#some socialite told him to cut his hair short because its ‘giving him away’

[trekkele]

Bruce and Martha are Jewish, and any “privileges” they would get from being conditionally white would immediately be cancelled out by the fact that 1. high society in America has always been antisemitic as shit, and 2. Its not actually a privilege if you have to hide your entire culture and ethnicity to benefit from it

[luminnara]

Victor Zsasz x Reader NSFW | 18+

Fandom: Birds of Prey/DC

I don’t see nearly enough BOP!Zsasz appreciation here, so I’m determined to change that. Reader is fem, but if there’s interest I can definitely write stuff for male or nb! The reader also has a whole backstory because I’m way more into world and character building than I am reader inserts so this is practically a little OC fic lol

This is sort of set pre-Birds of Prey, don’t worry about it too much, it’s just fun

Warnings: Violence, Zsasz being Zsasz, reader is an assassin who unalives people, light smut

This is short because I’m testing the waters! If there’s interest, I’ll write a part 2!!

Requests are open!

When Roman announced that he was hiring a new girl, Victor was less than thrilled. He liked what they had going--Roman was the money and the brains, and Victor was the muscle, the devout follower, and the one who loved to spill blood. They didn’t need anybody else, especially not a new hitman, and especially not a girl.

You had grown up in Gotham City’s East End, a district that was infamous for harboring all sorts of crime. You knew every street, every dark alley, every burnt out shell of a once-great building. The East End was a far cry from Gotham’s nicer neighborhoods, with their shining skyscrapers and big fancy department stores, but what could you say? The East End was home. It was dark and gritty and dangerous, but you loved that about it. 

Besides, it’s not like you could really go anywhere else. 

You had developed quite a reputation for yourself over the past few years. Places like the East End have a tendency to breed criminals, and you were no exception--as soon as you left home, you followed right in your mother’s footsteps and became a gun for hire. Thanks to your family name, you had no trouble taking on the odd merc job here and there, working for mob bosses who didn’t mind the mess you tended to leave behind. Silent, sneaky kills weren’t really your thing, but you never really got into the whole...artistic thing that a lot of other killers did. You didn’t sit there and fuck around with the blood and guts, you just...weren’t very tidy. You were quick, but you weren’t clean. If somebody wanted their enemies taken out quietly, they knew not to even look in your direction, because you were not the girl for the job. 

If somebody wanted to make a statement, though...

You were more than happy to crush some skulls and splatter some blood across the sidewalk for the right price. 

Of course, so much killing got to be exhausting after a while, and even brutal assassins like yourself needed to relax every so often. So, that’s how you found yourself finishing up a job and heading back to your modest little apartment, hopping in the shower, and scrubbing all the blood and dirt off your skin as if you had just spent a long day at the office. It was all normal for you--the killing, the shady bosses, the weirdos you worked with--and you treated it the same way any of those prim and proper office people in Old Gotham treated their day jobs. It was a way to make ends meet, something to pay for groceries and take care of the bills...only, in your case, you were generally paid fully in cash, and sometimes that cash had some suspicious stains on it. 

But hey, work was work, right?

That night, you headed to a club you had yet to check out. Done up in a little black dress and wearing some very expensive pearls you had nabbed off of a target a few months back, you took a cab and found yourself entering The Black Mask.

It was a nice spot, the booths and bar all packed with socialites and crime lords. Waitresses and shot girls flitted around, there was a band playing on the stage, and the atmosphere seemed to be cheerful. Honestly, it wasn’t what you had expected, given what you’d heard about its owner.

Roman Sionis was a businessman, as he liked to call himself, who had been steadily growing his empire. He practically owned the entire East End now, and word on the street was he was looking to expand further into the rest of Gotham. You had never met the man, but you had enough mutual connections that Roman knew exactly who you were the moment he spotted you at the bar.

“Zsasz, go get her,” he said, gesturing towards you with a gloved hand.

Zsasz followed his gaze and tilted his head slightly. “You got it, boss.”

You were minding your own business, ordering yourself a gin and tonic and elbowing drunk men out of your way as you carved a little spot for yourself at the bar. They were rambunctious, leaning towards you with wide grins and beady eyes that told you they were hoping to get lucky tonight.

As you were getting ready to throw another elbow, the men suddenly scattered, vanishing into the crowd as if something had scared them off. The bartender set your drink down in front of you, and just as you raised the glass to your lips, the scent of musky cologne filled your nose and you looked up to see none other than the notorious Victor Zsasz standing before you.

“Boss wants to talk with you.” He said simply, his voice rough and hoarse.

But you were too busy taking in his facial features to really listen to his words. His short hair was the lightest blonde you had ever seen, almost snowy in color, a stark contrast to the black stubble that covered his jaw. He was wearing a silky dress shirt the color of red wine, or dark blood, the kind that was thick and coagulated and dripped off of knives so beautifully.

As he stared right back at you, you saw the scars that cut into his face, straight, meticulously carved lines that you were sure he had given himself. After all, just as you did, Victor Zsasz had a reputation, and while you had never met him, you had heard plenty about the sadistic assassin who kept tally marks of all of his victims.

Part of you wondered just how many he had.

You took a sip of your drink, eyes never leaving his. “I only just got here. I haven’t even paid for my drink.”

“On the house, courtesy of Mr. Sionis.” Zsasz said, regarding you with heavily lidded eyes as he looked down at you.

Just as you knew of him, he knew of you. Even though he was pretty much locked in place with Roman now, Zsasz heard plenty about everyone else in the East End. You practically ran in the same circles, and he had to admit, he was a tiny bit curious about the lady assassin everyone was raving about. He almost admired the messiness of your kills, but he also thought that you were sloppy and too quick, never taking the time to truly appreciate what you were doing.

Now, as he glanced down at the swell of your tits as they practically spilled out of your dress, he couldn’t decide if he wanted to kill you, or fuck you, or both.

“It’s rude to stare, Mr. Zsasz.” You teased as you caught him.

“It’s rude to keep the boss waiting.” He shot right back.

“Fine.” you sighed, pushing away from the bar. “Lead the way.”

He offered his hand and you took it, holding onto him gingerly. The crowd parted for Zsasz in a way that they never would for you, smoothly and easily, club patrons giving him polite, frightened nods as he pulled you past. His grip on your hand was tight and harsh, squeezing as if you might try to run, but in all honesty, you were marveling at how warm his skin was around yours. You didn’t hate the way he led you over to his employer, and you knew that he was being gentle, or at least his version of it. 

When he brought you before Roman Sionis, he immediately let go of you, moving to stand next to his boss. Roman himself was sitting in a booth, sinking into the lavish red velvet upholstery as he held a drink in his gloved hand. He regarded you with a calm smile, immediately gesturing for you to take a set across from him. 

So you did, and the rest was history.

Roman Sionis had heard of you, and when he realized that you lived in the East End, in his East End, he had to have you. He had to own you. So, he did what he always did with people, and he bought you. All you had to do was complete one little, simple job for him, and he would keep you around on a regular salary, giving you all the benefits of joining his tiny little family. You passed his test with flying colors, taking out your target faster than Roman could have hoped for, and the next thing you knew, you were spending your days lurking around Roman’s penthouse. 

You stayed quiet and obedient, not wanting to give Roman any reason to get rid of you. It was a good, steady gig, one you didn’t want to pass up, but you could tell that Zsasz wasn’t pleased. He scowled at you, always waiting for you to trip, always ready to watch you fall. You got the feeling that he viewed you as an intruder, someone who was messing up his life even though you gave him more than enough space. He would raise his lip in a sneer whenever you passed, showing off gold teeth in a maddeningly handsome way that always had you hoping and praying that he wouldn’t notice the way your cheeks sometimes flushed. He never seemed to care, as he never made any other moves. Maybe he was under strict orders not to fuck with--or just plain fuck---you, or maybe he legitimately didn’t want to. 

You didn’t know why you had started to care so much. 

You didn’t know about the way he watched your ass when you walked away from him, or the lewd way he sometimes palmed himself right out in the open. You never heard his pants and moans as he got off to the thought of you wrapped around him, and you never got to hear your name rolling off his tongue as he spilled into his hand, hips rocking of their own accord. 

Yeah, Zsasz was pretty much head over heels. He was fucked. 

He didn’t know why he liked you so much. There was just something about you, something about the way you walked and talked that always made his cock hard. He had reached the point where you would enter a room, and his pants would grow tight. Did you even know? Could you possibly fathom the torture you were putting him through every single day in Roman’s penthouse? Zsasz wanted to grab you and bend you over something, anything, hike that cute little skirt up and just go to town on your cunt. He dreamed about it at night, he wanted it, he craved the taste of your pussy...

But he couldn’t have it. 

Not yet. 

He would wait. He could be patient. After all, Roman came first. Roman always came first. Zsasz needed to focus on keeping his boss calm and happy, and he couldn’t afford to get distracted, no matter how much he wanted to press you up against the windows and fuck you so that the entire East End could see who you belonged to. 

No matter how badly he wanted it, Zsasz would wait. 

[dopescotlandwarrior]

Sinners & Saints-Chapter 17

                 A special thanks to @statell​ for all your help

Previous chapters at AO3

Chapter 17

Sebastian Meyer spun his desk chair around in time to see his secretary drop a newspaper onto his desk. She had the paper folded back to the society section where Danny’s face was beaming as she shook hands with Boris Johnson, the Prime Minister of England. He felt like someone punched him in the stomach and lowered the receiver to its cradle without warning to the caller. “What in God’s name is she doing?” He looked up in time to appreciate the swinging ass of his secretary before the door closed behind her. Sebastian read every word associated with the story and decided his mother was having a last fling before she surrendered the reigns to him this year. Let her have some fun, he thought, a nostalgic party to remember her glory days when she was the seat of power and reigning queen of the socialites. He could give a shit because nothing could stop him now. The purchase of a sizeable chunk of stock was in the bag after his manufactured bromance with a major investor. Sebastian did his best to undermine his mother’s stronghold and convince the man she was suffering from dementia. He was sure this sale would put him close to majority shareholder, so his take over was within reach. Still, the picture gave him an unsettled feeling because she had not surfaced in almost a year. Why now? The crew had worked all night to put the boat right after the party, with orders from Darius not to report for duty until noon the following day. Jamie took advantage of the quiet morning and trained Danny and himself in the gym before swimming laps to cool off. He hated the weather in London. Hot, sticky, and draining.

Adso’s loud purring cut through the fog of Claire’s dream and she felt him head-butting her face. He stretched out beside her and kept his paws on her face until she opened her eyes. Claire rolled to her side and with a finger under his chin pulled his head up to look at her. “Ok my darling, I’m up. Is it food you want?” The door to their deck slid open for some fresh air and was closed immediately to keep humid air from filling the room. Tonight they will weigh anchor, set a course for Paris, and her intimate time with Jamie would be on hold again. She stretched and smiled at their glutenous sexual pursuits over the past week and figured she would survive the three days apart. She couldn’t wait to get to Paris and see Javier and Joseph again. They were invited to the party and would stay on board to Athens and then fly home. It felt like an eternity since they were together. Darius called a meeting of the crew and ran down the teams, shifts, and duties on their three-day trip to Paris. Maia was the last one onto the bridge and noticed Cici did not move away from Darius when she came in. She stood across from them and quietly listened to the meeting, however she remembered not a word. When the crew muttered “aye, captain,” Maia was deep in her memory, adding up the lingering looks and odd behaviors observed in Cici. “Maia? You’re a million miles away.” Maia looked around at the empty bridge and blushed. “I’m closer than you think. I gotta go.” Black Rolls Royce automobiles pulled up to the offices of the Harbor Master all day long so someone in the employ of a party guest could deliver a handwritten message thanking Danny for a lovely evening. When Darius requested permission to make way, he was told a boat was coming to deliver mail. Eighty-five guests sent a thank you note, and Danny read every one of them. The anchors were raised just as a thunderstorm ripped open to soak Ethan and Steven, who gripped the slippery hull ladder with one hand while they guided the chain with the other. Darius watched the CCTV monitors closely until they were back on deck. The other crew members were pulling furniture and lounge chairs under the deck ceiling and snapping waterproof covers over everything. When all of them were back inside, Darius and Jamie turned the yacht away from London toward open water. Danny looked out the expansive windows at the squall coming in on the port side and told Claire and Maia to close all the windows. Claire ran to her rooms and called for Adso, usually on her lap at this time of the day, getting more frantic by the second. She ran around her room calling for him and spun around to see him sitting on her bed yawning. She picked him up and carried him out to the table where they were working. Darius looked at the color of Jamie’s face and decided he finally found his friend's weakness. “You look a bit green around the edges, friend. The trash can is empty if you need …” Jamie ran for the head and over the next two hours, purged his system, in one way or another. Darius was waiting to give him a patch for seasickness, but Jamie couldn’t spend more than a couple of minutes on the bridge before dashing back to the head. On one of his brief visits, Darius pressed something sticky behind his ear. Jamie made a run for the bathroom again and Darius chuckled. After four hours of being tossed around on an angry sea, Darius could see the margin of the storm and pushed their speed to get out from under it. When Maia and Steven arrived to take their shift, Jamie almost crawled out of the elevator and got to their rooms to lie down. Claire was reading and jumped off the bed when she saw her green-faced love stagger in. She pulled his clothes off and propped him up on pillows, then went to the galley for soup and water. The chef was preparing food for the next day when she told him how sick Jamie was. He smiled and fixed up a remedy for seasickness and suggested broth to restore him. “He won’t like the taste of the remedy, so tell him to pinch his nose and swallow. Best to have a bucket nearby, just in case.” Claire carried the tray to their room and Jamie did whatever she told him to. Then he laid down and passed out. Jamie reported to the bridge the next morning feeling much better except for sore stomach muscles. He kissed Claire as they exchanged places and the familiar rotation was back in full swing. Claire worked with Danny during the day, getting her to remember the faces that would board in Paris, and Maia did research on the guests. When they dropped anchor in Paris, it felt like they had hardly moved. The night of the party, Claire and Maia flanked Danny again at the entrance to the grand saloon and fed her information about guests who were approaching. When Claire saw Javier and Joseph in the greeting line, she broke away to throw her arms around them. Javier held her at arm’s length and smiled at her gown and hair. He was bursting with pride, as was Joseph. Claire introduced them to Danny and Maia and walked them into the saloon to find Jamie. Jamie’s smile was brilliant as he shook hands with the men. Claire promised to catch up in a bit and went back to Danny greeting guests. It was a stifling evening and even with the air conditioners blowing Danny was perspiring in her jacket, so she took it off to reveal the sleeveless gown underneath. Jamie caught sight of her and beamed with pride at her smooth and shapely arms. Danny looked in his direction and smiled back. At one o’clock in the morning, Claire dropped onto the couch between Javier and Joseph and sighed. Danny smiled her gratitude at the three of them. “I owe you a big thank you for talking with the French-speaking guests. I never saw any of you sit down all night and you were all so charming!” “I left you to fly solo tonight and you knocked it out of the park Danny.” “I wasn’t alone, I had the darling Maia with me much of the night.” Claire put her hand on her heart and lipped ‘thank you’ to Maia. She noticed Ethan and Steven had changed into their day uniforms and were standing by. “It would appear we are moving the boat to our mooring so it’s time to change and be useful.” She kissed Javier and Joseph goodnight and then Danny, telling her to rest well. Danny looked up at Maia and tapped her other cheek for a goodnight kiss and they all went to their rooms. Claire clipped the radio to her shorts and heard the crew members give their location and readiness to the bridge. She pulled a t-shirt over her head and pushed her hair into a ponytail. “Claire, are you close? You’re on the aft deck to catch the stern ropes.” “Yes, had a devil of a time getting that dress off, but I’m almost there.” “Thank you for the visual now move your ass, we’re ready.” Claire rolled her eyes and jogged to the aft deck to catch the enormous ropes used to tie the yacht to the dock. When the anchor chains were quiet again, Steven popped up on the ladder and helped with the remaining ropes before descending again when they dropped anchor at the mooring. Claire was grateful for the hard-working crew who would put the boat in order before morning. She was exhausted. “Good job everybody, captain out.” Maia came to the bridge in her pajamas, eating dry cereal out of the box. Darius was writing in his log and kept looking over at her soft pants riding her hips four inches below her belly button. When she lifted the box above her mouth, he watched her breasts bounce under her pj top. “Done!” Darius picked her up as she threw the empty box into the trash on the way to their rooms. As before, Danny held a brunch the next day for Javier, Joseph, Danny, and the four friends. It was a beautiful afternoon in sunny Paris, and Darius did the unthinkable. He gave the crew the day off, postponing their departure until the next day. In New York, Sebastian took the folded paper from his secretary and his eyes bugged out at the picture of Danny in a sleeveless gown toasting a major stockholder and oil investor. “What the bloody hell is going on?” “Get Marvin on the phone, interrupt him, tell him it’s an emergency!” “Marvin! Tell me Johnson is ready to sell before I lose my mind! My mother is up to something and I don’t like it.” Sebastian listened for two minutes, heard his financial manager say Johnson had taken his shares off the table, and the phone slammed into the cradle so hard it shattered. “Goddammit!” He unplugged the phone base and threw it against the wall. The next morning, Jamie and Darius prepared to weigh anchor as the crew covered deck furniture and stowed planters in the plant garage. Ethan and Steven raised the anchors and the mighty engines came to life. Javier and Joseph sipped cold champagne on the deck and marveled at the teamwork required to get them underway. Claire, Danny, and Maia joined them to watch the historic sights and beautiful buildings glide by on their way down the Seine. Claire had mixed feelings about anchoring off Greece again because so much had happened there. Thankfully, there was no party to prepare for and they could act like tourists for the three days Darius and Maia would be onshore visiting family. She told herself to relax and enjoy the time with her godfather. The third night at sea, Danny planned a special dinner on the upper deck for Claire and her family, Jamie, Darius, and Maia. They were served by the crew, and the chef prepared a glorious meal for them to enjoy. Many stories were shared after dinner, and Claire watched Danny talk animatedly with the others. Her jawline was still defined and her neck showed no drooping skin, in fact, she was aging quite well but no one would know it because her shoulder-length hair kept her best parts hidden. She decided it was time for Danny to emerge and wished she had thought of this while still in Paris. She would talk to Danny at her first opportunity, which was later that evening when she was reading in the saloon along with Javier and Joseph. “Danny, I would love to treat you to a new hairstyle. What do you say to a girl’s day out in Athens?” “I am quite comfortable with my hair, as awful as it is. I’m not comfortable risking a bad haircut. How about facials and pedicures?” “Okay, that would be fine, I guess. I’m on shift in the wheel room in two hours, so I’m going to lie down for a bit. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Claire needed Jamie’s help for this and found him watching a rerecorded game in their room. She snuggled up to him and whispered she needed a favor. The game flicked off before her sentence was finished. “I am trying to talk Danny into a new hairstyle, something more modern, but she’s afraid of having a bad haircut until it grows out. You could draw her face and put different hairstyles on her, right?” “There is a very high price for such a service Sassenach, but I’d be happy to break it down into installments if you like.” He pulled her down on the mattress and kissed her until she forgot who Danny was. Through the night, while Claire was on shift, Jamie sat in his studio and rendered Danny’s face with three hairstyles he found on the internet. He jogged to their bed to grab four hours of sleep before his last shift of this leg. Darius was getting more uptight by the minute as they cruised toward Athens. He and Maia would visit their family for three days, so Jamie assumed this mood was family-related. “I’ve been wanting to ask you, it’s none of my business, but I’ll ask anyway. When we were at the jewelry store in Jamaica buying the necklace for Maia, you said you had two grand to your name, remember?” Darius shot him a dark look. “What did you do with your earnings then?” “You couldn’t be more right, it’s none of your business.” “I think I know the answer, but I’d like to hear it from you.” “Me and Maia have all we need while on the yacht, so I send the bulk of my pay home, to my family and hers. The economy is poor, very few good jobs, low pay, no assistance. My two brothers live in the same house as my sister, her husband, and their baby. They need every penny.” “I always knew you were a good man, Darius. What are you forty, forty-five years old?” “I’m twenty-seven asshole, and I don’t need a lecture about robbing Maia from the cradle. ” Jamie ducked as wadded paper was launched at his head and the bantering took the edge off of Darius’s mood. The anchors hit the seabed close to Athens, where the fishing was good for both pole and speargun. Darius and Maia said goodbye and got into a boat brought by Darius’s brother and it sped away. Javier and Joseph were gleefully setting up their fishing lines and sipping beer in chilled glasses. They now had a partner in crime. The chef was crazy about fishing and kept the men within arms reach of food and beer while they enjoyed the day. Jamie felt soft arms come around his waist from behind and twisted his body to put Claire under the shower water. He kissed her under the stream and felt a ravenous hunger ignite in his groin. They could take their time today, he realized, and broke his kiss to wash her hair. “It’s time for a whisky, love. Be a good girl and stay here, I have some things to discuss with you.” When Jamie left to fetch the whisky bottle, Claire went out to the deck with her nail kit and put a fresh coat of polish on her fingernails. Jamie set a whisky in front of her and watched the process with mild interest. He stood behind her and pulled the string holding her bikini top on, letting it fall to the deck, then he carried her to a lounge. Claire kept her hands in the air so he wouldn’t smudge the polish, and Jamie smiled wickedly at her. “Let me pamper you, love. Give me your foot.” He found all kinds of creams and scrubs in her caddy and settled on a soothing gel that he applied to her feet, calves, and thighs, covering an inch at a time very slowly. He massaged her inner thighs until she was panting, taking care not to touch her most intimate places. This was about seduction, and that required a soft touch. Pulling her foot into his lap, he sat down on the deck and held up bottles of polish until she picked one. The hours he had watched her manicure her toes paid off when he brought out each tool for cuticles, filing, and smoothing. When the paint rolled onto her toenails, he could see her thighs quivering slightly and smiled with his bowed head. When the first foot was done, he licked from her knee to her core, pulling her bikini bottom to the side and pulling his soft, wet tongue up her fold. The fabric was returned to normal and he grabbed the other foot for the same treatment while she panted and tried to slow her heart rate. It took an excruciatingly long time to paint five toenails and drink two shots of whisky. Claire was growling with need and gave her love a warning look to finish what he started. It took another hour but finish he did and they curled up on the lounge for a happy siesta. By mid-afternoon, Claire found Javier, Joseph, and the chef, drunk, sunburned, and deliriously happy. To her surprise, Danny had joined them and was holding two of their poles with lines in the water. She greeted Claire with a happy smile, so excited to be fishing. “Claire! Look, I am fishing for my supper, isn’t that fantastic? I haven’t caught a single fish yet, but I am determined.” Javier looked at Joseph and asked if he baited the hooks to which Joseph raised his shoulders and giggled. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Give me a pole Danny so I can check your hook.” Soon there was a spinning lure attached to the line and cast far into the water. Claire handed the pole back to Danny with a warning that the fish were large and might pull the pole out of her hands if she wasn’t ready. Danny squealed with delight and watched the water with anticipation. Claire baited the other hook and sat next to Danny, trying to ignore the loud snoring of the three men who were now sleeping in the shade. Claire’s pole jerked violently, and she heard the line running out as the fish dove deep to get away from the hook. She counted five seconds and pushed the lock on the reel, almost losing the pole when it jerked back hard. Danny dropped her pole in her excitement to help Claire, and it jerked on the deck when another fish swallowed her hook and then tried to get away. Fortunately, the pole was pulled along the deck sideways and got caught by rail mountings so they didn’t lose it. Both women were screaming and laughing, trying to reel in the first fish. Jamie’s head jerked up hearing the chaos outside. His book forgotten, he ran to the deck and watched Claire and Danny pull the same pole, losing themselves in laughter. He grabbed the other pole and demonstrated how to reel and pull the fish, but they were hopelessly lost in their fun. He felt the fish release his line and swim to freedom while he reeled in the hook and set the pole aside to help Claire. From behind Claire, he moved her hands, holding them still while the fish ran the line out again, and then pulling up sharply to set the hook deeper. Danny held onto the pole like it was a lifeline while she bent over laughing. When the fish was exhausted, Jamie had them walk the pole and fish along the side deck where he could net the beautiful sunfish that would feed them that night. Claire and Danny jumped around the aft deck, lost in their celebration. Jamie made quick work of gutting the fish and cutting away the parts that were unusable. The chef roared from the side deck to stop as Jamie was about to throw the head far from the boat. “That head will make the best fish head soup!” The chef took command of the fillets and head and left them for the galley, very excited at their catch. Danny showed Claire how to wash with soap and then cut lemon sections to rid the skin of the fishy smell. Danny went to lie down until dinner and the crew was cleaning the main saloon, so Claire went outside to fetch her godfather and Joseph off the deck. They went down to their rooms to tend their sunburned skin and nap. Jamie pulled Claire to their rooms and closed the door before pushing a button that pulled the blackout shades down the massive windows. He pulled Claire to the bed and suggested a movie to which she happily agreed. “This is a classic that I found in the video library upstairs. I think you will really like it.” Claire cuddled up to Jamie when the movie started and was well into the story before it suddenly heated up with erotic scenes between two lovers. She couldn’t pull her eyes away as the characters showed body parts she didn’t expect to see. Jamie watched her face flush as the scenes became more erotic and he chuckled, suggesting they watch something else. “No! I mean, don’t you want to see how it ends?” “As you say, love.” Claire lost herself in the beautiful actors and for the first time, watched a woman making love as her breasts bounced with the pounding. The woman’s inner thighs looked so soft as she spread them for the man’s mouth moving toward her core. When the sex got rough, Claire’s panting was giving her arousal away. “Should we find another, sweetheart?” Jamie pulled her in front of him, between his legs, and pressed her back against his chest in a relaxed posture. Claire was hypnotized by the sex scenes and hardly noticed Jamie pulling her feet to the sides to open her legs. When he touched her, it was like a firebomb to kindling and he gave her all the thrills she had just seen. When they collapsed, gasping for breath, Claire was panting out “how” and “why” and certain unintelligible words making Jamie chuckle. “It takes a bit of work the second time in the same day, love.” “Wow, that was… wow.” After another shower, they finally stumbled to the table for dinner and Jamie was still chuckling at her deer in the headlight eyes. She needed help to come back to the here and now, even though he loved her expression and blush. “Sassenach, how do you like the fish you girls caught today?” “Hmm?” “The fish, how do you like it?” Claire looked at her plate like she just realized she was chewing food. “It’s wonderful! I really love it.” She and Danny started talking about the next party, and Jamie knew she was back on earth. He missed his starry-eyed wife instantly. They shared a closeness for the rest of the evening and he cuddled her in their bed that night wanting to hold her close all night long, but that was not going to happen. Jamie’s eyes would not close, his breathing would not deepen, and his mind felt like a pinball game in play. He rolled quietly out of bed and made his way to the studio. A painting was clamoring to get out, and he felt the crushing responsibility to get it right.   Sunrise filled the studio with light as the third canvas was sent to the failure-closet, so named that very night because it had not happened to him before. He went to his sketch pad to work out the dimensional issues and used colored pencils to test the color differences. If he couldn’t find the skill to paint it accurately, he wouldn’t do it. It was that important. Jamie knew Claire would be up soon and he wasn’t ready to share this picture yet, so he put his drawings away and put the five-lads on the easel, then he went to snuggle with his wife. Claire hugged Javier for a full minute, and then Joseph. She wiped a tear off her cheek and smiled bravely wishing them a good flight back to Paris. They both turned in their seat and waved as the taxi pulled away. “Darius and Maia return tomorrow and then we weigh anchor for strange places Sassenach. Perhaps the three of us sit on the deck today and fish. What do you say?” Danny jumped to fetch whatever Claire needed that afternoon. She could feel her melancholy, and her maternal instincts took over. At least until the first pole nearly bent in half from a monster fish that latched onto Jamie’s hook. The women abandoned their poles to render aid that was not needed, and Jamie tried to reach his pocket when he felt his phone vibrate. It was hopeless reaching through the women’s glee, so he held his pole out to the side with one hand and clicked to answer the call. “What the hell is going on over there?” “Two excited women helping me boat a fish, but it could be long gone by now because I can’t feel the pole move anymore. What’s up?” Jamie listened to the instructions given, “on my way.” Handing the pole to Claire, he excused himself to tender Darius back to the yacht, and Claire looked confused when the pole was no longer bouncing. It was obvious Darius was hurt and Jamie helped him into the tender without commenting on his bulging eye that was swollen shut, his bloody mouth, or his arm held tightly to his side. “Hospital?” Darius shook his head, “boat.” Darius crept into the saloon hoping to make it upstairs before anyone saw him but the stairs were impossible. He turned around to use the elevator and heard Claire’s voice as he winced from his broken ribs. “Don’t you fucking move, Darius.” She led him to the galley by his good hand and pulled his sunglasses off while he voiced his complaint. Claire grabbed the emergency kit, a frozen steak, and led him up to his rooms. He couldn’t lay down because the position drove the broken ribs into his lungs so Claire cleaned the wounds as best she could. “I didn’t know you had such a crush on me, Claire.” “Shut up, you idiot. What happened to you?” “I don’t want to talk about it.” Jamie found Danny cleaning up the fishing gear and looking worried. “He probably told you to leave him alone, and while that works most of the time, it will not work today. Maia knows what to do so get her back here so she can help him. Jamie, please do this.” Jamie was naturally resistant to Danny’s gift, but he heard the edge in her voice and reached for his phone. Twenty minutes later, a wide-eyed Maia was climbing into the tender asking how bad the injuries were. She interrupted his explanation saying she could swim faster than he was going so he pushed the tender to its limit and soon they were flying across the water. Maia could hear Claire arguing with Darius as she approached their rooms and kindly asked Claire to wait downstairs. She glanced at Darius and saw his tears of pain and frustration. So she helped Claire exit the room and locked the door behind her. Claire could hear them talking and ripping packages of emergency supplies. She was terrified and crying, having never seen anyone fresh from a brutal fight. Jamie put his arm around her and led her downstairs where the three of them waited in the saloon to hear more about his injuries. Maia cleaned the wounds, wrapped his ribcage, and slapped his good hand when he tried to loosen the ace bandage constricting his breath. She pushed a pain pill into his mouth and moved her finger along the base of his teeth searching for a loose wiggle. Ten minutes later he could lie down, gingerly. She knelt next to the bed and put her head down, fighting the tears she didn’t want Darius to see. His good hand stroked her hair, and he whispered to her that everything was alright. When she gave in to the sobs, he held her as best he could and reminded her he was the captain with a job to do and she was expected to help him for a little while. “Darius, of course I will. I’ll pull the boat with my bare hands if you ask me to!” She held his hand against her cheek and searched his face, feeling relief when he smiled at her. “It’s alright,” he said, stroking her hair. “My face scared you, but you patched me up with a steady hand, and now you need to cry a bit. It’s okay to cry, and then I wonder if you might tell the others what happened so we can all shake it off and depart in two days.” Maia could see he was asleep and covered him before going downstairs. Her eyes were puffy from crying and nothing would change that, so she walked into the saloon and told them what happened. “Darius sends most of his pay to his family and mine. His sister lives in a small house with her baby and husband, and Darius’s two brothers moved in a year ago because they were homeless. Darius said the house was a horrible mess. The front door had been kicked in, glass was missing from windows, the baby was crawling through filth. His sister is afraid of the brothers who spent all the money Darius has sent. Her husband leaves on Monday to work on Mykonos and he is gone all week. Darius ordered them out of the house and called the husband, telling him to walk off the job and come home to protect his family. Darius said he would cover his pay. They jumped him and beat the shit out of him.” Maia looked up, “sorry for my language. He has a job to do and I will help him. We leave in two days, nothing has changed.” Danny held her hand up to stop Maia and seemed to struggle with the right words. “I know it’s hard for the four of you to accept my gift, and I don’t talk about it much, but I have to tell you something. Darius suffered an impact to his abdomen, a kick I think, and his spleen is bleeding. I can see it bleeding and it might have to come out. If I could get close to him I will know for sure. This could threaten his life, so we shouldn’t wait. Please wake him and ask if I can see him, Maia.” “C’mon.” When Darius didn’t wake up right away, Maia got scared and shouted at him. She squeezed his hand and apologized. “Is the boat on fire, sweets?” “No. Darius, were you kicked in the stomach?” “No.” He closed his eyes again and Maia muttered about Danny being wrong as she walked to the door. “Maia, yes, I was kicked in the stomach, several times. Why?” “Danny needs to see you. Something about your spleen is bleeding. Can I let her in, please?” “Yes.” Danny entered and reached for his hand, looking concerned. He watched her. “I can’t tell if it’s going to stop. We can go to the hospital now or I can check you later.” “Check later if you would, I don’t like hospitals.” “Alright, dear Darius.”   Danny left and Maia sat on the floor and put her head near his on the mattress. She stroked his arm until she was sure he was asleep again. “I love you so much, Darius.” “I love you too, sweet one.” Jamie and Claire finally said goodnight and Danny went to the elevator and her rooms. All through the night, she monitored Darius, sneaking into their room to lay her hand on his foot. On one visit, she put a blanket around Maia and pulled the covers around Darius. Her last visit was at five o’clock in the morning. She kept her hand on his foot because she wanted to be sure. “You did it, young man,” she whispered, “no splenectomy for you, so kindly put your cape back on, and save the day… when you’re ready.” Danny was exhausted and desperately wanted to lie down on her bed. She rode the elevator down to her floor and held the wall as she walked. She was proud of Darius for his decision to heal. Later, Jamie spent some time with Darius and he was particularly sarcastic and funny because Darius begged him to stop making him laugh. Jamie decided that was enough painful levity for one day and left, grabbing Maia in the hall. “Maia, I have spent too much time with Darius and I don’t want to wake him up. He asked me to alert the authorities that his sister should be alone in the house waiting for her husband, but he didn’t give me the address.” Jamie pulled a notepad out of his pocket and had a pen poised to write it down. He started to move down the hall like he was in a hurry and raised his eyebrows at her. She gushed the address out and then went into their rooms. Jamie pushed the pad into his pocket and went downstairs with a face that could murder a man just looking at it. After dinner, Jamie pulled Claire into their rooms and made passionate love to her. She mumbled something about her jello legs as she slipped into her dreams. He waited until she was deep enough not to feel him roll out of bed or hear him dress. He jumped in the tender and paddled halfway to shore to avoid waking anyone. He had a mission to complete before they left in the morning. Danny stood in the dark saloon and watched Jamie paddle the tender. She was conflicted about raising the alarm or letting it happen. She whispered, “forgive me, Jamie,” and went back to bed. Jamie leaned against a large tree and dozed for half the night, waiting for the brothers. He would bet his last dollar they hadn’t left and Jamie knew the husband would not be back until the next day. His head jerked up hearing the drunken laughter of two men approaching. They staggered toward the sister’s house and Jamie cleared his throat to make them turn around.   One of them addressed him in what sounded like gutter slang and Jamie smiled like an altar boy and pulled his wallet out. The men approached so Jamie lowered the wallet so they would see the large bills he thumbed through as he talked about paying them off to stay away from the sister. He was not getting through to them so he said, “Darius,” and waited. One of them shoved a fist in Jamie’s face.   “We take your money and drop you in the deep ocean. No worry, you be dead.”   Jamie’s eyes were wide with fright and he backed into the tree with his hands in a defensive position. They were smiling at each other coming toward him when Jamie suddenly stood upright and laughed, stopping them in their tracks.   “Oh! I.. I know who you two are, you beat the shit out of my friend, your own brother!” He was still laughing while the men shot glances at each other. “You know, Darius said you guys fight dirty.” More laughter. “What a relief! Because so do I.”   Jamie jumped up and grabbed a tree limb, driving his feet into one man’s face. He dropped to the ground and pulled his jacket off showing the second man his sleeveless t-shirt and the bulging muscles in his arms. Before the man could run, he grabbed his long greasy hair, and drove his knee into his back, flipped him around and pummeled his face until the man collapsed on the ground.   Jamie grabbed the last of the rope he brought and wound it around the man’s legs. Both of them were tied to different trees with no possibility of escape. Jamie hoped the husband would be the first to find them. He pushed a note under the ropes and put his jacket back on. He had a naked wife waiting for him in a big warm bed. He headed for the tender. Danny thrashed in her bed, having one hell of a nightmare. She saw men fighting and one of them run away. Suddenly, the man stopped and looked directly at her, “it’s alright Danny, I won, rest now,” came the echo of his disembodied voice. Her eyes flew open and she sat up in her bed, gasping for air. She felt the presence of Jamie above her and sighed her relief as she dropped back to her pillows, feeling much better.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Eccentricity [Chapter 2: You Can Run Around Infinite In My Head]

Series Summary: Joe Mazzello is a nice guy with a weird family. A VERY weird family. They have a secret, and you have a choice to make. 

Potentially a better love story than Twilight (we’ll let @killer-queen-xo​ decide when it’s all said and done 😉).

Chapter Title Is A Lyric From: Rome by Dermot Kennedy.

Chapter Warnings: Language, mentions of violence. 

Other Chapters (And All My Writing) Available: HERE

Tagging: @queen-turtle-boiii​ @bramblesforbreakfast​​  @killer-queen-xo​​ @maggieroseevans​​ @culturefiendtrashqueen​​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​​ @escabell​​ @im-an-adult-ish​​ ​ @queenlover05​​ @someforeigntragedy​​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​​ ​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​​ @deacyblues​​ ​ @tensecondvacation​​ ​ @brianssixpence​​ 

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! 💜

Missing In Action

I wish she would stop staring at me.

Lucille sat at the Lees’ usual table and apathetically picked through a heaping salad. (Friday was salad bar day, which I appreciated considerably more than the chicken finger obsession that marred Mondays at Calawah University.) Every once in a while, Rami nudged her and Lucille would spear a cherry tomato with her fork and bite it in half with perfectly even, white teeth. But her large blue-green eyes—they reminded me of webs of seaweed tumbling in the cold, frothing La Push waves—always found their way back to me, strangely focused, inquisitive, perhaps accusatory.

Ben probably told them how much he hates me for whatever nebulous reason and now they all hate me too and I’m going to spend the next two years being death-glared by five ridiculously attractive and somewhat incestuous foster kids.

Chemistry was a three times a week class. Ben hadn’t shown on Wednesday, and I was 99% sure he would skip again today. I spotted him around campus periodically, always from a distance: dropping quarters into a vending machine, clandestinely vaping behind dorm buildings (what self-respecting pre-med student VAPES?!!), browsing YouTube videos in the library next to a tower of unopened textbooks, biology and chem and physics and calculus. He wasn’t home, he wasn’t sick; there was no attempt made to construct any sort of pretext. He was patently avoiding me.

I stabbed moodily at the serrated disks of cucumber in my salad. Jessica was blathering away about the latest season of The Bachelor and ranking the contestants’ eyebrows from best to worst. “...Like seriously, has she never heard of microblading?!”

“For real,” Angela offered, not especially invested but forever a good sport.

Lucille’s eyes settled on me again as she sipped a cup of steaming tea, staring until her forehead crinkled with the effort, staring hard, almost leering.

“What’s her problem?” I muttered.

Jessica shot a glance towards the Lee table and slurped her Sprite. The great mystery surrounding her potential Mormon-ness persisted. “Who? Lucy?”

Only Lucille’s friends called her Lucy. Jessica, a shameless aspiring socialite, presumed she was everybody’s friend unless they explicitly informed her otherwise, which of course no one ever did.

“Yeah,” I answered glumly.

“Maybe it’s your dress.”

“My dress? What’s wrong with my dress?”

Jessica wrinkled her nose and surveyed me as if I were a bug, and not a cute bug like a roly-poly bug or The Very Hungry Caterpillar or whatever. Like a really hideous bug. Like one of those spider-cricket hybrid things that hopped straight out of a hell dimension and into the dark, drippy corners of your basement. “It’s, like, very 1960s. But not in a sexy Woodstock way. In a ‘I’m about to join a hippie murder cult’ way.”

“I got it at TJ Maxx. It was on sale.”

Jessica snorted. “Probably for a reason.”

“That’s it. I’m giving all the hippies in my new murder cult your address.”

She and Angela laughed. Mike and Eric, the missing pieces of our daily lunch puzzle, were preoccupied with a campus protest to convert fried fish day (Thursdays) into tacos day. I sympathized with their efforts, but didn’t feel that my one-week tenure as a Calawah University student gave me much right to go around overhauling the dining hall schedule.

“I doubt she’s actually offended by a dress,” Angela said, nibbling on French fries that shed grains of salt like snowflakes.

Jessica sighed dreamily. “But Lucy’s just so fashionable...and that accent...” She drifted off into some daydream which began—I could only assume—with Lucy’s invitation to go shopping together and concluded with marrying Ben on some lush tropical island in the South Pacific.

Lucille was definitely fashionable, especially today: short black dress with sheer sleeves that ran to her fragile wrists, black polka dot tights, black heeled oxfords, dangling ruby earrings like beads of blood. She would have blended in perfectly at Paris Fashion Week. Rami was wearing a cardigan and khakis, per usual; Joe was in dark fitted jeans and a roomy U Chicago hoodie despite the fact that Forks was at minimum a thirty-four hour drive from the Windy City. What did Angela say his major was? Finance? No, Mathematical Economics. So he’s probably aiming at Chicago for an MBA or Econ PhD someday. Angela had told me that Joe was wicked smart. He better be if he’s entertaining fantasies of grad school at the University of Chicago.

Scarlett had come straight from Fencing Club and was wearing bright pink yoga pants and a t-shirt with the sleeves cut out, sprinkling Hot Cheetos into her open mouth, her blonde hair secured in a tight French braid. You know those girls who are so irrationally, gluttonously, unfairly beautiful that it doesn’t seem possible the genetic lottery could spit out so many winning numbers at once, and you comfort yourself with the certainty that there must be some set of circumstances that would level the playing field—I bet she looks like anyone else without all that makeup, she just has a really good sense of style and knows how to maximize her assets, there are definitely some goofy oversized ears hiding beneath that hair and that’s why she always wears it down—and then one day you run into them wearing sweatpants and a ponytail in the tampon aisle at Walmart and they’re still so perfect it stings you, baffles you, makes you feel like there must have been some divergence in the evolutionary chain because there’s no freaking way you’re the same species? Yeah, Scarlett was one of those girls. Scarlett was the queen of those girls.  

Ben was conspicuously absent from the table.

Scarlett’s pink leopard-print iPhone rang and she answered. “Hello?” She turned to Joe. “Dad says you left your phone at home. Do you need it?”

Joe was gnawing his way through his third slice of pepperoni pizza. “No, I’m good, thanks though.”

Scarlett relayed the message. “Dad says he’s going to bring it by just in case.”

“Oh my god, ScarJo, I’m fine! Tell him not to!”

“Dad says he doesn’t trust you and he’s going to be here in fifteen minutes. He’s also bringing the Game Theory homework you left by the hot tub.”

Joe groaned and rolled his lively dark eyes as Rami grinned at him; Lucille was still watching me and entirely oblivious.

“Isn’t it weird that Ben and Lucille have accents?” I asked Jessica. “That they’re from the U.K.? I didn’t think fostering kids was an international thing.”

“It’s not that weird. Dr. Lee is British too. Maybe there’s some kind of exchange system, I don’t know. But you know what I do know?”

“What?” Now my interest was piqued.

She smiled. “That the British accents are hot.”

“Ugh,” I exhaled involuntarily.

“Please get a hobby,” Angela begged Jessica. “Start a YouTube channel. Make care packages for orphans. Grow marijuana. Adopt a cat. I have a shift at the animal shelter this Sunday morning, you want to come with me?”

“Sorry, can’t. I have a temple thing.”

Temple on Sunday. The mystery is solved. She’s a Mormon for sure. I mentally resolved not to let her set me up with anyone unless I was still single on Valentine’s Day. Which, obviously, assuming I’m not dead in a ditch somewhere, I will be.

I gathered up my trash and slung my backpack over my shoulder. “Okay, well this has been a bizarre lunch to be completely honest, and now I have to go to Chemistry so I’ll see you later and hopefully we can brainstorm some more alternatives to Jessica’s current life trajectory on Monday. Because I am not looking forward to being a bridesmaid in these impending Lee nuptials.”

“Oh please!” Jessica lamented. “He doesn’t even know I exist. You, on the other hand...”

I scoffed. “Yeah, he wants to kill me. I truly have a gift.”

They waved as I left. I could feel Lucille’s eyes on me until I reached the door.

Sure enough, Ben wasn’t in Chemistry. I tried not to notice. I drew my atoms, wrote my equations, took my notes diligently and in my favorite sky blue ink. But I felt the emptiness in the chair next to me like a black hole, like an immense and dragging weight, like a snag in the fabric of all those interwoven strands of physics that orchestrate the universe like an immortal puppeteer. Why can’t I forget this guy? Why do I still feel like I’ve met him before?

Halfway through class, I hauled my emergency sweatshirt out of my backpack and pulled it on over my dress, floral and flowing and golden yellow like the sun, the sun that never shines here in Forks. I had liked it plenty under the florescent lights of the fitting room at TJ Maxx, and I had still liked it this morning; but Jessica’s words hummed around in my skull like wasps. The zipper of the sweatshirt was broken, but it accomplished the task of obscuring my dress well enough.

After Chemistry, I journeyed to the campus library to find a book I was supposed to read and present for a different class. I looked it up in the computer catalogue, spent an embarrassingly long time trying to figure out how the Dewey Decimal System works, eventually wound up finding the book on the highest floor of the library...and, to add a little extra peril to the mission, on the highest shelf. The book mocked me from its lofty, unattainable stronghold. The title was embossed in gold letters down the crimson spine. The Walruses And Me: A Transformative Experience. Idiotic title, I’m aware. It’s about some marine biologist who spent months alone in the Arctic studying the lifecycles of walruses. A noble pursuit, sure, but still a terrible title.

There wasn’t a chair or stepstool in sight. I tested my weight by stepping up onto the second-lowest shelf. The metal immediately squealed and shifted in protest. I retreated back down to the carpet, defeated by gravity. I scowled up at the book and sighed melodramatically. Ugh.

“Need something?”  

I spun around to see Joe in his University of Chicago hoodie and pale flawless skin and intangible magnetism, that bewildering trademark Lee ethereality. I instinctively crossed my arms, clutching the sleeves of my sweatshirt, shrinking inwards like a startled armadillo in the Arizona desert.

“Are you, uh, anemic...?” he ventured.

“Oh no, I’m not cold. I’m just trying to hide my dress. My friend said it was too hippie-murder-cult 1960s.”

I figured he’d laugh, make a snide comment, maybe just blink in confusion. Instead, he glimpsed down at my dress—what could still be seen of it, anyway—and shook his head. “The neckline isn’t right for the 60s. And you seem like you’ve showered at least once in the past two weeks, so definitely not a hippie.”

I smiled, completely unexpectedly. “I didn’t realize Econ majors knew anything about leftist counterculture.”

“Disparaging it is our favorite pastime. Are you trying to get a book or are you just disrespecting university property for entertainment?”

I pointed. “The big red one.”

“The Walruses And Me...?”

“I know, it’s a horrible title. Not my personal preference. It’s for a class.”

“Bestiality 101?”

“Good guess. Marine Mammals.”

“Ahhh.” He glanced up and down the aisle, tapped his chin with agile fingers, pondered something I wasn’t privy to. “Turn around for a second.”

“What? Why?”

He waved his hand mysteriously in front of his grinning face. “It’s a magic trick. I’m going to make your problem disappear.”

“You can’t climb that,” I warned. “You’ll fall and break your neck. Or you’ll knock the whole shelf over and cause a tragic domino effect and the university will withhold your diploma until you pay them restitution.”

“I’m extremely athletic.”

“Are you sure?” I appraised him with exaggerated skepticism for comedic effect. “My dad refers to you only as the spindly annoying Lee.”

Oh my god, WHY did I say that?

Now he would definitely hate me. Now I’d have two mortal enemies on one campus. I mentally calculated how humiliating it would be to transfer to some Florida college, any Florida college, after only one week at Calawah. Hi mom, yeah I’m coming to live with you and Paul, a gang of hot pasty foster kids wants to slaughter me.

Instead, Joe threw back his head and cackled wildly. A librarian—mid-fifties, angry red hair from out of a box, fuzzy cat sweater—glared into the aisle and shushed him.

“Chief Swan...he actually...he calls me that? Really?!” Joe managed, wiping his leaking eyes. “That’s hilarious. I’m so glad my life is in his hands. Okay seriously, turn around.”

“Why would you help me?” I asked suspiciously.

“That’s just what I do. I’m a friendly guy.”

“This friendliness must not run in the family.”

Again, Joe’s cheerful demeanor didn’t falter. “You mean Ben? Forget about Ben, he hates everyone. Don’t take it personally.” Then he added: “Plus, as I’m sure you know, we’re not biologically related. No overlapping genetic material whatsoever. I didn’t get the male supermodel gene, he didn’t get the irresistibly charming gene, life’s not fair but the world keeps spinning.”

“It sure does,” I agreed softly. Unexpected wisdom from my new favorite Lee. I turned away from him. “Fine, I’m not looking, go ahead and dazzle me with your supernatural friendliness—”

“Done.”

“What?” I whirled around. Joe held The Walruses And Me in his hand. “How...did you...?!”

He passed me the book as I sputtered incoherently. “I told you. Magic trick.”

“I don’t....?!” I gawked up at the top shelf, at Joe, back to the top shelf. Sure enough, the space where The Walruses And Me once lived was now just a vacant slit in the row of dusty books. How could he have climbed up there that quickly? How could I not have heard anything? “The shelves didn’t even creak,” I murmured shakily.

“Yes, well, that’s due to my conveniently spindly physique.” Joe winked. “Any other problems I can help you solve at the moment, Baby Swan?”

“No. And don’t call me Baby Swan, or I’ll push this whole bookshelf over and tell the feisty librarian lady you did it.”

“That’s cold, ma’am.”

I liked that Joe didn’t make me feel like Ben did: unworthy, unloved, infuriating. Joe made me feel something else, something lighthearted, casual, buoyant; like the world didn’t have anything in it worth worrying about, regretting, agonizing over. Like unadulteratedly myself was all I ever needed to be.

I heard a muted buzz and Joe slid his iPhone out of his jeans pocket. Dr. Lee must have successfully delivered it. “Whoops, I forgot that Ordinary Differential Equations existed. Got to go. See ya.”

“Bye,” I replied. And then Joseph Lee was gone, very quickly, a little too quickly, the same way that Ben had vanished on that first afternoon after Chemistry.

Forks is weird. Calawah University is weird. And the Lee kids are super fucking weird.

Long Walks On The Beach

“Can I ask you a random question?”

“You just paid me $100 for an oil change that took fifteen minutes. You can ask me anything you want.” He grinned, flashing bright teeth and deep dimples.

It was Saturday afternoon. I had shoveled down a Chipotle veggie bowl as Archer changed the 1999 Accord’s oil in a small garage with a cracked concrete floor and the searing pungency of gasoline fumes thick in the air. He had apprenticed all through high school and rented his own shop after graduation. Archer now had a loyal clientele that encompassed virtually the entire Quileute reservation and a growing chunk of Forks...including Charlie and me, of course. Archer was the only child of Larry Foxchild—Charlie’s best friend since they worked together at Dairy Queen as teenagers—and the closest thing to a son my dad would ever have. I guess that made him like a brother to me, something that seemed intuitive now that I’d thought of it.

After the Accord was serviced we drove it down to La Push to walk on the beach, climb the salt-lashed rocks, toss pebbles into the roiling surf, reprise our childhood enthusiasm for poking dead washed-up marine creatures with shards of driftwood.

“Do you know anything about the Lees?” I asked Archer, investigating a deceased green shore crab.

His brow furrowed. He looked so serious like that, suddenly so much like Larry: the same tan skin, jet black hair, umbral eyes like oil wells, strong jaw overlaid with the stubbled shadow of a beard. We really aren’t kids anymore, are we? “The doctor and his kids?”

“Yeah. The foster kids. They’re really pale and strange and half of them are British.”

Archer chuckled. “I know who you mean. They’re hard to miss.”

“Are they...” Just eccentric rich people? Traumatized from abusive childhoods? Government experiments? CIA agents? Secret murderers? The image of Ben in that first Chemistry class came roaring back to me, including the adjective that had flashed red behind my eyes like an emergency exit sign: fierce. Finally, I decided: “Dangerous?”

Now Archer full-on laughed, gripping his belly, shaking his head. Drops of saltwater flew from his short hair. “Seriously?!” he exclaimed. “Come on, they’re freaks but they’re not, like...that kind of freaks.”

“Are you sure?” I was starting to feel better already. Of course they’re not actual demons, you fucking idiot. This is Washington, not The Twilight Zone or Black Mirror. Not goddamn American Horror Story.

“Yeah.” Archer skipped a grey pebble over the water, something I’d never been able to do. “I’ll be honest, I don’t know them all that well. They usually keep to themselves. But I’ve never heard anything bad about any of the kids. And everyone respects Dr. Lee and appreciates him for taking the pay cut to come to some bumblefuck town like Forks. He’s insanely highly credentialed, has degrees from Harvard or Yale or somewhere like that. Super impressive. We’re lucky to have him. I definitely sleep better at night knowing he’ll be the one to fix me up if I ever get a few fingers ripped off on the job.”

“Don’t even say that. Then who would I grossly overpay for oil changes?”

Archer smiled, then sobered as he peered out over the Pacific Ocean.

“What?” I asked, feeling a plummeting in my guts like primal fear.

“Well...okay, so there is one thing that’s always bothered me. You remember Grandpa Foxchild?”

“Yeah, of course.” He had been an impossibly ancient man with long grey braided hair, a low rumbly voice, gnarled arthritic hands, ceaseless wrinkles. I remembered Charlie calling me when he passed away last spring. Renee and I had picked out a flower arrangement to send to the funeral.

“So,” Archer said slowly, like he was still puzzling it out himself. “Grandpa used to say things like ‘That Dr. Lee has been around a long time.’ Which of course makes no sense, the Lees moved here like two years ago. And I’d tell Grandpa that, but he completely ignored me. He would just keep repeating it. ‘That Dr. Lee shouldn’t still be here.’ ‘That Dr. Lee should go on home to where he came from.’ ‘That Dr. Lee isn’t right.’ Creepy shit like that. My dad and I always assumed it was the dementia talking, but...I don’t know. It just bothered me. Because Grandpa...he wasn’t just being gossipy or suspicious. He was angry. And he was afraid. Grandpa was at Guadalcanal and Iwo Jima and he would talk about that no problem, mention landmines or flesh melting off a soldier’s face like it was nothing. He was a tough guy. Immeasurably tough, I’ll never be half the man he was. But if you mentioned the Lees, Grandpa got scared. Why the hell would he be so scared of them?”

I didn’t have an answer for him, not a single word. I just stared at Archer, my eyes growing huge, my heart sprinting, blood pounding in my ears. He knew. Grandpa Foxchild knew there was something off about them, and now I know it too. I don’t know how I know, but I do.

Archer tittered nervously. “Anyway, that was genuinely disturbing. But like I said. It was probably just the dementia.”

“What if it wasn’t?”

“It had to be,” he insisted. “There’s no other logical explanation.”

“I guess,” I agreed, scooping up the green shore crab corpse with my bare hands. I hurled it out into the waves, imagined it sinking through murky water and suspended grains of sand, the body settling into prehistoric silt, the scavengers descending upon it, the inescapable wheel of birth and death and resurrection through those who unwittingly carry our atoms with them into the next generation, into the perpetual future.

That night my dreams were full of pale skin and scorching eyes, Ben and Joe and Rami, Lucille and Scarlett, crashing waves, cold water and bleached bones; and Grandpa Foxchild’s mistrustful refrain: That Dr. Lee has been around a long time.

Benjamin

I soared down the staircase and through the dining room. Gwil was working late at the hospital, Mercy outside tending the animals, everyone else presumably scattered throughout the house. I had to get out before anyone noticed me. I had to get out without Rami or Lucy knowing.

I yanked open the door to the back porch. Rami was waiting there.

“Good evening,” he greeted me in that slow, thoughtful drawl.

“Stay the fuck out of my head.”

“You know how it works, Benny Boy. I can’t ignore the loud thoughts. And you’ve been having some very loud thoughts lately.”

I stared down at my shoes, all black Adidas. Black is good. It doesn’t show stains. For example, purely hypothetically, splatters of human blood and organs. “I can make it quick. I can make it painless.”

Rami’s aura flared maroon; not enraged, no, not quite that, but certainly revolted. I was always finding new and horrifying ways to revolt them, whether I was trying to or not. “She has a family, Ben. A father. You know Chief Swan, you’ve seen him around town. He’s a good person. She’s a good person. You really want to do this? You really want to relapse like this?”

I didn’t reply. I didn’t have to. Hearing thoughts is a tricky thing, and not a gift that I would ever want; unspoken words are rarely a steam and usually a storm, disjointed and twisting, interrupting each other, bottomless layers of whispers and screams. But I was sure Rami could catch the important parts: that I didn’t know the difference between good and bad people, that I didn’t know what to think of people at all, that for me her blood was not a desire but a compulsion. I couldn’t stop envisioning it spilling over my tongue and teeth, down my throat, hot and pulsing erratically and fading. “Why can’t you hear her? Why can’t I see what she’s feeling?”

Rami shrugged, characteristically placid and restrained. It was maddening. “There are seven and a half billion people on this planet. So maybe every once in a while you get one that lives in our blind spots, there’s something chromosomal or psychological that puts them on a different frequency. I don’t know. How the hell should I know? All I know is that you definitely shouldn’t be seriously considering...well. What you’re considering.”  

“Have you ever met someone whose thoughts you couldn’t hear before?”

“No,” Rami admitted; and was that a ghost of unease that crossed his face?

“Please, Rami. Let me go. Pretend you never saw me.” My words come out strained, hushed, like a spilled secret, like a confession. I’ve never wanted anyone’s blood like I want hers.

He heard that; I could see the dismay in his eyes. Now his aura is dark grey, almost black. Disappointment. Resignation. Mourning. “I told you what Lucy saw.”

“What she saw is impossible and you know it.”

Again, Rami shrugged. That blind, mindless faith. I wished I knew what it felt like. “She’s never wrong.”

“Have you told him?”

“Who, Joe?! Of course I haven’t told Joe. He...”

“He wouldn’t believe it either?” I snapped, like it was a victory.

“No,” Rami amended carefully. “No, he would believe anything Lucy saw.” Lucy had visions: flashes of the future, the past, the present. They were rare and unpredictable, often fragmented, snapshots rather than arcs. But they were always true. Or, rather, the other Lees claimed they were. The real Lees. “I don’t know what he would do about it,” Rami said finally. “So I’m waiting it out. And killing one of the primary participants is definitely not waiting it out.”

I seethed as I glared at him, hating him in that moment, hating myself only slightly more; and he heard that too. But then that wispy, fleeting haze around him was a pink like the last threads of sunlight sinking into the Western horizon. Forgiveness. Attachment. Love.

“Come with me, Ben,” Rami said gently, opening the door. “Come back inside. You can beat this. You’re better than this. You’re a good soul. You wouldn’t be with us if you weren’t.”

I tried to laugh. It came out like a snarl. “I haven’t had a soul in a long time.”

[heraldofzaun]

Apotheosis

He was forty-eight when he retired from the League, sent off with a smattering of applause and not a single Summoner looking at the lenses of his mask.

Fifteen years of service to the Institute, seeing the faces of other Champions line with age or disappear from the roster to be replaced with more youthful counterparts. The immortals and nonhumans stayed for the most part - Kayle’s contract would far outlive the Institute itself, and many of the offworlders that she counts herself among have found that this institution is more of a home to them than Valoran, but… There have been some changes. Jayce retired five years previous. Viktor does not particularly care why - something about his cartilage eroding away after a decade of running and leaping and fighting for his life - but he knows that the man is not much more than a socialite now. Orianna is still in the League, her clockwork form archaic by modern-day standards. Only hobbyists and the old guard of Piltover’s scientific community use gears for the majority of a project now, as magic-touched circuitry far surpassed the potential of anything else. Viktor never particularly cared to know about many of the other champions that served during his time. Warwick was put down years ago when his bestial nature overpowered his last shred of reason - Soraka had cursed more than his form, it seemed. Jinx’s reign of senseless destruction was finished with a bang when she set too short of a fuse. Blitzcrank… Viktor does not keep up with the golem, but he still serves in the League. They have hardly talked. It is for the best.

The Summoners probably cheered after his send-off, free of having to look into his mind. His thoughts are not typical in their manner, he has found out, both in their content and style. (He took great care to learn how to shield his mind, of course - thinking of a project calls up images of it and he will never trust another with that level of access to his work again - and so the only thoughts Summoners can pluck from his mind are those related to the task at hand.) He has heard enough half-muffled thoughts from junior members of the Institute to know that they are convinced that his unique nature comes from tampering with his brain. There are no scars on his temples.

He retired because the League no longer held anything of interest for him. Viktor has lost count of the number of time his abilities on the Fields have been tweaked in the name of balance. He had to report every new surgery (from knee to hip, from wrist to elbow, elbow to shoulder… right hand replaced, right forearm - the list goes on) and every new model of prosthetic, lest his technology provide an unfair advantage over the hard-earned skill of others. Balance is the reason guns do not consistently beat swords, no matter how magical the steel of the latter. The Institute is set on giving each nation a fair chance in its geopolitical decisions. So they allow Demacia to stick to its principles as written in The Measured Tread and Ionia to its traditions. How they don’t see that their histories will be their undoing is a particularly human failing.

---

Viktor is well-aware of the nature of time. He does not have enough, he worries at fifty, to do the one thing he has wanted desperately for nearly two decades. His augments are strong, it’s his damnable flesh that is weakening after those fifteen years. Organs rebelling against their assigned tasks - there is a murmur in his heart when he listens, and nutrition seems harder and harder to get - as pain lances across the ports between flesh and metal. It is not faulty work on his behalf. It is the failure of the human form. Zaun’s life expectancy, when one accounts for the drop caused by infant mortality, is still lower than that of most other Institute-recognized nations. He knows this fact well, knows its source is the same thing that gave him his white streak, his hand, his internal deformities that he has known about since his youth when his father sat him down and told him with a gentleness unbecoming of a Zaunite surgeon. If he can’t save himself first… He turns away from his impossible task and sets on another, if only momentarily.

The robots are small, gold-plated things - meant to withstand the corrosion of Zaun. They function under his control, in the laboratory that he spends his every day in (at one point he’d brought in a cot, the travel from his now-unused home cutting down on precious time) now. They will be autonomous if necessary, the fleet of them equipped with enough intelligence to target the worst of the pollution. Giving them sentience is out of the question. He knows no being that can think for itself should be pressed into a job it does not choose, no matter how lofty of an ideal that is in Zaun. So they clean, or at least organize the waste and toxins. The battle is hopeless unless the factories change their practices, but it is something. Perhaps they will one day. Perhaps he will be the cause. The diversion took two years, and continual production will take longer. He is fifty-four now, but at least he has made a change if his body fails him tomorrow. A small change. A failure of his goals. He must keep working, until his dying breath if he must.

It is when he is fifty-six, hair long since grey (it had started going during his tenure as a Champion, he remembers) and body still on its inevitable decline, that he finally finds the missing piece. How to transfer, not copy. How to know that it will be him in the golden chassis he has created, not a him. He would have taken the latter option if necessary, knowing that his work is larger than himself or even Zaun, but this way his name will not be spoken of as a partial success (which is truly just a failure).

The machine is ready. He has familiarized himself with the theoretical process - he will sit, his mind linked with that of his new form via a helmet. His processing will be matched and then slowly offloaded until his body’s base functions cease and it dies, leaving him alive and well as a machine. He dons the helmet, technology whirring to life as his vision is blocked out. Emotions he thought were gone long ago return, perhaps to say their final goodbyes. Hope. Excitement. He can feel the sensation of being in two places at once, two sets of metal feet placed upon the floor, and it is exhilarating. It is fear next as the transfer nears its completion. His voluntary motor control has gone over to the other, presumably, but he had locked the chassis’ joints until the deed was done to prevent an accident. He cannot move. His senses are just the same, only sensation remaining as something that feels like a cruel joke at the moment. At least those inflicted with locked-in syndrome retain their vision. He feels impossibly small, impossibly trapped, eyes burning as his brain tries to get them to blink. Then the involuntary functions leave him. His chest is still as everything within it grinds to a halt and he begs his technology to have worked, for him not to die from stagnant blood and suffocation - drowning in air as a final testament to his utter failure. How long has it been? Should he be unconscious, or has the transfer taken that too? Five minutes. Five minutes until death, he knows this well, it is in every surgery book, how has it felt like hours as everything-

-Cyan eyes power on. His internals hum with electricity as the initial boot process looks for any errors to be patched. It finds none. He has done the impossible, and he feels… Viktor feels nothing.

[hopelessromanticspoonie]

The Angel’s Share - Ch. 2

Chapter: 2 of ?

Rating: PG-13

Summary: We are introduced to the female lead in the story, Katherine Adams, AKA Kate, who runs into Sir Thomas Sharpe.

Permanent Taglist for hopelessromanticspoonie: @just-the-hiddles @nonsensicalobsessions @vodka-and-some-sass @myoxisbroken @brokenthelovely @blah666 (could not be tagged)

Taglist for The Angel’s Share: @rjohnson1280 @alexakeyloveloki @villainousshakespeare

If you would like to be added to either taglist, please comment or send an ask!

Co-written with the ever-amazing @yespolkadotkitty! She’s a rock star!

“You owe me a drink for this. The good stuff, not the bottom of the barrel well booze that you give Frank when he’s three sheets to the wind.”

“Well, maybe it’ll be Crimson Peak, if you give it a good review. Thanks so much, Kate. I can always count on you!” Eddy sang her praises into the phone, punctuating his statement with a cough that sounded more canine than human.

“Please don’t mention it,” she grumbled snarkily, ending the call with her boss, the owner of The Dapper Tap, and sliding her phone into the ridiculously tiny clutch that she had dug out from the recesses of her less-than-tidy closet. She felt almost naked without her standard large black purse slung over her arm, holding all of the essentials and then some, but that wasn’t proper for the launch of a new line of whiskey.

Proper could kiss her arse.

She passed the cabbie a handsome tip as she got out of the cab as gracefully as she could manage. Thankfully the event wasn’t held in the heat of the summer day, and her flowy red dress would provide a bit of a breeze as it brushed against the tops of her knees with each quick step toward the building.

“Name, please?”

Her feet, clad comfortably in black sandals because she was not being paid enough to wear heels, had taken her right up to the entrance to the historic-looking red brick building without her noticing. She startled and lifted her distracted gaze up from where it had been trained on the lush green grass, taking in the attendant standing guard at the entrance. Dressed in a suit that had to be far too hot, he looked about as pleased as she did to be there.

“Katherine Adams, representing ‘The Dapper Tap’,” she stated clearly, brushing her caramel colored hair out of her face as she stifled a sigh.

The young man, he was practically a boy, checked a clipboard he had pulled out from behind his back before waving her through. “You’ll find everything straight on through the hallway and out the other side.”

“Thanks,” she nodded once, skirting past him, noticing he wore an earpiece. This was clearly an event with proper security. 

Whoever had thrown the event, Eddy hadn’t mentioned it amid his coughing fit, had pulled out all the stops. Coming out onto the lawn that had been indicated to her, the spectacle was quite a sight to see. Music from a small band set-up on a wooden stage drifted to her ears, bouncing off of vine-covered walls and only faintly muffled by the guests already in attendance. Small, but tall tables with wrought iron and wood stools were scattered around at regular intervals, offering a place to rest a glass while exchanging handshakes and business cards. The occasional waiter parted the crowd, carrying finger foods to dull the effects of what would most likely be too much whiskey passed around amongst those in attendance.

Best get on with it. Pasting on her best customer-service face - a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes - she thrust herself into the small, obviously curated group of attendees, searching for a familiar face amongst the crowd as she made her way to the bar where the liquor in question was served. She plucked a napkin from one of the various small stacks dotting the bar, glancing quickly at the finely printed script on its soft surface.

Crimson Peak, the finest barrel-aged whiskey produced by the Sharpe estate.

“Straight, please,” she told the waiting bartender, preferring to taste the varying flavors of the alcohol without the diluting effects of ice or mixers, although that would surely help the heat concentrated on the back of her neck from her thick mane of hair.

Cupping the glass and placing a few bills pulled from her bag into the tip jar - as a former bartender, she knew the importance of tipping - she turned around and headed to an empty table, chewing idly on her bottom lip as she slowly inhaled the bouquet of the amber-colored liquid.

It wasn’t unpleasant, with layers of oak and smoke that tickled her nose. Pulling a sip into her berry-stained lips, she allowed her gaze to roam the grounds, searching for the man responsible for the expensive sales pitch in question. His unforgettable face, all high cheekbones, guileless blue eyes and a poet’s mouth, had been plastered over tabloids several times over recent years, his nights spent on the arms of beautiful society girls in the doorways of exclusive clubs in Mayfair and West India Quay serving as pressing news for countless sycophants everywhere.

And then he’d dropped off the face of the World. Or so it had seemed.

Why he had reappeared now, hawking his wares, was anybody’s guess. It wasn’t her prerogative to question the comings and goings of people born with silver spoons in their mouths. She had a living to earn; a life to live. And it didn’t include hobnobbing with the upper classes in venues that cost more than a month’s worth of her wages.

Her mission was simple: meet the man so she could prove to Eddy that she’d showed up, sit through what would surely be a presentation full of hot air (him) and eye rolls (her), take the sample bottle that would probably be offered, and hop in a cab home in time to watch her favourite late-night detective drama before bed. It was rare that she had a Friday night off, and she wasn’t going to squander it staring up the noses of the gaggle of holier-than-thou guests milling about on the lawn, likely talking about croquet and the best way to roast a pheasant in your Aga these days.

There.

Stuck in what was surely a dull conversation with a portly man with the ruddy face of a man who seemed to know his liquor, and a tittering socialite whose smile stretched too wide over her heavily made-up face, stood a fallen angel in a masterfully cut suit.

His midnight-black hair framed his face, a riot of waves and curls that looked soft enough to sink her fingers into. His blue eyes met hers across the expanse of lush green lawn, his irises the striking colour of the ocean at dawn. His sharp features, softened by a mouth made for sweet nothings and sin, could have graced any number of magazines. His tall frame was draped in what was surely Armani, the tailored navy fabric skimming his long limbs, the crisp white shirt flirting with a carefully revealed triangle of his flat chest.

Sir Thomas Sharpe. The socialite’s date of choice some years ago.

His gaze held hers and he glanced down at the ruddy-faced man. “Excuse me. I’ve seen someone I must catch up with.” His beautifully enunciated words carried to her across the stretch between them, and he headed towards her, a friendly smile tipping up the corner of his mouth. Serious, he was handsome, but the smile elevated him into downright stunning.

Shame this was one tall drink of water that she’d never sip from. Even if he had been her type, which he most definitely wasn’t - far too posh - she wasn’t his, her curves a little too pronounced and soft in comparison to the athletic, ultra-toned models he was used to cavorting with about town.

“I owe you one,” he murmured as he approached Kate. “Thanks for saving me from being quite literally bored to death.”

Kate looked up at him, unimpressed. She cocked her head slightly, genuinely curious. “What percentage of the time does that line work? Fifty? As much as seventy, maybe?”

He frowned. “I beg your pardon-”

A glass being clinked over the PA system interrupted whatever he had been about to say. ‘A glorious pearl of wisdom, no doubt’, Kate thought with an internal eye roll.

“Ladies and gentlemen. Please take your seats in the drawing room where Sir Thomas Sharpe will give a short presentation on his single estate whiskey, Crimson Peak.”

“Looks like you’re up, Sir,” she said, her distaste for the title dripping from her words much like the condensation on the outside of the glass she held carefully in front of her. She gave a slight mock bow at the waist, gesturing for him to go ahead of her into the grand stone archway of the - hopefully air-conditioned - building.

“Miss,” he began, in that James-Bond-dipped-in-chocolate voice, but she shook her head. “I truly didn’t-”

“Good talk, GQ. See you in there.”

And she strode away without a second glance, lifting the glass to her lips for a sip. The rush of oak and woodsmoke on her tongue faded away to the dance of an aftertaste, heady, with a hint of sweetness, like a half-remembered song.

Funny, she’d expected it to be awful. Not soulful.

It made her wonder.

[theartofdreaming1]

Partners - Part 6: Charity Ball

Rating: T

Pairing: DickBabs

Summary:  The big day has arrived: Barbara and Dick meet up at Wayne Manor for the annual Wayne Charity Ball!  

Read this chapter at AO3 or start from the beginning; read on my blog: chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5.

“Oh… wow.”

It was the day of Bruce Wayne’s charity ball and Barbara had just gotten out of her car, taking in the impressive exterior of Wayne Manor.

It certainly was… big. The warm light that shone through the windows and the animated chatter and soft classical music sounding from the inside at least made the mansion appear a little friendlier, although all the dignified splendor that exuded from the building didn’t help in making the whole ordeal seem any less intimidating to Barbara.

Oh well.

Barbara swapped the comfortable flats she had worn for driving with a pair of less comfortable high heels. She then made sure she had actually locked the car, took a deep breath and made her way across the driveway and up the steps leading to the wood-paneled main doors.

Standing right before the entrance, Barbara nervously smoothed out an invisible crease in her midnight blue dress. It had been some time since she last had accompanied her father to one of these functions. She had forgotten how nerve-wracking these kind of events could be.

Oh well...

Barbara sternly reminded herself that this evening was supposed to be fun, and not cause for her to fret even more than she was already doing anyway, with her mysterious letter and… - Barbara stopped herself from continuing that thought; she had firmly resolved not to think about this subject for at least tonight - this was a night for Dick and her to just be, have fun, and see where that would lead them.

Now mentally prepared for the evening, Barbara squared her shoulders, took a deep breath and entered the Manor purposefully.

Another ‘Oh… wow,’ crossed her mind again.

The entrance hall of Wayne Manor could only be described as grand: The floor was made of polished marble, with an expensive-looking persian rug on display in the center of the room. The ornately carved ceiling was carried by equally beautifully crafted wooden pillars, with a big crystal chandelier hanging from it - Barbara briefly wondered if this was the chandelier Dick had told her about during their first real talk at Hogan’s. To top it all of, works of art were displayed throughout the entire room - not in a showy way, but in a way that showed them to their advantage, in tasteful presentation.

It was certainly enough to leave a strong impression on Barbara.

Still taking in the Manor’s interior design, Barbara’s admiration was cut short by someone approaching her: “Miss Barbara! How delightful to see you again.”

Barbara snapped out of her reverie, turning to the person who just had addressed her - which turned out to be Alfred.

A bright smile lit up her face as she said cheerfully: “Alfred, hello! Great to see you again!”

Barbara sometimes was still astounded by the big difference clothing could have on a person’s appearance: now that he was dressed in the traditional butler’s uniform, Alfred looked like the very epitome of the dignified butler one would expect working for one of the richest people in the country, rather than the kind and humorous grandfatherly figure she had met at Dick’s apartment only a few weeks ago, when he had simply been wearing some more informal slacks and a button-down shirt.

Still, one look into the kind expression on his face was enough to let Barbara know that the “distinguished butler”- Alfred before her now was the same Alfred she had been introduced to in a much simpler setting.

With that in mind, Barbara decided to pick up where they had left off:

“I’m sure you will be relieved to know that Dick’s cooking certainly did the “Alfred Special” justice - it was absolutely delicious.”

The butler received the compliment with a humble nod: ”Why, thank you, Miss Barbara; Master Dick had told me that the response to my recipe had been favorable, but it’s most pleasing to hear so from yourself.”

Barbara smiled, letting her eyes wander across the hall, the doorway arch on the left-hand side allowing her to catch a glimpse of the enormous crowd of people that were entertaining themselves tonight at the Manor as well.

At that thought, Barbara’s expression grew a little hesitant; those were a lot of people in a very big house...

“Um, Alfred?” the redhead asked sheepishly, “Do you happen to have any idea where I might find Dick?”

Not batting an eye, the butler simply remarked calmly: “I am confident Master Dick will be here any minute now-”

“Hey Babs!”

As if on cue, Dick had stepped into the hall, a hand lifted in greeting, before he headed toward Alfred and Barbara.

“Your arrival has been awaited most eagerly, I might add,” the butler informed Barbara in a low voice, the crinkles around his eyes relaying the older man’s amusement. Before Barbara could even react to his comment, Alfred had already stepped away to greet the next slew of guests entering the Manor.

By then, Dick had made his way to her, still standing a little farther away than he usually would have;  Barbara realized somewhat nervously that Dick had stopped closing the distance between them because he was taking in her appearance…

Barbara suppressed the urge to smooth out another non-existent wrinkle in her dress.

“Wow,” Dick said finally, haltingly, sounding like he was nervously fumbling for words, “you look…amazing.”

All of a sudden, Barbara was very pleased with herself for choosing the dress she was wearing tonight - it was simple, but elegant, with a mermaid cut, off shoulder straps and sweetheart neckline; its midnight blue color made for a beautiful contrast to her vibrant red hair that she had styled to one side, causing it to fall over her left shoulder in gentle waves.

“Thanks,” Barbara said a little bashfully, “you don’t look bad yourself.”

That was obviously an understatement on Barbara’s part: there was a reason Gotham City’s tabloids used the term “Pretty Boy” synonymously for “Richie Grayson”; Dick was never hard on the eyes, but especially tonight in his (undoubtedly expensive) well-cut tuxedo, accentuated with a midnight blue cummerbund and bow tie that brought out his beautiful dark blue eyes...oof. There was no denying that her partner was exceptionally handsome.

“I try,” Dick said humbly, before gallantly offering his arm to her.

Barbara accepted his gesture, linking their arms and letting Dick lead her towards the big ballroom.

While doing so, they passed underneath the big crystal chandelier.

Barbara couldn’t help her cheeky remark:

“So, I see you have given up on hanging from the chandelier while the hors d'oeuvres are being served, huh?”

Dick responded with a wide smirk, giving a casual, one-armed shrug: “Well… I kinda stopped doing that once I crashed the original one.”

Barbara almost tripped over the hem of her dress.

“What?!”

“Yeah… turns out that chandeliers are not really built for eleven-year old acrobats to practice their skills on them… Bruce had a trapeze installed in the gym afterwards.”

Dick grinned impishly at that recollection, while Barbara could only shake her head.

“You‘re unbelievable.”   

  The elegance of Wayne Manor’s entrance hall was nothing in comparison to its ballroom. Barbara was trying really hard not to let her awe show, but she knew that she couldn’t fool Dick, especially when he commented the room with an amused, nonchalant “Pretty spiffy, huh?”

Feeling the need to tease her smug partner, Barbara only gave a shrug, pretending to feel indifferent to all this excitement around her:

“It’s alright, I guess.”

The ghost of a grin flit across Dick’s face before he nodded understandingly. He leaned closer to her, whispering as if he was revealing a big, well-guarded secret:

“Oh, you should see it without all the people in it - it’s an excellent room for sock surfing.”

Barbara barely managed to suppress a snort.

“Now, that would have been impressive,” she agreed in a fake pretentious voice, before vaguely gesturing towards the dignified hall, which was bustling with members of Gotham’s high society,”unlike this run-off-the-mill, fancily decorated room filled with Gotham’s most influential people, buffet and live music… but I suppose this will have to do.”

Dick laughed.

“Glad to hear that you are willing to make do with the little we have to offer.”

Barbara grinned, feeling a lot more relaxed now after goofing around with Dick.

“Maybe later I could give you a proper tour of the house, which would also include some very sock surfable hallways, I might add,” Dick said, a humorous twinkle in his eye, before suggesting more earnestly: “But how about we just mingle for now? There are some people I’d like you to meet.”

Barbara smiled, gently squeezing Dick’s arm.

“Lead the way.”

They spent some time talking to the other guests, some of which had been delightful and intriguing new acquaintances, like Wayne Enterprises’ CEO Lucius Fox. Others had been people Barbara was already familiar with from other functions she’d attended (such as Leslie Thompkins, a doctor running the free Thomas Wayne Memorial Clinic in Park Row), as well as plenty of young socialite ladies who felt it their duty to chat with the host’s son (while not-so-subtly inquiring after the whereabout of his adopted father and host of the evening).

After socialising like this for a while, they had now decided to stop by the buffet before hitting the dance floor (“You wouldn’t want to miss out on the mushroom puffs, trust me”, Dick had assured Barbara, while expertly weaving through the crowd, with Babs trailing after him).

They had almost arrived at their destination when someone near the buffet table caught Dick’s eye - Barbara observed with surprise Dick’s face brighten with delight, all thoughts of mushroom puffs immediately whisked away.

“Ooh, there is someone I need to introduce you to,” he said to Barbara excitedly, before calling that special someone’s attention to them:

“Hey, Tim!”

Tim turned out to be a dark-haired teen of small-to-medium height, who Barbara pegged to be around fifteen years old. He’d looked a little miserable in his tuxedo, standing all by himself to the side of the buffet - that is, until he noticed Dick and a wide, genuine smile spread across his face.

“Tim’s like my honorary little brother,” Dick explained to Barbara, while they were heading towards the teen,”he’d spend his time here at the Manor whenever his dad was on a business trip, which was pretty often.”

Barbara observed the guys exchange joyful greetings, and with their blue eyes, black hair and just overall unaffected camaraderie displayed on both sides, Barbara wouldn’t have doubted Dick if he had told her that Tim was his biological brother.

When Dick introduced her to the teen, Barbara noticed that Tim acted a lot more nervously and shyly towards herself at first. She was pretty sure Dick had taken notice of that as well; Barbara could tell that he was putting an effort into keeping their conversation as easy-going and natural as he could to make Tim feel more comfortable:

“So, Tim... With this fancy shindig going on,” Dick made an indistinct gesture towards the crowd behind him, “I wouldn’t have expected you to be here tonight!”

“Yeah… Dad and Dana thought it would be good if I left my room for a while - but you know that I’m always happy to drop in… I’m just not really keen on attending these parties usually,” Tim professed sheepishly to Barbara.

The redhead smiled: “I’m in good company, then - I haven’t been at one of these functions in years.”

“Well, out of all the functions one could attend, you have definitely picked the best one,” Tim assured Barbara,“at least the people that throw this party are pretty okay-” (“I’m so flattered,” Dick commented amusedly) “-plus, the food is always great.”

Barbara could barely suppress a snort.

“So I keep hearing.”

Dick looked a little sheepish.

“Well, how about we’ll get Babs here over to the wonderful buffet I kept telling her about when I coaxed her into coming, grab some food and prove that I’m a man of my word, huh? And you’ve got to tell me how you are liking Brentwood Academy so far, Tim!”

Tim threw a discreet look in Barbara’s direction, trying to make sure Barbara was fine with that plan; he obviously didn’t mean to intrude on her and Dick’s togetherness.

But Barbara simply gave her best friendly smile and nodded encouragingly; she was genuinely interested in knowing more about Dick’s honorary little brother (as long as she could also eat something in the meantime).

Tim seemed to have come to the conclusion that Barbara truly didn’t mind him tagging along for a while and finally gave a shy smile.

“Sounds good,” he said, before giving her a piece of advice that caused both Dick and Barbara to chuckle: “If you want something really good, you should try the mushroom puffs - they are amazing.”

Dick, Barbara and Tim spent their time very enjoyably, talking about anything and everything  (as it turned out, Tim was very interested in and knowledgeable about all things tech-related, especially regarding computers, and a good deal of the conversation consisted simply of Barbara and Tim talking about the latest IT developments).

A few times while they had been busy chatting, Barbara could have sworn that she had seen the party’s host himself making his way over to them; however, he seemed to disappear whenever a swarm of young and middle-aged ladies alike appeared in Barbara’s field of vision.

The redhead was starting to wonder if she had simply imagined this bizarre routine, until one horde of these eager female guests swarmed Dick in their zealous attempt to find out the whereabouts of his adoptive father. While Dick warded off the throng of women by pointing them in one direction of the ballroom, Barbara could clearly observe the object of their desire, Bruce Wayne, hastily duck into an adjoining room on the exact opposite side of the room.

She quickly took a sip of her drink to conceal her grin. While this burlesque was taking place, Barbara made the mistake of catching Tim’s eye in the process - both of them had to break eye contact immediately to stop themselves from breaking out laughing - or, in Barbara’s case, to stop herself from choking on her drink.

She waited patiently until the ladies were way out of earshot, then addressed Dick amusedly:

“You two practice this routine very often? The misdirection?”

Her partner ducked his head shyly, looking like an 8-year-old who got caught with his hands in the cookie jar, “only in self-defense.”

Barbara shot another glance at the flock of gaggling women marching toward the other end of the room: “Fair.”

“You must excuse this foolish ruse,” a deep, unfamiliar voice sounded close to Barbara, startling her. When she turned back to Tim and Dick, she could see that the much sought-after host of the event had finally joined their group, now that the coast was clear. Bruce Wayne appeared to have mastered that same ability of silently sneaking up on people that Dick also possessed - which was pretty impressive considering his tall, broad-shouldered frame.

In direct contrast to his imposing figure was the little bashful smile displayed on his face,”I wanted to meet up with you without raising a ruckus.”

“Not an easy task, that’s for sure,” Dick commented jokingly, “it looks like Miss Vreeland came here with the firm intention of spearheading a manhunt… but here you are: Bruce, please meet Babs.”

And just like that, Barbara was shaking hands with the Bruce Wayne, one of the most influential people in Gotham, who told her most jovially how pleased he was to finally meet her.

“Dick has told us so much about you - only good things, I can assure you,” Bruce said, smiling warmly at her.

Barbara noticed Dick shuffling his feet awkwardly in response, while Tim was smirking gleefully.

“Considering how Blüdhaven is such a tough place - even in comparison to Gotham -, it’s just such a relief to know that Dick has someone who has his back out in the field.”

Barbara couldn’t help but smile at Bruce’s concern; it reminded her a lot of her father fretting over her safety.

“I know for a fact that my father shares these sentiments; with regard to Dick, of course,” Barbara clarified, before continuing: “I think both Dick and I have gotten very lucky in that regard - I’m certainly very glad to be partnered up with him,” she admitted, earning herself a wide, heartfelt smile from Dick.

“Speaking of the Commissioner, I just realized that I have yet to have the pleasure of encountering him tonight,” Bruce observed suddenly, his eyes quickly scanning the room in search of James Gordon.

“Oh, I’m afraid my father and Sarah asked me to excuse them for not coming - I think there was some business at the precinct that required their attention.”

Barbara wisely neglected to mention that this ‘business’ at the precinct had been regarded as a most welcome distraction by her father - even after all his years as the police commissioner of Gotham and being invited to the city’s most important official parties and galas, Jim Gordon’s dread of having to attend any of them hadn’t lessened one bit.

Bruce’s face fell as he let out a little sigh.

“What a shame! I very much enjoy talking to the Commissioner,” he said to Barbara, before adding in a low voice: “He offers a much more substantial conversation than most other guests.”

From the dejected look on his face Barbara could tell that he truly regretted her father’s absence.

Dick only laughed at his adoptive father’s dramatic antics: “Now come, Bruce, I don’t think you will be in want of an entertaining conversational partner - I’m pretty sure I saw Selina Kyle just now, talking with Leslie.”

Dick’s mischievous comment left quite the mark: To her surprise (and the boys’ amusement), Barbara observed the Bruce Wayne lower his gaze bashfully like a schoolboy, his cheeks taking on a slight variation of pink.

Tim grinned at Barbara, nodding sagely: “Every time.”

But before any of them could say anything else, a penetrating, shrill voice reached their ears:

“Ah, Brucie, there you are!”

Bruce tensed, looking extremely uncomfortable.

“If you’ll excuse me…,” he said apologetically to Barbara and the boys, before turning around to accept his fate.

Then, all of a sudden, Barbara observed how his whole demeanor changed, his posture relaxed, and a charming smile (that Barbara now could easily discern as fake) plastered on his face.

“Ladies,” he effusively greeted the group of females (led by Veronica Vreeland), earning him some excited giggles.

Barbara raised her eyebrows at this transformation.

“It still weirds me out when he does that,” Tim said, having noticed Barbara’s expression.

“It’s a little bizarre,” Dick agreed, by now already used to the strange ways of his adoptive father.

Barbara (and Tim) stared at Dick.

“... Okay, maybe a lot.”

Soon after Bruce had left their little group, Tim extricated himself as well, effectively turning their terrific trio back into the original dynamite duo. Dick and Babs consequently resumed their previous plan of joining the other couples on the dance floor, and ended up having a lot fun (at this point, Barbara wasn’t in the least fazed to find out that Dick was also an absolutely splendid dancing partner - was there anything he couldn’t do?).

They had been dancing for quite some time, not yet out of breath, but cheeks already slightly flushed, when Barbara became aware of that strange, unpleasant prickle at the nape of her neck. Familiar with this sensation and what it usually meant, she let her gaze stray from Dick’s face and let it shortly wander about the crowded room, before making eye contact with her partner again:

“Why do I have the feeling that we’re being watched?”

Dick grinned amusedly: “Well, I’m certain that we are cutting quite the rug here if I may say so. Which is definitely worth watching -,” Barbara rolled her eyes good-humoredly, “- but, as usual, your instincts are actually quite on the money-” with that, Dick artfully dipped her, a move that let her take notice of a woman with strawberry blonde hair and sharp eyes standing a little behind Barbara’s current position, “Vicki Vale seems to have taken quite the interest in us.”

Barbara frowned. She didn’t like the idea of being observed by the famous Gazette journalist, who wasn’t above reporting for the tabloids if she chose so.

Dick, who was studying Barbara’s face intently, was quick on the uptake and immediately asked Barbara in a low voice: “Wanna skip the rest of the event?”

The redhead couldn’t help but smile; her partner was almost ridiculously good at reading her moods.

Her smile turned into a cheeky smirk: “Is that offer for a private tour to all the best sock sliding places in Wayne Manor still standing?”

Dick grinned.

“Of course it is.”

“Then let’s get out of here.”

Once they had discreetly left the ballroom (with the help of Tim, who had distracted Vicki Vale long enough for Dick and Barbara to slip by the eagle-eyed reporter undetected), Dick began their little tour by leading Barbara to the unusually busy kitchen to swipe some cookies from Alfred’s “hidden” cookie jar.

“Provisions for the road,” Dick justified his actions with a grin, handing Barbara some of the most delicious cookies she’d ever eaten in her life.

The next stop on their itinerary was the absolutely breathtaking library of the Manor: this beautiful sight of rows and rows of bookshelves stocked with the most gorgeous, leather-bound editions of all kinds of genres was nearly enough to make Barbara cry; Dick was close to having to forcefully drag her away from this room so they could resume their tour.

“You asked for sock surfable hallways and you shall get sock surfable hallways,” he explained cheerfully, while leading Barbara back to the magnificent entrance hall, and up the grand staircase.

Reaching the top of the stairs revealed one ridiculously long hallway that probably connected up to fifteen different rooms.

“Tadaa,” Dick said, grinning, while making a theatrical gesture, “the second best place for sock surfing in the house - apart from the empty ballroom, that is.”

“That certainly is a hallway perfect for sock surfing,” Barbara agreed, grinning as well, “consider me impressed.”

Dick’s grin went from triumphant to goofy:

“Now, for a demonstration…”

Barbara watched Dick amusedly as he quickly undid his shoelaces and toed off his shiny dress shoes, pushing them to the side. He walked down the hallway a little further, to have more of a running start, before gleefully sliding the full length of the hallway, just coming to a halt right in front of the door on the end of the floor.

Barbara giggled.

Dick grinned: “Your turn.”

Barbara slipped out of her shoes and slightly lifted the hem of her dress to reveal her bare, sockless feet: “I’m afraid I’ve gotta pass on this one.”

“Nonsense,” Dick disagreed, carefully walking up to her, ”you’ve come all this way - I’ll borrow you some of mine; come on!”

And with that, he picked up his shoes with one hand and took Barbara’s hand with his other and led her towards the door on the opposite end of the hallway.

“Are you ready to enter the holy of holies?” Dick asked Barbara dramatically, pausing at his childhood bedroom door for effect.

“But you’ve already shown me the library…?” Barbara replied teasingly.

Dick pretended to give her a scandalized look, then opened the door.

Dick’s room turned out to be of moderate size, which surprised Barbara a little, after seeing so many of the enormous rooms Wayne Manor had to offer (at least Dick’s room seemed to have its own balcony, which was still a fancy feature in its own right). The walls were of a beautiful, calm blue and adorned with three posters: one movie poster of the Errol Flynn Robin Hood movie, one poster of the Haly Bros. Circus and another poster of the Flying Graysons (this one hung right above the bed).

The room was furnished with a queen-sized bed, a spacious desk, multiple shelves filled with lots of books, clutter, pictures of friends and family and a couple of trophies, a fluffy rug, and a dresser, which Dick headed for to get Barbara a pair of socks.

In the meanwhile, Barbara studied the contents of the shelves with utmost interest.

She giggled.

“Nice mathlete trophy,” she said in a teasing voice, “I hadn’t expected you to be that much of a nerd.”

Dick playfully chucked the rolled-up pair of socks he had picked out at Barbara. She caught it easily with one hand.

“It’s not like I’m the only nerd in this room,” he pointed out amusedly, winking at her.

Barbara grinned: “Touché.”

She put her high heels down next to the bed before she sat down on it to put on the socks. They were wonderfully soft.

“Besides, it’s not like I have been much of a beacon of exemplariness all the time,” Dick said chattily, while opening the balcony door.

He stepped over the threshold and pointed at the tallest tree nearby; Barbara could see that it had one branch hanging very close to the balcony railing: “I’d occasionally sneak out that way.”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Barbara clicked her tongue admonishingly, while getting up to join Dick on the balcony. She peered over the balustrade: it was still quite some way down that branch; it would have required quite the gymnastics expertise to reach the ground safely from that height.

“You can take the boy out of the circus…,” Barbara and Dick found themselves saying at the same time, causing them to trail off and burst into laughter.

“So,” Barbara started again, once their laughs had subsided, “how many times does “occasionally sneaking out” actually encompass?”

“Two,” Dick admitted sheepishly, making Barbara giggle again, “and I got caught by Bruce one of those times - my punishment was to wash his cars; and please take notice of the plural here, for he has plenty of vintage cars in his garage, therefore making this quite the task… A very effective deterrent, though.”

“The end of a very short bad boy career,” Barbara pointed out, making Dick chuckle.

Over the course of their conversation, the two of them had assumed more relaxed postures, and were now leaning forward with their arms propped up against the balustrade, nearly touching. A sudden quietness had settled over them, and Dick and Barbara found themselves sharing this serene moment, doing nothing but overlook the vast grounds of the Manor.

The evening air was still pretty chilly, it being only early March, although tonight was special as in lacking that crisp coldness from the nights before: another sign that spring was just around the corner. There was not a single cloud to be seen and due to the remoteness of Wayne Manor, one could actually see the stars twinkling in the sky, making for a truly beautiful view.

Despite it being a more mild night than usual, Barbara couldn’t help but shiver from the cold.

Dick shifted and turned to Barbara, noticing the goosebumps on her bare arms.

“Maybe we should head back in…” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Barbara nodded.

“Yeah…”

Neither of them made a move to get back inside.

Then, slowly, as if there was an invisible force pulling her closer, Barbara could feel herself gravitating towards Dick, wanting, needing, to close whatever gap between them remained: her fists soon found the lapels of Dick’s tux jacket and his hands found their way to her hips, resting gently on them, spreading their warmth through the thin fabric of her dress… And when their lips met, Barbara could feel something fluttering inside her stomach and -

there was something else, something heavy. A something that made Barbara break away from that kiss, from that warmth, her eyes trained firmly on the ground.

She shuddered from the cold.

“There is something I’ve got to tell you first.”

Notes:

"Batman & Mr. Freeze: Subzero" : This chapter has been mainly influenced by the party scene in this animated movie: Veronica Vreeland and her flock of ladies are from it, for example. There is a really cute DickBabs scene on a balcony in it and the dress Babs is wearing is also borrowed from this movie.)

Batman: Dark Victory #9: Dick is shown to have climbed the chandelier; Alfred is worried that he (and the chandelier) are going to fall

Batman #54: Dick is shown to have broken the chandelier while trying to "fly" again

Gotham Gazette: Batman Alive? #1: In this issue, Vicki Vale notices how Dick and Babs are "exuding hot, unspoken tiger heat" which puts Vicki Vale on the track of figuring out the Batfam's secret identities actually

The Mathlete trophy is a nod to the episode "Schooled" from Young Justice, which shows a picture of Dick holding a mathlete trophy

Dick sneaking out of the Manor by climbing down a tree is a nod to the BTAS episode "Robin's Reckoning" and just in general, Dick has been shown to have snuck out the Manor/home in both Robin Annual #4 and Batman: Dark Victory

Dick having to wash Bruce's car is a nod to the Batman episode "The Breakout", in which Dick and Babs joke around/complain that Batman doesn't assign them really challenging cases, but would rather have them wash the Batmobile as if the fate of Gotham depended on it ^^

[curlsandcrown]

I’m a Fiend and You’re All I Need (Bughead, 18+)

Summary: Serpent Betty Cooper and Northsider Jughead Jones are thrust into an arranged marriage as a way to bring peace to the rival sides of Riverdale. (Ao3) Characters/Pairings: Betty x Jughead, apperances by Veronica, Toni, and Alice Word Count: 9,598 Warnings: arranged marriage, fluff, some language, smut (18+) sex

Betty’s boots echo off the walls of the Whyte Wyrm as she walks to the bar where Toni is readying the glasses for the day. As much as she wanted to sleep in for once, her slumber had been interrupted by an urgent text from her mother calling for a mandatory meeting for all Serpents. The last few months have been a test for everyone on the Southside and anytime Alice Cooper called for a meeting, especially a mandatory one for everyone, that meant something big was going to happen. Betty could only hope her mother had a new plan to join the Southside and the Northside once and for all.

“Morning, Betty,” Toni says without looking up from her work.

Settling on a bar stool, Betty watches Toni silently for a short moment. “I know it's early, but can I get a drink?”

Toni’s eyes meet hers and she can see how tired the other woman also is. “The usual?”

Betty nods. Toni grabs a bottle of the best whiskey they stocked and fills up Betty’s glass halfway. Then she pours herself one. If this meeting is going to be like any of the others recently, they will need it.

“Cheers,” Toni quips with a raised eyebrow and they both knock back their glasses.

As if on cue, the doors open and in comes Veronica followed by Sweet Pea, Fangs, and a few other male Serpents. While the men are dressed in their Serpent jackets, Veronica is clad in a form-fitting black dress and a black coat. If she didn't know better, she would have no idea that Veronica is a Serpent. She would think she was a New York socialite. Oftentimes, her appearance is a huge help to the Serpents.

“Good morning, ladies!” Veronica greets with a smile, leaning against the bar next to Betty.

“Can I get you anything?” Toni asks after the girls greet each other and the men walk past to set up a game of pool while they wait. Not many of the Serpents were morning people.

“Martini,” Veronica answers simply before looking at Betty. “Do you have any clue what this meeting is about?”

“My mom hasn't told me anything. I know as much as you do.”

Toni places Veronica’s glass in front of her and she sips it delicately.

“Think it's time for peace?”

Betty laughs. “More like time for a truce, but never peace. The Northside won't be happy until we're all working for them.”

Veronica rolls her eyes dramatically and sits on a bar stool after taking off her coat and crossing her leg. “Surely there has to be a way to end this silly feud.”

“Silly?” Toni voices then leans her elbows on the bar. “It's been going on since your parents were Serpents, before they moved to New York and came back with you to help out in the business.”

“You know what I mean, T. We have the upper hand in this town. We just need to assert it. Besides, who on the Northside can speak for everybody?”

Her best friend raises her eyebrows, taking a sip of her martini and Betty has to give it to her, she's not wrong.

“That is what we're here to discuss,” Alice calls out before moving her way to the stage of the bar.

Betty abandons her drink on the bar top and stands, not drifting towards her mother like she usually would. She's nervous.

“Have you been able to negotiate anything?”

Alice nods and sits on the edge of the stage, looking at everyone in the room. “I met with a few of the people who essentially run the Northside along with the mayor. We've come up with something that could bond the two sides.”

“That's amazing. I'm surprised they agreed to something. What is it?” Veronica asks as she turns in her seat, smiling to Betty before looking to their fearless leader.

The older blonde seems to hesitate before meeting her eyes. Betty stiffens and raises her eyebrows in question.

“They proposed a marriage, between Betty and one of their own.”

“What?” They all exclaim.

“That's absolutely absurd,” Veronica states as she moves off the bar stool. “There's only a handful of men over there that they all deem as the golden boys. And not to mention all the older horn dogs.” She shudders in disgust then looks over at Betty with a distraught look.

Betty smiles softly at Veronica’s concern. Her best friend has a great point and, although Betty would do almost anything for the Serpents, the thought of marrying someone she doesn’t know sends a shiver of dread up her spine. She has read enough romance novels to know that it could very well be one of the older men. He could be a secretly horrible man with unhealthy desires or prejudices against the Southside. It doesn’t sit right with her. 

“Shouldn't it be our choice since they picked Betty?” Sweet Pea asks in the distance, leaning against the pool table.

“I'm glad you mentioned that. My best friend from high school, FP Jones, suggested his son before they could say that we can't pick a suitable bachelor. He recently got out of a relationship, he owns the Riverdale Register and runs it with Archie Andrews who is his best friend, and everyone thinks very highly of him.”

They all look to Betty and she can feel her breathing begin to quicken. Why is this happening to her? And why did they pick her out of everyone. Veronica is a better catch and looks more like a Northsider than herself.

“Maybe it won't be so bad, Betty. How old is he?” Toni asks, laying a supportive hand on her bicep.

“Same as Betty, 24.” Alice looks at her, a hesitant and sad smile adorning her face. Betty can tell how tired she is, fighting with the Northside constantly and defending them over their previous Southside reputation. Her mother has turned it around from what it used to be, especially after her father left with her older sister Polly.

While Betty is relieved that he’s the same age as her, it’s still not the way she expected to get married. And with the obvious pressure on her mother and the Southside, she’s not sure she could ever say no.

Toni’s hand is still on her arm, which is a great comfort now, and Betty takes a deep breath to calm herself before saying, “If you believe them, mom, that this will help everyone else, I’ll do it.” The thought still doesn’t sit well with her, but she trusts that her mother wouldn’t make a decision that would ruin her life. At the very least, she believes that her mother feels that it’s the only option they have left.

Her mother is clearly surprised by Betty agreeing so quickly, but if she has learned anything over the last few years, it’s that sometimes she has to put everyone else first. No Serpent stands alone. She knows that her family will support her every step of the way.

The day of the wedding, which is three weeks and two days after she has met Jughead and his father, Betty is standing in front of a mirror in a lavish mansion. Her friends and mother are moving around behind her to ensure everything is going according to plan, but she's looking at the dress she picked out last week, the intricate details of the flowers spread out and flowing along with the fabric pooling at her feet.

Part of her wants to cry but the rest of her wants to laugh at the situation that she has found herself in. It's her wedding day and it's the dress of her dreams but she's being married off to a Northsider like some sort of sacrificial goat peace-offering. Betty scoffs and turns in the mirror, glancing at the low cut of her dress that's exposing  her back and the small slits along her ribs. Her hands smooth down the fabric, fingering the small petals now and then before dropping her arms to her sides.

“You look so beautiful, Betty,” Veronica murmurs in her right ear.

Toni and Veronica flank her on either side while looking into the mirror. They both have a proud smile as her mother comes up behind them to put the veil in her loose curls pinned back in a braided half updo and her blonde hair falling down her shoulders. The sheer cloth drapes along the back of her dress and Betty knows she looks amazing.

“The most beautiful bride the Northside will ever see.”

Her blood turns to ice as Betty meets her mother's eyes. “Will every important person going to be here?”

“If you mean mayor McCoy and all of her posse, yes.” Alice pauses and asks both of her best friends to give them a moment. After they walk away, she turns Betty towards her and tucks a stray hair back behind her ear. “Thank you for doing this, Betty. I know it's not ideal but FP speaks proudly of his son. He'll treat you well until you two can get an annulment, once they see that this union shows that the two sides can come together and live peacefully among one another.”

Her eyes drop to the ring on her right hand, running the pad of her thumb over the small diamonds along the band that Jughead had given her. Betty knows that he'll be good to her. In fact, he’s been nothing but a gentleman the few times that they had met. He even did a small proposal and gave her an engagement ring without even needing to because he was put into this situation just like she was. But he wanted to because he thought it was right, that they should have the little things to symbolize this marriage despite how they got here. It's far more decadent than she thinks she deserves, being a Southside Serpent, with its delicate rose gold band, the diamonds running along it and the large oval diamond.

Betty swallows roughly and looks out towards the area where she'll say her vows. He deserves better than her.

“I know that look, Elizabeth. You are not a bad person.”

She wants to believe it but she's done things, bad things, for the Serpents. Jughead is good and the last thing she wants is to taint him with her venom.

Betty rolls her eyes as she thinks over her mother’s comment. Obviously part of her wants to disagree but she also knows that her mother has worked really hard to turn around the Serpent ways. There are some things that can’t be avoided in gang business but Jughead doesn’t need to know that either, however, at this rate it might be inevitable.

So she changes the topic completely.

“I’m surprised that the Blossoms even let us use their property for the nuptials.” Betty moves closer to the window and looks over the gardens then to the greenhouse that will host the reception.

Her mother moves next to her, adjusting the veil tucked into her bridal hairdo. “The mayor says it’s the most beautiful grounds for a peaceful union between the two sides.”

Betty huffs out a laugh, “Maybe if you can ignore the part of it that seems haunted by the ghosts of Blossom’s past.” She turns and sees the solemn look on her mother’s face and the tears threatening to fall. “Mom?”

Alice brushes the tear away with a manicured finger, always looking impeccable no matter the occasion. “I’m sorry that this is how your wedding is happening and that I put you into this position. Your father would be horrified.”

Moving closer to her mother, she intertwines their hands together. “Who cares what dad thinks? He left, mom. It was his own choice and even if this was my happily ever after, he still wouldn’t be here because I’m a Serpent. I’m doing this for us, for our family and for peace in this territorial, twisted town. Jughead doesn’t seem so bad,” she offers with a smile.

They hug for a few minutes, feeling the tension of the moment melt away despite what they were about to do for the sake of the Southside. Alice pulls away and strolls across the room, picking up the extravagant peony bouquet that Veronica had designed. This entire wedding is thanks to her best friend’s style and planning and the Northside’s funding. With that in mind, Veronica had went all out, making a lavish New York style wedding at the Blossom’s house.

“Are you ready?”

She nods, taking the bouquet then holding up the end of her dress as they move towards the staircase. “I’m ready to see what kind of dent V made on their wallets.”

The Cooper women grin towards each other than her mother moves down to go out to the ceremony grounds with the rest of the town. Betty makes it to the bottom of the stairs and sees both Veronica and Toni standing with their bouquets in dark green dresses. She thinks it’s quite smart that they pulled Serpent green into the wedding without the Northsiders seeing what’s happening.

“You two look amazing.”

They both turn and smile, the two of them tilting their head to look at her. Her best friends take a long, appreciative gander from her perfectly curled hair down to Betty’s blush pink wedding shoes with gold vines running up the heel.

“Not as amazing as you do. That dress is absolutely stunning, B.” Veronica says as tears come to her eyes and holding a hand over her heart. They’ve been best friends for years and this is a big turning point for them both, despite the fact that this union has been planned between the two rivalry sides of Riverdale.

“Jughead is going to die once he sees you in that dress. All of the Northside probably will.” Toni throws in with a wink.

That makes Betty grin as she flares out the bottom of the veil over her dress. “Think they’ll hate it? Too much skin?”

“Absolutely not!” They both exclaim.

“You are the Southside Juliet to today’s story. They won’t dare say anything bad today or else they will have our most prominent people jumping down their throats. Now, let’s go see how your Romeo cleans up. I’m sure he’ll have a hard time keeping his hands off of you.” Veronica quips and neither her nor Toni dare to say otherwise on her thoughts.

She nods with a smile and follows them out onto the manicured lawn where everything will take place. The groomsmen are waiting to walk them down the aisle, more of the peace treaty being shown to the town.

Betty lingers back so the men can’t see her dress, wanting everyone’s jaws to drop as she moves towards her groom. A man named Reggie holds his arm out to Toni and they begin to walk towards the crowd in front of them while Veronica meets the best man. Betty watches as Veronica’s hand moves to his arm, a redhead named Archie. Her best friend gives him a cheeky grin, saying something quietly before they begin to move behind Toni and Reggie.

She glides along the grass to where her closest friends were just standing, watching as they take their respective spots by the canopy that was constructed in the gardens. Betty sighs and looks to her side, feeling a slight pang of sadness at the spot where her father should be standing. As her eyes look over the grass, imagining the indent from polished leather shoes, her mind lingers to a time long ago when Betty would often fantasize about her wedding day. Polly would be standing next to Veronica and Toni, her signature headband replaced with a braid. Her dad would be holding back tears as his baby girl walked to him for the final time before giving her to the love of her life. 

But now, Betty wonders if he’s walked Polly down the aisle to her own prince charming with neither her or their mother there to help get her ready for the ceremony. And if she has replaced her with a different maid of honor, maybe the first friend she made in whatever city they moved to.

Her heart hurts just thinking about it.

Shaking her head to drive the thoughts away, she looks forward and straightens her back, waiting for the wedding march to start. This is her day, even if Betty didn’t actually pick any of it herself and she doesn’t want the bitter taste of her family abandoning them in her mouth.

The music starts and she’s pulled out of her reverie, causing her to move forward while the attendees stand and turn to watch as she comes. Instead of looking to her friends and family, who she knows are looking to her with pride, her eyes immediately look for Jughead. As soon as she’s in front of the crowd, Archie taps his arm and he turns. Betty locks eyes with him, looking for any sign of apprehension or disgust but instead she is met with blue eyes that show shock and adoration while skimming over her dress as if to memorize every single detail.

During their first dance, his hand is low on her back, warming her skin while they move close together. Kiss Me by Ed Sheeren is playing in the background and Betty rests her cheek against his, tilting her lips towards Jughead’s ear and closing her eyes.  

“Why did you agree to this, Jug?” She asks in his ear while everyone watches their every step, the song choice probably being a joke from the Northsiders.

Jughead pulls away and looks down into her eyes and she notices that they are a different shade of blue than earlier. “My dad is best friends with your mom, at least our family is connected and you aren't with a complete stranger. I can't imagine you being with someone like Reggie.”

They both look over at the man in question who is talking up Toni, running a finger down her arm in his groomsmen tux with the tie undone. Betty giggles and moves closer to Jughead without realizing what she's doing.

“Or Archie, even though he's my best friend. He's,” Jughead hesitates, tilting his head in thought. “I don't think he'd be able to keep up with you. He's great but I also think he wouldn't be able to pull it off since his sights are aimed elsewhere.”

She looks over to where Archie and Veronica are huddled together, his finger tracing a pattern high up on her best friend's leg. A smile is adorning her face that Betty has never seen before, as if her friend is smitten. Betty laughs lightly and squeezes his bicep. “Well thank you for being kind and throwing me a bone.”

Her head tilts back as the corners of her lips stay in a smile and their eyes meet, a comforting smile of his own meeting her. It's weird how she does feel safe with Jughead in this moment, like he won't take advantage of this.

Suddenly the room fills with clinking from the Northsiders in the room.

“What is happening,” Jughead trails off and looks around.

“They want us to kiss.” Betty laughs softly. “It’s a wedding tradition. We’re supposed to kiss anytime they clink their glasses.”

Jughead looks apprehensive and despite the situation, Betty finds herself wanting to soothe him. She squeezes his arm again, causing him to look down into her eyes.

“We don’t have to, but it would help sell us to them.”

He shakes his head at her and smiles sheepishly. There’s a boyish charm about Jughead that makes her stomach flip in ways she hasn’t felt in years. Who knew that she would end up with someone like this, even if it’s just for a year before they tell the town that it just couldn’t work out.

“No, we do have to do it. We have to make them believe this is real, after all.” There’s a teasing tone to his voice and a sparkle in his eye that wasn’t there before. It’s enough to make the nerves in her stomach tighten into something else.

Wrapping her arms around her husband’s shoulders, Betty places a hand at the back of his neck and pulls him down toward her, Jughead meeting her halfway. When their lips touch for the second time that night, the pressure of his mouth on hers stays there for a long moment before they pull back for air, looking at each other with matching smiles. The imprint of his lips are all she can think about for the rest of the reception. Luckily for them both, the Northside doesn’t let up their clinking until it’s time for everyone to leave.

Once they arrive at their suite by the airport - because Jughead insisted on them going on an actual honeymoon, Betty moves towards the window and looks out at the night sky. The moon is bright and low in the sky but her nerves are unsettled. She’s married. It’ll be at least a year of awkward conversations and temporarily moving in with Jughead into his apartment to keep up appearances.

She hears Jughead drop his tuxedo jacket onto the chair in the corner but she still hasn’t turned towards him. They’ll have to share a bed since they’re officially a couple but Betty isn’t sure how she’s supposed to act right now.

Suddenly his hand rests on her waist and the heat from his body causes chill bumps to raise along her skin. His touch is electrifying and her breathing automatically speeds up, thinking of the way his hand felt on her bare back while they were dancing hours earlier and how she had wanted it to move just a bit lower.

“We don’t have to do anything, Jug,” she says quietly into the room.

Jughead moves to stand in front of her and she has to tip her head back to look up at him. The tie at his neck is undone, the top few buttons of his dress shirt are unbuttoned as well. He pulls her closer and raises his free hand to run the back of his fingers along her jaw. “I’ve had to look at you all night in this dress. Did you even know that part of it was see through?”

Her lungs are struggling to take a normal breath, her intake of air coming in short bursts as he pulls the straps of her wedding dress down her arms. “No,” she whispers.

“Luckily everyone knows you’re a Serpent and mine now, but seeing the shadow of your legs every time you moved around the room,” he trails off then runs his finger to her chest, gently scratching his fingernail down her sternum to the low cut between her breasts. Jughead’s digit hooks into the fabric there then ducks his head down to her ear. “Do you know how sexy you are?”

She whimpers in response as Jughead pulls away and dips his head down, tongue replacing the spot where his finger was. Betty brings her hands to his hair and tips her head back, pulling the strands a bit before his tongue follows the trail that his finger created and comes up the valley of her breasts. His lips stop at her collarbone and begins to suck a mark into her skin.

“Jug, this will make everything more complicated.” Even as the statement leaves her mouth, Betty knows how much she wants this. Him. Maybe this is all a result of the champagne.

Then he says the three words that makes her lose all of her control. “I don’t care.”

They clash together in a searing kiss, his hands moving down to her ass to pull her up against his pelvis and she can feel how hard he is. Betty starts to unbutton the rest of his shirt and pushes it off his shoulders and gasps for air when he pulls away for a moment. Once the white fabric hits the floor, Jughead’s hands move up to push the straps of her dress down the rest of the way and moans when he’s met with her braless chest.

“Fucking hell, Betty,” he pants before pulling her into a bruising kiss.

It’s messy and uncoordinated but kissing him sends a thrill through her and his reaction to her lack of bra makes her clench her thighs together. Betty wants to ask him something but he feels so good that she’d rather just keep undressing him.

But he has other plans.

Jughead pushes her dress past her hips, the fabric floating to the ground in a sheer pile around her high heels. His fingers brush along her ass then follows the fabric of her dark blue thong to the front of her pelvis, causing her to moan against his lips.

He spins them and backs her towards the window sill, getting Betty to sit along it before dropping to his knees. She looks down at his lust blown eyes and opens her legs for him to nestle between them. Her breathing hitches at the sight of him in the white tank top undershirt, biceps on display and flexing as he pulls her underwear off. Betty moans when his hands grip her thighs and spreads her wide.

“God, you're gorgeous,” he says mostly to himself but it makes her heart soar.

“Touch me, Jughead. Or get naked.”

Jughead laughs a bit at her bossy demand but bends down to bite her inner thigh. Her hands drop down to his hair and tugs at the dark strands while guiding him to her core. As his tongue licks a stripe up her center, Betty's head drops back against the window and she shivers. The thrill of it all is turning her on even more; whether it's because of the way they're deceiving the town or just the fact that this is something new.

Or maybe it's the way he's expertly moving his tongue against her and bringing his fingers up to tease her entrance. Betty whines out as they move inside her, curling up while Jughead’s lips fasten over her clit.

“Fuck, Jughead, yes,” she murmurs as her grip tightens on his hair. Betty rolls her hips and makes a keening sound as he flicks his tongue over the bundle of nerves. The closer she gets to her release, the more that she becomes inpatient. “I need you naked. Now.”

Betty can feel him smile against her as he pumps his fingers faster, then curls them as she clenched around him. Her back arches as she rides out her release but Jughead stands up, fingers still moving then uses his free hand to undo his belt and strips out of his dress slacks, green eyes watching his erection spring free. She spreads her legs more as he pulls out, watching as his tongue darts out to clean the fingers that were just inside of her. Jughead strips out of his undershirt and her mouth practically waters at the sight of him naked.

Jughead moves towards his jacket but she hooks a leg around his calf before he's too far away. He raises an eyebrow in question but Betty bites her lip as he returns between her thighs and runs a thumb over her nipple.

“I'm on birth control, I'm clean and I'm aching for you to be in me.”

“Is that so, baby?” He asks and Betty nods, running the heel of her wedding shoe along his leg. “I’m clean, too. You ready?”

She nods again, not sure if she could speak a coherent sentence and sighs when he slides in, head resting back against the window again while she grabs onto his biceps. Jughead leans down to kiss up her neck then connects with her lips, causing her to moan as she tastes herself on his tongue.

“You're so tight,” he murmurs as he presses closer and hooks his arms underneath her thighs.

As if answering to a silent demand, Betty spreads her legs and wraps her arms around his neck. She threads her fingers into the dark strands while they deepen the kiss, arching into Jughead’s torso. “You feel so good,” Betty whispers along his lips as she pulls back. With a firm tug, she exposes his neck and scrapes her teeth along Jughead’s jaw before sucking a mark onto the soft spot behind his ear. “Take me to the bed.”

He picks her up with what seems like zero effort and transports them to their king size bed. Jughead rests her down ever so delicately, their connection broken as he slides out of her before climbing over Betty's body. His hand runs up her side and they begin to kiss again, her breasts brushing up against his chest as she kicks off her shoes.

Jughead slides back into her and she releases a loud moan. The feel of his hands slowly caressing her body paired with the feeling of him hard against her is almost overwhelming. Betty fists one hand in the sheets as her other wraps around to his shoulder and she grips with her fingertips, trying to get him even closer. It’s when he holds her hips with both of his hands, fingers gripping for purchase, that she lets out another loud moan.

“Harder, Jug,” she whimpers out, meeting his thrusts with her own. Her husband works his hips so he’s pressing harder into her, but his pace remains the same, earning a breathy moan from her. He’s touching every part of her that she needs him to as if he already knows how to read her body.  “Yes, just like that.” She’s barely known him for three weeks yet there’s something about him that makes this wedding night mean more than she ever could have imagined.

Suddenly Betty encourages him to flip them so she's on top. The change of angle makes her gasp into their kiss, Jughead's hands moving up to pull the pins from her hair, tossing them towards the nightstand. She sighs in relief as his fingers work the braids lose, her hair cascading down and protecting their faces in a blonde curtain. Their tongues stroke against one another while Betty rolls her hips down against his length.

“That's it, baby,” Jughead murmurs encouragingly against her lips.

Betty sits back with her confidence soaring, grinding down before she lifts onto her knees and rocks down in a quick tempo. She runs a hand through her hair, moving the strands out of her face while looking down at her husband, his eyes never leaving hers.

A slow smile begins to work it’s way onto his face, Jughead’s hips starting to raise and thrusts to match her speed. Betty can feel her heart quicken even more, a flush starting on her chest as a drop of sweat starts to move down the valley of her breasts. Her eyes follow the movements of his hand as it moves to her core, his thumb brushing against her clit.

She can feel her hips falter for a moment then tips her head back, completely lost in the feeling of Jughead thrusting into her. Betty brings a hand to her throat and runs it down her body, brushing over her nipple then down to rest on his torso, wondering how any of this is real. How did she get into a marriage with a man who is so incredibly sexy and good in bed?

“Betty, look at me.”

Her eyes automatically obey his command and she looks down, clenching around him at the sight of his hand bringing her pleasure and the quick rising and falling of his chest.

“I need to feel you come, Jug,” she says to him a bit breathless.

Jughead moves his free hand around her waist then up to the middle of her back. With a bit of force, he stills her from moving and just as she looks at him in confusion, he takes over and thrusts hard up into her.

“Fuck, baby, yes,” she moans out as his thumb continued to flick over her bundle of nerves.

Both of his hands move to her hips so he can focus on their release. She leans back and grips his leg for purchase while her release builds up, Jughead hitting the spot that makes her legs shake.

“I'm close,” he moans and moves a hand to begin rubbing at her clit again.

All she does is nod, hoping it's encouraging enough for Jughead to release since her own orgasm has begun. Her teeth dig into her bottom lip as he thrusts into her, clenching around him while she tightens her grip onto his thigh as Jughead makes an obscene noise to make Betty aware of his own release. His thrusts are a bit more erratic, faltering slightly as their eyes connect and ride out their orgasms.

She grinds down against him, swiveling her hips in a figure eight pattern before he pulls her up and grips her waist, thrusting up one last time before his body goes limp against the mattress.

Betty collapses against his chest, closing her eyes and feeling how they’re both trying to catch their breath, completely in sync. This was a bad idea, she tells herself. After how mindblowing that was, how could they avoid touching one another until they get an annulment. If they can even get one now that they consummated their marriage. She tries to push the thought from her mind, just wanting one night of not thinking about the stupid feud or the pressures of the Northsiders and everything else that has been going on.

“Holy shit,” Jughead gasps as his hand runs through her hair.

“That was amazing,” she replies honestly before propping herself up on her elbows. Betty notes how sleepy he looks and it’s then that she remembers how long of a day they’ve had. “I’m going to shower real quick.” When he nods, she leans down and kisses him softly then stands up.

She moves over to the suitcase she packed and grabs all of her toiletries then heads to the bathroom, turning on the shower and pulling her hair up into a messy bun. Her reflection shows how much she enjoyed having sex with Jughead - her flushed cheeks, swollen lips, the hickey that’s angrily appearing on her collarbone, the salty sweat drying on her skin. In a way, she doesn’t want to wash any of it off, wanting to keep this memory vivid in her mind for the struggles they might face after the honeymoon.

But with a shake of her head, Betty moves into the shower and sighs in relief at the heat on her tired muscles.

After toweling off and doing her nightly routine, Betty moves out into the room and sees Jughead laying on the bed while looking at his phone. She smiles over at him when he stands and moves into the bathroom, probably following suit to shower the day off. As the door clicks close, she bends to pick up her dress and smiles fondly at it. Betty grabs two hangers out of the closet and puts the dress on one then hangs it up by the window, moving to do the same with his tuxedo.

The hot water feels amazing on his back after all the events of the day but his mind keeps going back to their first dance and the question Betty asked him. Why did you agree to this?

It's something he's been asking himself for three weeks. First it was a favor to his dad, to not let his best friend's daughter be thrown to the wolves of the Northsiders. Then he actually met her and he agreed with his father, half of the men in Riverdale who would sign up to be her husband as a peace treaty would be disgusting horndogs. He knows what kind of guys he went to highschool with.

Jughead turns in the shower and tilts his head back so the water can wet his hair. His hair that is damp with sweat at the roots from the mind blowing sex with his wife. Wife. With her slightly see through wedding dress and low cut slits by her chest and ribs. He turns and lowers the temperature of the water a bit then tips his head back again.

And he didn't think it would be so bad, having basically what is an arranged marriage. After the explosive end of his last relationship, the thought of being set up with someone who his father thinks pretty highly of didn't seem like such a bad idea - plus he was given the option of getting an annulment after a year once they've sold it and hopefully by then, peace will have came over Riverdale instead of the feuds he would constantly hear about at school and work.

With that final thought after he's washed his hair and cleaned off, he exits the shower and runs a towel over his body then over his head. All of his clothes are out in his suitcase and he really doesn't care about Betty seeing him naked at this point.

Jughead moves out of the bathroom, the cool air hitting his body as he moves a hand through his wet hair. Betty is hanging his suit next to her dress by the window, the moonlight streaming in through the curtains along her pale skin, still just as naked as when she left the bathroom before him. Just as she finishes putting his tie around the collar, he moves behind her and squeezes her naked waist with his hands.

“What are you doing?”

She looks at the tangle of fabrics hanging in the window, running her fingers down the length of her dress before turning to look at him over her shoulder. “Just hanging everything up. Do you feel better?”

Their eyes meet and instead of answering her question, he feels captivated to say something else. “Tell me something about yourself that no one else knows.”

Her teeth dig into her bottom lip as she thinks about it. “I love to read and write. But what most people don’t know is how I want to travel, get out of Riverdale and leave all the bullshit behind.”

“Good thing you’re going to Hawaii in the morning,” he teases and squeezes her hip.

“What about you?”

Jughead sighs in an exaggerated manner as if there’s nothing secretive about him that no other woman would know. She rolls her eyes and he chuckles, learning that she’s not the most patient person in the world. “There is something new lately that I haven’t even told Archie about. I’ve been getting into photography.”

Betty turns and rests her forearms on his shoulders, smiling at the revelation he’s told her. “Really?” He can feel his cheeks burning and turning red, like maybe he should have kept that small detail to himself. But soon she’s pulling away and looking at the room around them, then to the moonlight coming in. “Do you want to practice with a nude model?” she asks coyly before turning back towards their wedding attire.

Jughead swallows roughly and watches how the light filters over her skin where she’s standing. She looks angelic and it’s the first time he’s noticed the Serpent ‘S’ snake tattoo on the left side of her ribs.

“I don’t have my camera on me, so the phone will have to do. You sure you want to?”

She turns and looks at him, nodding. “Absolutely.”

He moves to the bed and grabs his phone from where he left it, ignoring the large amount of text messages he’s received from high school classmates who managed to snag a seat at the wedding. Betty is standing by the window, waiting for him to notify her of when he’s ready. But he doesn’t.

Instead, he opens up the camera icon then moves behind her to get the right angle for the lighting he saw just moments earlier. Betty moves her hands up to her hair and takes the hair tie out before letting it drop down over her shoulders, the curls falling flat and more into silky waves of cornsilk. Jughead is a little breathless as he snaps photos of his wife, moving around quietly while she is unaware that he already has at least ten photos taken. His blue eyes follow as her left hand moves up, fluffing out the strands and her wedding rings twinkling in the light. He takes this opportunity to move a bit closer to capture her Serpent tattoo in the moonlight, wanting to touch it but refraining.

“Juggie?”

His eyebrows lift at the nickname, a small smile forming as he moves behind his wife. “Yes?”

Betty jumps and turns, looking over her shoulder at him then down to the phone in his left hand. “Are you ready to start?”

“I already did,” he replies with a smirk before bringing the phone up to capture her freshly cleaned face with the light moving over her cheeks.

A blush begins to bloom over her face and he can’t help but think how beautiful she looks. Jughead would even say he prefers this raw, unguarded version of Betty that he guesses not many people get to see than when the two of them being paraded around like show ponies. Though as he looks at her wedding dress, the image of her walking towards him looking like an angel is burned into his mind.

“What do you want me to do, Mr. Jones?”

“Can you step into your dress and pretend you’re taking it off?”

Betty nods and takes the dress down, proceeding to do exactly as he asked. He moves back and begins taking photos again. She moves slowly as the straps come off her arms again and the low dip in the back of the dress falls down her hips. Jughead is completely mesmerized as the fabric falls to the floor and she begins to hang it once more before turning to him.

She smiles shyly, a complete opposite from when Betty told him that she would be his first nude model. Maybe his only nude model. He nods his head towards the bed, watching as she walks over to it with a sexy sway to her hips. The camera shakes slightly due to his nerves becoming heightened and his arousal making its way to the forefront of his mind.

Her arms come up again as she stretches like a cat, fingers threaded together as they reach for the sky. No matter what she does, every photo he’s taken looks amazing and it’s all because of Betty. She bends over the bed, laying on her stomach and looking over at him.

“Is this still okay?”

“More than okay,” he murmurs as he walks over to her. Jughead takes a final photo before placing the device in front of her to look through the ones he took. As she swipes through each one in the gallery, he moves over her body then starts to kiss up her spine. “I’d dare to even say perfect.”

Just as he places a kiss between her shoulder blades, Betty moves to prop herself up on elbows and looks over her shoulder to him.

“They look amazing, Jug. No one has ever captured me looking so…” she trails off and pauses as if she’s trying to find a word that fits.

“Sexy.” Kiss. “Angelic.” Kiss while moving down her body. “Seductive.” Moves even lower. “Sensual.” Kiss. “Risque.”

As his lips reach the small of her back, Betty is keening and pushing her hips back towards him.

“Yes,” she replies breathless.

“Are you ready for more, Betts?” The nickname falling off his tongue like he’s known her forever.

“More than ready. Please?”

He doesn’t need any more encouragement than her consent and the sweet ‘please’ that fell from her lips. Jughead takes his hands to her hips then runs them up her stomach to find her breasts. They fit perfectly into his hands like they were made for him as her ass brushes up against his erection. He nudges the tip of his cock against her entrance and a quiet moan comes from underneath him, reviving his energy from earlier.

Jughead slides in slowly and he moans against her spine, even more so when she pushes back against him until he's bottoming out. He stills so she can get used to him at this angle, rubbing the heel of his palm over her nipples.

She sets the pace as she slowly pulls away then pushes back against his pelvis. Jughead let's her resume the control, his hands moving from her breast then down to feel the contours of her body. He presses kisses along Betty's shoulder blades, closing his eyes as he concentrates on the feeling of being inside her, so different than when they connected together a couple of hours ago.

After letting Betty control the pace for a bit, he grabs her hips and raises up fully onto his knees, thrusting in slowly. Jughead watches as her back arches, lowering her front and stretching both arms out to clutch the sheets beneath her fingertips.

“How do you feel so good?” Betty asks to the white plush comforter while pushing back and clenching around him.

Honestly, he wonders the same but snaps his hips to thrust a bit harder. The resulting gasp makes him grin before pulling out. With those words, he wants to see her beautiful face as she says them. “Roll over, Betts.”

She complies and rolls onto her back as Jughead steps away, slowly stroking himself until he can see Betty's flushed chest. Her green eyes travel from his chest down to his moving hand, licking her lower lip as if he's something she wants to devour.

“See something you like?”

Betty lets out a breathless laugh and nods, biting her lip while she looks at the expanse of his body again. Not even his ex girlfriend looked at him this way. It was invigorating to know he has this affect on his wife. Her eyes meet his before dropping down to his moving hand once more. Betty's mouth opens a bit while her breathing increases, eyes practically glazing over as Jughead runs his palm down the length of his erection. The extra boost of confidence makes him eager to be inside of her again.

“Yes, my husband and his incredible body.” Her eyes then dart to his wedding band, just a white gold band with raised satin in the middle that she had picked out for him.

That sentence leaves him speechless and Jughead doesn't think he could form a coherent sentence to reply to her. Instead he moves down against Betty's body and brushes his lips against hers.

Betty's hands come up to rest on his cheeks while wrapping her legs around his waist to bring him closer. She teases his bottom lip with small kisses, seeking permission to go further and deepen it. When their tongues brush together, he slides back into her and muffles her moan with a kiss. Her back arches, causing her breasts to brush against him and Jughead starts to thrust with long, languid strokes and pulls away to reach a hand up into Betty's hair. His lips brush along her jaw while she pants then tugs it back to expose her neck. Their eyes briefly meet and her teeth begin to sink into her bottom lip before Jughead leans down to lick up the column of her neck. The shiver that runs through her body beneath him encourages him to snap his hips and bite her pulse point.

“Fuck, Jug. Keep going,” she murmurs as her head tilts to the side.

Jughead thrusts into her quicker and braces his left hand by her shoulder and moves his other down to Betty's breast. “That good, baby?”

When she nods, her breathing becoming even quicker while she moans, he brushes a thumb over a hardened peak while Betty's nails begin to dig into his skin. The pain that it brings spurs him on. His tongue moves along her nipple, sucking on the sensitive flesh until Betty begins to writhe beneath him and chants his name underneath her breath. Something in him tightens at the sound. None of his prior sexual partners have ever been this reactive to him in bed.

He picks up the pace a bit more, closing his eyes as his forehead rests against Betty's chest, her heart thudding against his skin. Jughead feels her hand move through his damp hair until her fingers softly caresses his cheek.

“Juggie,” she murmurs. He looks up into her lust filled eyes. “Come here.”

His body moves, obediently following her request. Their lips meet together once more in a lazy and much softer kiss. With his hand still braced against the bed, Jughead uses his right to pull her thigh up into the crook of his elbow. The change of angle has Betty moaning against his lips and he continues to bottom out with each languid stroke.

“I'm so close, Jug,” she whispers as her forehead pressed against his.

“Touch yourself, Betts. I'll come with you.”

Betty nods and he watches her hand move between them. Her fingers circle her clit and Jughead pauses long enough for them to gather some of her wetness from his cock then begins to thrust again. He pulls her thigh wider so he can look at their bodies connecting, her walls beginning to clench around him, so Jughead begins to thrust faster.

“Look at me, Betty. I want to see you come.”

Her eyes connect with his and he can feel his gut tighten as his release sneaks up on him. Her teeth dig into her bottom lip once more before a long moan releases and her orgasm begins to move over both of them. Jughead's hips falter for a moment before his own release starts.

He rests his forehead against Betty's, murmuring how fucking good she feels while her free hand digs into his shoulders. Her head tips back and he kisses her neck once his hips stop moving. She has some residual clenching around him but their breathing is in sync as they both come down from their high.

“You made me see stars,” she murmurs before moving to kiss again. Part of him stirs inside her, causing Betty to laugh. “You need rest, Juggie. We can do this again in Hawaii.”

He pulls back and looks down at her, blonde hair fanned out against the sheets. Jughead looks for any hint of hesitation but doesn't see any. A shy smile accompanies the blush on her cheeks and he nods. “Absolutely. Though you're welcome to wake me up in a few hours.”

Betty laughs louder this time while running her hand down his back. “Be careful what you ask for.”

He rolls his eyes playfully and pulls out, both of them hissing a bit at the loss of contact. “I'll be right back.”

Jughead walks to the bathroom and wipes himself off before grabbing a wet rag to go back into the bedroom with. He's met with Betty looking at her phone and a scandalous look when he asks her to open her legs up for him. The washcloth dangles between them and she blushes as he cleans between her thighs then tosses it away. Betty’s blushing may be one of his favorite things about her.

“What a day,” he murmurs when he lays face down beneath the comforter and she hums in agreement. His eyes close as exhaustion takes over, barely recognizing the sound of Betty putting her phone away. The light turns off, immersing them into darkness. She turns onto her side, facing him and he rolls so that Betty can move closer. “C’mere,” he says gently until he can wrap his arm around her then kisses her forehead.

Both of them instantly fall asleep, wrapped around each other as they're thrust into this new marriage.

One Year Later

Jughead wipes the sweat off his brow with his forearm after piling another box on top of the small stack that is forming in the living room of his apartment. It's been a year since him and Betty said their 'I do’s’ and the town has been a more peaceful place to live. No longer did any Northsider fear going to their southern part of town. Businesses had flourished and now it's difficult to tell who is actually Northside or Southside.

He sighs while looking around, most of the memories from the past year are packed up different stacks, one in the living room and one sitting by the kitchen.

Jughead is in the kitchen, drinking from a bottle of water and tossing things into a donation box when the apartment door opens and Betty moves inside.

“Hey,” she murmurs before moving towards the bathroom.

His eyebrows dip in confusion and Jughead moves around the counter before following her in. But as he moves into the small space, he notices that she's dabbing her cheek. “Not a good meeting I'm guessing?”

Betty's eyes meet his in the mirror and she nods. “The morons from Greendale I can handle, this,” she points to her cheek before dabbing it again, “was an unfortunate crash with Sweet Pea. The worst part of the visit was my mother.”

After finishing off the bottle, he caps it and nervously bounces it against his thigh. “What was she saying?”

She turns and leans back against the sink, sighing a bit. “Asking if we're getting the annulment since our anniversary is on Sunday.”

The bottle crushes underneath his fingers, their eyes meeting but neither of them say anything. He clears his throat and tosses the bottle into the trash can then leans against the door frame. “What did you tell her?”

“I told her I didn't want to talk about it just yet. Honestly, I wanted to wait until everything is settled and done.”

Betty averts her eyes and he moves towards her, lifting her chin with his finger so that they'll meet again. Jughead smiles reassuringly then leans down to kiss her softly, knowing how frustrated she can get when Alice bombards her with a million questions. One of the many things he's learned about their relationship this past year. “I understand. I'd rather wait until everything is in the new house and we can get packed for our vacation. Run out of here before they can start firing off another million questions about our relationship.”

She nods and raises to her toes to kiss him again. “Let me change then I'll help finish packing.”

When she brushes by him, he playfully swats her ass, causing Betty to giggle down the hall to their room. Jughead goes towards the kitchen and resumes tossing in random mismatched things from bachelorhood into the box.

Just as he's taping the flaps down, she moves in wearing tight shorts and a tank top. Her arms wrap around his middle, pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades. “Have you been packing all day?”

“Yep. Figured if we got done we could go celebrate. Or order in.”

“Mm, ordering in sounds perfect.”

Betty begins rummaging through the kitchen, picking out things she'd like to keep and then makes a pile of things that she would need his opinion on. As he watches his wife move, her rings sparkling under the lights, he smiles. It's weird how a feud gave him everything he's ever wanted.

Turning towards the freezer, he pulls out the wrapped top tier of their wedding cake and places it in front of her so it can thaw out for dessert later.  He settles his hands on her waist while dropping a kiss to Betty's neck. She tilts her head to the side, effectively stopping the work she was doing then brings her hand to rest of the back of his neck.

“Are you happy?”

Her fingers pause their movements in his hair and moves so she can glance at him. “Of course, Juggie.”

Jughead hums and moves his lips to her neck again, scraping his teeth teasingly where her neck and shoulder meet. Betty shivers a bit and moans quietly, tugging the strands of hair between her fingers.

“Jug-” she whines out.

“Does this mean we can officially change your name to Betty Jones?”

Jughead imagines she's smiling, pausing her reply just to torture him. “Yes. I want that more than anything.”

“You're making me the happiest man on this planet, Betts.” He pauses and looks over his wife's shoulder at the dessert on the counter. “Are you sure we can eat that cake? It looks weird.”

“Yes, Jug,” she giggles out. “I wouldn't let a piece of cake kill you after being together for a year. I'd miss you too much.”

He grins against her warm skin then takes Betty's left hand in his, looking at their rings. They're about to start the next chapter of their lives and no one but them knows it yet. And as if she's thinking the exact same thoughts, Betty says something that makes his heart soar.

“I love you, Jughead.”

After she turns in his arms, he kisses her gently then runs his hands underneath her tank top, his right hand settling on her Serpent tattoo. “I love you, too, Betts.”

Written by J. (With a little help from R, but this is all J’s work!) This was an idea that we had based around the Arranged Marriage trope and we had to throw Serpent Betty into the mix! Please let us know what you think!