Hi, your fandoms you are obsessed with -list had The Mummy and Labyrinth right after each others and I just... the mummy/labyrinth crossover? How would Evey manage to thumble in to that mess?
Two years after the events of the year of the Scorpion KingâŚ.
Rick stomped into the front room and dropped his bag with a sigh. âIf your brother sells our âskillsâ one more time without explaining the full situation, Evie, I might actually kill him.â
âCome, now,â she called from the hallway where she was carefully setting down all her dig equipment. âItâs not as if Jonathan has sold us out to any of his less-reputable associates. This was a legitimate government-funded project for a museum!â
âIn a war-torn country that we had to flee from with our lives!â He yelled back as he tossed his coat and hat on a chair. âAnd another thing-â
But he cut himself off, catching sight of something not even he wanted to believe was real. âWho are you? And why are you holding my daughter?â
The tall blonde man smiled from across the room, bouncing a gurgling and giggling Gertie up and down, the feathers on his cape bouncing as well. There was nothing comforting about the image.
âHow the young forget their lore so quickly, my dear girl,â he murmured to the baby. âShould we really remind him of the truth?â
âWhat other thing, Rick?â Evie asked walking in and immediately wrapping her arms around his waist. âIs this about that billionaire at the hotel?â
âEvie-â
âI told you, weâre not taking his money, no matter how stupid he might be to offer that amount without a clear contract in place.â
Without saying another word, he grabbed her shoulders, pushed her away, and turned her to see what he was looking at.
âOh.â
âNow that weâre all here,â the strange man said, cuddling into Gertie, âletâs all get better acquainted.â
With a growl, Rick tried to push past his wife, but she reflexively held out her arm to hold him back.
âNow dearest, weâve already discussed how you canât solve every problem with threats of violence or screaming when that doesnât work.â
âNefertiti, always so patient and wise,â the man said, smile glinting in the lamplight.
Evie easily held back her husbandâs second attempt to attack an intruder before asking any pertinent questions. And she had many questions. Like why she knew him but not who he was.
âI donât have all of my memories, so Iâm afraid you have me at a disadvantage.â
As though he didnât walk but glide, the stranger came forward, Gertie comfortably settled in one arm as he raised a gloved hand with a crystal in it.
âMemory is such a tricky thing. But I can offer you everything you wish to see with this gift.â
Rick tensed behind her, unsure of what to do, but she merely watched the man speculatively.
âWho are you?â
âIâm the Goblin King, of course.â
Something fluttered at the back of her memory, and she felt herself sway before Rickâs hands firmly held onto her shoulders.
âJareth,â she whispered.
âAh, so you do remember. How fortuitous.â
âNot everything.â She said with a shake of her head. âBut I remember enough to know I should never accept a gift. Your favors always came at a high cost.â
âYou know this guy?â Rick said, unable to stop himself from pulling her closer despite trusting her instincts.
âI did once. Enough to know that he had a recipe for honey-infused peach tea that I was always partial to.â
A genuinely pleased smile spread across Jarethâs face, turning his features more impish than predatory. âIâm so glad you remember. I am always so pleased when people recognize my more unique skills. Shall I share it with you now as we discuss why Iâm here your child and the other is missing?â
Suddenly realizing theyâd forgotten all about Alex, both parents winced.
âSo let me get this straight,â Rick said setting his beer down. Heâd tried the tea but decided he needed something much stronger once the terms goblin and labyrinth started getting tossed around. âAlex wished his sister away and heâs now running your maze thing-â
âLabyrinth, dear.â
â-yeah, labyrinth, to try and win his sister back. But you realized you knew her mom and decided to make a side agreement?â
âMore or less,â Jareth said languidly. âNefertiti was always so entertaining during my visits that I felt I should make this one concession.â
âUh huh.â Rick took a deep breath, ready to try and break the entirely crazy situation down more, but Evie cut him off.
âAnd why did Alex wish his sister away? He dotes on her.â
âMost times, yes. But Iâm afraid she was rather fussy because of the teeth sheâs developing and he was very put out that he was left behind on your most recent expedition.â
âHe knew he was grounded for trying to excavate the ruins in his headmasterâs garden. The man is still sending us bills for the destruction to school grounds. We had three new ones arrive while we were gone.â
Jareth tilted his head in what seemed like admiration. âAn enterprising young man, to be sure. But it appears he hasnât learned the lesson that there is indeed harm that can come from reading a book. Especially when one reads aloud and means the words.â
Rick merely glanced at his wife, but it was enough to make her sigh.
âOh stop it.â
âSo,â he said, focusing back on the important topic at that moment. He was willing to point out Alexâs obviously inherited traits later. âWhat happens if Alex doesnât make it to the center of your labyrinth and win her back?â
âWhy, I will give her to you, of course.â
âAnd we donât have to run the maze or challenge or whatever?â
âNo, with old souls as ours whoâve seen the realities of the world, it never pays to be in anotherâs bad graces. The boy must have his chance to win his sister, but Iâd never take her from one so beautiful and wise as Nefertiti.â
The beautiful and wise Evie let out a groan and waved her hands to dismiss the idea. âThatâs all hooey. I want to know how much time Alex has left and if heâs in any real danger.â
âHe is now at the halfway point of his 13 hours and I assure you I will return him with no real damage. But I fear I should be getting back, I do believe heâs about to find his way into one of my oubliettes and I do so love to be present when that happens.â
âAnd youâre taking Gertie with you?â Rick clarified.
âYes. She must be there for him to win her back.â
âGood.â
When Jareth tilted his head and Evie shot him a dirty look, he just shrugged. âWhat? He needs to learn his lesson and Itâs been damn near six weeks since Iâve had an entire evening alone with my wife that didnât involve children, dead guys, murderous guys, or a godforsaken desert.â
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Oh I love these <3 Raylaigh/Shakky - Horseshoe Crab + Seahorse
THEY SAY THIS IS WHAT MARRIED PEOPLE DOÂ // Rayleigh x Shakky // Horseshoe Crab; been around a long, long time + Seahorse; surprisingly domestic
For all his ease in getting himself elbow-deep in it, he doesnât always get out of trouble on his own.
Sometimes she thinks he does it on purpose â stays an extra day just to see if sheâll come looking. And sometimes she does, sometimes she doesnât. It all depends on how busy she is, or if sheâs inclined to let him suffer a little longer.
They play these games, from time to time. A long life has allowed them their small indulgences, strange that they are.
The corridor reeks of the foulest things humanity has to offer. Oh, and piss. But her footsteps barely make an impression on the quiet, and the smoke from her cigarette makes the whole thing a little more bearable. The smell, at least. Not so much the setting, which looks like something out of a low-budget horror picture, down to the excessive cobwebs. Slavers never did keep a clean house.
Itâs not a particularly well-organised operation, and she only has to knock out two guards on her way. She steals a set of keys hanging from the first oneâs belt, and a flask tucked into the otherâs jacket. Itâs booze, and cheap, but sheâs never been a picky drinker, and she takes a swig before she moves on, the keys jangling softly with her steps and the alcohol burning a pleasant trail down the back of her throat.
It doesnât take her long to find him, and, âWell,â Shakky says, leaning against the doorframe, a curl of smoke escaping into the stench and the dark, to compel them both into yielding. Sheâs good at that, or at least so sheâs been told.
She watches the lift of his eyes, the pale sliver of light creeping through the slit right below the ceiling of his cell catching in his broken glasses. His smile follows, cheeky and just insufferable enough to make her consider leaving him where he is, as she adds, taking another drag of her cigaretteâ
âWhatâs an old thing like you doing in a place like this?â
There are other people in the cell with him, having glanced up at her arrival, some of them wary, some of them hopeful. Shakky doubts theyâll be either, after this encounter.
âShakky,â Rayleigh says, smiling. âAm I late for dinner?â
âItâs more than just the food getting cold,â she offers back. âYou know I hate sleeping alone.â
âCouldnât find a replacement?â he asks. âYouâre usually so resourceful.â
She shrugs, turning the keys over in her hand. âItâs been a slow week for business. And maybe Iâm getting old. My usual wiles wonât work on the youngins.â
That grin again, lifting his glasses high on his cheeks. âPerish the thought.â
âHmm. Youâll perish first, at this rate.â
He laughs at that, and she knows heâs okay. Of course, she hadnât doubted he would be, but the affirmation is no less welcome.
The other occupants in the cell are looking between them now, wariness and hope both exchanged with surprise, like they canât seem to decide what to make of them. Then again, thatâs nothing new where theyâre concerned.
She makes her way to the cell door, and the lock comes apart in her hands. She could have taken her time pretending to look for the right key, just to let him suffer a little longer, but the other people in the cell makes her decision for her, and a moment later sheâs pulling the door open, with a gesture for them to come out.
Rayleigh makes quick work of their collars, before seeing to his own. Itâs a deceptively casual gesture, and few words offered to go along with it, but Shakky has dealt with enough escaped slaves to know itâs better to just do it than to waste time explaining. The freedom offered is the same, anyway; itâs not likely theyâll even remember either of them after this, at least not beyond being two strangers who have far too private conversations in public. But at least they havenât started pawing at each other.
Well. Not yet, anyway. The night is still young.
His cellmates make for the exit first, barely sparing them a second glance, desperation winning out over whatever lingering curiosity might have survived the release of their shackles, but Shakky waits until Rayleigh steps through the door, arms crossed and her cigarette tucked between her fingers.
He ducks his head to kiss her brow. He smells like he hasnât showered in a week, and she proceeds to tell him as much.
âYou donât like to sleep alone,â Rayleigh says, eyes twinkling. âI donât like to shower alone.â
âIf thatâs supposed to be an invitation, itâs not a very good one.â
He grins, and when she turns to walk out, he falls into step beside her. âMaybe so, but youâve never been hard to ask.â
She laughs, and tosses him the flask. âTrue.â
He takes a deep swig, before handing it back, fingertips brushing over her pulse once, before lets the flask go.
They walk back in silence, the grove lit gold and beautiful from the sun that casts ever-lengthening shadows across the grass, each dark corner of their island seeming a little darker every year, but some things never change, like the old souls whoâve put down their roots with the trees.
Her bar is as she left it, empty and quiet, and, âSit,â Shakky says, when they step across the threshold, and she moves to fetch the suture kit. A strange home for even stranger people, but then theyâve never done things the usual way, not even settling down. And itâs a strange domesticity, the one that sees him seeking a favoured chair, and Shakky reaching without looking for the kit she could locate with her eyes closed. But itâs theirs, like all the years that have shaped it into being, and the two of them into the people they are.
When she comes back with the kit, Rayleigh wordlessly offers his hand for her inspection, no more need for hiding his scrapes than heâs ever had; an old, hard-to-shake sort of pragmatism that doesnât allow for foolish notions of masculinity and bravado.
Shakky clucks her tongue, turning his larger hand over between her own. His knuckles are bloodied, purplish bruises blooming across them. Shallow cuts, but wholly unnecessary.
âThis is excessive, for you,â she says, putting his hand down before reaching for the cloth in the washbowl sheâs placed on the table. âYou could have used your haki.â
âFists are more fun,â Rayleigh says dryly, but thereâs a gleam in his eyes that beckons mischief, and far more than the years on his back should so readily allow. She might have told him.
Instead, she snorts. âRoger used to say that,â she tells him. âAnd half the time I think he was just being lewd.â
Removing her cigarette from between her lips, she holds it out, and tucks it between his teeth when he tilts his head, running her thumb in a quick sweep over his bottom lip before she draws her fingers back to continue cleaning the cuts across his knuckles.
Lifting his free hand, Rayleigh takes a long drag of the cigarette, before letting it out, sinking back into the chair with the release. Itâs unfairly erotic, in that effortless way he has about him.
âRemember to put your clothes in the hamper later,â she says, slipping the needle under his skin. He doesnât flinch, but closes his eyes to her ministrations. With her cigarette still perched between his teeth and his broken glasses askew on his nose, Shakky has to drop her gaze to focus on her work.
The half-smile teasing at the corner of his mouth tells her sheâs been caught, but then sheâs never made much of a point pretending at coyness around him.
âDonât look so pleased with yourself,â she tells him, smiling. âYou know I have a weakness for wounded men.â
He hums, his eyes still closed. âMaybe I should apologise. Shallow cuts and bruises donât really make for an effective seduction.â
Shakky flicks her eyes up, finding his eyes hooded behind his glasses. âGiven the impressive repertoire of injuries youâve walked across this threshold with at one point or another, Iâm inclined to agree. Youâre not getting soft in your old age, Ray-san? Next youâll tell me you just want to cuddle.â
His smile holds that same softness. âWould it be so terrible?â
She looks at him a moment, before dropping her eyes back to his hand, cradled between her own, protruding veins and old scars and fresh stitches that will leave new ones. âMaybe youâre not the one getting soft,â she says simply, and sets about stitching the last of the cuts.
The sun has dipped beyond the grove when sheâs done, and the old, guttering lamp offers little light to eyes that used to see better. But she wraps his knuckles and cleans the needle, and then itâs just the two of them and her empty bar. Like it always is, at the end of the day.
Pushing up from her seat, she means to take the kit away, but hesitates, and instead reaches down to push his hair out of his brow, rubbing the pad of her thumb across a still-healing scrape right above his temple. Careless, she thinks fondly, and means to remind him of the fact.
âDinner?â Rayleigh asks before she can, tilting his head to look at her. âIâve only had bread and water for the past few days.â
âThe food is already cold,â Shakky counters, touching a fingertip to the corner of his smiling mouth. âA shame, too. I made your favourite.â
âYou donât cook.â
âNo?â At his raised brow, she smiles. âThen I guess Iâll be your bread and water tonight,â she says, plucking her cigarette from his lips, before leaning down to kiss him. He tastes of cheap scotch and nicotine, the sharp, smoky tang slipping onto her tongue like it belongs.
âThat doesnât sound like much of a punishment,â he laughs into the kiss. The weight of his palm settles over the small of her back, easing her into his lap. She comes because she wants to, but doesnât tell him that. Another small game they have.
âOh, Ray,â Shakky says instead, tucking her palm against his cheek. The cigarette sits between her fingers, and the taste of him is still on her tongue. And she sees his grin curving, an old, knowing thing, even before she adds, smile full of promise,
âYou know me. Iâll make it a little bit punishing.â
Quince. Shakky/Rayleigh. (... feel free to inore me if I start to be annoying with these :D)
AN OLD ALLURE // Shakky x Rayleigh // quince; temptation
âI likeyoung girls,â heâll tell people, almost by way of introduction, wearing that cheeky smirk thatâs too young for his face but that couldnât care less that it is, and a gleam in his eyes that the years have only turned brighter.
Itâs anold joke between them â as old as they are, and sheâs hard pressed to say which is thebigger marvel; that theyâve lived this long, or that their jokes have endured,so many years and so many losses. Two weathered rocks in the seabed, worn bythe shifting currents, but the sea hasnât uprooted them yet.
âAny lucktoday, old man?â she asks, when he comes home. His glasses are smudged, but theeyes behind them crinkle at the sight of her. âFound any pretty young thingsthat would give you the time of day?â
âToo manyto count,â he tells her, taking a seat at her bar. She fills him a glass, andpretends she doesnât catch the wince when he eases himself into the chair. Thesea has little mercy for the worn and weathered.
âMust bedifficult,â Shakky muses. âResisting all that young allure.â
She feelshis eyes on her; feels the smile in them, before he knocks back his drink. âItâs hard on an old manâs heart,â Rayleigh agrees,putting the glass down. Shakky follows the map of veins across the back of hishand; the sword-scars. Old, old things.
âA goodthing you have me, to offer reprieve,â sheâs quick to counter. âSomethingthatâs not so hard on that heart of yours.â
âHmm,âRayleigh says, with a look that contradicts his agreement. âIâm not so sure itisnât.â
She laughs, a soft sound. âOld flirt,â she says, fondly. âWhatever should I do with you?â
His eyesare alight with mischief, with cheek. âYoucould give me the time of day,â he suggests. âPity an old man.â
Her smilegives her away, Shakky knows, because she allows it to. âWell,â she says. âIâmno young thing, but I suppose I might. Pity you, that is.â
The warmcurve of his fingers around her wrist seeks her pulse, the fragile stretch of skin above it soft and thin even as it leaps beneath, younger than the rest of her, and, âMy old girl,â he says, and looks at her like he looked at her forty years ago, and every year between; like sheâsone of those tempting young things, and as though heâs never once questioned that sheisnât.
CAUGHT IN A WEB OF YOUR OWN MAKE // Shakky x Rayleigh // gladiolus; you pierce myheart
Sheâslate in realising it â strange, for her, so good at making connections; tosee patterns and spin knowledge from information.
Sheknows sheâs attracted â sheâs not blind, and she would have to be, Shakkythinks, not to be attracted. And okay, maybesheâll concede that thereâs some kind of infatuation going on, when he turnshis head at that angle and the corner of his mouth lifts, just a fraction.
Uselessinformation, but she hoards it, anyway. Heâll smile without trouble after drinknumber two, and laugh unprompted after drink number three. Sometimes afterdrink number four heâll get bold â will touch his fingers to her wrist when shehands him number five, and his hand will be warm. He always is.
âSomethingcaught your eye, Shakky?â
Thefar-too-innocent query drips with amusement, and the look she tosses Roger overthe counter holds a playful warning, even as she tucks a smile around hercigarette. âWhy, itâs you, Straw-chan. Who else?â
Hegrins. âYou know, I might believe that if you actually threw me an appreciative glance once in awhile.â He lifts his brows, openly suggestive. âWouldnât kill you.â
Shehas a quip ready â something borne of that easy air he has about him, but thelift of her eyes catches his first mate raising a glass to his lips to cover agrin, and she forgets quite abruptly what sheâd been about to say.
Rogerdoesnât follow the line of her gaze, only lifts a dark brow, a silent retaliation, insufferably teasing. âStill waiting onthat appreciative glance.â At the look she gives him, his grin widens. âNow thatâs what Iâm talking about! Even ifit breaks my heart that youâre doing it under duress. But I guess I can give Rayleighthis one. Canât win âem all, eh?â
âHowgenerous of you,â Shakky muses.
âThereâs a lot thatâs generous about me,â Roger quips, with a shameless wink that prompts her smile.
âDonâtbe lewd, Straw-chan. Youâll tempt a girl into forgetting sheâs decent.â
âYouâreabout as decent as I am,â he reminds her, dryly. âA good thing itâs not me youâresmitten with. I think our collective indecency would give Rayleigh an earlyheart-attack.â
Sheignores what her heart does at the casual mention of smitten. âYou say that, but heâs the one wearing that coat.â Gaze shiftingacross the room, she tries not to let her eyes linger on the sheer amount ofbare chest offered by the coat in question. It takes a surprising amount of restraint.
Rogerfollows her gaze this time. âYeah,â he agrees, with a shake of his head. âI donâtknow where he got that thing. I think itâs payback for growing out mymoustache.â
Before Shakky can offer any insight to that, Roger looks at her. âSowhen are you going to tell him?â
Herexpression doesnât let anything slip. Sheâs good at that, keeping things, but then thatâs never stoppedRoger from getting his hands on them. âI donât know what youâre talking about.â
âSureyou donât.â
Sheleans her elbows on the counter. âA girl can be a little taken, Straw-chan, withoutit being anything more than that.â
âNoargument there,â Roger counters smoothly. âBut itâs more than a little taken, if you ask me.â
Shedoesnât know why she does ask. âAnd what would you call it?â
Helooks at her â with that look that sees,straight through her like it sees through everything, sea and stone and all themortal hearts between them. And he doesnât say anything, but then he doesnât haveto.
Rayleighlaughs then â a rare but honest sound; a deep-bellied, drink-number-three kind of laugh, and it pulls her eyes like it wants topull her whole body, and thereâs a moment where Shakky thinks, softly, crap.
Shedoesnât say it, and doesnât let her face say it, either, but Roger is wearing ashit-eating grin that tells her he heard it, anyway.
âThat,â Roger says, lifting his glass tohis lips, ridiculous moustache quirking, âis what I would call it.â
NO SOFT SURRENDERÂ // Mihawk x Hancock // jonquil; desire
Itis, for lack of a better term, an office party.
Orat least, itâs the closest thing to it, for people like them, most of whichwouldnât suffer a party together any more than theyâd suffer actually sharingan office. But the sentiment is what it is â meant to inspire trust, andcooperation, even though their employers know full well that most of them areon speaking terms, but little else. For some, barely even that.
Wellâ most of them, although they havenât exchanged a single word all evening, andHancock doubts their employers had their particular union in mind when theyissued that two-hour seminar on encouraging relationsin the workplace.
Thethought is a dry one, and the sweep of her eyes finds him enduring theattentions of one of the newest additions into their ranks â the loud one withthe red nose whose name she couldnât have been bothered to learn, and whoseattentions have previously been gifted to the open bar, at least going by thesheer volume of his shrill-sounding voice.
Sheseeks his gaze â not discreetly, because sheâs not a discreet woman, but ifanyone finds her quarry an odd one, Hancock doubts theyâll chalk it up toanything other than her usual habit of laying claim to the room, and everyonein it. An Empressâ prerogative, to look at whoever she pleases.
Asthough having sensed it â or maybe itâs something else, some part of him thatâsbeen anticipating it; an expectation wrought from the settled waters of an affairthat has for a long time now been more than just that â Mihawk lifts his eyesto meet hers.
Somethingin her loosens â drops low, the slow, viscous drip of honey with the sharp kickof a strong drink, and his eyes invoke both; gold like the first in the rightlight, and amber like the second when ducked under the brim of his hat. Anow-familiar feeling, she doesnât question the heat climbing up her throat; doesnât think it a sickness now. Her breath sits suddenly heavy in her chest â the whole of her feels heavy, from her hair tothe weight of her earrings. And yet, at the same time she feels light. Weightless.
Shedoubts what she feels now is what most opponents feel when meeting those eyes, but this look is no less effective, Hancock concedes wryly, although the promise it gives her is of a smaller death than what heâs likely to give those facing him on the battlefield.
Abrief incline of her head is all she yields, before she turns to walk out â noquestion asked and no answer given, but she doesnât doubt that heâll come.
Thebalcony offers a welcome respite from the stifling conference room â and fromtheir colleagues, new and old, the cool air and the quiet hush draped over theevening, sheer as gauze. Headquarters, in its newer, harder trappings, but thesea beyond the shore is the same as ever, vast and dark under a horizon touchedwith lilacs. Itâs not a gentle sea, but kinder than the walls encasing her,pillars and archways of stone, and little mercy to be found in either, former pirateor not, and no matter who signs her paychecks.
Shehears his approach, and he hasnât kept her waiting long, but then he rarelydoes. Economical in most things, but even with his stark efficiency and limitedpatience, he treats her with little of the former, and more of the latter thanhe does anyone else.
âYoudo not usually initiate,â he tells her by way of greeting, something like amusementwinking in his eyes when she lifts her head to meet them. Not a rare thing, sheâs come to learn; itâs just thatmost people donât know how to recognise it for what it is.
âAlthough your proposition leaves something to be desired,â he adds, coming to stand beside her.
And heâs right; between them, sheâs not usually the one who makes the first move, but sheâs not about to greet his amusement with deference. Although Hancock doubts itâs what he expects.
The angle of her chin speaks volumes on its own, but, âI donât see you declining,â she counters smoothly.
âAreyou asking?â
She narrows her eyes at that, and he lifts a brow in silent retaliation. A knowing smile idles at the cornerof his mouth, and Hancock sniffs. âI wasnât aware I needed to issue a formalrequest.â
âItâsencouraged,â Mihawk tells her, dryly. âWe attended the same seminar, if youremember.â
Hersmile comes before she can stop it â quick, startled. She doesnât hate herselffor it, anymore. âI doubt they have official forms for this kind ofproposition.â
Thelook he gives her suggests the opposite, and sheâs tempted to laugh â it sitsin her chest, loosened like her breath, so easy to find now, after years ofshoving it down as far as it would go. Strange, that such a reticent man shouldinspire it.
âIâmsurprised you showed up for this,â she tells him then, with a glance at the balcony doorway behind them. From somewhere insidedrifts a curl of conversation, muffled by layers of stone. âYou who avoidsocial obligations like the plague.â
âThepromised company offered incentive,â Mihawk says, with a deliberate look.
Shemeets it without flinching, and doesnât miss a beat. âNot the open bar?â
âIam not Red-Hair.â
âClearly,or this party would be louder.â
Hissmile is brief, but genuine. âIâm not sure it would be animprovement, if it was.â And with another look at her, eyes cutting deep, âEither way, I am content with thepresent company,â he says, simply.
Thatwarmth within her softens â becomes a kinder thing, but, âYour flattery stillneeds work,â she tells him.
Heâsstill looking at her, and the gleam in his eyes holds at least two glasses ofwine. âSo you say, and yet you are still pleased.â
Theyârestanding closer now â too close for colleagues, but then thereâs no need forpretence here, with no other eyes to bear witness. But he doesnât move to close the last breath of space between them, so small that she can hear his heartbeat, if she focuses. Itâs deceptively steady, although sheâs never let that fool her.
âMaybe Iâve lowered mystandards,â she says.
His gaze hasnât budged from hers. âAnunlikely prospect, knowing your standards. And you.â
Itâsher turn to raise a brow. âThat could be taken as self-flattery.â
âAnd I reiterate,â Mihawk says, deadpan, âthat I am not Red-Hair.â
Shedoesnât try to stop herself from smiling this time, and he doesnât pretend thatheâs not pleased by the sight of it. Both very small concessions, for exceedingly proud creatures, but the roadto making them has been a long one, and even small, theyâre anything butinsignificant.
Hehasnât touched her yet, and once, the reason would have been caution â respect forher boundaries, back when things were new. Now thereâs challenge in his restraint; anoffer for her to make good on her proposition, lack of official paperwork notwithstanding.
Thetrail of her fingertips along his jaw isnât tender, because theyâre neither ofthem tender people, and tenderness has no room in this place, between thesewalls. But with that slow warmth persisting, she doesnât think about the walls â orthe party, or their employers. A rare, selfish rebellion, claimed for herself.Rare, because the world might know her as fickle and selfish, but she has fewthings that are hers â or at leastthe way he is. Her tribe, her crew, theyâre both hers, but theyâre hers asEmpress, and there is little selfishness in that â the sacrifices she makes, tokeep them safe.
Hedoesnât ask her to sacrifice anything â asks only for her, and with himself offeredin turn. And itâs bearable, with him â the meetings and the inane, socialgatherings; their employers, and the proximity to Mariejois, the holy cityalways looming, always at the edge of her awareness, no matter which side ofthe Red Line sheâs on. Unavoidable, like the brand on her back, but with him, enduring it takes less effort that it did, once.
Herpalm curls around the back of his neck, and the dip of his head seeks hermouth, barely a pause between them. And thereâs no more tenderness in the kissthan there was in her first touch, the bitter aftertaste of wine on his tongue and the scrapeof his beard against her chin, but she welcomes both with regal dignity â and onlya little bit of graceless impatience, sitting in the telling grip of herfingers in his hair.
Footsteps, then â an uneven shuffle on the stone, before a shape stumbles out onto the balconywith a startled shout. And between breaths heâs released her, the momentum leaving herreeling, only to catch herself on the balustrade, and heâs put himself in front ofher before sheâs had the chance to reclaim her breath; his own, straight-backed posture letting nothing slip, even as she catches the barest twitch of his fingers, only a moment ago buried in her hair.
Red-Noseblinks â then squints at them through the dark,expression suddenly accusing. âDid you two form a sub-party out here or somethinâ?Rude.â
Shecatches Mihawk pinching the bridge of his nose. âLeave.â
Thatearns him an affronted look â a foolâs bravery, aided by too much drink. Hancock doubts heâd be so quick to offer it, if sober. âYârealways so serious, Hawk-Eyes. Sheesh.âThen to Hancock, voice slurring a bit over the words, âHey â snake lady.â He blinks. âSârry, canât rememberyour name.â
Helooks between them, still blinking, his brows furrowed slightly, as though trying to make sense of the situation,but the glaze of inebriation in his eyes banishes whatever worry she might haveharboured, that he should realise just what heâs stumbled upon. âWaitâ thehell did I even come out âere for?â
âIcould turn him to stone,â Hancock says, the words offered under her breath.
Thecorner of Mihawkâs mouth lifts a fraction. âThey will make us attend another seminarfor that.â
âIâllendure it.â
âIwill not.â
Shecuts him a look, and he parries it with a raised brow. But the source of theirinterruption is still standing in the balcony doorway, and Hancock considersher patience â finds it lacking, rubbed thin by that still-lingering heat, andthe taste of him on her lips.
Thenext look she gives him is meaningful, and, âIâll be in my quarters,â she says. Then with a toss of her hair, âEnjoy your new company.â
Sheâsstriding away before he can respond, across the balcony and through the doorway, counting the seconds, her smile knowing and hidden from sight, and itâs not long beforeRed-Noseâs voice rises behind herâ
âOi, thehellâs that glare for? Yâknow, Shanks was right, you have the biggest stick shoved up yourââ
Thethud of an unconscious body hittingthe stone barely makes an impression on the quiet â even less than his footsteps behind her. And she doesnât slow her pace to allow him to catchup, but then he doesnât need it, long legs eating up the distance between them until thereâs nothing left.
âThereâllbe another seminar now,â she reminds him, eyes gleaming. âI doubt thereâll be anopen bar.â
Hemeets her eyes, nothing teasing in his own, although she would have been surprised to find that to be the case. Instead thereâs something else, brighterthan amusement, or even annoyance â want, she sees, and as stark and earnest as the rest of him, when he offers it.
Andshe isnât surprised when all he does is look at her, before offering her ownwords back, no flattery, just a simple, wry truth with her at itsheartâ
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winterwitchery replied to your post: Jonquil. Boa + Hawkeye
thank you for this <3 your writing is wonderful as always, and I almost feel sorry for poor Buggy.
Aahhh thank you for the prompt, friend! Iâm always a little nervous about reblogging prompt lists because I never think Iâll get any, but I got so many lovely ones!
And for some reason Buggy keeps showing up in my writing lately? Poor guy canât catch a break.
That anon message you answered today made me remember how bad I am at telling writers how much I love their work. So I just wanted try to at least once rectify that and tell you how much I love your writing. Even though I don't usually read Koala/Sabo I can't wait next one you write. You are the reason I started to ship Mihawk and Hancock, I love your Shanks/Makino fics, and I absolute adore you for writing about Shakky and Rayleigh. Thank you.
Reading this message was a face journey of emotional expressionsthat got progressively more and more ridiculous and I WISH YOU COULD HAVE SEENIT
Iâm justâŚso happy to hear there are people reading my stuff. Writing can be such a lonely experience and so every comment gets itsown special place in my heart, and sometimes a small nudge from someone is all it takes to turn my entire day around.
Thank you so much for taking the time to write this âĄâĄâĄâĄ