the chase, stranger. I saw you starin’ at me back in there. You want me or not?” The lazy smirk appears again, his cheeks flushed from drinking.

He’s not even trying and he’s got you seriously considering sprinting towards his bedroom.

You aren’t able to form words. He’s so… forward. And enticing. God, he’s so fucking enticing.

Your hands are trembling, so you clasp them in front of you. He takes note of this, his expression faltering just a bit.

You’re not scared of him by any means. He just makes you nervous.

“I’ll take that as a no,” he murmurs, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck almost… awkwardly? “You gonna get home okay? S’almost dark out.”

“Yes,” you say, finally, mustering up the courage to answer.

He looks confused, but then it dawns on him after he realizes what it took for you to accept his offer.

“My place is right around the corner. C’mon,” he says, and then his hand is hovering over the small of your back and you’re heading to Ban’s place like it’s any other week and not the wildest thing that’s ever happened to you.

His room is cozy, but bare, not many remnants of who he is or what he enjoys decorating the room (besides the empty alcohol jugs neatly lining the top of the beat up wardrobe).

His mattress is in the corner of the room, blanket and pillow strewn about messily.

“I’d say sorry for not making the bed but we’re just gonna ruin it anyways,” he laughs, kicking his shoes off, urging you to do the same.

And then he closes the gap between you.

He’s slipping his arms around you, one hand curling around your waist and the other hand cupping your chin, pulling you in for a sloppy kiss.

And you oblige, moving your lips in tandem with his, sighing as his tongue gently begs for your lips to part.

The kiss is growing heated, so you take the opportunity to let your hands roam, stroking down the front of his shirt, feeling the hard ridges underneath.

He groans into your mouth as you run your hands towards his waistline, catching your lip between his teeth hungrily.

You slip your hand into his pants, palming him gently.

Growling, he runs his hands all over you, grabbing and kneading every inch of skin he can get his hands on.

You continue to work him, sighing when his lips are on your neck, suckling at the tender skin there, his sharp teeth grazing your skin.

“Ban,” you breathe as he slips your dress over your head leaving you nearly naked, your underwear the only thing clothing you.

He grabs you underneath your ass and flings you over your shoulder, chuckling at the way you gasp in surprise.

“Put me down!”

“Alright,” he says, and tosses you unceremoniously onto the bed.

And then you realize you’re nearly bare, on your back, in Bandit Ban’s home (in his bed), completely at his mercy.

He seems to know this, and he’s absolutely reveling in this power.

He grins down at you, eyeing every peak and curve on your body. He reaches back to tear his shirt off, and then his pants, not even stopping to give you a show.

But honestly? It doesn’t even matter, because when he’s done, he’s breathtaking.

Ban’s just a mile of solid, marbled muscle and sex appeal and he knows it.

He crawls towards you, settling in between your thighs. You watch as he hooks a thumb into your underwear and pulls it to the side before sitting back to admire you.

“Such a pretty, pretty pussy. Can’t wait to make a mess of you,” he winks, grinning, leaning in to press an open mouthed kiss on your folds, just sloppy enough that you can’t help but relax your hips even more, opening for him.

He licks a long, firm swipe all the way from the bottom to the top, the tip of it never leaving you. He swirls the tip of his tongue against your clit, the short strokes ripping an involuntary moan from you.

You’re sighing his name and a string of expletives, and it only encourages him to do exactly what he’s doing at an even more relentless pace, his hand splaying on your inner thigh to keep you tightly firmly in place.

He’s not letting you go anywhere – you can’t curl into yourself or bend away as he sucks your clit into his mouth and slowly inches a finger from his free hand into you.

Your hands fist the blanket when he begins to pump his finger, adding another one just as slowly, a complete contrast to the speed of his mouth.

You begin to twitch, feeling yourself climbing closer and closer to your release and you try to clench your thighs but you feel his hand shift up your thighs. He lays his forearm across your lower stomach, anchoring you in place.

He pulls back just for a minute to smirk at you, continuing to work his hand.

“Oh, nuh-uh, you’re not going anywhere, baby,” he all but purrs, pressing a kiss to your sensitive clit, flashing a grin at you when you jolt at his touch.

“Lemme hear you,” he says, picking up speed, his fingers curling inside of you.

“Please, Ban – oh, fuck –” Your hips are bucking to keep up with his movements now, and you feel yourself pulsing around him and you’re so close and –

He stops his movements, pulling his hand away.

You make a frustrated sound, one that amuses the hell out of him. He just laughs, kissing your inner thigh and tugging your underwear the rest of the way down, flinging it across the room.

“Quit your whining, sweetheart. I promise it’s better the longer I make you wait,” he says, standing, beginning to lazily pump himself in front of you and you can’t help but watch.

You knew before meeting the infamous Ban that he was a skyscraper with a chiseled build, and assumed he had the cock to match – but seeing it in person was a different story.

“You like what you see?” He says under his breath, rolling his hand around his tip.

You nod, completely at a loss for words.

“C’mere,” he says, leaning down to kiss you and he smiles when he feels your hand instinctively reach for his shaft. “Eager, are we?”

“How do you want it? I’m lettin’ you pick the speed of this ride, babe,” he murmurs against your ear, hand running through your hair.

“If you’re not sure you can always take me for a test drive,” he chuckles, tugging at your earlobe with his teeth.

You nod furiously, and before you know it he’s flipped you and you’re on top, straddling him, just the slightest bit of friction, just enough to make your breath hitch.

He grips your hips, thumb settling into the crease where they meet your thigh, his fingers digging into the flesh of your ass.

“Spit for me,” he says, holding a hand under your mouth. When you do, he reaches between the two of you, pumping himself with that hand, lazily swiping what’s left over your lips.

Ban watches your face (really watches your lips) as he presses into you, and you’re already sinking your teeth into your bottom lip with the first inch and he’s absolutely eating it up.

His hands resume his place at your hips, ever so gently training you farther down, letting you adjust to each inch of him.

“Shit…” He says, watching your face contort. “You feel so fucking good.”

He bottoms out inside of you, and you can’t help but dig your nails into his chest where you’ve been resting your palms to anchor yourself.

You begin to move slowly, agonizingly, and he’s already got you clenching your thighs, but the second he bucks his own hips, you’re a goner.

You roll your hips in time with his own, the pinch of his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips a welcome sensation.

Your moans fill the room, Ban’s pants just as loud, his eyes trained on your face like your own pleasure was enough to get him off.

“Faster,” you mutter, breathless, barely able to get a command out.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, bending his knees so he can pump up into you.

You all but go limp at the new pace, unable to help yourself from buckling, leaning forward until your chest was pressed against his.

He cranes his neck so he can speak directly into your ear, broken praises scattered between gasps. “You’re so – fucking good for me… You’re taking me – so well.”

You groan in response at his filthy mouth, still mumbling words of encouragement as he fucks up into you, his pace relentless and so good.

You take this as a sign to lean back and regain some control, palms flat against his front as you grind your hips as fast as you can manage, revelling in the way his eyes roll back and he grips your hips tighter, tighter –

He slows his own pace, letting you set it, the delicious, triumphant feeling of making him moan beneath you egging you on to move faster.

The confidence and looseness you felt from the mug of ale is long gone, replaced with Ban’s loud groans – you feel like you could conquer the world.

Ban is a writhing mess underneath you, brow slick with sweat, mouth forming around the most foul words (cushioned with praise, of course).

“Fuck – fuck – slow down, I’m gonna –” He takes a hand away from your thigh and rubs firm circles on your clit, trying to catch you up to him.

“Oh my god, yes –” your words come out garbled as you ride his cock and his fingers.

He sits up slowly, turning so his legs are planted on the ground, hand never leaving your clit.

When his other hand finally leaves your hips, he’s grabbing your tit and capturing your nipple between his teeth, suckling until it stings.

That sends you over the edge – your hips stutter just as his movements become erratic, and you can’t help but lean forward to kiss him deeply, passionately until you both ride it out.

He flops back onto the bed, laughing when you yelp at the unexpected fall. You roll off on him but stay snuggled against him.

He speaks first.

“Fuck, that was good.”

You giggle, covering your face with your hands. “Says you. You were incredible.”

He shrugs, standing to stretch.

“Ya know, I wouldn’t mind taking you for a spin a couple of times,” he jokes, retrieving his shirt from the floor.

“I gotta head out to do some things. You gonna head out?”

You bite your lip, a little upset that it was over so quickly. Yeah, you were satiated but… was one time enough?

You don’t answer, and he doesn’t say anything more until he’s fully clothed, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

“You don’t have to go just yet, stranger. No rush. I wouldn’t mind another round after I get back,” he winks, grabbing the handle of the door.

You nod furiously, grabbing the nearest pillow to cover your body as he flings the door open.

“See ya soon for round two,” he says, giving a single wave before shutting the door.

You fall back against the covers again, your eyes heavy from being completely spent. The haze of sleep quickly overtakes you, and thoughts of Ban swirl around your mind until your breathing evens out.

[kclenhartnovels]

Episode Three

[One] [Two]

“Wait!”

DeWitt held up their hands in a T shape, and took a few steps forward. Frosticle startled, and the ice obediently cuddled against her palm instead. “Wait, please. Ms. Jackson, can you kindly explain to me your evil twin sister?”

Kate tucked the blanket around her shoulders, crossing her legs comfortably. Flashback panels littered behind her while she spoke, and Frosticle waited patiently for the explanation to finish. “When we were babies, my mother knew that there was something wrong with Vanessa, but she could never tell what it was. My parents raised us until we were nine, and then there was a terrible accident, and they were both killed.” The flashback panels politely showed a young Vanessa freezing the steering wheel, sending a car and the entire family into oncoming headlights. “My grandparents adopted and raised me, but they knew that Vanessa was evil. So she went to live with the Villa family.”

“They loved me for who I really am,” Frosticle snarled, curling her fist and sending cracks of frost across the floor. “Evil.”

DeWitt scrubbed at their face for a moment. “Ms. Villa, I have reason to believe that you are in great danger as well.”

“Great danger?” she repeated, and laughed. “Darling, I am the danger. And I’m here to kill my sister.”

“Why?” DeWitt asked, already digging out a business card.

The question seemed to throw her for a moment, and she looked between Kate and DeWitt. It snowed thoughtfully. “Because Power Surge loves her, and I must destroy everything that he loves.” She clenched her fist. A wind swirled the snow, waving her hair dramatically.

“Why didn’t you kill your sister when you killed your parents?” DeWitt pressed. “You had the opportunity then. Why wait all these years until she happened to fall in love with your enemy?”

“I love my sister,” Frosticle snarled. “But I hate men. She fell in love with a man, and the worst kind of man! She betrayed me!”

DeWitt held out the business card between two fingers. “Luckily for you, I am not a man. Let me help you, too.”

The wind snatched the card out of their hand, and obediently wafted it into Frosticle’s. She inspected it with a sneer. “Secondary Character Protection Agency. I am not secondary.”

“You wouldn’t be, if this was your story. But listen to your dialogue, Ms. Villa. You’re an antagonist, and one that the writers will gleefully kill. But not until they make you kill your sister, who you love.” DeWitt spread their hands pleadingly. Their coat fluttered in the same wind that buffeted Frosticle’s hair. Somehow, it didn’t touch DeWitt’s hat. “Ms. Villa, you are the perfect villain for them to kill. You are beautiful, strong, black, and a lesbian. There is no way you’re getting out of this story alive without my help.”

Kate stood at last, holding the blanket around her shoulders like a cape. Snow kissed her hair. Her lips were too blue. “Nessa, please.”

Frosticle tucked the card into her cleavage. “There is one other way I can get out of this story alive. I just have to kill Power Surge.” The wind whirled, tossing snow and scattered shards around the room, and then Frosticle disappeared back out the broken window.

DeWitt rushed to the window, and swore quietly.

“We’re eight stories up,” Kate protested, not daring to move for all the broken glass. “Where did she go? Ice powers wouldn’t allow her to fly.”

“Villain physics,” DeWitt explained. “It allows for dramatic entrances and exits, regardless of powers. She’ll be fine.” They turned enough to offer Kate an exhausted smile. “Superheroes have their own set of physics, too. It’s why they can always stick the landing.”

“Trent never complains that his knees hurt,” Kate agreed with a frown. “But I have weak ankles. I’m always falling into his arms.”

“Of course you are.” DeWitt rubbed at their face for a moment, then took off their hat and raked fingers through their hair. They wanted nothing more than a shower and a half dozen shots of whiskey, but there was no time for that, and they doubted the writers were ready for a drunken interlude. Not when the stakes had just risen. Maybe another dozen chapters, and there would be a comedic break, but they weren’t counting on it. “I doubt we’ll be able to catch up to Frosticle right now--we need to find another way to get to her to help.”

“Do you think she’ll let us help?”

“No, but maybe we can stop her from killing Trent.” They looked around the apartment, still strewn with shards of glass and scattered with snow.

“Do we need to clean up?” Kate asked with a frown. “Your windows are missing.”

“I’m not worried about it,” they said with a flippant motion, and put their hat back on. “This mess is too much for the artist to draw over and over. It will be cleaned up on its own by the time we get back.”

“Get back from where?”

“I think it’s time we have a talk with that barista again. Get some clothes on, Miss Jackson.”

“Where do you expect to find him? It’s the middle of the night,” Kate pointed out, pulling a shirt on anyway. The front of it read Drop Dead Gorgeous. DeWitt didn’t like the sadistic foreshadowing.

DeWitt gestured towards the broken windows. Dawn began to peek over the horizon, glimmering off the high rises around them, and sending light across Kate’s cheekbones. “Story progression is more important than the continuity of time. You’ll get used to it eventually.”

She tugged on a pair of jeans that hugged her thighs too closely. “But I thought we were trying to intentionally break the narrative. How can we do that if even time is broken?”

They offered Kate an overcoat. “There are some things we will never have control over, Miss Jackson. This world is written and drawn for viewers that we will never see. In order to have our own agency, we have to find a way to move in the peripherals of their vision. You were never aware of the way time moved before. Now that you know, you can use it to your advantage. Which is why we’re going to get coffee.”

Kate slid into the coat. It was too big on her, and for once covered her skin without immediately sticking to her curves. DeWitt counted it as a small victory. “Do you think my cream will mix this time?” she asked hopefully.

DeWitt doubted it, but offered her a noncommittal shrug instead. Just as before, Sugar Honey Ice & Tea had a nominal line, just long enough for Kate to lean up on her toes and peer over the heads of strangers. She wasn’t wearing heels for a change, and DeWitt wished they had been keeping a notepad just to tally the minor changes, before they became part of the conscious rendering.

“You gave Joe Steve your business card, right?” Kate asked with a frown. “Did he ever go by your office?”

They shrugged helplessly again. “I don’t know; the plot curved away when Frosticle appeared, and I think the writer forgot about the scene. I guess we’ll find out when we talk to him if he remembers me or not.”

She rubbed at her nose. “Agent DeWitt, this is very complicated. How can everyone just forget or remember things that may or may not have ever happened? How am I supposed to know what’s real and what’s--?”

“What’s been redacted, edited, or canonly changed?” They smiled, and put an arm around Kate’s shoulders. A saxophone solo blared from the overhead speakers. DeWitt chose to ignore it. “I’ll get you signed up to receive THE CANON CHRONICLE. It will help you keep track of any changes.”

“Good morning, what do you want?” Demeter greeted from behind the counter. A brightly-colored pin promised SERVICE WITH A SMILE!, but her pierced lips refused to even make the attempt.

DeWitt pulled a folded wallet out of their coat, flashing it open to reveal a badge. “I need to talk with your barista for a few moments, please.”

“And two coffees,” Kate added brightly.

“Please,” DeWitt agreed, handing over cash as well, leaving some of it in the tip jar.

Demeter barely blinked. “That’s not a city police badge, not FBI or CIA, not even the secret government agency’s.”

“How would you know what the secret government agency’s badge looks like?”

“Duh. Everyone knows it. What good would a secret agency be without marketing?” She handed them a receipt with a look of faint scathing. “So what is that badge?”

“SCPA, ma’am. I gave him my business card yesterday.”

Demeter glanced down to the barista, who was sporting a black eye from his last fight with Power Surge, but seemed otherwise unscathed. “Yo, Frappachino, take your fifteen, huh?”

Kate sat at a table at the far end of the cafe, and stirred her coffee with more force than necessary, but the cream still did no more than make an artistic whorl in the center. The overcoat slipped off her shoulders to pool around her elbows.

“So,” DeWitt began, steepling their fingers as the barista joined them at the table. “Do you prefer Joe or Steve?”

“I prefer Dr. Thomson,” he corrected, his shoulders nearly double the width of the chair he leaned back against. “I have two doctorates and four masters’ degrees.”

Kate’s eyes widened, and small shock scribbles appeared around her mouth. “What are you doing working at a cafe, then?”

His massive shoulders shrugged. “I’m the right size for a henchman, so it’s how I got cast. There was already an oversized doctor villain in town, and Doc Tom doesn’t sound as intimidating.”

DeWitt sighed through their nose. “And let me guess, your doctorates aren’t medical, so there was no other way for you to be cast?”

“No, they’re in philosophy and literature, specializing in romanticism poetry.” He adopted a wistful expression. “Byronic poetry in particular just speaks to me.”

Kate’s smile was wistful. “Trent gets confused when a word has more than three syllables.”

“So,” DeWitt redirected, taking a sip of their coffee at last, “you work for Frosticle?”

“Yes, I am a criminal assistant.”

“Don’t you mean accomplice?” Kate asked.

Dr. Tom shook his head. “If anything, it’s more like criminal intern. I’m not getting paid, which is why I work here. That, and it allows me to spy on superheroes for her.”

“I thought Frosticle hated men. Why do you work for her?” DeWitt already had another business card in hand.

“I have no idea,” he admitted. “I think it’s an inconsistent writer.”

“We did talk yesterday,” DeWitt decided.

“I was in your office for three hours. Your Chief handed me a stack of inspirational cards on my way out.”

“Well, that makes this easier.” DeWitt tilted their hat, and leaned forward conspiratorially. “We need to stop your boss before she tries to kill Power Surge. We need your help to be able to get into her lair and talk with her.”

“Talk to her?” Dr. Tom repeated. “You’ll never get past Lesbeam. She kills anyone that even gets close to the warehouse. And she doesn’t accept solicitors, either, so I don’t think your business cards will help.”

“What warehouse?” DeWitt pressed. “Just tell us where we need to go, and we’ll figure it out from there.”

“We?” Kate repeated. Even halfway empty, her coffee and cream remained a perfect swirl. “I get to go with you? Not just stay behind and stare wistfully out the window in my underwear?”

“Well, of course. We’re partners, Miss Jackson. I need you with me.”

Dr. Tom scribbled an address on a piece of paper. Based on his handwriting, DeWitt had no doubt that he had multiple doctorates; it was barely legible. “I have to get back to work,” he said, standing and blocking out the overhead lights for a moment with his girth. “Good luck.”

Demeter leaned against the counter to call over to them. “Yo, Blended Machiatto, your break’s over.”

“Before we go to the warehouse,” DeWitt whispered, tucking the slip of paper into their coat. “I think we need to swing by the office, Miss Jackson, and help you look the part.”

“Look the part of what?”

Kate didn’t remember walking from the coffee shop to the office; she didn’t remember seeing a pair of disappointed teenagers walking out of the door when they realized there were no puppies up for adoption; she didn’t remember Chief Special Agent greeting them with his booming voice, or handing her a stack of paperwork to fill out; she didn’t remember looking through a closet full of clothing, or anything else that happened over the next few hours. None of it mattered to the viewer, and none of it was as impressive as cutting right to her walking through the Agency’s door.

Clad in a fitted black suit, Kate tipped down the brim of her hat, and gave DeWitt a bright smile. “Agent DeWitt, I am ready for my first assignment.”

“Well then, Agent Jackson. Let’s get to work.”

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