#excuse me while i crawl on all fours back into he shadows

[razzle-n-dazzle]

Excuse me, I hope you have a good day! If your requests are open I would like to request Blitzo with an enemies to lovers trope kind of with perhaps the reader being a concubus (gn succubus) with Verosika's posse, and the two have a competitive streak with each other. They both are supposed to be enemies (because they are loyal to Veroskia) but they don't realize how hard they are falling until they accidentally save Blitzo/IMP one time... Which turns into them saving them other times all by mere "coincidence" but it's really because they started looking out for him crushing hard and wanting to keep him safe. Even if they feel like they can never admit it because of Verosika. Happy ending or not, Blitzy requesting! <3

ᯓ★ "Lust, not Love . . . Love, not Lust?" Biltzo / concubus! Reader | Drabble Warning! - not proof read (we die like Adam), implied sex, hate-make out but not really hate-make out scenes, light gore, name calling

ᯓ How the fuck did you even manage to get here? Being pushed onto Blitzo's desk was the dusk of the night was settling through the drawn window. On either side of you laid his hands, pinning you in place as though he thought you would make some cheap shot and move away; Which, you were half tempted to do. Yet, instead, you would wrap your legs around his waist and draw the Imp closer, harshly cupping his cheeks so he could shove his tongue further down your mouth. Fuck, it felt so nice! Your eyes would flutter as you felt Blitzo groan, his clawed hands reaching up to squeeze and kneed your thighs needlingly. "You're fucking gross," He would groan, not even being able to wait until you both broke for a quick puff of air, causing you to snicker into the heated kiss. "Oh, shut it, you know you like it!" You would bite back, reaching to tug on one of Blitzo's horns. You knew it would rile him up; Verosika talked all the time about how Blitzo was a slut for his horns to be pulled, tugged, played with. And was it a sweet sound that escaped his mouth, a flustered gasp for air paired with a growl, making him all worked up and pretty. The glare he gave you sent shivers down your spine.

ᯓ And shit you kind of needed him too. Even if logically you know you should be pushing him off, running far away from the Imp out of loyalty to Verosika, there was something that just made you stay. Something that tickled your stomach and your heart all at once, that drove you insane, that had you crawling back to the pathetic Imp, Verosika's ex, on all fours.

ᯓ Gladly you never publicly did that, only in your mind . . . sometimes. And yet you could never tell anyone what happened here, that night under the cover of the shadows and in the arms of an Imp. That would be a secret you had to keep to the grave; Even if he did give you the best time you've had in a while.

ᯓ But how the hell did you even end up in the Imp's arms in the first place?

ᯓ Well, it started when Verosika had moved her headquarters to the same building that I.M.P. was in; gaining the same floor, stealing their parking spot, and well just being a bitch. You had a hunch she did all this in spite of Blitzo, hating his guts so much that she wanted to torture him after they broke up. Which, before you met or saw him, made you think he was some sort of sexy Imp who could turn anyone's heads. Then you saw him and was, well, disappointed. Verosika was getting her panties into a twist over some short Imp who couldn't even stand up to her at first. He had to send one of his workers in before he even stepped foot into the studio! To you, he was a waste of time. A nobody who got a shot with a popstar and blew it for not being able to love properly, or something like that.

ᯓ So, you no attention to him at first; why should you? He was someone who, when the competition was a complete, would be a no body to you! Just another bad decision from Verosika you would have to hear about every so often just because you worked for her . . . and sometimes it made you question whether or not you should have accepted that job offer from her.

ᯓ Your interest for Blitzo first began at that very competition, or demon duel, which you had little interest in yet participated in because 1) it was good way to gain more magic and fulfill your hunger and 2) Verosika told you to. Persuading humans to fuck you, along with the others, was easy enough to do, even easier when it's a bunch of horny teenager son spring break; A simple look and or a flirty wink and you had them hook and sinker. Even if it left you feeling dirty by the end of being banged by 3 different people in a row, not being given a chance to properly breath as Verosika seemed oh-so-determined to win that bet. You were a concubus, sure, but fucking people you didn't know wasn't exactly your style; Which was always pointed out as weird, but you gained more power by fucking someone you knew or wanted . . . desperately.

ᯓ So all this was doing was both wearing you out and making you feel like a whore, which in turn made you feel like absolute shit! Can't exactly fucking people if you're feeling yourself or your body. Which led you to wondering away from the crowd, shoving past the tangled mess of naked or half-naked bodies attempting to fuck into each other, to get some air away from the scent of sweat and sea water and booze. "Fuck me. . ." The mumble left your lips as you trailed along the beach, dragging your aching legs. Wanting nothing more than to go home and shower, maybe take some pain killers and go to sleep, never brought you closer to relief. It only lead to you sitting on a barrel under the bridge that was over the beach. And, you know, you weren't trying to attract attention. You really weren't. Yet, it seems like everything you wanted never went your way anyways, "Oh, look! I knew I smelled something fishy." Blitzo's voice drawled out, his words instantly as sharp and thrashing as his tail behind him. And if you hadn't just been fucked by three guys, two at once, you would have probably gave him the anger he wanted out of your reaction. Yet you couldn't, "Oh fuck off, Blitzo! Go bash someone's brains in and jack off, I know it's your kink." You could already feel the way his eyes narrowed at you, the hostility basically seeping out of his pores to drown everyone around him. "Can't exactly fucking do that when you're stinking up the whole place! Shouldn't you go be getting your holes filled, Whore?"

ᯓ People often say that first impressions are always the most important, but you choose to say different. While they can be important to judge people off of, you've heard too much about Blitzo before you even got to know him! So, you never did get a proper first impression. Instead you got the pleasure to know how long his dick was before you even got to know his face! Thanks, Verosika. And yet, even if that did technically count as your first impression, or first meeting, with Blitzo it didn't change much about your impression on him. At least, not in that moment. He was still the dick bag cunt ex of your boss and you had no intention of sticking around and talking to him. So, as he turned to talk to some hellhound that was by his side, you snuck off and walked down the opposite side of the beach. No need to stick around if he already ended the conversation on a sour 'Whore'.

ᯓ You know, you never really understood the concept of 'love' before Blitzo. That was something you realized when you had woken up after your fuck session on his desk after that . . . strange dream of the first time you spoke to him. You would groan as you shrugged yourself to sit up, feeling a weight on your chest that caused your eyes to drift down and meet with an all too familar jacket, and yet no Blitzo. It caused you to blink once more, maybe again for good measure before you rubbed your eyes just to make sure they were squeaky clean before taking in the sight below you. Oh fuck. . . I just fucked my boss's ex. Was the thought that ran through your head, panicked and crazed, as you quickly glanced around frantically. You had to make sure no one saw you and that you could still wear your clothes!- Fuuck. What were you going to tell Verosika? Hey, I slept with your ex sorry about that, didn't mean it, it was hate fucking, you know how it is! No, you couldn't!- Ugh, shit. The fact that you had been abandoned on Blitzo's desk, with no Blitzo in sight, hadn't even crossed your mind. Even as you raised your hands, drawing his jacket up to your face to hide in, hoping that some freak accident would happen and just kill you.

ᯓ That would, sadly, be better than facing Verosika's wrath.

ᯓ Love! Such a crazy concept and you defiantly shouldn't know it or even feel it! You were a concubus, you were a demon made out of the pure essence of Lust and Craving; You got your magic by fucking people, your body, hip curves and plush thighs were made to be admired and fucked. You were like a sex toy, you were a sex toy to most, and yet. . . there was this weird feeling that had began to fester in your chest. A feeling that grew the more of Blitzo's scent wafted into your nose.

ᯓ Shit, when had this even started? Was it that day on the beach? You doubted it. You felt nothing but tire and ire from talking to Blitzo while trying to hide from your duties. Was it the days after? No, you never got much of a chance to dwell on the thought of him nor did you get much of a chance to talk to him. So when did it start? No, not when you had noticed it, you remembered that day well enough, especially since you almost died trying to save that Imp and his team. But, when had the feeling started to festered in your chest, implanting it's way into your heart and igniting itself in a way you've never felt before? In a way that had started to make you crave him in a way you never experienced? Should you talk to Ozzie about this, you were relatively good friends, yet . . . would he even understand? You doubted it; He dealt with Lust, not Love. Love; shit! No, no, you can't name it Love even . . . even when it felt so right.

ᯓ Rescue day was as clear in your mind as though it had happened yesterday; It was around the time you had been watching I.M.P. for a good month or so, just 'curious' about what they were doing, where they where going, who they were going to go kill, and who they were doing it for. It was all in pure curiosity, you had reassured everyone else in the office, and yet you think you had just been lying to yourself; Trying to shove down the prodding and poking feeling, shove it deep, deep down until it couldn't be felt anymore. But what kind of bitch who isn't a psychopathic maniac in love with the thrill of dying would go to such lengths you had to save I.M.P. from uncertain doom?

ᯓ "What the fuck? How did you even manage to do this shit, fucktard!" You would yell, your body flushed with the flesh of your human disguise which made it so much more uncomfortable to run. Though you still hand onto Blitzo's wrist as he used his free hand to shoot back, trying to kill anyone who was daring to follow the group. "What-" Moxxiewould mumble, quickly jumping over a trash can that had been thrown carelessly on the sidewalk. He stumbled before regaining his footing, "Aren't you like- working for Verosika?! Shouldn't you be helping them get us, not . . . saving us? Is this even saving us? We're just running!" Though his confusion would fall onto death ears as Blitzo shot another bullet out of his gun, watching as it pierced through an officer's head and gushed out brains and guts on those behind him. You would shutter as Blitzo yelled, "I don't know, maybe someone," He would cough, obviously fibbed, "MOXXIE!" Again that fibbed cough, "shot the wrong target! And then the human police were called and they're on our ass because we KILLED SOMEONE, GENIUS! How else did you think we got here?" "Oh, I don't know, I thought you may have tried to FUCK a police officer!" You quipped back, "Oh, sorry, you fucking can't because you're scared of sexual relationships, my bad. I forgot!" "Oh please, you can't fucking forget because I know Verosika shit talks me to you every day! DON'T BE FUCKING PLAYING THE INNOCENT CARE ON ME." Blitzo would shoot back, not noticing as Moxxie had tripped over his own foot and almost fell; Though thankfully Millie had been there to catch him, lifting him up into her own arms so they could keep pace with the others. Loona, who was tired of having to hear the gunshots and the bickering betewen Blitzo and you, snapped; "Can we stop hate flirting for a second and fucking get out of here before one of us get shot?!"

ᯓ "WE'RE NOT HATE FLIRTING."

ᯓ "Yeah, because it's so much more convincing when you both say it at the same FUCKING time." Sarcasm dripped out of Loona's tongue as she slung her bag over her shoulders, bringing it in front of her. She began to rustle around for something as you feel a sudden coldness in your hand; Blitzo had drew his own wrist away from your touch. Cold, that's all you felt; and it stung sharp and harsh. Pitiless.

ᯓ You really had to stick out your neck for someone like that? Someone who now left you up and dry on his desk after 'hate-fucking' you? Why would you ever fuck someone as pathetic as that, had desperate had you been? . . . Had you even been desperate? You couldn't remember feeling desperate, like you usually forced yourself to feel when you fuck someone for power, or a purpose other than the alternative which isn't important. It couldn't be important when you were clearly the only one who felt the same and Blitzo just wanted some- "Oh good, you're awake." The sound of the door opening and closing jolted you from your thoughts, causing you to scurry and cover yourself. "I thought I was about to have to drag your ass to sleep on my couch, and that would have been a whole 'nother fucking problem." Blitzo would mumble, coming up behind you. You felt him linger, you wondered if he wanted to do something yet was too scared to do so; Which, you guessed was true because he walked around the desk without doing anything and sat down on his chair, sat down in front of you. Which was weird. This was all weird, you didn't know how to react seeing Blitzo, who was dressed, sitting in front of you drinking his coffee like you weren't literally butt ass naked on his desk. "What?" Blitzo muttered, noticing your staring. You would simply point at him and then the desk, trying to formulate the words that didn't want to stick together: "Are . . . we going to fucking pretend that you didn't just fuck me on your desk last night?"

ᯓ "Do you want me to pretend like I didn't just fuck you on my desk last night?" The question lingered in the air, bringing with it silence. Your eyes were kept on Blitzo's before they faltered away, looking down at the ground. Did you want him to pretend that he wasn't grunting and groaning your name last night, that you hadn't been clawing at his back and screaming his?

ᯓ Was that really what you wanted?

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[wzrd-wheezes]

The Wolf's Arms: Part One. Marauders x Reader

This is a purely self indulgent fic about two things that I love. The marauders and the pub. This will probably turn into a series of fics that don’t really link because I have so many ideas for it. It’s not set in a particular time period, mainly like 70’s ish but there might be some modern things sprinkled in along the way just for shits and giggles. Sorry if that’s annoying but I love creating my own time period so I can have things exactly the way I want them haha. Please let me know if this fic is hard to understand as I know there will be a lot of references to UK culture things along the way (not in this part I dont think) – feel free to drop me an ask if there’s anything you don’t understand/want me to explain.  This is a platonic!marauders x reader fic

Friday night pub nights had become a monthly occurrence for them now. It was any excuse really. Sad? Pub. Celebrating? Pub. Hungry? Pub. Traumatic life event? Pub. The four of them had become regulars now. Every time sitting at the same table in the back. The landlord often joked with them that the pub would go under if they ever stopped coming.  

It had taken them a while to choose a pub. Their pub. It was a meticulous process that they all took very seriously. They had spent countless nights doing pub crawls throughout the city, trying to find which pub suited them best. Best beer on tap, best prices, within walking distance so they could stumble back home.  

“That one’s my favourite so far.” Remus decided one night as they left the third pub on their pub crawl.  

Sirius barked out a laugh, slinging an arm around Remus’s shoulders. Partly in mock affection, partly to steady himself after the few drinks he’d had. “You’re only saying that because it’s got the cheapest pints so far.” 

“You’re easily swayed, Moony.” James shook his head at him, leading the group to the next pub along the street. Just as they rounded the corner onto the next dimly lit street, Y/N interjected. 

“Speaking of sway, did anyone else notice the shady bloke in the corner?”  a grimace contoured her features, “I swear he was selling meat from his jacket.” 

“Hah! The infamous Hog’s Head Meat Man!” James exclaimed, a grin spreading across his face. “Sure, he’s a dodgy one, but he’ll give you a good deal on some bacon if you’re brave enough to ask.” 

“Yeah. I don’t really fancy eating some blokes pocket meat, thanks though.” Sirius scrunched up his face in disgust, “Where to next?” 

Undeterred from the last shady establishment, they pressed on, venturing into a number of different pubs, until finally, they stumbled upon one that felt like home. It was tucked down a narrow alleyway, easy to miss if you weren’t paying attention.  

The inside was dimly lit from the mounted wall lights, casting soft shadows against the exposed brick. The air was thick with the smell of cigarette smoke and spilt beer – a scent which sounds disgusting but made the four of them nudge each other and grin as they stepped inside. The actual bar spanned about half the length of the room, polished mahogany adorned with rows of brass taps, their labels worn and faded with age.  

Mismatched tables and chairs filled the space, ranging from rickety wooden stools to worn, plush armchairs. Each table, although being scratched from rigorous cleaning, still had the infamous sticky sheen to it that all pub goers will be familiar with. Much to their delight an old jukebox stood proudly in the corner of the room, Remus immediately fumbled in his pocket for some change. 

“Typical Moony. Straight to the jukebox instead of straight to the bar.” James teased as he leaned over the bar to survey the selection of beers on tap. Remus, who had already begun to select songs, looked up momentarily only to flip the bird at James.  

While James got the round in, it was left up to Y/N and Sirius to decide what table the group would settle on. After a quick once-over of the pub, they decided on a table in the corner, nestled beneath a dimly lit lampshade, and much to Remus’s delight, only a few steps away from the jukebox. With a nod of agreement, they made their way over to claim their spot.  

Precariously trying to carry four pints in only two hands, James returned a moment later, putting the glasses down on the table with a soft thud, some of the liquid sloshing over the edge.  

“Cheers, you lot.” Remus exclaimed, raising his glass. The group, a few pints deep and sporting glassy eyes and wide smiles, joined in, clinking their glasses together. 

“What’s the verdict on this place?” Sirius asked, taking a sip of his beer. 

“Well-” Remus started. 

“Ah, ah, hold it right there.” Y/N interjected, “After your last ‘gem’ turned out to be the Hog’s Head, I think we should put your pub-picking privileges on probation.” she punctuated her remark with a playful jab to Remus’s ribs. 

“Hey! It had character!” Remus feigned offense, “and besides, it’s not my fault that they had a creative idea of what hygiene is.”  

“Creative? I’m pretty sure that I saw two rats shagging in the corner.” Sirius retorted, earning a round of laughter from the group.  

“Alright, alright.” Remus conceded, holding his hands up, “the Hog’s Head was a bit of a shitter, but this pub’s a winner, yeah?” 

“Agreed,” James chimed in, raising his glass once again, “To new beginnings and hopefully less questionable pubs!” 

“To less questionable pubs!” the others chorused, once again knocking their glasses together before taking a large swig of their drinks. 

“I feel like we should have toasted this pub. Just because I’ve decided that this is the best one.” Y/N said, looking around thoughtfully, “Although, I didn’t actually get a look at the sign before we came in, so I couldn’t actually tell you what it’s called.” 

“The Wolf’s Arms!” a voice called out from the other side of the room. They all snapped their heads round, curiosity piqued, and their eyes fell on a lone man seated at the bar. His cheeks were flushed from the booze, and a cigarette dangled from his lips. 

“To The Wolf’s Arms!” they echoed, toasting for the third time that night. 

[outcast-heroes]

AFTER SEVEN LONG AND AWFUL YEARS OF EFFORT, I PRESENT.......

This literally took me so long to finish, But I really wanted to make a semi-realistic poster for my story... Might do one with Ash and the bad guys, no idea yet *shrug* But please... notice me *wheeze* 

[iwritetopassthetime]

of vipers and doves II (2/11)

Oberyn Martell x female!reader

CHAPTER ONE: The Dragon in the Viper’s nest // Previous chapter // Masterlist // Next chapter

Wordcount: 8K (Mama used some big words)

warnings: SMUT 18+ (minors, don’t let the door hit you on the way out); mentions of violence and warfare (I’m basically rewriting the last two seasons of GoT); angst; body-image issues/insecurities; reader is still a badass and oberyn is a simp; oral sex (f receiving); body worship; Oberyn “Consent is Key” Martell needs his own warning because my ovaries explode every time I think about it; mentions of food

There had never been a day this quiet and tense in Sunspear since the funeral procession for Princess Elia and her children, Rhaenys and Aegon. But while on that day — some twenty years ago — the feelings of grief and anger were domineering over any other, today the citizens of the Dornish capital were on the edge of the proverbial seat as a creature of legend cast a large shadow over their lives like a great mountain of doom.

The dragon seemed calm, only snapping its monstrous jaws at seagulls that quite bravely swooped around his head. From time to time, the dragon would crawl to the bottom of the rock he was perched on, and submerge his enormous head in the water, catching whatever sea creatures were unfortunate enough to swim by. Thankfully, he must’ve been told not to eat any living thing inside the city. 

The Old Palace was silent, but on the inside a gaggle of council members were following Prince Oberyn as he made his way to his bedchambers. They were giving him advice, pleading with him to either negotiate with the Dragon Queen or turn her away. Oberyn was frankly annoyed at their bickering and screeching.

‘My wife and I will speak to Daenerys Stormborn and hear what she has to say.’ He bellowed over their voices and the council members quieted down. ‘For now we can’t see her actions as nothing more than an inflated bravado that is typical for a Targaryen. Put your trust in me as my brother’s representative.’

‘With all due respect, my prince,’ Lady Tehmina of House Allyrion interjected, ‘but you’re not known for your patience and cool-headedness.’

Oberyn mulled over her words for no more than a second, finding them too true for him to argue with her about it. ‘Trust my wife to keep me in check as we both act as Doran’s representatives.’

That seemed to do it. 

‘Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to check up on my children.’ Oberyn did not wait for the Council to disperse before he opened the doors to his bedchambers and immediately shut them behind him. 

Jenne was unpacking their trunks in the further right part of the room when the Prince stepped through the door. She gave him a worried glance, but held back any questions and gave a quick curtsy instead.

‘Jenne, where is my wife?’ Oberyn asked. Jenne just tilted her head towards the balcony and went back to hanging up clothes in the built-in wardrobe. 

‘My love?’ Oberyn followed Y/N’s voice onto the balcony where she watched the Dragon Queen’s party move through the city as the dragon — one of her three infamous “children” — watched the city like a hawk. 

Ellarion hiccuped in Y/N’s hold as he suckled on her breast and she rocked him gently to quell whatever troubled his little head. Salvador was standing against the banister, holding his mother’s free right hand and poking his head out between the gaps in the stone balustrade.

‘Papa, it’s a dragon!’ He said as his father picked him up. To the young boy it seemed like his father wanted him to see better, but Oberyn only wanted to hold his child close and be sure that he was safe. At least his youngest four daughters were in Hellholt with Ellaria and her family, and the Sand Snakes were somewhere around Yronwood on a visit to their cousin Quentyn. What he needed to put his mind on now was his wife, two youngest children and the Targaryen who walked through the gates of the Old Palace, accompanied by another young-ish looking woman, ten Unsullied guards and another ten Dornish ones who made sure that nothing would go amiss. 

‘What did the council say?’ Y/N asked tentatively.

‘We must keep a cool head and see what Daenerys wants,’ Oberyn supplied. 

Y/N huffed out gently in something resembling a laugh, but she was much to tense for it to be genuine. ‘You are not known for your calmness, my love.’

‘Is what Lady Tehmina said, too.’ Oberyn looked down at his wife, noticing the crease forming between her eyebrows. ‘Calm yourself, dove. Let’s put the children down and head to the sitting room.’

‘But! But! I want to look at the dragon!’ Salvador protested.

‘I know, Salva. You can look at the dragon later, but now you must have lunch.’ Oberyn explained and that seemed to do the trick, although Salvador still looked very sad to be taken away from his perfect view of the mythical creature. 

Once inside, Jenne swooped in to help take Ellarion out of Y/N’s arms as she fixed the top of her dress. ‘Come, Salvador. Let’s put your brother down to sleep and we’ll go to the kitchens to get you a snack.’ Salvador didn’t need any more convincing as he followed Jenne to his and Ellarion’s nursery across the corridor. 

Oberyn took Y/N’s hand in his and pressed a tender kiss to her knuckles and a second one to her forehead. ‘They will be alright with Jenne. Come now, my dove.’

The Old Palace’s sitting room was much too grand for its modest name. The impressive chamber was made of a wide red-tiled floor and white stone walls and columns that stretched at least two stories high towards the grandiose gilded dome that captured the eye of anyone who entered. Five tall arches opened to a wide balcony which faced the Sunspearian sept and the richer parts of the city. The sitting room was made to strike awe in the heart every new arrival and was the perfect place for receiving foreign visitors.

Oberyn and Y/N took a seat on the long divan with their backs to the windows and awaited the arrival of the Dragon Queen. Oberyn lounged back against the cushions on his wife’s right side, giving himself an air of carelessness even though every minute move of his body was meticulously calculated, and asked one of the servants to bring wine. 

Y/N, however, could not boast with a calm state of mind at that moment. Her back was rigid as she sat like a statue outside of a crypt. Oberyn slowly reached out and took her hand in his once more, squeezing it gently as to show his wife that he was there if she needed him.

‘She’s taking her sweet time, isn’t she.’ Y/N said through gritted teeth and Oberyn chuckled. He sat up and kissed her shoulder, taking a whiff of her calming perfume. She seemed to deflate at his ministrations and turned her face towards him. She captured his lips in hers. For a moment that’s all she needed; no calming salve or liquor could compare to the mind-numbing effects that Oberyn’s lips had on her. With a kiss all her worries were out of the window, never to be seen.

‘I think…’ Oberyn mused, ‘Daenerys Targaryen should worry about you. My viperess.’

‘What happened with “dove”?’

‘Oh, we both know you aren’t always a gentle dove,’ he replied honestly. ‘Now, relax. It’s my job to be hotheaded, remember?’

‘I don’t understand how calm you are. The only other family that I know you to distaste more than the Lannisters, is the Targaryens.’

‘True.’ Oberyn mindlessly twirled a strand of Y/N’s hair between his fingers, then leaned in and pressed his lips to the shell of her ear. ‘That is why I need you to stay calm. I cannot say what will my impulses lead to once those doors open and Rhaegar’s sister walks through. I need you to be my anchor, something to remind me that I have everything to lose should I lose my temper.’

Y/N took his face in her hands, her eyebrows knitting and face full of emotion. ‘You’re not going to lose me.’

Before Oberyn could reply with anything, the large doors to the sitting room opened and a Palace guard walked through.

‘Your Highnesses—’

‘Let her in,’ Oberyn ordered without breaking Y/N’s gaze. She smiled at him, mouthing “I love you” which he reciprocated and then leaned back against the cushions, his features hardening. Y/N looked towards the opened doorway. 

Daenerys Targaryen walked in first, long white hair styled in intricate braids that circled around her head like vines in the crown of a tree. She wore a long ivory dress which looked as if it was one long shawl that crossed over her chest, was tied at her waist and then flowed down to the floor. It was certainly not what she wore to ride a dragon and was most likely what she changed into to fit the Dornish climate. Or to make her look more alluring. Y/N felt the sharp sting of insecurity flow into her bloodstream at the thought; Daenerys was a very beautiful woman and knew it. 

Behind her came a second woman, her advisor probably. Her complexion was much darker than Daenerys’ snow white one. Her features were softer, yet still incredibly beautiful. She looked like a person who would never raise their voice, not even if the situation required it. 

Y/N placed her hand on Oberyn’s knee as Daenerys took a seat at the divan across from them. The servant with the wine came back, handing Oberyn his goblet and then offered Daenerys one as well which she declined with a simple shake of the head. Her eyes were trained on Oberyn, not so much on Y/N. Which felt purposeful. And quite hurtful.

‘Your Highness, may I present,’ the advisor began, ‘Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the Mother of Dragons, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains.’

Oberyn sat up, his chin lifting just a little bit in an outright insolent manner. ‘Do you have scribes to write these down for us? Because this is one very… very long name.’

Daenerys’s mouth quirked in something resembling a smile. Y/N was not happy at the way she was eyeing up her husband. Her hand on Oberyn’s knee involuntarily twitched.

‘Khaleesi? Iksin bona iā ánghowa?’ The advisor inquired in Valyrian. Was that an insult?

Y/N knew that the Targaryen heiress grew up in Pentos, but they spoke Common there. Valyrian was used in very few places as the official language nowadays. So the usage of the foreign tongue was clearly a way to conceal their private conversations in company.

Daenerys tilted her head towards the other woman, still refusing to drop eye contact with Oberyn, and spoke with a cheeky lilt in her voice. ‘Issa sȳz, Missandei—’ It’s alright, Missandei ‘—Yn issa drējī hae gevie hae vestrasis, daor?’

Oberyn softly scoffed to himself. The advisor looked as if she tried to contain a bemused grin at the comment. Y/N’s heart beat wildly in anger as her mind supplied the translation to the words. But he is truly handsome as they say, isn’t he?

‘Issa valzȳrys emagon targārien ānogar .’ Y/N hissed, her voice cutting like a whip. My husband has Targaryen blood. ‘Ñuha muña māstan hen iā braavosi eglie lentor.  Īlon ȳdragon Valyrīha. Gaomagon daor ánghowa īlva lentor se sylugon naejot ruaragon aōha udra.’ My mother came from a Braavosi high family. We speak Valyrian. Do not insult our home by hiding behind your words, she finished with a pointed look at the Dragon Queen who now had her undivided attention. Frankly, she was surprised that a native Westerosi spoke Valyrian with such ease.

Oberyn smirked proudly, noting the change in the Queen’s demeanour, and sneaked his free arm around Y/N, drawing her closer to his side. ‘Daenerys Stormborn, let me introduce you to Princess Y/N of House Martell, my wife.’

‘My lady.’ Daenerys respectfully bowed her head, now speaking in the common tongue.

‘Your Highness,’ Y/N corrected her. ‘If you will.’

Daenerys’s smile tightened and eyes narrowed. ‘I was expecting a less hostile welcome to the Dornish capital.’

‘You happened to fly a dragon over said capital,’ Oberyn replied. ‘Excuse us, if we’re not showing you the full extent of Dornish hospitality.’

Y/N’s insides quivered with anxiety. She needed to calm herself. She knew she was being irrational by snapping, it was undiplomatic of her, and the Council expected her to be the voice of reason. But Daenerys’s words were eating out at her wounded pride and her already fragile self-esteem.

Her eyes seemed to notice only what Daenerys Targaryen had, and she lacked. Daenerys had a nicely rounded face, plump lips and striking purple eyes; a common feature amongst Targaryens. Her body — much like with any other high born woman — was not thin, showing she never went without a meal for long periods of time, but she wore her curves perfectly. She was captivating. The epitome of beauty, something the Dornish princess hadn’t remotely felt like in some time. 

The bitter sting of jealousy coursed through Y/N’s body. She dearly hoped Oberyn wouldn’t notice the Dragon Queen’s fine looks and perfect body, and think Y/N inadequate beside her. She felt water gather behind her eyes. Compose yourself! she chastised her own foolish mind.

‘I apologise for causing a disturbance to the peace in your city.’ Daenerys clasped her hands in her lap. ‘Drogon comes with me wherever I go. He will not harm a soul, I assure you.’

‘May I ask, what the reason for your visit to Dorne is, Your grace?’ Y/N asked, seemingly composed although her heart never ceased its wild tremor.

‘I have come to ask House Martell to join me in the war against House Lannister,’ Daenerys said. 

Oberyn’s arm tightened around Y/N as if he was worried that she would fade away if he made the wrong choice. I’m here, I’m going nowhere, she wished she could say to him. She knew he still felt deeply ashamed that he put his thirst for vengeance against the Lannisters before her. He had spent weeks, months, after his return in a battle with his own guilt-ridden conscience. He would wake from nightmares where Y/N would leave and never return. Nightmares where his vengeance hurt her instead, killed her. 

So Oberyn took Daenerys’s proposition very seriously and with no small amount of fire in his voice. She was the “Mother of Dragons”, wasn’t she? She could bare getting scorched a little.

‘Last time a Targaryen wanted a Martell’s allegiance in a war, Dorne lost 10,000 soldiers along with my sister and her two children,’ Oberyn stated coldly. ‘Nothing good has ever come from an alliance with your family.’

‘I am not here to answer for the crimes of my father,’ Daenerys replied. ‘Or my brother. His actions towards your sister were dishonourable. But what I offer is… retribution.’

Y/N’s hand on Oberyn’s leg dampened with nerves and anticipation. She took a glance at her husband who was watching Daenerys intently. Vitriol swam in his dark eyes, turning them cold. Y/N squeezed his knee in reassurance. I’m here. Stay calm. I’m here.

‘House Lannister has caused your family pain like many others.’ Daenerys’s bizarre purple eyes slowly moved between the two Martells as if trying to make her meaning clear to both, separately and together. ‘I intend to take King’s Landing with as little force as possible.’

‘Nobody has ever waged a war without spilling blood,’ Y/N said. 

‘Nobody has had three fully grown dragons at their back in quite some time, either.’ Daenerys replied, her voice full with motherly pride for her children. ‘I have the trust of House Stark and the Northern lords, House Tyrell, House Greyjoy and House Arryn. Along with eight thousand Unsullied and a Dothraki horde of sixty thousand strong.’

‘House Greyjoy has backed Cersei as far as I know,’ Oberyn corrected. ‘She has acquired some fifty ships from their fleet, if I’m not mistaken.’

‘Yara Greyjoy, the rightful heir to Balon Greyjoy, has a hundred. Along with the ones I purchased in Essos, my fleet has amassed three hundred and fifty ships.’

‘So if you have that strong of an army and a fleet at your back, why do you need Dorne?’ Oberyn asked. ‘The Northerners have never respected us. In their eyes we are… debauched savages.’ The words were spoken with no small amount of indignation. ‘Why should we care what happens beyond our borders?’

‘The Lannisters are a plague on this earth that must be eradicated. If we let it fester, it will spread to Dorne and perhaps even Essos. We need the support of every major House in the Seven Kingdoms. Dorne has never been conquered, not even by a Targaryen. Your skills as warriors are unmatched. With your House’s allegiance, we can overthrow House Lannister for good and end their tyranny.’ 

‘Bend the knee. Accept me as rightful queen,’ Daenerys continued. ‘And you can be sure that I will help you get justice for your sister and her children.’

A tense moment of silence followed the declaration. A moment that held so much importance that Y/N could feel the pressure of every single second that passed between Daenerys’s words and the impending response from Oberyn. Even the wind that flowed in from the windows seemed to have suspended in mid-air. 

After what seemed like an eternity, Oberyn spoke up. ‘I will not give you an immediate answer. This is a matter that I wish to discuss with my wife and council, in private. For now, you may enjoy the hospitality of House Martell. Cletus—’ he addressed the captain of the Old Palace guard who up to this point had stood couple of feet away from the Martell couple, but close enough to defend them if needed ‘—please, escort her grace and her entourage to the guest wing.’

Oberyn put his half-empty goblet on top of the intricately decorated seat cushions of the divan, and stood up with Y/N following suit. Without a word and without looking at her, he offered his arm which she accepted. He would usually take her hand; why wouldn’t he take her hand now? 

Y/N’s heart, once again, threatened to beat out of her chest with emotion. Suddenly, her thoughts were invaded by the scathing words of her cousin Danaya. Words she hadn’t thought about for years. You truly believe Oberyn Martell would change his ways? For you? You’re not special, my dear. Would Oberyn be tempted by the irresistible Dragon Queen? Y/N’s eyes were filling with tears again which she hoped nobody would see. Not that anybody was paying her any mind at that moment. Which intensified the feeling of hurt.

‘Thank you very much for receiving me on such short notice, Prince Oberyn.’ Daenerys aimed a very pretty smile in his direction. In her mind, the battle was half won and there was no issue with driving the point across with a bit of flirting. After all, the Red Viper was famous for enjoying multiple partners and Daenerys would be a liar if she said that the possibility of sharing the bed of such a handsome man wasn’t an exciting one. ‘I hope to see you soon and know your answer.’

Oberyn bowed his head respectfully and led Y/N out of the room. He muttered, ‘I need to see the Council.’

‘Of course,’ Y/N mumbled, dropping his arm once they were away from the sitting room. A place that was made to empower her as a Princess of Dorne made her feel so insignificant. The only thing she wanted now was to hole up in her bedchamber and let out the pent-up emotions that came in the form of fat tear droplets that were beginning to gather in the corners of her eyes. ‘I will let you go about your business, my prince.’

What he’ll do is put a baby in you like he’s supposed to and then be back to fucking anything else that passes before his eyes.

But Oberyn wasn’t like that! He loved her, he was devoted to her! They had two children together and he’d never changed his mind about his vow to her. He wouldn’t leave her. But Danaya’s words came rushing back like water from a trapped faucet, tempting the voice of self-doubt to speak up. Words that tormented her to an extreme and caused more hot, embarrassed tears to trickle down her cheeks. Gods, she was a fool!

Oberyn was worried when Y/N didn’t look up or say anything else as they parted in the corridor. Normally, when they would go about their business separately, she would leave him with a kiss on the lips and the promise of seeing him soon. Little moments of affection that made whatever dull meeting or rigorous training session he had waiting pass swifter because he could anticipate being back in her loving embrace afterwards.

This time, however, her eyes were cast downwards and she walked ahead with a hurried step. Oberyn was rooted in his spot, watching her hunched shoulders disappear behind the next turn of the corridor. His mind was trying to grasp at straws to comprehend what had happened. Was his beloved upset and if she was why hand’t he caught on? 

‘Prince Oberyn?’ One of the Palace guards came up behind him. ‘The Council is expecting you.’

‘How would a husband go about finding if his wife is upset?’ He asked.

The guard — although surprised at the bizarre question coming from his prince — replied, ‘Oh, one can never be quite sure, I suppose. Asking is a good place to start. If the princess is upset, it is most likely worries about the safety of the two princes. Everybody in the Palace knows how devoted she is to them.’

Oberyn sighed; he sincerely hoped that was the issue and not something else. Otherwise he would’ve been a complete fool for not noticing sooner. He was going to find out what had upset his beloved so and gather her up in his arms to soothe any worry that hung over her head. Hopefully whatever it was, it could wait while he went over Daenerys’s proposition with the members of the Council.

Y/N felt stupid. There was no other word to describe her the way she felt about herself. Stupid. Foolish. Absolutely ridiculous to be crying over such inconsequential matters. 

But she was. Her chest hurt and the skin on her face felt tight as her tears dried up. She probably looked like a right mess — all snotty and dishevelled after crying all the way to her and Oberyn’s room. 

She stopped at the large wooden doors that led to the bedchamber, hearing Jenne and Salvador’s voices on the other side. She knew there was no way to avoid a questioning from her maid once she noticed her reddened eyes and downhearted expression. She resolved herself to just walk in, put a smile on for the sake of her children and talk to Jenne to the side if need be. But right now, all she wanted to do was some quiet time with her two treasures. 

Y/N pushed the door open, smiling genuinely once she saw the endearing sight: Salvador was sat on the floor, holding a picture book open and babbling about animals, while Jenne sat next to him with Ellarion on her lap. The baby looked at his older brother with wide, curious eyes. He would let out a gurgle at whatever Salvador was saying which would prompt the latter to giggle wildly.

Most of the worries that wighted on Y/N’s heart were instantly lifted and she walked towards the trio. Kneeling down and pulling Salvador into her lap. 

‘Hi, Mama!’ Salvador looked up form his book. Y/N smiled down at him, pressing a kiss to his forehead. The little boy snuggled up to his mother and continued with his story about the horses that his Papa took him to see in the stables.

‘Is everything alright?’ Jenne asked quietly. Y/N looked up at her, noticing the worry in her honey-coloured eyes. She could tell Jenne everything, she knew that. There was a special kind of trust between a lady and her maid. The two had shared many things, happy and sad and everything in between. But at that moment, Y/N believed that her emotions would only trouble whoever was at the receiving end of her trying to put them into words. So she kept all that inside, hoping that it would just stop hurting and go away.

‘It’s nothing for you to be worried about. It must be exhaustion.’ Which wasn’t a lie, the sun was going down and she had been up since early morning. Thankfully, Jenne took pity on her and did not inquire further. 

‘How did the meeting go?’ She asked instead.

Y/N gulped. She was instantly reminded of the way Daenerys spoke to Oberyn, the way she practically undressed him with her eyes. Like Y/N wasn’t even there, like she didn’t matter. Like the fact that she was the wife of the man she was ogling was simply a triviality. 

‘It was fine. Despite first impressions, Daenerys Stormborn isn’t here to hurt anybody.’

‘Would it be prudent to share that information with my family?’ Jenne asked, casting a knowing smile to her mistress. Her words held a simple implication; her mother had an appetite for gossip. Not just the mundane things, but if one needed to pass out important information quickly the best course of action was to tell Jenne’s mother.

Y/N nodded, feeling some weight lift from her shoulders. She knew that they still needed to make a formal declaration to their people, let them know that all is well, but for now getting Jenne’s mother to spread the news would be the quickest and painless way to do it. ‘I believe it would be good to let them know you’re safe.’

‘Perfect!’ Jenne replied, bouncing Ellarion on her lap when he hiccuped.

‘Mama?’ Salvador tilted his head up to look at his mother once the book lost it’s appeal to him. ‘I wanna go see the dragon!’

‘The dragon? Aren’t you scared, my snakelet?’

‘I’m not!’ Salvador declared, jumping up from his mother’s lap. ‘I will climb on the dragon and fly in the sky!’

Y/N pretended to gasp in shock, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead in a dramatic fashion. ‘Oh, how that would scare your poor mother!’

‘Don’t be scared, Mama!’ Salvador walked up to Y/N and placed his tiny hands on her cheeks. ‘I will protect you.’

‘Will you, my darling?’

‘Yes, I am brave like Papa!’

‘That you are, my son!’ Nobody had heard or notice when exactly Oberyn had entered the chamber. He closed the door behind him and knelt down to welcome the incoming running toddler. He lifted him from the ground with ease and balanced him on his hip.

‘Papa, I want to see the dragon! Ple-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-ease!’ Salvador pleaded with his dad, practically vibrating with joy. It would prove difficult to put him to bed with all these external excitants now. 

Oberyn grinned at his son, but his smile faltered once he looked up to see his wife’s face but was instead met with the back of her head. Something was surely wrong and Oberyn needed to get to the bottom of it. But for that purpose, they needed to be alone.

‘I promise we will see the dragon tomorrow,’ Oberyn told his son, ‘but now I believe, bed awaits you.’

Salvador seemed reluctant. ‘I am not sleepy.’

‘You say that now, but I know you’ll be fighting to keep your eyes open in a minute.’ Oberyn lovingly poked his son in the belly, making him giggle. 

‘Okay, Papa.’ Salvador agreed and Oberyn kissed his cheek, before placing him back down on the floor. Jenne came around with Ellarion in her arms and reached an arm out for Salvador to take. But before taking it, a realisation seemed to dawn on Salvador. He ran over to his mother, straight into her arms and mumbling “good night” against her shoulder. 

‘Come, Salvador.’ Jenne called the boy back. ‘We should let Mama and Papa to rest. And we also need to get you in your night clothes.’

Oberyn was thankful for Jenne’s ability to read the room. He was sure that had she been born into a noble family, she would’ve been a masterful diplomat. And despite his adoration for all his children, he needed his two youngest out of the room so he could look after his wife.

The sound of the door closing echoed across the quiet room. Y/N had gotten up from the floor and had walked over to the built-in wardrobe in the furthest part of the room, and to all appearances she was simply looking through the clothes inside for something to wear to bed. On any other normal day, Oberyn would’ve suggested that she wear nothing and that would be it. But today, something was different.

The air between them was tense and Oberyn couldn’t deduce where the root of the issue was. So he was going to do what was best — talk to his wife and get to the bottom of it. Hopefully, whatever it was would be within his powers to mend.

‘My dove?’ Oberyn asked quietly. He drew closer to her, slowly and patiently. He observed the movements of her body to gouge some reaction form her. With shoulders hunched and the persistent refusal of meeting his eye, Oberyn made the decision to gently place his hands on her shoulders and turn her around.

Y/N teared up once more when she felt his soft touch on her skin. The place where his hands slowly enveloped her shoulders tingled. His warm touch felt grounding, soothing. 

She finally dared to look at him, get this done and over with, see if he still wants her and Oberyn felt his heartbeat stutter in his chest.

He hated seeing her cry. Even during her monthly courses, or when she was pregnant, when tears were expected and quite normal, he still felt tormented by the water gathering against her lashes and slowly dripping down her face. 

Y/N misinterpreted his reaction, his furrowed brows and alarmed gaze, to mean that he was upset with her. You’re not special, Danaya’s voice taunted her. She was nothing special, but she had upset him. And she lowered her face, looking at her bare toes that poked from underneath the hem of her dress. 

Oberyn placed two fingers on the underside of her chin and lifted her head. ‘What has upset you, my love.’

My love. Y/N hiccuped as the tears intensified. 

‘I’m sorry— it-it is nothing!’ She assured him, but her words held no conviction. ‘I will calm down in a moment, I-I am just being silly.’

Oberyn’s hands took ahold of her face. He could not let her look away. 

‘My love, if it causes you so much distress—’ he spoke softly to her, he didn’t seem angry ‘—then it worries me. Please… I want to help you.’

Y/N stared into Oberyn’s eyes. He seemed truly in distress. She took a deep breath.

‘I was… I was upset by the way she behaved.’ She explained plainly. ‘I didn’t like the way she seemed to be trying to… entice you.’

‘Entice me? She—’ Oberyn was taken aback, but something clicked and a smirk broke out on his face. ‘You were jealous, my dove?’

Y/N scoffed and pushed past him, walking back towards the bed. ‘Forget it. I told you, I’m being silly.’

‘Being jealous is nothing to be ashamed of,’ Oberyn explained. It actually made him feel flattered that his wife was so protective of him, so possessive. It was oddly arousing. ‘You have nothing to worry about. She does not hold a candle to you.’

A violent, loud sob broke out from the confinement of Y/N’s chest. Oberyn immediately sensed he’d said the wrong thing. His beloved was crying, hugging her arms around her in a display that could only show how much she wanted to sink into the floor and disappear from view.

He went up to her and she let him. He wrapped his arms around her and she let him. She practically slumped against his chest, but Oberyn held her steady. He pressed kisses to the crown of her head, letting her cry out her woes and decide when she wanted to open up. He was there to hold her and wordlessly assure her that he’d listen. 

’S-she’s beautiful,’ Y/N hiccuped against his chest.

Oberyn scoffed lightly, ‘She’s much too pale for my liking.’

‘But she’s beautiful. You cannot deny that. And I-I… Gods, I can’t compare to her!’

‘My dove, what are you talking about? You are magnificent.’

Y/N looked up at him. ‘I do not feel that way. I feel… I feel like a seashell that’s been pushed around by the waves too many times and has lost its lustre.’ She sniffed. ‘Ever since Ellarion’s birth, I have felt like an impostor in my own skin. I am too large in places where I wasn’t, and too soft in places where I was fit. And I—’ she sobbed at the incoming train of thought ‘—I am s-scared that you will wake up one day a-and see that, too. That you are going to lose all interest in me and I will become nothing to you.’

Oberyn’s heart broke in two at her revelation, his chest hurting as if someone had stabbed him and twisted the blade. His wife — his love — believed that he would lose his interest in her. His own eyes started to feel heavy with tears and he held her close. He felt ashamed of himself for failing to notice that his wife was in emotional torment. All of a sudden, it all seemed to click. The way she would wave off any compliments he sent her way, the way she seemed less sure of wearing the revealing dresses she once favoured.

‘Y/N, look at me.’ Oberyn placed his palm on her cheek, brushing the tears away with the pad of his thumb. ‘I am sorry I did not notice this before. I am ashamed that I did not pay enough attention and my lack of attention allowed these thoughts fester in that beautiful head of yours.’ He kissed her forehead. ‘I should’ve spent every breath in my chest to tell you how beautiful you are, because it is the simple truth. I think about it every day, every moment when we are apart. You are beautiful, my love. Exquisite. Bewitching. Divine.’ 

‘There is no another woman, no other person—’ he kissed her brow, ‘—who could ever hold your place in my heart—’ he kissed the tip of her nose, ‘— no queen, no highborn lady, no man or woman from here until the edge of this earth—’ he kissed her right cheek, then the left, the let his lips hover over hers for a second.

‘You are my wife, my love, my world entire. And if you ever doubt yourself, then place your hand over my heart.’ Oberyn took one of Y/N’s hands and brought it up to his chest, right above where his heart beat wildly with emotion. ‘This heart beats for you. Whenever I see you, or even think of you, my heart races like a wild horse.’

Y/N’s eyes glimmered with a new wave of tears. These, however, were brought upon by something good. Oberyn guided her back until the back of her knees hit the edge of the bed and she had to sit down. He then slowly sank to his knees before her, moving her hand from his heart to his cheek, keeping it there for the moment.

‘What are you doing?’ Y/N rasped in question.

‘I’m bending the knee,’ Oberyn replied simply. 

Y/N scoffed, ‘Do not jest. You can only bend the knee to—’

‘To a king, or queen. In demonstration of fealty.’

‘Oberyn, I am no queen.’

‘You are my queen,’ he swore. ‘You are every bit a queen, and even more so. You care for our people, you care for our family. You are just and you are grace incarnate.’ 

‘I would bend the knee to you a thousand times, before thinking of doing it for Daenerys Targaryen.’ He continued with his vow as Y/N watched on in reverence. ‘She is not my queen, I have made no vows to her. Nor will I ever do so. The decision to join her war must be made by the whole Martell family, but allegiance to her will only go as far as me pledging my spear to her cause. My life, honour and duty are yours, my beloved.’

‘Oh, Oberyn!’ Y/N sobbed quietly and surged forward to claim his lips in hers. 

All sensations were as if multiplied by a thousand in this beautiful moment; the gentle scratch of Oberyn’s moustache against Y/N’s upper lip, his hand against her cheek and the other on her hip, the low grunt that reverberated from his throat and was promptly swallowed into Y/N’s desperate kiss. 

‘Please, my love,’ Oberyn whimpered against her mouth, ‘let me worship you tonight. Let me show you just how much I crave you. Queen of my heart. Mother of my children. Goddess divine.’

Y/N gasped as Oberyn lowered her back onto the bedsheets while she pulled him on top of her. The position wasn’t the most comfortable since their legs were hanging off the edge of the mattress, but they couldn’t care less. ‘Yes! Oberyn, please!’

‘Will you let me see you, my dove?’ Oberyn gently pawed at her dress, but patiently waited for her permission before going forward. ‘I wish to gaze upon you, all of you.’

Y/N nodded, her voice caught in her throat with emotion and arousal. But she knew she needed to give her husband a vocal response, otherwise he would not go any further. It was an unspoken rule between the two of them, and one that was so untraditional for the rest of Westeros: unless both of them were in complete agreement to go forward with their lovemaking, fucking or otherwise, they would cease all activity. Oberyn said once that sex was about the participants enjoying themselves fully and he could never enjoy forcing his wife to do something she didn’t want to do. Y/N shared his sentiment.

In that moment, despite being very emotional and having just opened the window for Oberyn to gaze into her insecurities, Y/N wanted him. She wanted the closeness his naked skin on hers afforded her. She wanted his lips, his hips, his cock everywhere. She craved him just as much as he did her.

‘Yes, Oberyn! Please! Please, I want you!’ She babbled, desperate for his love and attention. Oberyn pushed himself up on his knees and helped her lie back against the pillows at the head of their bed. He knelt between her open legs, opening the flaps of her skirt and caressing her bare legs.

‘These I love, because they carry you from the greatest distance straight to my arms,’ he whispered, lowering down to press an open-mouthed kiss against her calf. He pressed another kiss to her knee and then repeated the action to the other leg. 

Y/N’s heart was fluttering with excitement. 

Oberyn lowered himself onto his belly and licked a long stripe on the inside of her thigh, lifting the skirt of her dress further and further up. Until he reached his destination. A smirk pulled against his lips.

‘This—’ his fingers slipped between Y/N’s folds and she moaned loudly at the feeling. ‘—is one of my favourite parts of your body. It brought our children into the world.’ The combination of high emotions and stimulation from his fingers felt exhilarating. Oberyn opened her up like opening the petals of a rose for his tongue to delve in and gently lick at her sensitive clit. His arms came underneath her things and held them in a tight hold, keeping her pulsating cunt against his face.

Y/N couldn’t think, couldn’t coherently speak in that moment. Her hands were buried in the curls of Oberyn’s hair, pulling at them, yanking at them whenever he sucked at her bundle of nerves. His tongue was lapping at her folds, her clit and her entrance. Y/N’s head was pushed against the pillows underneath, her mouth hanging open in a soundless moan. 

‘The most beautiful—’ he growled between loud, lewd slurps of her ‘—fucking cunt—’ he was eating her out like a man starved ‘—in the known world.’

‘O-Oberyn!’ Y/N gasped, feeling herself near that blissful edge. The pleasure was pulsating, drawing her closer, and back, and closer, and back. 

Until the coil stopped and much like powerful wave, crashing against a rock on the shore, she wailed in ecstasy. She drenched Oberyn’s mouth and chin in her juices, but he wasted no time before dutifully cleaning her up. Lights exploded behind her eyes and the evening was illuminated by intense pleasure. 

Y/N’s entire body shook like a leaf and she struggled to catch her breath. She sobbed with relief, and pleasure, and adoration. Oberyn peppered her upper thighs with kisses before drawing up and removing his jacket and shirt, dropping them on the floor. 

‘Are you well, my dove?’ He asked tenderly, eyebrows furrowed in concert at the sight of more tears in her eyes. Y/N didn’t know she had it in her to cry even more, but the water dripping onto her cheeks could not be mistaken. She wasn’t sad. She was overjoyed and she wanted to hold her husband close.

‘I love you s-so m-much,’ she stuttered as her body continued shaking.

‘I love you too,’ Oberyn wrapped her up in his arms, laying his face against her neck. ‘I love you with all that I am and all that I will be.’ 

They stayed like that for a few moments of quietude while Y/N’s body settled. She had wrapped her legs around his waist, keeping him as close as possible and Oberyn wouldn’t object. He was whispering sweet nothings to her, slowly kissing her throat and climbing his way up to her lips. 

Oberyn hummed against Y/N’s mouth and pulled away to look at her. He brushed the stray hairs away form her face and smiled down at her.

‘My beautiful wife,’ he whispered in reverence. ‘I will not cease to remind you of that. Of how beautiful you are to me. My dove,’ he smiled and kissed her lips, slowly and with every bit of passion in his body. 

‘Now, before I get back to pleasuring you to both our hearts’ content, I want you to drink and eat,’ he said, sitting up, and pulled Y/N with him. She settled in his lap, with her arms tightly woven around his neck. ‘You must be all dried up from shedding tears and I want you to have plenty of water now. Is that alright?’ 

‘Yes, my love.’ Y/N felt her lips pull in a genuine smile. Gods, how she loved that man! ‘I’m sorry I worried you.’

‘Don’t apologise, dove. It is I who should feel guilty for not noticing sooner that you weren’t feeling well in your mind. Now, we must put some nourishments in you.’

Y/N giggled, laying back down. Oberyn jumped from the bed, groaning at the cracks in his back which made his wife laugh. He went to their little round table by the balcony doors where the servants always left an array of cheeses, bread, berries, grapes, wine and a pitcher of water. Oberyn grabbed the pitcher and two goblets in one hand, he placed the wooden plate of cheeses on top of the bowl of berries and carried all that effortlessly in his hands over to the bed.

He placed the items down, arranging them on the edge of the bed. He set the pitcher down on the bedside drawer and filled the two goblets, before handing one to Y/N. When the fresh water hit her lips, she realised how parched her mouth and throat felt, and greedily gulped down the whole goblet-full. Happily, Oberyn sat down next to his wife and drank his own water.

He crawled back on the bed and the two switched positions so he was laying down. Before Y/N could lay next to him, Oberyn pulled on top of him, sitting her down on top of his hard (still clothed) cock. 

‘Now… before we enjoy these delicacies—’ he smirked as his fingers itched against the strings that held Y/N’s dress together at the waist, ‘—I wish to gaze upon your beautiful body, my love.’

There was a question in his eyes to which Y/N replied by taking his hand and guiding it to the little tie. She smiled and nodded for him to continue, heart going back to its envois rhythm. 

Oberyn loosened the strings and the dress sagged against Y/N’s body. He then slid his hands underneath the fabric and pushed it off of her shoulders. He sighed as the entirety of his wife’s body was revealed to his adoring eyes. 

He sat up, drawing her in an embrace, and observed every curve, mark and blemish that to his eyes were fascinating.

‘I love these—’ he tenderly rubbed his hands against the soft, supple skin where her upper legs joined her waistline, ‘—especially because of those little lightning-like lines on them. It is as if the gods have blessed you in some way that could only manifest itself in these interesting markings.’

‘I love this—’ his thumbs rubbed against the roundness of her belly, ‘—because you carried our two children in here. To this day, I fail to find the proper words to describe the magnitude of my reverence for you. The way you glowed in your pregnancy, the strength you had when your labour began. You are a stunning woman, my dove!’

Oberyn smiled coyly as he continued on, ‘I particularly love these—’ he pushed his face against her breasts which elicited a laugh from Y/N and she kissed his head, ‘—because they are just… hmm, what would I even liken them to?’

‘Melons?’ Y/N supplied jokingly.

‘Too common. No, yours my darling are simply marvellous.’ Oberyn bit at the skin of her left breast before drawing her nipple into his mouth, gently sucking on it. Y/N’s eyelids fluttered close at the sensation and her head lulled back. 

‘And finally—’ he looked up and stared into her eyes, ‘…beautiful. Simply beautiful.’

Y/N’s eyes closed and she pressed her forehead against Oberyn’s for a moment of bliss. 

‘I know that a few embellished words won’t fix everything. They won’t instantly make you feel better. But I will make sure that you know the magnitude of my appreciation for every part of your body and soul, beloved.’ Oberyn promised. ‘And even if I don’t say it, you know I have other ways of showing appreciation.’

Y/N smiled, ‘I do.’

‘There is no one else and there never will be. I am yours, and you are mine.’ He repeated the words of their vows and sealed them once more with a kiss. A slow, tender exchange that seemed to span days, weeks, millennia. A simple action that joined their hearts as one. ‘Now, I wish to make love to you until we pass out, but if you are too tired—’

‘Yes, Oberyn!’ Y/N interrupted him with a desperate sigh against his mouth which made Oberyn laugh in earnest as he removed the last piece of clothing on his body and laid his wife back down on their plush mattress, making good on his word.

Next chapter

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Please, do let me know if you like the story! The prologue didn’t get as much attention as I expected, but I hope you’re interested. 

(taglist is open)

tags: @wonderlandgabby @klaine-92 @agingerindenial​ @thesadvampire​ @gothicxbarbie​ @paintballkid711​  @sarahjkl82-blog​ @tercabed​ @ayamenimthiriel​ @maharani-radha-writes​ @gingerbreadandpaper​ @talesfromtheguild​ @beefcakebarnes​ @thebatshitcrazyfangirl​ @eternallyvenus​ @mrsdaamneron​ @kat-nee​ @h1de-s0urce​ @panagiasikelia​ @frietiemeloen​ @luckystrikesalterego​ @fruit-of-my-hoechloins​ @bbuckysbeardd​ @supernaturalgirl20​ @stankface​ @persie33​ @fan-of-encouragement​ @cjbtw​ @rosewinx​ @frietiemeloen​ @captn-andor​ @emofairyprincessofarkansas​ @ikinmahlen​ 

[peakyblindersxx]

whiskey business - john shelby x reader (part 6 of ?)

gif by my queen @michaelgreys, i'm basically her fanblog now but im not mad about it :) i mean just look at him!!1! i almost fainted

a/n: first of all, if you stuck around to this point, tysm for reading!!! this has been one of the most amazing fics ive ever been a part of and it's all thanks to the gorgeous @stxdyblr-2k, who generously took control of the next few parts. her brain is beautiful and we all owe her flowers or something. when i read what she sent me i couldn't bring myself to change much except for some small edits, so pls give her lots of love if you like it!!!! i'm still working on requests as well :)

love, abi xxx

read part one two three four five | my masterlist

tagging: @datewithgianni, @mayaslifeinabox, @deepdonutkid, @springsoulofengland, @lilymurphy03

prompt: nothing this good can last forever. john doesn't know how to feel, and neither do you.

warnings: nsfw! a teensy bit of smut, angsty as fuck prepare yourselves accordingly, a lil fluff if u squint, yeah this fucked me up

Obviously, it wasn't the last time.

Over the coming months you had many last times; his mouth pressed against your neck said as much. As his responsibility at work increased, you'd find yourself heading to his office after your lectures and night classes more often, perched on his lap, smoking, while he finished up his numbers under your critical gaze.

Thomas was more than aware; his snarky comments made it obvious he had his ways of monitoring your actions. You'd seen the dark car lurking outside your rallies and lectures, and no matter how you'd try to throw him off, not even telling Ada where you were going and even, in a moment of desperation, through your neighbours back window, somehow, his silent shadow was still looming. He was practically begging you to make a mistake, to give everyone an easy out. You just couldn't give him the satisfaction. You knew Tommy saw the world as a chess board, always several moves ahead of his opponent. Even when you played him in chess club all those years ago, you could outflank him if you thought on your feet and kept him thinking he was winning until you obliterated him in the end game. It was brutal, sure. But as he told you, there were bigger games at play. You had your own. Thomas could read your mail, intercept your phone calls and have you followed, but he couldn't hear what you said out of earshot. Your lot could smell an interceptor in your ranks, so spying at that close of a proximity was out of the question.

That's why he'd decided to let you have John. You knew his silent approval and his constant management of the narrative meant he saw a tactical gain. There was only so much information he could get from Ada, but John? He just had to agitate him in the right way and all your secrets would come tumbling out. It was difficult hiding your world from John; of what he knew of, he was supportive, quizzing you over current affairs and political discourse, listening intently. Yet, you had to watch your mouth. You had to keep a barrier up and you knew John sensed the distance. Fundamentally, there was nothing either of you could do.

So here you were, in a comfortable limbo. Your days were filled with work, evenings were for lectures and reading groups at the city's university, Ada and you often stopped for a drink or three; you'd go by your flat to freshen up, and then to John's office. Sometimes, you wouldn't visit for a week or so when the guilt sent you over the edge, it was draining to be living so many lives and knowing you were betraying the person you loved most on earth. Ada was oblivious, taking you on her nightly adventures filled with men, dancing and waiting while she was busy kissing in dark corners. Sometimes a young blinder would ask if you wanted to be walked home. The first occurrence you thought was sweet, but as the nights it occurred coincided with nights John seemed extra pent up, you'd decided to ask. The boy, who couldn't be older than twelve but who you knew was trained in using firearms and had a revolver pinned to his hip and a razor in his cap, looked confused.

"Mate, it's not a tough question. Why do you come and ask?"

"There's a phone call." He shrugs, "Isaiah or Michael tells us to go and get you."

Isaiah and Michael were somewhat aware? Fucking hell. Your fling was basically a military campaign at this point, so many of your friends were complicit. The little lads who ran as messengers around Birmingham were complicit. You had to just end it.

But when you sat on his thigh, his chin hooked over your shoulder, it felt so worth it. He never turned you away when you came crawling back. He never mentioned it until after you were finished, hooked under his arm.

"Fucking missed you, gorgeous."

Sometimes he'd remind you not to be a stranger with a wink, but you could tell it was tearing him apart too. He never once came to you. That's how he could justify it in his mind; obviously, the bare minimum was not having sex with his sister's best friend, but in failing that, waiting for you to initiate it was somewhat better. He barely talked to Ada now, citing work as an excuse, but truly the guilt sickened him. He couldn't believe he was prepared to continuously hurt his little sister and betray her. But every time you turned up at his door, he couldn't find it in himself to turn you away. In his mind, every single time you came to visit him was the last time he'd let it happen, yet he was always waiting for you to come back, his blind closed to signal he was prepared. He never would call, it had to be your choice.

You'd been off and on for over five months now. It was so difficult to hide in plain sight, but you just couldn't stop yourself. Neither of you purposefully meant for this to be happen but fuck, was it fun.

For your birthday he'd gifted you a fur coat from the same shop his sister, aunt and the fashionable crowd of Birmingham had purchased theirs. He joked that you looked like a "proper razor chaser", kissing you when you pouted at his teasing, begging you to wear only the coat when you fucked him next. It was a practice for blinders to buy a coat for their wives and girlfriends as a status symbol. You were neither, but John claimed that being his "favourite lass" also counted.

John was a laugh, but you knew at any time he could close his door to you. Until he decided he couldn't be bothered with you, you weren't going to get caught. You just had to be careful until he got bored.

***

You did end up putting a foot wrong. It was a Thursday night; you were sitting on the edge of John's desk while he was ridding you of your blouse. It was past midnight, Birmingham was asleep. You almost didn't bother coming out tonight, but you knew John had lost a deal and you wanted to be there for him. Your skirt and stockings were strewn across the desk with his shirt, vest and waistcoat, muddled into the files and papers which were once neatly stacked.

His fingers were pumping in and out of you, his mouth lapping at your breast, your head tipped back in euphoria, groaning. The stress made him more affectionate and tender with you, and it was nights like these that made you wonder. Wonder if this could ever be something more, something real.

John's body suddenly pulled away from yours, quickly turning the light off.

"John, what-" You were cut off by John’s hand over your mouth, muffling your words.

"Shut up and get behind the desk." He hissed. "Someone's coming upstairs."

You quickly grabbed your clothes from the shiny oak surface and crouched, hiding yourself from view, quickly making yourself decent. You weren't going to get shot through the head with your tits out. You listened to the stairs creek, and it sounded like a group. You two were easily outnumbered. They were talking, but the thick panels of wood muffled their voices.

As your eyes adjusted to the darkness, the cracks in the door giving the room a dulled glow, you could make out the figure of John. He was free of his shirt, toned body on display, standing with his back flat to the wall, revolver produced from a discreet notch in the door frame, gaze fixed on where they'd enter. He was tense, ready. The door was unlocked from the outside, the door handle twisting.

John's lip shifted in confusion yet still he kept his trigger finger ready, not a single shake from your general.

The light flicked on and a shriek rang out. It was blinding, and you stood up slightly dazed. Finn was in the doorway, John next to him clutching his chest, panting and lowering the gun.

"Jesus Christ, Finn, can't you knock like a normal person? Scared the shit out of us." John bellowed, shaking as the adrenaline coursed through his body, resting his hands on the edge of the desk as he regained his breath.

"You're the one who pointed a gun at me! I didn't even know you were in 'ere!" Finn yelped.

The commotion had attracted the attention of Ada and Isaiah, who had come running and stopped in their tracks upon seeing you standing behind John's desk in the middle of the night. They weren't stupid. John was topless, your clothes obviously rumpled, both with matching tousled hair and practically stinking of guilt. You'd been caught red handed. Ada's eyes flicked between both you and John, and you could practically see the pieces of the puzzle clicking together in her mind, all the moments she found questionable since you'd returned suddenly making sense, realising she had been deceived by the two people who she was meant to trust most in life. Finn looked absolutely crushed, he'd never been able to conceal his emotions as well as his older brothers and sister, linking his fingers through Ada's, squeezing her hand.

"I forgot to drop this off earlier." Finn stated, holding up a money box, "Ada had keys so we thought we'd sneak in so I wouldn't get done by Tommy. We did call round yours, Y/N. We thought you were in bed."

"I'm sorry." You said. It was not enough but you just didn't know what else to say. You couldn't make it right, you'd really fucked up this time. Tears pricked at your eyes, as Ada examined you in silence.

John stepped in front of you defensively. "Look, Ada-"

"How long has this been going on?" She asked, her voice shaking with rage. You and John exchanged a glance. "I said, how fucking long?"

"Five months, six in a fortnight." He answered.

Isaiah whistled lowly. "That's fucked. I thought it was only a few times, that it'd finished."

"Never really over when it's John is it." Finn interjects, you glance to him, were you just one in a long string? You shouldn't be surprised but it was easy to pretend he may actually care about you.

"You've been fucking around for six months behind my back?" Ada yelped, Finn trying to comfort her but she pulled away from him. "And you fucking knew Iz."

"I'd expect this from you, yeah? Wouldn't put anything past you these days.." she sneered at John, "But you? You?! You're meant to be my best mate, but here you are sneaking about fucking my brother?"

"Ada-" you began, eyes welling with tears.

"I thought I could trust you. You're just another fucking razor chaser, aren't you?" She spits. "That's why you came back."

"No it wasn't, Ada-"

Her eyes flashed with anger, but this time John was on the receiving end. "You bought her that fucking coat ,didn't you? The fur one. You did! Fuck's sake!" Her fists were clenched, shoulders squared. For the first time in your life, you understood why crowds parted for Ada Shelby. Understood all the free drinks and cab rides, the nervous serving staff declaring your meal on the house (always acknowledged by Ada with a hefty tip), understood why the men of Birmingham didn't last long with her.

"Did it feel good to swan about town in that fucking coat, while acting as though you cared about me? It's so fucking embarrassing. All trussed up because my knobhead big brother makes you feel special? Thanks for rubbing it in my face."

"Ada, I love you. I never meant to hurt you, I got caught up and that's on me. It's my fault."

"You're not acting like you love me. This isn’t what love is, Y/N." She retorted.

You couldn’t do anything but nod. She was right.

John opened his mouth to speak, Ada silencing him, a scowl darkening her features.

"I don't care what you have to say. Any of you. Who else knows?"

"Thomas, Michael, Arthur-" John listed off slowly, each name prompting Ada to break down a little bit more in front of you.

"I didn't know Arthur knew." You said pointedly, John sending you an exasperated glance. He was planning on dealing with that later, but right now was about his sister. Fuck him if he thought you were going to stick around much longer. You didn't want to hear him justify everyone else knowing about your fling with your best friend being left completely in the dark.

"That all you have to say for yourself?" Ada snaps at you.

"I have fucking no defense, do I Ada? I should've walked away." You pushed your hair back, frustrated at yourself, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You begged yourself not to cry. Tears wouldn't help anything.

"Why didn't you?"

You didn't know. Your silence only riled her up.

"Why didn't you fucking walk away?" Ada yelled, slamming her hands on the desk.

You felt hot tears run down your face, quickly moving your hands to dab at your tears.

"Don't you dare fucking cry. After all you've done, you don't get to cry in front of me." Ada growled at you, John going to shush her, obviously wanting to comfort you. "You can all fuck off. You've all lied to me and gone behind my back. Fuck’s sake, you could've just told me. You could've just told me."

"We didn't want to hurt you." John said, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder but she flinches away.

"This hurts so much more. You get that you all lying to me is so much worse, don't you?"

"We weren't thinking."

"You really fucking weren't." Ada laughs bitterly, shaking her head, blinking away tears. "Fuck you lot."

She stormed out, tailed by Finn, begging her to slow down and talk to him, protesting his innocence in the situation. Isaiah hesitated in the doorway, his eyes flickering between you and John.

"I had no idea you two've been at it for so long."

"Iz, fuck off yeah? I've had enough today." John shot back, sliding across the desk towards you. "You alright, lass?"

"We're done here, John."

He slid off the table, his hand cupping your face, "Hey, gorgeous, I get it but don't go breaking my heart tonight. Can we just leave this for tomorrow? Sleep on it."

The idea of getting any sleep at all tonight was laughable, you'd be up all night replaying these moments and torturing yourself. Tonight couldn't get any worse so you had to finally end it. Now was the right time.

"John, it should've never happened."

"But it did."

"I don't want to talk about this anymore. It's over."

"Y/N. You know for me it was never just about-"

"You're making it difficult. Stop making it difficult. Whatever you say isn't going to change that right now we have to do the right thing."

"I know you're right, but I don't want to let go. Is it so wrong to want you? I adore you, you know that."

You wouldn't meet his eyes. Sighing, John pressed his forehead to the side of your head, chin brushing your shoulder, eyes closing. He was begging you to stay with him. There had to be a solution, you'd figure it out together. His voice was cracking, eyes glassy. He looked so much younger when he was pleading. The tall bloke who terrorised the Midlands with his razor rimmed cap, a revolver in his hand, and a ruthless trigger finger had vanished. You wanted to stay, burning to curl up with him and for him to kiss it better.

"I should go." You told him. He rested his forehead on your shoulder, letting out a shaky sigh before pulling away, nodding.

"I'd drive you home but obviously-"

"Obviously."

John suddenly turned from you, eyes narrowing at Isaiah who was still hovering at the door. "Thought I told you to fuck off. Make yourself useful and get Y/N home safely." His tone was ice cold once again.

Isaiah nodded, offering his arm to you. You reached the door and instinctively looked back at John. His eyes met yours, staring at you from his desk, just as you knew he would. He prepared himself to watch you leave every night, but this time was different. That was it with you two.

Isaiah strode down the street with you in silence. You were tucked into his side as was customary with the upcoming blinders who were particularly ambitious, but there was no relaxed chat.

"Isaiah. What’re you thinking?" You asked, voice tinged with nervousness.

He sighed, running his free hand across his jaw, "That was intense in there."

"Just how he is." You shrugged.

"Does he love you or sommet?"

"Fuck knows… does it matter?"

"Of course it does. Do you love him?"

"Drop it. None of that matters, it shouldn't have happened in the first place so it can’t," You snapped, the anger at the situation you'd created suddenly overwhelming.

Isaiah whistled, raising his brow at your obvious turmoil. "You're in fucking deeper than you want to admit."

He walked you up your path, watching you turn the key to the side door leading to your bedsit. You paused, turning to him.

"Iz… I don't know what to do next."

It was so dark, you could see his face only by the lit cigarette burning to embers between his fingers. He inhaled deeply, pausing before delivering his carefully laid out plan of avoidance. Obviously the event of him crossing the Shelbys and losing their good graces weighed heavily on his mind. You nodded, listening intently, noting his ideas of relocation but he explained they were a final resort. The best thing to do was try to regain their trust; in the long run, he had calculated, it was the only option that didn't result in your life being haunted by the Shelbys. Even if they left you alone, their enemies would make a point to go after you, seeing you as an easy target. The other option was to leave the country.

"Good luck, Y/N. I mean it." He muttered as you turned the handle to the temporary safety of your home. You nodded, offering you cheek for the polite good night kiss you'd become accustomed to. He rolled his eyes and obliged, pressing an affectionate kiss to your cheek and ruffling your hair. "I'm serious. Watch your back."

***

John broke down when he finally heard the lock click shut. His eyes had been prickling with boiling tears, his jaw tensed to hold them back. He yelled out in anger, flipping his desk with force, a loud crash as the wood splintered against the stone flooring, glass shattering from the photo frames. His hands went to his head, unable to stop the gasping breaths escaping from his trembling lips, his face reddening.

"Fuck’s sake." He growled. He'd fucked everything up. He had nothing, just as he'd told you the first night you returned. The consequence was no surprise, he'd anticipated the fall out for a while, but he couldn't resist you. He was completely guilty and had no defense; his only justification being that you made him think with his cock, not his brain.

Fuck’s sake. Polly was going to murder him. She'd always had a soft spot for Ada, as the only girl in the family, and was no stranger to lecturing him over his flirtatious behaviour around Ada's friends. She'd murder him. He had a half mind to never go home. He rubbed at his eyes with his knuckles. Polly had no use for tears. That's what she'd tell him when he was a boy coming home with a skinned knee. This was far worse.

He was also sure that he was a worse brother than Tommy, perhaps the worst in the world. His baby sister, who he'd helped to toddle, carry proudly on his shoulders after school and race with her on his back through the fields on the outskirts of Small Heath, had walked in on him obviously in the midst of fucking her best mate. If he had swallowed his pride and actually talked to her, he wouldn't be in this mess. He could've told her that things changed, that for the same reasons Ada loved Y/N he had fallen for her, that he was truly sorry but she had to know before it got too far and someone got hurt. He couldn't go back.

He should've never approached you that night.

He should never approach you again.

He looked over the mess of his office, the splintered wood and shards of glass, a confetti of paperwork. Now nothing mattered. None of this mattered. He'd lost everything and he had only himself to blame.

[mehphoobia]

AROMA

Pairing- Sebastian Stan(ceo) x reader(café owner)

Summary- Funny how a complete stranger is enough to add a little aroma to your life...

Warnings- I think there are none but if you fall for a soft Seb then❤

REQUEST OPEN

____________________________🤍_____________________________

"Write it down..two bags of Arabica, 500 gms of cinnamon sticks and .."

you placed your monthly order over phone and after you were done a female voice from the other side of the phone repeated your order to confirm. "Is that all it?" the voice enquired. "Yes that will be all for now and please Danielle send me two bags only. You know what trouble you had put me through when you sent me twenty bags of coffee."

Oh how could you forget, three weeks..it took three weeks to get over that problem when Danielle has messed up the order. Anyways that was around four months ago but would stop rubbing her nose on it? Definitely not. "Oh would you stop already please? The new head of the facility is pretty hot." expressed Danielle.

"Excuse me did you say hot?" you repeated the sentence as you chuckled. "I-I m-mean hot tempered. There is no room for any mistakes." she corrected.

Danielle, who happened to be your best friend worked in SIPHON the best facility which stored coffee which was imported and exported from and all around the world. When your grandfather had opened this café, he wanted nothing less than the best quality of coffee for his customers and SIPHON was the best place to choose from.

"Well isn't that satisfactory." you smiled as you thanked her and cut the call, to receive a notification from SIPHON that your order was confirmed and will be arriving in four days.

You sighed as you looked at the sky which appeared to be shy around you as it was changing its colors from a soft blue to a shade of orange marking the end of the day. As the sun was setting, the natural light ran along the walls giving life to all of the photographs that hung. "Are you happy pabby?" you asked the question to your grandfather's picture, wishing for it to answer. But as always it stayed quiet as it did for the past three years when you had taken over the café to keep your grandfather's dream alive.

It was a Sunday, the one day where you could open up your café a little late than usual. You groaned as you crawled from your bed and freshened up. Unlike every Sunday, you bought flower bouquets and headed towards the orphanage.

"Sister Amelia?" you stood near the gate and waited. "Y/N, oh!" Sister Amelia exclaimed you could feel the restlessness in her voice. Upon questioning she mentioned that some wealthy guy had come to talk to the children at the orphanage. It was not the number of people that scared Sister Amelia, it was the children. The sudden intrusion scared the children.

"Where is he?" you questioned as you handed over the bouquet. "Inside..but be careful" Sister Amelia warned as you stepped inside. You couldn't see the man at first but when he stood up from his crouched position, you were overwhelmed by his aura. His beautiful face was tensed up in confusion and awkwardness. You couldn't help but smile at his demeanor. He was dressed in a three piece suit stood like a child being punished as he was trying to get the children comfortable around him. It was so endearing and so was he.

"Sister y/n?" exclaimed Miguel, a five year old boy, as he came running to you. All the children seemed to have let go of their agony when they saw your face and hurdled around you. Funny what miracles a comforting smile from a person you know can do.

The man's tension disappeared when you walked the children towards him and introduced every single one of them. He spent around an hour with them before he finally spoke to you.

"Thank you" you flinched at his heavy voice. "What for?" you asked innocently. "Thank you for getting them comfortable. Its not a very usual sight to see. Anyways, my name is Sebastian Stan." he said as he extended his hands towards you. "Well its a shame that people find you intimidating Mr.Stan. My name is Y/L/N" you said as you accepted his greeting.

"Please call me Sebastian, Ms.Y/N" he said as both of you started walking down the stairs. "Please call me Y/N." The sudden mimicry caused him to laugh and you chuckled. It was a small town and almost everyone knew about one another. It was nice to talk to someone new like him.

"So Sebastian, what business do you have here?" you asked him as the both of you decided to sit on one of the stairs. He whipped his head in your direction when you said his name but you couldn't see that as the children and their playful laughter had attracted your attention. He looked at how beautifully the sun rays decorated your skin and how the shadow of the leaves hid your skin from the sun rays. How beautiful your eyes looked every time you smiled. It made him smile too.

The sudden silence shifted your attention back to Sebastian and you caught him staring at you. He realized that the question was left attended for, "I took over the facility here. SIPHON" he cleared his throat. "So you are the new head?" you asked causing him to frown.

"How did.." he questioned.

"Oh I have a café and all my coffee based orders are from SIPHON" you explained to which he nodded. You talked about how you took over the café and about your grandfather. He heard everything silently, how passionately you talked about your work and your family.

"You must really like your job, I mean taking over an entire facility..its a great deal" you spoke to which he lowered his glance. "Its complicated, I was forced to take over the facility. I thought maybe if I make myself familiar to the surroundings, I would like this place so we visited the orphanage" he said looking at the children. "To be honest I know my business but its just business for me, its not something that I like to do. I can't even differentiate between different types of coffees and here I am running an entire facility." the way his face fell while he expressed about his situation, you knew he didn't want this kind of life. His earlier sentence of people being uncomfortable around him made sense. He never let him be himself around people because he was forced and he was afraid.

Both of you got up and walked down the remaining stairs and reached the gate. He thanked you for your gesture and sat in his car and just then, "You know what, every kind of coffee is unique and has different characteristics but the main difference comes from the aroma. So the next time you look at a coffee bag, observe the aroma" you spoke. He sighed and looked at your reassuring smile. You started walking away after bidding him goodbye and he looked at your figure getting smaller as you walked away from him.

"Sir may we leave for the facility?" his secretary questioned him from the front sit.

"Yes and also please keep me updated about Ms. Y/N" he said your name with a smile plastered on his face as his car made its way towards the facility.

Finally you received your delivery from SIPHON and the correct number of bags made you chuckle. But there happened to be a letter on top of the cinnamon packet which was beautifully decorated in the colors of white and gold. As you picked up the letter and began reading it, you smiled.

"You were right, the aromas are different and so are you." it read.

____________________________🤍_____________________________

A/N: Hey guys this is my one first Sebastian Stan fanfic. I hope you all like this one. This plot has been one my mind for couple of days and I found this very pure and simple and I thought Sebastian Stan would be perfect for it cause he has this aura I absolutely love.

My requests are open so you can go ahead and send me your plots and please do go and check out my other fanfictions as well.

REQUEST OPEN

Love yourself...you are worth it❣❣

[meher-sumedha]

Gwynriel Headcanon - The Summer Court

Azriel, Elain and Gwyn finally arrive at the summer court after 15 minutes but felt like eternity to Gwyn. They were right outside Tarquin's mansion. "Excuse me" Gwyn said while putting a hand over her mouth and dumping out her insides in a nearby bush.

She heard Elain laughing and when she finally turned and cleaned her mouth with her sleeves, she saw Elain wrap her arm around Azriel's. Oh how much Gwyn would like to kill her with her knives.

She went walking towards them and they both quieted, apparently Elain was laughing at something Azriel said. Those fucking bitches.

"So how the hell do we do this? " Gwyn asked, her gaze not faultering from Azriel's. "Well you leave that up to me Gwyn, you needn't worry about charming someone, it's definitely not worth making an effort either, " Elain replied for Azriel.

Gwyn would have retored back but they were suddenly interrupted from a voice behind them. "Well, welcome to the summer court, " The voice said and Gwyn thought it could be the young high lord.

Gwyn finally turned around and saw a person standing not 10 feet away from them. "Hi Tarquin-, " Elain was interrupted by the High Lord rushing to Gwyn and hugging her fiercely.

Gwyn didn't know what to do and Azriel almost pulled the High Lord away from her. "You don't remember me? " The lord asked. His view was being blocked by Azriel so she pushed him aside a bit, not knowing what that action could mean to Azriel.

"I'm sorry, I do not-" She stopped herself when she recalled the light brown eyes and brown hair. Her best friend at Sangravah even though he was 2 years younger. She almost sprinted towards Tarquin and hugged him fiercely. "QUINN" She shouted while hugging him. He hugged her back. "How long has it been-" She took her neck out of his shoulderd and looked at him.

"Almost 6 years" He replied, with his hand still wrapped around her waist. He was smiling. Azriel was burning. All he wanted to do was burn the entire summer court down with the help of the sun and unleash his shadows. He wanted to rip apart Tarquin slowly and torture him. But Gwyn's thoughts were completely the opposite.

"I came back for you, you know" He said, looking at her and taking her in. "You did?", she asked, not believing a word he said. "Yeah, when I was made high lord I came back for you". He said.

Gwyn stepped back then. "High Lord?? YOU'RE THE HIGH LORD". Tarquin immediately regretted saying those words, but she would have found out, sooner or later. "Gwyn I searched for you, I really did. I-I'm sorry, I would have told you but my mom-she came to Sangravah so I wouldn't have to rule. I came back to the summer court because the others were hungry and I couldn't provide for them. And then my dad was killed by Amarantha and, " Tarquin stopped speaking, he couldn't complete whatever he was about to say. "I'm sorry" He said.

"I understand" Gwyn said while taking one of Tarquin's hands in her own. He had the same ring which she had on her middle finger. Tarquin had gifted it to her almost 10 years ago, when she was 12. He also bought himself a similar one. Except Tarquin's had a golden one, and she had a red one. "You still have it" He said while taking her hands in his.

"You still have yours" She said. They hugged again. Just staying like that for a few minutes.

Azriel wanted to kill everyone and every damn thing in the world. His shadows were crazy. They didn't come out but Azriel could feel their rage under his skin to see Gwyn with someone else, hugging someone else, being friends with someone else and whatnot.

Gwyn had to ask the question which was in her mind. She couldn't stop it from coming out. She knew the answer could hurt her but she had to know. "Are the others safe? " She asked Tarquin. Pulling her head from his shoulders to look him in the eye. "Yes" He said and Gwyn couldn't be happier. Her smile was more brighter than the sun and then Tarquin tucked a piece of Gwyn's hair behind her ear.

The ear tucking was the last straw for Azriel. He finally went up to them and asked "what the hell are you two talking about? " And Gwyn finally pulled herself away from Tarquin and wiped her eyes. "No-nothing" She said.

"I'm sorry I have to leave right now, but my people will direct you to your rooms, I have to urgently deal with something" Tarquin said. "Now? " Gwyn asked like a little child. "Yeah, it's pretty important, but if I had known you were coming, i would have cleared out my schedule, but we can spend all the time together tomorrow. " He said.

Best friend my ass. Azriel thought to himself.

"I'd like that very much" Gwyn replied. They all were directed to their rooms. Azriel's room was in the middle of Gwyn's and Elain's.

Gwyn went to her room and didn't come out for Lunch or Dinner. Azriel thought he should go to her room but then again he thought, he shouldn't.

He finally went up to her room and saw that she was sleeping. She fluttered her eyes when the door creaked and Azriel said some pretty colourful curses. "Az-shadowsinger" She said. Stopping herself from calling him Az. Again, breaking his heart once more.

Azriel came to the corner of her bed and sat down on his knees. "Is something wrong? " He asked. "I'm just a little unwell after winnowing, that's all. You shouldn't be here in the middle of the night anyway. " She said. "I'm sorry about that. Do you, do you need anything? " Azriel asked.

Gwyn was just about to answer when Tarquin came rushing into the room with a huge chocolate cake. Gwyn started giggling. Tarquin was wearing normal clothes, clothes a normal fae would wear and he came and sat down on the opposite side of Gwyn's bed. Gwyn tried to take it but Tarquin took it out of her reach.

"Give me it" She said trying to get the cake while crawling in his lap. Tarquin started laughing and gave her the cake.

Doesn't he know about Gwyn? How can he just come and sit on her bed? I swear I'm gonna kill this son of a bi-

Azriel's thoughts were interrupted by Gwyn savoring the cake and moaning. Oh how many times he thought and dreamt that she would moan the same way when he-

"Oh my god, Quinn this cake is amazing. You have to teach me how to make it" Gwyn said with chocolate all over her lips. She can call him Quinn but she can't call him Azriel.

"I promise I will" He said while taking the same fork as Gwyn and eating the cake. Azriel then got on the bed. It was big enough was 10 people to sleep in, but him and his shadows took the place of four people.

Gwyn was surprised by his action but didn't say anything. Mostly cause she didn't know what to.

"Are you all having a midnight feast without me? " Gwyn turned and saw Elain at the door. She came and got between Gwyn and Azriel and put her hand under his shirt. "No, I was uh-I was just going for a walk" Gwyn said before getting of the bed and keeping the cake on her bedside table.

She started walking out of her door and Tarquin followed. Azriel wanted to follow but Elain's hands was in his pants already, he couldn't move.

Gwyn and Tarquin walked out of the room and got in front of the house door. "Wait, I forgot my robe" Gwyn suddenly said and walked up the stairs to her room and as soon as she opened the door she saw Elain in her underwear kissing Azriel's bare chest. Elain noticed and suddenly wrapped the blanket around herself. Azriel then noticed and got up.

Tarquin suddenly came behind Gwyn and saw Azriel and Elain. "Gwyn I think it would be better for you if you took the room beside mine as this room is already-already in use. I'll get your things to your room tomorrow. " Tarquin said. "Yes, yes please that would be great" She said and they both got out.

Azriel's shadows were begging him to say anything, anything to Gwyn but he couldn't. He just couldn't.

But he did hear Tarquin's and Gwyn's conversation. "Was there something going on between you two? Because you were so up-"

"No, there was nothing between us" Gwyn interrupted Tarquin before he could complete his question.

"Then why were you so angry and upset? " He had asked.

"Because he used to be my friend, but he chose her over me when I needed him". She said and Azriel heard the sound of a door closing...

[letsgivethisonemoreshot]

Hot Sauce Inspiration

So, one day I was eating Taco Bell. And they have these little sayings on their hot sauce packets. I looked at one, and the phrase caused a little story to pop into my head and I texted it to a friend. Then another packet inspired another part. So I went to look at the rest and see if any others could spark anything in my weird brain, and here we are. The packets are bolded. This thirst trap was sponsored by Taco Bell. Practice safe eating. Use condiments.

Word Count: 1,797

Warnings: Language, mentions of sexual situations

You were known around the locker room for having a bit of an attitude. Not that you were a bully, but if there was something you wanted to say, most times you didn’t hold back where others would. Some would say you lacked a filter. Others would say you’re outspoken. You said that you just told the truth, and if people didn’t like that about you they could go screw themselves. It didn’t stop you from making friends, far from it. But it did rub some the wrong way.

You were currently in a hallway, still in your ring gear from your earlier match talking with Alexa Bliss. She was someone who you had gotten really close too. You had a lot in common which made you great travel buddies and had yet to get tired of spending so much time with each other. Somehow your conversation steered to making fun of Drew McIntyre. Again. He seemed to be one of your favorite people to rip on as of late. There was just something about him that got under your skin. Lately he had really become a leader in the locker room. Taking people under his wing, making sure they stayed out of trouble, helping them out. Which was great, but it never seemed to stop. He was the adult version of a goody two shoes and at times he kind of made you want to throw up. Not that you hid that. You’ve said it to people before. He’d probably even been around to hear it himself. He knew you talked about him. However, you weren’t aware that his match had finished, and he was now backstage, walking up behind you.

He startled you by clearing his throat behind you. You turned around to see him standing opening a water bottle as sweat dripped down his chest.

“You know it’s rude to interrupt people,” You shot at him. “What do you want?”

“You know it’s rude to talk about people behind their back,” He retorted, taking a swig of his water.

“Get lost McIntyre,” You rolled your eyes.

“Are ya sure you want me to lass?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. “I mean you do an awful lot of talking about someone you claim to not be fond of.”

Alexa, sensing the tension in the air, excused herself to go and “get ready for her match”, leaving the two alone. You scoffed.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“You know, if there’s something you want to talk to me about, I’m right here.”

You barely let him finish his sentence before you started speaking. “Nope. Not too fond of you. Don’t need you. You can go find someone else around here to go and “help out” and play the fatherly figure to. I don’t have daddy issues. I’m good.”

Drew chuckles, leaning in a bit closer to you . His voice now deeper, and in a much more serious tone than he usually used.

“You keep telling yourself that princess. But we both know I can have you begging and calling me Daddy by the end of the night.”

“In your dreams McIntyre,” You said pushing passed him before he was able to see how flushed your cheeks had gotten at his comment.

He smirked before drinking his water again. “We’ll see about that,” He said to himself as he watched you walk away.

You spent the rest of the night trying to avoid Drew. You didn’t want any further interaction with him. He may act nice, but he was just a big old brute trying to abuse his power. And you would rather die than admit seeing him all sweaty and acting in charge actually turned you on. Once the show was over, you wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible. You were dressed and ready to go, standing by the back door with your suitcase waiting for Alexa. You weren’t completely alone though. The hustle and bustle of the crew members packing everything up and your co-workers were leaving and wandering around the area. You tapped your foot impatiently while looking through your phone waiting for your friend. You had tuned out all of the noise around you and hadn’t realized someone had walked up behind you. Only noticing when the wheels of their suitcase came to a stop. You could sense who it was without turning around. His presence shadowing over you. He wasn’t touching you. He didn’t say anything to you. He wasn’t even making any effort to actually tell you that he was there, other than being a little too close. Doing it purposely to annoy you.

“Can you back up a step or two McIntyre? You’re in my personal space,” You said without taking your eyes off of your phone.

He chuckled deeply. “Don’t kid yourself. You know you want me in your personal space.”

“Seriously, my perfume is rather expensive and I’d rather smell like it than whatever you had for dinner and are breathing on me.”

“What crawled up your ass today princess? You’re even more vile than usual.”

You sighed, trying to show disgust at the nickname he always chose to call you. Just the tone in how he said it gave you goosebumps. “Can you stop calling me that? I do have a name you know.”

“I think I see the problem,” He said, ignoring you as he leaned down closer so that no one else would be able to hear what he said. “It’s that no one has crawled up your ass in a while, isn’t it?”

Your eyes grew wide at his comment. Thankfully he couldn’t see that. You felt your cheeks getting warmed as you awkwardly shuffled from one foot to another. Drew had never come back at you like this before, and you couldn’t believe that he had said what he did with other people around.

“You are disgusting McIntyre. So much for being a gentleman,” You finally brought yourself to say.

“I’m a gentleman to those who deserve it. You princess, do not deserve it. You seem to like to aggravate me and bring the ungentlemanly side out of me.”

“Or maybe deep down you’re just a nasty guy who isn’t as nice as everyone thinks?” You suggest, trying to sound unphased even though your heart is beating so fast you can hear it in your ears.

Drew smirked behind you. “Whatever you need to tell yourself lass. But if you feel like not being such a bitch anymore and getting the attitude fucked out of you, a little birdie told me we were staying at the same hotel tonight. I’m in room 224. Don’t take too long. I won’t wait forever.”

You couldn’t stop fidgeting around in the car ride to the hotel. You hadn’t been paying any attention to what Alexa was saying. If she was even talking, she could have just been singing along with her music for all you knew. The only thing that was playing in your head was Drew’s sudden change of character towards you. You wanted to be so annoyed at him, walking around thinking he was God’s gift to the wrestling world and all women. The frustrating, stupid, sexy Scotsman.

No wait, you didn’t mean to think that.

Even when you got to the hotel room, you weren’t able to settle down. You couldn’t stay in one place. You’d wander around the room, looking out the window, going into the bathroom and sorting things. Eventually, Alexa asked you what was wrong knowing this wasn’t usual behavior for you.

“Nothing. I’m just restless,” You lied. I’ve spent three of the last four days scrunched inside a car. I just need some air. I think I’m gonna go out for a jog. I’ll try and shower quietly when I get back if you’re asleep.”

You grabbed your hotel key and walked towards the door.

“Okay, thanks. But I want details in the morning,” Alexa smiled as you reached the doorknob.

You didn’t reply to her before leaving the room. You couldn’t verbally admit that she was right about what she was insinuating. In face, you were already mentally yelling at yourself for even considering it. But that didn’t stop your legs from continuing to walk to the elevator. You were thankful the hallway was empty when you stepped off of the elevator. The last thing you wanted was anyone to see you. But you still hesitated once you got to his door, debating on turning around and going back to your own room. But after a moment, you knocked. It didn’t take long for Drew to open the door. Once he saw it was you, he smirked and leaned against the door frame.

“What brings you here princess? Couldn’t sleep?”

You were conflicted. You made it all the way down here. And now you would like for him to let you inside before someone can see you outside of his hotel room at 12:30 in the morning. But, at the same time, that would mean you were inside of Drew’s room. A thought that still made your stomach jump. Finally your mouth was able to speak up, throwing out one of your normal sarcastic replies.

“Are you man enough to help me out with my problem or not McIntyre?” You asked as you crossed your arms over your chest.

Drew dropped his head, slightly laughing before stepping aside and allowing you to enter the room. You walked in, holding your head high, hoping you were coming across as being confident. Because at the moment it felt like your bones were about to turn to jelly and you’d just melt into the floor. You still couldn’t believe that you were here. Because he brought it up. And some part of you thought it was a good idea.

You watched stoically as he shut and locked the door before turning around to you. He pulled his shirt off as he walked closer to you in the dimly lit room. If only he knew just how many times you had fallen asleep at night to this scenario playing in your head. He stopped in front of you. You looked up into his eyes and saw them turn to an icy blue. The energy about him had changed. He wasn’t the charming goofball he usually was. And it was turning all of your bad energy to mush.

“Just so you know, I don’t plan on being gentle with you princess. I’m going to play with you until you break and finally learn some manners, understand? If that’s not something you’re up for, the door is right there. I suggest you use it now.”

For the first time, you spoke to him in a shaky whisper, “I’m okay with that”.

[writefasttalkevenfaster]

Take My Hand (Part Four)

Summary: doing what you think is best for another person never ends well (four of ??? parts - more parts to come!) 

Pairings: Sonny Carisi x Reader, Rafael Barba x Reader 

Word Count: 7,579

Song: I don't like slow motion, double vision in rose blush / I don't like that falling feels like flying 'til the bone crush (gold rush by taylor swift) 

Warnings: T, lots of angst, but a happy ending? 

A/N: thank you to all of you for reading, your comments and reblogs have kept me going! thank you to @laneygthememequeen​ and @bucky-of-the-opera​ for being the best beta readers!! 

“Rafael, you don’t have to leave—” Sonny crossed his arms, as Rafael raised an eyebrow at him over his drink, sipping at his scotch mournfully, “McCoy said you could still work—” 

“You know a lawyer’s reputation is everything, Carisi,” he swirled what remained of his drink in his glass, “it’s our main commodity, and mine has been taken out back and shot — by my own hand,” he downs the rest of the drink, “besides,” he sighs, “there’s nothing left for me here.” 

Sonny frowns, sipping at his own drink, “What’re gonna do next?” Rafael shrugs, “I think I’ll broaden my horizons— this is the first time since before law school that I haven’t had a plan for my life — it’s just wide open.” 

“And that’s?” 

“Terrifying, surprising — I never thought I’d have to start over at this point in my career, but,” he leans against the counter, “it’s a change,” and then he looks over at Sonny, “and what about you?” 

He furrows his brow, “What about me?” 

“Are you going to apply for the opening in the D.A.’s office?” Sonny nearly chokes on his drink, “come on, Carisi, you’re more than qualified.” 

He shakes his head, “I don’t know — I’m not sure if I’m ready for that change quite yet, besides,” he shifts in his seat, “I heard from Liv that McCoy has someone else in mind for the job.” 

“Stone?” Rafael asks, and Sonny tilts his head, “I may not be in that office, but it doesn’t change the fact that it leaks like a rusty faucet.” 

“If you know that—” 

“Sonny, a piece of advice,” Rafael turns to face him, one elbow on the counter, “no one job is forever — Stone may last a while, he may not — but get your name in the ring at least because the next time the position is open, they’ll look to you—” 

“But—” 

“You have been part of the squad, you’ve seen these cases for years, you’re an officer and you have the education to back it up,” he pulls his wallet out, waving off Carisi, and placing a few bills on the counter, “Look, you went to law school for a reason right? If you keep making excuses, you won’t be able to do the good you could do.” 

Sonny knew, he knew that he should but— “I’m just afraid that I won’t be able to handle it,” 

Rafael raises an eyebrow, “You are a detective in one of the toughest units in the NYPD and you went to law school at the same time — I think you’ll be fine.” 

Sonny blinks, trying to hide his smile, “Thank you — for everything. I’ve appreciated you mentoring me these past years.” 

Rafael gives a small chuckle at that, “You shouldn’t be thanking me,” 

Sonny tilts his head, “Then who should I be thanking?” 

Your name leaves his lips, and Sonny frowns, “I didn’t really want to mentor you, but with some encouragement, well—” he shrugs, “my point is there’s no need to thanks, at least not me.” 

A sentence burns on his tongue, hot as the anger sitting on his chest, and I should thank the person who cut me out of their life without any to-do? But Sonny doesn’t say that, he only smiles — as always. 

He didn’t want to admit how much it hurt when you left. When you didn’t say goodbye. When you quit without warning. When you left him with nothing but a note and no explanation, only the feeling of your lips on his. 

But it did hurt.

Especially because he didn’t know if it was because of him. He didn’t presume himself to be that important in your life — and maybe he wasn’t with how easily you had removed yourself from his life — but what other explanation was there really? 

“I should go,” Rafael slips off the stool, pulling his coat on, and he holds out his hand to Sonny, “I hope to see you again sometime, Detective,” 

Sonny offers a smile, shaking his hand, “Counselor, I expect to hear things about what you do next.” 

“Same to you — your name is associated with me, I can't have you sullying it, now can I?” but then he grimaces, shrugging, “well, at least the bar is low.” 

“Bye, Rafael,” and he nods, disappearing out the door, and Sonny straightens his coat, walking towards the door, before glancing at the bar stool you had sat at the night he picked you up — so much had changed and in so little time. 

“How long has it been, Jack?” you skip the handshake for a hug, sliding into the booth across from him. 

“Far too long,” he sighs, already had ordered his own food, “I heard about the stir you’re making in the Bronx,” he splits his chopsticks, dousing in his food in a very modest amount of sriracha, as you raise a questioning eyebrow at his remark, “The Brown case — I heard an earful from the Bronx D.A. about that case.” 

You shake your head, ordering yourself a soda, “It was his fault that he didn’t have proper chain of custody on that evidence—” 

“I know,” Jack nods, “it was a good catch.” 

“Thank you,” you smile, pleased with yourself, “although I suspect this isn’t just for you to compliment me on my exceptional work.” 

“Developed an ego at No-Go?” you roll your eyes at his “loving” nickname for your firm, Noble-Gordon LLP, before shrugging, “you know you could start your own practice and make more money.” 

“I could, but I also wouldn’t get some control over where their pro bono hours go,” you order your food, stirring your drink with a straw, “now what do you want McCoy? And then I can bore you with the details of my life plan.” 

Jack smiles, “Always straight to the point, huh, counselor?” he leans back, “what do you think of Detective Carisi?” 

You furrow your brow, “Sonny? Is something—” 

“Nothing is wrong,” Jack waved you off, “but what was your opinion of him?” 

You tilt your head, “As what? Detective, a barred attorney, or person?” 

Jack raises an eyebrow, “Let’s start with detective, and then we’ll get to the other two,” 

You pause — how could you describe Sonny? “When he first started, I didn’t know what to think of Sonny — he was eager to learn, but green,” you suppress a snort at the thought of him the unfortunate incidents of him pestering victims and suspects alike, “but despite that, he was always willing to learn, quick on his feet. He was good with the victims, maybe not at first, but he’s a seasoned detective now, and I have confidence in his skills.” 

“And as an attorney?” 

“Well, I never was around to see him get barred,” and you feel a twinge of guilt crawl up your throat — you had promised to help him study, promised to help him celebrate — you didn’t do either, “but when he applied his legal knowledge to cases we worked on together and while shadowing at the Manhattan office, he showed aptitude, skill, and passion.” 

“And as a person?” 

You smile softly, “Sonny is kind, to a fault, but he’s practical, he knows there are grays to S.V.U. cases — he’s seen them firsthand. He knows how to handle tough cases, while having the empathy to handle victims,” Jack nods, sipping at his drink, “now I assume you’re asking for a reason?” 

“Stone resigned,” Jack sighs, “effective immediately — and we’re looking for someone to get their foot in the door — quick.” 

“Peter? What—” 

“It wasn’t the right fit,” he shook his head, “he’s landing on his feet — don’t worry.” 

You frowned, you didn’t know Peter personally, but you had heard stories of him and his father — both were legendary, “I’m sorry to hear that, but,” you tilt your head, “you’re considering Sonny for the position?” 

“Yes, and now hearing what you had to say, I think I will," and you smile, "after an interview, of course." 

"Of course," you shake your head, "I remember interviewing with you."

He raises an eyebrow, "And?" 

"I think I convinced myself you thought I was a moron, until you gave me the offer after a week," he shrugs. 

"Had to make you sweat," he purses his lips, "do you regret saying yes?" 

You glance at the bar, a frown pressing onto your lips, "I regret a lot of things," and your food arrives at the table, and you break your chopsticks, smiling, "but never that." 

You were not happy. 

You hurried up the steps of the Manhattan courthouse — steps you had hoped you wouldn’t have had to hurry up ever again — not only had this case been unceremoniously dumped on the firm with a notice of one whole day, but it had been shafted to you with a whole two hours notice after one of your junior associates called out sick. 

Sick or hungover? You couldn’t tell over from the 4:00 AM message left on your voicemail, but by the sounds of the clinking glasses in the background — they certainly didn’t have the flu.

This was not only the son of one of your firm’s biggest clients — the firm practicing not only criminal defense but also some business law matters. It was a simple case — a white first time offender on a petty marijuana possession — he would likely get no jail time, and get time served at most — with an expungement in the near future. 

But that wasn’t the problem. 

The crime was committed and the son charged in the jurisdiction of Manhattan, so that meant this was in a Manhattan courtroom, one that you hadn’t stepped into in what — two, nearly three years? 

And on top of it all, there was the matter of who the prosecutor was. A silent curse muttered under your breath as you rushed to the courtroom — and it was someone you hadn’t seen in about the same amount of time. 

Why a sex crimes prosecutor was covering for a narcotics case — you didn’t know, but you figured it was either a chance to learn the ropes in different departments or the D.A. needed someone to cover, and the new guy drew the short straw. 

Just your luck.

You stood outside the courtroom, catching your breath, your heart thumping against your ribs — and you didn’t know whether it was from the running or from the fact you were about to see Sonny again for the first time in three years after you kissed him. 

And he didn’t know you were coming. 

Fuck it, you pulled open the door, stepping inside. 

And you saw him— standing where Rafael and you once stood, his eyes first lying on his notes, but drawn to the noise of the creaking door and your footsteps against the marble floor. 

You try not to look at him. You can’t help it, as you pass him by you catch a glimmer of his reaction — shock scrawled plainly across his face, eyes widened and nearly slack jawed. 

“Your Honor, I apologize to you and to my client, ” you spare a small smile to the privileged 18-year-old, Jason Baker, beside you, before your eyes flicker over to Sonny — dress in a pressed suit, his hair slicked back, lips no longer curled in the smile he once had for you, but instead, in a thin line, “ as well as A.D.A. Carisi. I was only informed of this case this morning and I rushed here as soon as I could—” 

“Yes, I understand,” Judge Lopez nods — Lopez being a judge you had dealt with many a time on cases — tough, but always fair, a definite leftist progressive (even by New York standards),  “Do you need a moment to confer with your client?” 

“Just a moment,” you confirmed the details of the case with Jason, before nodding, “I think we’re ready to proceed.” 

The hearing went without much to-do, both of you agreeing to meet about a plea agreement to settle this case out of court. You promised your client you would meet with him after, as Sonny began to make a beeline out of the courtroom. 

You barely caught up to him, on the heels of him striding toward the elevators, jaw set, “Sonny—” 

“Counselor,” he replied coolly, and you frowned, “do you want to set a time for your client’s plea agreement?” 

“Yes, but—” the elevator dings and he steps in without another word. 

“I’ll send you and your office an email,” his smile is curt and cordial, but his words have an edge to them, “nice to see you again.” 

And the doors shut. 

So, you stare at the closed elevator doors, he was mad. 

"Can you believe—" 

Rollins sighs, leaning back against her sofa, head resting against the top, "No I can't, Carisi, just like I couldn't the first twenty times," she murmurs under her breath. 

He pauses, his jaw tight, “Am I annoying you?” 

“No, Sonny, but—” she gestures for him to sit, “you’re stressing me out with all that pacing, can you sit down?” 

Sonny collapsed into a chair, arms crossed and leg still bobbing up and down, “I always thought about what I would say when I saw—” he cuts off, “it was like no time had passed, acting like nothing had happened—” 

Amanda raises an eyebrow, “What did happen between you two?” Sonny falls silent, his eyes falling to the carpeted floor, “this is what I mean, you’re telling me half of the story and expecting me to have a reaction,” she pushes his knee, “what happened?” 

He said nothing, and Amanda sighs, “When I gave you the sweatshirt, you barely said anything, and now you’re not saying anything when you saw—” a cry breaks her sentence off, and they listen as the baby settles back down, “You know I always knew you had a thing for—” 

“I didn’t have a thing—” he cuts off when he sees her raise an eyebrow, “okay maybe I did, but it has nothing to do with this—” 

“If it doesn’t, then why are you mad?” 

“I’m mad,” his voice raises, before she shushes him, and he sighs, apologizing, “I’m angry because I didn’t get a goodbye.”  

You were gone. 

You were gone before he woke up. You were gone from S.V.U. before he came in. You were gone from your apartment when he came knocking — moved out. 

And he was only left with a note and a sweatshirt.

He continues, “I didn’t get a goodbye, but guess who recommended me for the A.D.A. position?” 

It hadn’t been long enough since the last time he had thought about you. And the last time was his interview for the A.D.A. position. 

“I’ll cut to the chase, son,” Jack said, making Sonny sit up straighter in his chair — he had spent the last forty-five minutes trying to impress Jack McCoy only for him to cut the chase now, “You know I’m not the type to mince my words, so I’ll ask you the question that really matters — why should we hire you over other candidates with more experience?” 

This was the question he was dreading — he fought the urge to tug at his collar or wipe the palms down the front of his pants. 

“Honestly, sir, I’ve thought about this question a lot, and yes, I don’t have the legal experience of some of the other candidates,” he didn’t — he had shadowing, he had done clinics, but he hadn’t practiced since being barred, “but I know S.V.U. — more than any of your candidates because I’ve seen these cases firsthand. Not only have I seen the cases, the victims, but I’ve worked with the team — I know the ins and the outs, and I’ve worked with A.D.A.s before—” he nearly flinched at the thought of you, “I know what I’m getting into — I know a lot of cases aren’t a win and I know we have to push sometimes, and I’m not afraid to do that,” he swallows, his throat dry — unable to discern the expression on Jack’s face, “You’ll have to train any candidate you have — whether they have practiced or not, especially when it comes to S.V.U., but you will have to teach one less thing, and it’s the most important one.” 

And after the longest moment, he smiles, and Sonny can barely hear what he says over his blood roaring in his ears, “I think you’re right,” 

“You do?” 

Jack laughs, “Don’t sound so surprised, Dominick,” he tilts his head, “after hearing you talk about your work in and out of the department, I thought you would have more faith in yourself.” 

And you would think that but— 

“I’ll work on that,” 

Jack smiles, clearing his throat, “Based on that and the recommendation I received from who you shadowed—” 

He frowns, “You talked to someone I shadowed?” 

When your name leaves his lips, he blinks, “Haven’t you spoken—” 

Not since leaving my apartment and disappearing, “Not in a long time,” he gives a tight smile, “How are—” 

“Doing great at Noble-Gordon as a defense attorney in the Bronx — giving the Bronx D.A. hell,” he smiles with pride, and he remembers how you had told him that McCoy had been one of your mentors, the man who had helped you become the attorney you are today — and now he was Sonny’s boss, “Better them than us, right?” 

“Sonny—” Amanda’s voice cuts through his thoughts. 

He gets to his feet again, walking towards the window, “Leaves, and then thinks to interfere in my life, doesn’t even bother to reach out, I haven’t heard a thing in years — years — but still gives me a recommendation,” he gives a bitter chuckle, “apparently our friendship meant that little.” 

Apparently he had meant that little. 

“I’m sorry, Sonny,” 

He shakes his head, “What are you sorry for?” he asks, getting to his feet — I got kissed. I got cut out. And I didn’t even get an explanation — “Nothing happened.” 

“I want jail time,” your head snaps up at the sound of Sonny’s voice, closing the door behind him, as you sat waiting in his office — the one that was next door to your old one, “at least six months.” 

“What?” No greeting, no handshake, no smile — that much you half-expected, but jail time— “it’s a first time offense, and it’s not 1980, we’re not in the war on drugs—” 

Sonny slides into his chair across from you his hands folded, “Counselor, your client isn’t an innocent school boy — he is an adult—” 

“Barely, he just turned 18—” 

“Exactly my point, he’s an adult, and—” 

“And no competent attorney would ever take that deal—” 

Sonny leans back in his seat, “Well a competent attorney would consider any deal in front of them, wouldn’t they?” 

And your eyes narrow, “My client will not accept anything more than probation with no jail time, and hell, maybe we'll even throw in drug tests in, but anything more is a disgrace to the legal system,” 

“Then I guess a jury can decide,” his jaw is set, and you see the quiet anger in his eyes — frigid as an icy lake, one that you were currently drowning in. His chair screeches as he moves to rise, and you stop him. 

“We both know this isn’t about the case, Sonny,” 

He raises an eyebrow, “Are you questioning my prosecutorial authority?” 

“Are you trying to send a barely adult first time offender to jail when it makes absolutely no sense?” he grits his teeth, “is that justice? Is that what you’ve learned in S.V.U.?” 

“I’m sorry that I’m not playing soft ball with you, counselor—” 

“I’m sorry that you’re trying to take your anger at me out on my client,” you snap, rising from the table. And it snaps him into silence, his eyes falling to his notes, brow furrowed, mouth a thin line. Your anger simmers slowly, but as you speak again, your voice is even, but tempered, “The way I see it — we have three options — one, get over yourself and let us make a reasonable plea agreement; two, I get someone else from my office to handle this; or three, we work out our issues like fucking adults and move on with this agreement,” 

His voice is quiet when he speaks, “So are we finally going to act like adults now?” 

You waver, “Sonny—” 

“After you cut me out with no explanation and left, I didn’t realize now we could act like adults,” he flips shut his leather folder, “I apologize for my behavior — maybe you’re right, someone else from your office should handle—” 

“I’m sorry,” you cut him off, and he doesn’t look up, “I’m so sorry, Sonny, I didn’t mean to—” you swallow, fuck, “I thought — I thought it would be easier after—” 

“Easier? For you or for me?” 

The truth cut deep, especially when you know it was true, “You’re right — I know, what I did,” you sigh, “It was awful — I was so embarrassed after how I treated you, after I kiss—” you break off, “I know I have a lot of things to make up for, but I want you to know that I didn’t cut you off because of anything you did — even if you know that already — it was me, I didn’t want to burden you—” 

“How did you think cutting me off wasn’t going to burden me?” his words are softer, but sharper, digging into your chest with the guilt you knew was yours only to bear, “how did you think losing one of my friends wasn’t going to— you kissed me after I picked you up, and then nothing for three years. Nothing.” 

“I wanted to call, I wanted to text—” 

“Then why didn’t you?” and you wonder if this is how a suspect felt when they were being interrogated by him, but surely his eyes weren’t nearly this glassy with emotions then, “You promised me — you promised me you would be there for me—” 

Your voice breaks, “Sonny—” 

“Do you know the hell I’ve gone through?” His voice is quiet, “do you know?” 

And you didn’t, “I don’t,” your words are quiet. “Because you’re right — it was easier, after what happened — not with you — with everything else, it was easier to cut ties and move on. It was easier to pretend none of it happened,” you admit, “but it wasn’t right — and I can’t change that. But I’m sorry,” you add, “and I know I have a lot of making up to do, if we ever can get to that point again, I would like to try.” 

His expression is inscrutable — and you know Sonny has changed, you could read him so easily before — an open book who’s pages that you had familiarized yourself with, his emotions scrawled clearly across his brow, nose, lips, and eyes. And now you could barely make out a single word. 

“Try?” 

“Try to be your friend,” you bite your lip, wringing your hands in your lap, “I missed you, Sonny, and I know I don’t have a right to say that, but I did. And seeing you has only made me realize how shitty I’ve been — please?” 

A frown pulls at his lips, and he wavers, before rising, tucking his folder into his briefcase, “Probation with weekly drug tests, and I want him do some community service—” 

“But—” 

“He’s spent years with a silver spoon in his mouth — let’s try to fix that,” and you tilt your head, hiding a smile. 

“I’ll talk to him about it,” you get up too, beginning to pack up your things even as you watch him turn to the door, “Can we discuss it over lunch? My treat.” 

He pauses, his back turned,  “I’m a little busy these next few weeks,” 

You wave him off, feeling your chest squeeze, rejection stinging — as it should, as you deserve — “Of course," nothing was that simple — trust was easy to lose, hard to get back. 

“But how about I call you?” you blink, as he looks over his shoulder, there’s a hint of a sigh in his throat, a certain sort of begrudged reluctance, but still an almost undetectable smile ghosts his lips — and you’ll take it. 

“You got it,” But it wasn’t impossible to earn trust back. Your heart swells with hope, your hand brushing as your hand moves to hold the door open — and you would get it back, one way or another. 

“Penny for your thought, counselor?” Sonny’s head snaps up, finding you standing, suit jacket slung over your arm, a smile on your lips, “I would say a dollar, but I know you took quite a pay cut compared to your old job.” 

“But I could make a buck prosecuting you for stalking,” and you scoff, looking at the table strewn with pages of briefs and yellow legal pads marked in reds, blacks and blues. It had been your fifth time running into him the last few weeks — and you had weaseled your way into conversations, though not a lunch. You were trying to earn his trust back, and you had gotten a little closer each time, but it didn’t mean it was all over and done with. 

The distrust still sat squarely in his expression — but this time it was being overwritten by something else — stress. 

You gape at him, affronted, “Forlini’s was mine before it was yours, thank you very much,” you gesture to the seat across from him, he grunts, nodding and you slide in, “I think I can settle for joint custody if you can.” 

“I’d fight ya on it, but,” he sighs, eyes flickering back to his notes, “I got my hands full already.” 

You purse your lips when you see the heaviness in his brow, “What’s wrong?” 

He gives a grim smile, “You already know what’s wrong,” 

Yes, you knew it well — your first tough case had the ability to unravel you to pieces, especially one from S.V.U., “Well, the facts aren’t any different when you’re the prosecutor versus the detective,” 

“But the job is completely different,” he shakes his head, covering his face, before wiping his palm down it, “and I don’t know what I’m doing.” 

You frown, “Have you eaten?” 

“Eating isn’t the problem,” he shoves his papers aside, a few wrinkling and falling under the booth, the legal pad slamming against the end of the booth. He squeezes his eyes shut, before relaxing, “sorry, I—” 

“No, trust me,” you catch a glimpse of the photos of one of the victims — a bruised and battered girl no older than fifteen, ���I get the frustration, but you know there’s only so much you can do in these cases.” 

“I’m not doing enough,” he leans on his elbow, his fist pressed to his mouth, before resting it against his forehead, “I don’t know what I’m doing. I have my first grand jury tomorrow and I don’t even know what I’m doing.”  

“Sonny,” you resist the urge to reach out to him, “you can do this.” 

“You would say that,” he mutters, and you tilt your head,  “you recommended me for the job, McCoy told me.” 

“I didn’t recommend you — Jack was already looking at you, he asked for my opinion and I gave it,” you raise an eyebrow, “do I need to tell you now?” 

He shakes his head, “I—” 

“Sonny,” he looks up at you, “I have not an inch of doubt in your abilities — I’ve seen you grow as a detective and as a law student, and now,” you smile softly, “I’ve seen you grow as an attorney the last few weeks. You are ready — you know why?” 

He sighs, his hands folded on the table, “Because of my training?” 

“No,” you say, and he frowns, “because you are sensitive and kind, but you are also tough — tough enough to make the hard calls,” your hand brushes his tentatively, hovering before settling, “weren’t you nervous before becoming a detective? When you were a cop?” 

“I was, but I was confident, bordering on arrogant — I always went in, guns blazing, so to speak,” he adds, shaking his head at the implication, “now, I’m—” 

“Now you’re cautious — it comes with experience, that’s normal and good — overconfidence bites you in the ass, every time,” you squeeze his hand, “you will do great — and more importantly,” he raises his gaze to meet yours, “you will do your job and do it well — and that’s all you can do.” 

He purses his lips, “You really believe in me?” 

You scoff at his disbelief, “Sonny, I’ll always bet on you — every single time,” his gaze softens, a smile gracing his lips and your stomach flips when he squeezes your hand back. 

“Thank you,” his words are as soft as his touch, his fingers intertwined with yours for a moment, and your eyes flicker across his face — how was it you never realized just how beautiful he was? 

And the moment is broken when he pulls his hand away, gathering all his materials and slipping them into his bag, “If you need any help—” 

He frowns, “Y’know as well as I do that these cases are—” 

“I meant with your self-esteem or advice about how to phrase questions — no specifics and no actual questions,” you cross your arms, “I know about confidentiality and professional responsibility, counselor — I have been at this longer than you have. You could afford to take my advice.” 

He raises an eyebrow, teasing, “Pulling seniority? You’re not at the D.A.’s office anymore,” 

“But I know your boss,” you tease right back, and he rolls his eyes, as you lean forward, “and it’s ‘counselor’ to you,” 

He dares forward, “Well, counselor,” he replies, lips curled in a smile, “I’ll take it under advisement, and I’ll give my boss your best,” And he slips from the booth, pausing only to add, “do this again?” 

And you can’t hide your smile, “Next week?” 

He nods, slipping out of the doors from Forlini’s and you watch him, your eyes falling across the bar — and the two seats where you had sat, now reupholstered and refurbished — and then back again to the door he left from, before turning back to your booth. As you sat, his smile and the faint fluttering left in your chest, a smile you couldn’t stave off 

Things really did change, didn’t they? 

“Trial’s in a few weeks?” and Sonny nods, Rollins sips at her drink, “you have to testify, Amanda?” 

“Unfortunately,” she jerks a thumb towards Sonny, setting her drink down on the counter of the bar, “he’s been prepping me and it’s somehow worse than Barba.” 

The sting of his name hurt less, your easy smile not wavering, “I find that hard to believe,” 

“Oh believe me,” Amanda turns to Sonny, who sips at his drink sheepishly, “how long did we practice yesterday?” 

“Not important,” he brushes her remark off, as you and Amanda share a look and chuckle, “I just want to be ready — Hadid has been all over me about this trial. If she’s been looking for an excuse to fire me, this would be the perfect one.” 

“Hey,” your hand finds his, “you’re going to do great. You have practiced your closing a thousand times — I’ve heard it half a million times — you know what the points you have to make are. I know you’re ready.” 

He squeezes your hand back, smiling softly, “Thank you,” and butterflies bloom under his steady gaze, before he slips from the stool, “I’m going to use the bathroom, I’ll be right back,” his hand grazes your back before he finds his way to the restroom. 

You sip at your drink, before you find Amanda staring at you. You frown, placing the drink down, “What?” 

“What’s going on between you two?” 

You wrinkle your brow, as Amanda scratches her brow, her lips pursed.“What do you mean?” 

“I don’t want to get involved, but,” she craned her neck to check if Sonny was gone, “I know something happened between you two before you left,” Your head snaps to your drink, biting your lip, “I may be a detective, but it doesn’t take a genius to see that you two, whatever this is,” she gestures, “it’s not just a friendship,” 

You blink — but wasn’t it? “But—” 

“I don’t know how you feel, but I’m not blind,” she tilts her head, trying to catch your gaze, “just don’t hurt him okay?” 

“Amanda—” 

“I don’t need to hear specifics about what happened,” she shrugs, “I just want him to be okay ‘cause he may not be my partner now, but he is my best friend.” 

You nod, “Of course, I won’t, Amanda — I care about him too.”

But it was complicated. 

It was simple before — but it was different — you were in love with someone else — blinded. Sonny was your friend, one of your closest, but a friend nonetheless. Your stomach didn’t flip when you saw him, you didn’t text him so often, there weren't brief touches that you wished would last forever — like there was now. 

And you couldn’t deny it forever. 

Amanda chuckles, shaking her head, “I can’t believe I just said Carisi is my best friend,” 

You smile, “Guess he really grew on you after he shaved the ‘stache,” 

Amanda raised her eyebrows, snorting, “Like an infection,” 

You grinned, sipping at your drink, “What are you two laughing at?” and both of you share a smile, “what?” 

“Nothing, Sonny,” Amanda waves him off, “I gotta go — babysitter’s time is almost up, and I have to check on the girls,” Amanda nods at you, “It was nice to see you again, counselor.” 

“Same here, Amanda,” and she nods at Sonny, slipping from the bar, as he takes her seat, leaning against the counter, his knee brushing yours. The low light of the bar catches in his eyes, a dark blue that makes your heart stutter a moment as his lips curl into a smile. And you remember the moment you kissed him. 

“Now what?” you blink, biting your lip. 

Would it be so bad to fall in love with him?

To fall in love with an A.D.A. again? Falling into old habits?

“Walk me home?”  

And fall you would. 

~~~

It wasn’t a walk so much as it was a subway ride away and a walk to your apartment, “Do you ever miss the D.A.’s office?” and you spare a glance at Sonny. 

“Why? Want another person bossing you around the office?” he chuckles, licking his lips.

“When you put it like that,” and you laugh, “no, I just mean—” 

“You mean if I ever miss being on the right side of justice?” and he opens his mouth to retort, “I’m joking, Sonny — I mean criminal defense is a different way I can do justice — I get to take on a lot of the firm’s pro bono work and I get to help people who are at the lowest points of their lives put it back together.” 

“Even murderers?” he frowns. 

You bite your lip, “You saw the Ortiz case on the news didn’t you?” Ortiz, a husband who murdered his wife in cold blood — or that was the story the media and prosecutors’ were selling, “Did you read his interview?” 

He raises an eyebrow, “No?” 

“It turns out his wife had been abusive for years — verbally, emotionally, and physically—” your shoes scrape against the pavement, “he snapped when she turned it on their son.” 

“Is that an excuse—” 

“Yes, by law it is — it isn’t premeditated murder, it’s manslaughter,” you slip your hands into your pockets, “but even then, do people get any better locked up in cages?” 

“Do you think they should be—” 

“Walking free and clear? No,” you look up at the sky, “but you know in Sweden — they have one of, if not the, lowest recidivism rates? They have less than 4,000 prisoners, compared to America’s millions. It’s because they focus on rehabilitation, not punishment. Instead of locking up people in tiny cells and inhumane conditions, they give them care in all aspects of their lives — education, psychological help, medical — everything,” Sonny opens his mouth to interject, and you hold your hands up, “I’m not saying all people are capable of reform — but a lot of them are, and don’t we owe people that chance?” 

“But with S.V.U.—”

“With S.V.U., it’s more complicated — I won’t deny that, rapists are more likely to victimize again compared to other crimes,” you shake your head, “I don’t have all the answers, but I know locking people up and having them be victimized in prison isn’t the answer,” you offer a small smile, “but to answer your question, I miss the people, but I’m happy where I landed. I think it’s the right place for me.” 

“How do you know? I mean, how do you know it’s the right place?” 

You shrug, “You just feel it after some time—” you tilt your head, “where’s this coming from?” 

Sonny sighs, “I got a big case coming up in a week,” his hands slipped into his pockets, “My first trial.” 

“Hadid letting you off the leash?” he barks out a laugh. 

“Barely,” he shakes his head, “not that I blame her — this job, I swear I come home more tired than I did chasing down perps.” 

“That seems like a stretch, and hindsight bias,” you add, elbowing him before rubbing your shoulders, biting back a shiver — wearing only a suit coat out was a mistake, “besides I know you can handle it.” 

He unwraps his scarf, as you open your mouth to protest, but the scarf is already around your neck, and you can’t help but smile — it smells like him — “Sometimes I think you have more faith in me than I do,” 

“I have enough faith in you for the both of us,” you pull the scarf  snug around yourself, resisting the urge to bury your nose in it. You bite your lip, “is the gallery open to the public?” 

“Think so,” he nods. 

“Do you want me to be there in court?” the words come out carefully — afraid to cross a line you weren’t sure was there. 

“Watching the case?” 

“Just the verdict,” you say, “I didn’t get to be there for you when you passed the bar or when you got hired at the D.A.’s office — we could get dinner after — guilty verdict or not.” 

“Not gonna disappear on me for three years, are you?” you flinch, and he sighs, “sorry that came out wrong—” 

“It’s okay,” you smile ruefully, “I kind of deserved it, but,” you add, “I’m not going anywhere — and this time I mean it.” 

The quiet settled over you both for a moment, and you knew he was going to ask — you knew he was working up the courage to do so, “Why did you leave?” you cross your arms, “you don’t—” 

“I want to,” you shake your head — and you could see Rafael’s smile, feel his touch, and see his heart break — “It’s just complicated.” 

“So complicated that you had to leave?” he pressed, and you nodded. 

“I didn’t want to — but I had to,” you glance at him, see his brows knit together, “but the one thing I regretted and I will always regret is leaving you too, and I promise, I won’t do it again,” you reach for his hand, your fingers intertwining, just as you reach the doorstep of your apartment, “you can hold me to that.” 

He stares down at you, the flickering light of your apartment barely illuminating his face, but a soft smile on his lips, “I will, sweetheart,” and warmth bloomed in your stomach — no, you really couldn’t deny it anymore could you? But he squeezes your hand, stepping back, “See you in a week?” 

You lick your lips, heart thumping in your ears — you nod, “Yeah,” you feel his coat around your shoulders, “oh your scar—” 

He waves you off, “Keep it,” he walks down your steps, turning around, pointing a finger at you, grinning, “But make sure Rollins isn’t the one bringing it by.” 

You hear the humor in his voice and smile, “No promises.” 

And you spare one more glance at his returning back, before slipping inside your apartment building and into your apartment. Your fingers fisted in the soft red cotton of his scarf — your cheeks and heart warm.  

Oh, what were you getting yourself into? 

Sonny tried not to glance behind him — you still hadn’t arrived. His nerves were shot after this week — everything that could have gone wrong had gone wrong. 

Of course it did — it did little to inspire faith in himself, or in Hadid for that matter. 

“All rise,” Judge Abbas said, and Sonny had to stop himself from jumping to his feet — he knew, he knew in his gut that he had given his best case, though this case was sticky to begin with, “Foreperson of the jury, what say you on the charge of rape in the second degree?” 

Sonny’s heart jumped into his throat, blood roaring in his ears, and he barely caught the verdict, mouth dry — the feeling of the victims’ gazes boring into the back of his head. 

“We find the defendant guilty,” and he nearly couldn’t believe it — he had done it, they had done it. The judge announces they will reconvene for sentencing in two weeks. He turns around, shaking the hands of the victims, thanking them for their testimony, sparing one glance at the defendant. 

Adneradline and relief is pumping through him, his chest lighter — he had done it, he had gotten justice. 

And then he sees you — through the crowd, you’re standing by the door, smiling brightly at him, mouthing congratulations, jerking your head and slipping from the courtroom. He nearly trips over himself to get to you, trying to maintain decorum as he leaves through the double doors. He slips by people he knows and those he doesn’t until finally he finds you in a discrete corner of the courthouse, away from prying eyes and reporters. 

“Sonny, I’m so proud of you,” you say, your hands on his shoulders, your lips curled in a smile he hoped that was just for him, “I knew you could do it,” 

And you did — you had told him he could do it time and time again when he didn’t believe in himself, you had been there for him, as you promised to be. 

Everything slows for a moment. 

And he couldn’t help think you were the only one he needed to believe in him, to be by his side, the one he wanted to tell good news first, the one he wanted to wake up beside in the morning. He’s breathless as he looks at you, and you seem to realize — the air between you two becoming thick, as he looms closer, a bag on your arm, slipping to your fingers now.  

“Sonny,” you breathe, as you tilt your head upwards to look into his eyes.

And he knows this may be a mistake — the last time he kissed you, you disappeared, and every relationship he’s had has ended in disaster, but he can’t bring himself to care — not when he could kiss you again. 

“Can I kiss you?” the words slip past his lips without much to-do, and he has to stop himself from biting his tongue or stumbling back, especially when you nod, and his lips crash to yours. 

His kiss is still hesitant, and so are you, your lips parting and meeting again and again — chaste, but he tasted you — and he swore he never tasted anything like you before, nothing so sweet. And he pulls away a moment, eyes fluttering and he sees your eyes do the same. And his heart is in his throat again — what if you thought it was a mistake? 

But you only smile, your warm hand cupping his cheek, the bag slipping from your fingers, as the other intertwines with his fingers, “Where do you think you’re going?” 

And you kiss him again, and he doesn’t hold back this time, his arms wrapping around you, tugging you impossibly closer, smiling against your lips. And he couldn’t help but think — as warmth bloomed in his stomach, your fingers curling in his hair — how did he ever get so lucky?

[spencerscoven]

— idle hands

about ; Spencer looks back on to the months before at the events that pulled him under, all of them starting and ending with you.

gif by sarahmichellesgellar

WARNINGS: unedited— fem!reader unsub, unsub!spencer, handjobs, smut, mentions of drugs&addiction, mentions of depression, mentions of torture, mentions of death

“Is it really so hard to believe I wanted to do it?”

A small smile played on Spencer’s features, his eyes on Hotch’s, unmoving. His eyes were bright honey, within them holding something that had been foreign to him for much too long. Happiness. Euphoria.

He sat in the same seat as you once did, letting himself soak up the aura of the interrogation room. The metal jingle of his handcuffs paired with the rough floors that were once waxed allowed him to be brought back to half a year ago, to a Wednesday in September, where the sun rose south on the horizon in Quantico, where nothing would be the same again. 

Spencer’s brought back to the day he first met you, the memory so vivid he could stick his tongue out and imagine he tasted your perfume in the air. It only takes a little longer before he’s also taken back to the moments before, when he leaned against the hallway walls of the BAU with an unsettled stomach and weak knees.

“I just can’t.” Spencer had said. Begged, even.

“You can’t? Or you won’t?” Spencer knew it wasn’t a question, no matter how Hotch had phrased it. He shook his head obediently, heart heavy and guts threatening to spill onto the brown leather of his shoes. It was even worse with every step, his fingers feeble on the cool handle of the door. And he hated himself for knowing where he’d go after, the image of a small seringe behind his lids each time he blinked.

The temperature inside was only cooler, making the claminess of his hands more evident, his jaw clenched. He inspected over you for as long as he could before it turned into staring, observing just who you were in the flesh. The woman behind the profile.

Soft hair.

Established at work.

Calm.

Smart.

Perfectly hidden in everyone’s good graces, leaving you out of suspicion.

He examined you so long that he was able to see you do the same to him, gazing up and down, the corner of your lips turned up. Twenty four men within the last eight months— erratic at first, until the murders gained a special flair, your signature. The photos sat infront of you already, their tongues cut skillfully out of their mouths as you paid the snapshots no attention.

“This one,” You pointed to the photo to the farthest left, your nose scrunched up in slight disgust, “To me he looks very proud, doesn’t he? I’m sure somebody wanted to shut him up.”

Spencer’s eyebrows furrowed, watching the game you were getting at, moving your chess piece three spaces over and looking him in the eye, daring him to join.

“Is that what you wanted? To shut him up?”

“Couldn’t say. I only read about it in the papers,” You retracted his accusation as if you’d been looking forword to the chase, crossing your legs and watching as his eyes followed them. “I read that he was a man with wandering hands, and much too many secrets. Maybe he deserved it.”

He watched you lean forward, embracing the space of the table as you placed your elbows upon it, holding your chin in the palm of your hand. You were the exact opposite of what uncomfortable was. You were eager. Excited.

“Do you agree that he deserved it?”

“I couldn’t possibly agree with you.” Spencer appealed.

Your painted nails motioned him to come closer, his jaw going slack at what was a demand, not a request. His body acted first, the scent of you nearly lifting him off the floors as it hit him. It made him sick as if he was on a rocking boat— shipwrecked. And to feel something felt good.

“I mean, there’s really no proof of who the killer is anyway.” You sighed, collecting your things without much regard for the bloody mess of the images below you.

Spencer glanced at the two way glass to the left as if he could see the figures behind it watching him crumble, letting you go because you were right in all the ways that were wrong. He’d hear about another thing he had done wrong as soon as he exited the doors.

You dismantled the space between the two of you, stopping close to look into the bronze gold of his irises, holding his energy alongside yours. Spencer tried to justify the way he didn’t step back— the soft soul of your breath against his ear just barely.

“I just wanted to see you up close...” You lead off without finishing, implying you wanted his name.

“Doctor.” He tutted, his arms held defensively by his side as if it would get him out of this newly dug hole that already contained multiple sprouting seeds inside of it.

“Doctor, you seem unsettled...” You let out a little hum at the title, nodding as you swiped your hand on the shoulder of his jacket. It was your only excuse to touch him. “Some people do bad things for all the right reasons, and sometimes, they do far too well at it.”

You struggled at your last statement, as if you were passing it onto him to consider. He couldn’t help himself from looking over his shoulder, watching the sway of your hips fade into the distance, leaving the door open only to reveal the figure of the black haired man, as if he was ready to stop what everyone else could see happening.

Hotch watched from the open door as Spencer stepped closer to the table, eyes burning through the print that you once referenced to before he took it between his thumbs, tearing it apart.

In the beginning of October, he let himself come to true terms. Sure, his team acted like they cared. They never ratted him out in fear he would lose his job— in fact, they never even uttered the words of it out loud, instead preferring looks of empathy. And as time went on, their empathy switched to looks of pity that soon became dehumanizing as they pressed and prodded at him like a cell below a microscope.

So he told them what they had already known when he was finally able to come to terms with it himself, droplets falling to the floor from his eyes as he quietly announced “I’m an addict”. And he listened as they said completely nothing, looking up to only see them watch anything in the room but him, averting their eyes to something that was somehow more important than what he had to confess.

And it dawned on him that very moment that they didn’t care when they only spoke to accept his apology for the sudden slip of the tongue. To them, he ceased to exist beyond the ways his brain benefited them.

Spencer realized they didn’t care to talk about the trackmarks that riddled his arm, or the noise of the glass vials that they heard from his pockets. He was becoming increasingly uncaring and disorganized, becoming less and less sterile each time he pumped his viens and chased his impending doom in the form of a sweet high. They just wanted to go to sleep at night without guilt sitting on their chests.

They wanted him to suffer in the shadows, swaying against the side of the bathroom stall as he rolled up his sleeves. They wanted to get off scot free and go on with their lives if they were to ever find him slumped against the cold floors, barely conscious.

It made Spencer’s skin crawl.

During an evening in mid October his fingers shook on the bottom half of his old cellphone, eagerly inching towards the final number— the one that had been burned into the front of his head right from the manila folder.

187...The one he promised he wouldn’t call.

187-654...The one that smelt like vanilla graced with casablanca lillies, and something else he just could not sniff out.

187-654-337... Was it so bad that he thought of you in a way he wasn’t supposed to?

“Hello?”

Spencer’s breath hitched against the receiver, keeping his voice in his chest while he nuzzled against his phone, taking you in as if you were right beside him.

“It’s you, isn’t it, Spencer?”

He worried his lips at your tone, patience and humility just waiting for him to speak up. Spencer counted the seconds over as several minutes passed, your tolerance never wearing down.

“Why do you know that?” Spencer asked, running his slim fingers through his head of hair at the sound of his first name, one he had never given you. Was he that fucking obvious to you?

“You were easy to find, I googled you. You’re quite remarkable, aren’t you? Besides, I’ve been expecting this call,” You admitted.

He could hear you shuffling around the room, discarding something metal and turning on the pipe, washing your hands clean. He could see your image now, phone held between your cheek and shoulder, hair falling infront of your eyes as you rinsed. He wondered what you were ridding your hands of, or if it even mattered now that he had crossed this line.

“You’ve been expecting me?”

“It’s a pity you didn’t call sooner, Spencer... I’ve been thinking about the things we could discuss. Is that what you want? To talk?”

He swallowed around the lump in his throat to stop himself from reciting his uttermost single thought: You’re no good for me.

“Yeah, I’d like to talk.”

He’d forgotten what it felt like when someone listened.

On the ripe night of December 31, he sat upon your couch, his elbows on his knees as he covered his face in shame. Hours before he stumbled onto your porch, rambling about you and him, him and you. You’d only chuckled at it, calling him admirable and sickingly sweet. His pulse began to beat harder as you told him that he reminded you of your mother, a woman who stood pure and good. He didn’t have the heart to just let you blindly say so, spoiling the image of her. Not when he wouldn’t do that to his own mother, either.

After the new person he’d become the past year, he wasn’t so sure he was deserving of such a thing. He played with the band of his watch, nothing that in just two more hours it’d be the new year. He couldn’t stop himself from spilling his truth, the one he had implied to you for months.

“What did you used to take?”

“Dilaudad, when it was available. But Morphine mostly,” Spencer’s voice was no louder than a whisper, “It was easier to get.”

He sat without saying much else, digging his fingernails into the palm of his hand, expecting you to dismiss him like so many others had before.

“How long has it been?”

“A few months.” Spencer pierced his lips, ignoring the look you gave him that implied you knew, like he did, that he wasn’t ready to admit exactly just how long he had been at it.

“Did they care?” You asked, your body leaning closer into him, waiting for a reply that never came from his mouth. You paid attention to the slight tremble of his body and the glossiness of his eyes.

He never told you the specifics about himself, and you wondered if it was because he kept you at arm’s length or because he truly thought there wasn’t anything to tell. But sometimes he’d talk about them; a woman called Emily, and one by the name of Garcia. You already knew who Hotch was from the moments he tried to shake a confession out of you before. You had assumed they were the only ones he had because he never said much else. His silence only pinged as an answer.

“Spencer, you deserve better, you do.” Your hands glided along his jaw, tilting his head to look at you. With the pads of your thumb you wiped the few tears that cascaded down his cheeks, his eyes shut tight in protest. “I care. Did you ever know that?”

Spencer stood with limp arms, his head nodding as he brought his cheek closer to your hand and laid a gentle kiss on your finger, dropping his whole world into yours.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why would you need to apologize, Spencer?”

You didn’t look at him through a lense that demonized him, reducing him to just another case who had let his addiction eat his life up from the inside out. He knew that to you he was someone like he had never been before. He was just himself, not an obstacle. And you were unreal, ready and willing to protect him.

“Can I touch you?” Spencer croaked, looking down at you with wide eyes. You didn’t answer verbally, instead opting to bring his face closer to yours, steering his lips into a kiss. It became clear as to who was in control as he submitted, hands delicately wavering above your hips without the permission to do much else.

You threw your thighs over his, straddling his hips and beginning to grind slowly, only to see that he was already showcasing a hard bludge in his pinstripe trousers. At the speed of it you pondered on the thought that he hadn’t been touched in a long time— or ever.

“Yes, you can touch me.” You assured him, a ginger grin appearing in response to his nervous eyes and hands that grasped your tits above your shirt, so eager to touch. “I meant what I said. If they can’t help give you what you need, what can they do for you?”

You palmed Spencer through his pants, admiring the little sounds that poured out of his mouth, each a bit louder than the one before. The button of his pants came off easy enough, allowing his cock to spring out, the rosy tip already leaking and sensitive. His hips jerked up to your touch, breath caught up against your neck. Your hand worked between the two of you, traveling up and down his dick repeatedly. At the perfect pace, your thumb ran across the tip, coaxing swears from his mouth as you brought your lips back to his.

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Spencer. You don’t always have to stand so strong...”

Spencer’s hips moved underneath you to meet your hands, his orgasm coating your hands as he continued to whine well after he had cum, a sound that ensured the happy death of you. Through hooded eyes, he taped you licking his finishes off the back of your hand and your fingers, a keen look of contentment placed upon your face.

“You’re not alone anymore, are you?”

Spencer nodded ‘no’, embarking on how you resembled Eris, spirit dripping of discord and nasty twists, yet headstrong enough to hold the both of you up. It was an infatuation; a dangerous one.

He rubbed circles into your thigh, the after effects of his orgasm making his head hazy, head stuck in the clouds. His long fingers inched closer to the waistband of your jeans, face confused when you gently directed them away.

“I just want to please you,” he mewled, pout evident.

“You already have.”

Spencer nodded, following your lead to drop it, a long sigh drawn out his peachy lips. His head tilted, almost as a puppy’s would, an epiphany settling in. His eyes became earnest, unable to tiptoe around the dark reality surrounding the two of you. To him it didn’t matter anyway, not anymore.

“You killed those men, didn’t you?”

“Who’s to say?” You raised your eyebrows, feigning innocence like a code, meant for Spencer to see right through.

“Right,” His shoulders dropped, body no longer tense. “My team... they’re wondering if you’re worth all the trouble.”

“Am I?”

Spencer’s lips rose north, resembling something that he hadn’t done for months. You watched, a bit hypnotized, lips swollen and skin sensitive to the touch.

“You are.”

When it became March, it was too late.

“The victim is male, mid 50s, his identity yet to be verified,”

Hotch watched the scene infront of him eerily silent.

“Body has several struggle adhesions, the tongue was severed from the mouth, as well as both hands. They’ve yet to be found— I’d say the body is about five days old.”

He’d last seen Spencer six days ago after he entered the passenger side of the familiar black car, windows just a bit tinted as he saw his torso reach across the center console, kissing who had been in the driver’s seat. He hadn’t asked where he planned to go.

Idle hands ; the devil’s workshop. Nothing good came from hurt.

masterlist

[scaryscarecrows]

Breathe In, Breathe Out (Let the Human In)

AN: Happy deathday, Jason! Title from Of Monsters and Men's 'Human'. Arkham Asylum alternate ending thingy.

TW for attempted suicide.

* * *

It’s the Joker’s fault.

Well, okay, fine, it’s ninety percent the Joker’s fault and ten percent Cobblepot being a nosey Nellie, but because she hates him and he isn’t her boss, Dove is going to lay all the blame on the clown.

And he’s the one who made this spectacle, so there.

Whoever’s fault it is, Cobblepot demanded they trek to Arkham. He says that it’s because he’s a donor and has rights to see what’s going on. Dove knows for a fact he hasn’t donated a damn cent since his stint as the mayor way back when, but he’s playing at being Legal for now and, well, she’s curious too. Batman is there. Arkham’s got a pretty full house tonight. And the news is saying something about monsters.

The news is not wrong. Batman is here, on the roof, with--

Oh my God.

That’s. That’s Joker, but...but he’s done something to himself. Something awful. He’s monstrous, with...with spines (no, not spines, his spine, his bones) jutting up out of his torn back, and he’s. He’s huge, big enough to pick up Batman. And Dove’s been up close to Batman before, been picked up by the guy, even. He’s not small.

“What’s going on?” Cobblepot demands. He’s not alone. She recognizes some of the men gathered here, at the police barricade. Most of them are as corrupt as they come. “Jim! Jim, come here, I demand--”

“You don’t get to demand anything--”

Above them, Joker laughs. Dove has faith that Batman will stop him. He always does.

(He has to.)

She ducks, though, when the clown turns to peer down at them, and turns her head away. And that’s the only reason she sees the thin, trembling shadow stumbling out from one of the buildings.

Between the floodlights and the chopper, the lawn’s lit right up. The orange jumpsuit sticks out like a sore thumb and her first thought is ZSASZ.

“Harvey!” Harvey Bullock turns, toothpick already half-shredded in his teeth. “There’s a--”

“Shit--”

The shadow goes down and no, that’s not Zsasz. There’s hair. Harvey approaches so Jim can deal with this shitshow, turns the man(?) onto his back. There’s silence, followed by a horrified, “What the fuck?”

“What now?”

“What is going on--”

“Harvey?”

An explosion draws Jim back to his radio, shouting at the chopper to GET BACK GET OUT OF THERE RIGHT NOW. Dove risks inching towards Harvey and the orange shadow.

“Harvey?”

“Jesus Christ…” He’s all but sitting on his hands. “Jesus Christ, kid, what happened to you?”

Kid? That’s a kid?

“Who is that?”

He looks up, hat falling off.

“I think it’s Robin.”

No, Robin would be...up…

Oh.

Oh, my God.

She does go closer at that, and it is Robin. Not the current one, the new one, but the one before. The one Joker...Joker’d got hold of him...God, over a year ago, now, sent a tape out a few months back.

He’d been dead. Finally, Dove remembers thinking guiltily, out of his misery.

But apparently not. He’s older than she remembers (of course he is), but...but there’s a brand on his face, a goddamn ‘J’ burned into his skin like he’s a piece of meat rather than a boy, and he’d had that…

“Robin?” she whispers. “Can you hear me, sweetheart?”

He’s breathing, harsh, ragged gasps that stutter and catch (broken ribs or scared or...?), and he flinches when Joker starts laughing again.

“What did that bastard do to you, kid?” Harvey breathes, finally inching out a hand to brush against the orange jumpsuit. The thing’s hanging off the kid’s frame and it’s stained and torn. “Jesus…”

Robin’s eyes flicker open, and a second later he jolts upright for all of four seconds before collapsing back to the grass.

“No no no--”

“Robin. Robin! Look at me, sweetheart, c’mon, you’re okay, you’re okay, just--”

He freezes, eyes going from the medical building to Harvey to her. Then he swallows, hard, and whispers, “This is real?”

Harvey shucks off his coat and lays it over him as gently as possible.

“Here you go, kid. Just. Just stay real still, huh? Everything’s fine. You’re fine.”

“You promise--you promise you’re not--”

“Shh.” Dove reaches over, intending to just...ruffle his hair, or something, and he flinches back, eyes squeezed shut like he thinks she’s going to hurt him.

“No no please m’sorry m’sorry--”

“Don’t be sorry, honey.” Jesus… “There’s nothing to be sorry for. You’re okay, you’re gonna be okay, it’s over. We’re not gonna hurt ya, honey, I promise.”

He just lies there, shuddering under Harvey’s coat, and finally opens his eyes to look up at the sky.

“S’over?” he breathes. “I...you promise…” He cuts himself off with a choked sob and spits out, “I can’t go back.”

Jim’s suddenly there, confused and demanding to know, “What’s going on? Who the hell--”

Robin jerks at the suddenness of it all and the next thing Dove knows, he’s jolted up and all but crawled into her lap.

“What the hell--”

“Please--”

“Dammit, Jim, now look what you did--”

“Sh-sh-sh, kiddo, s’just Jim. S’just Jim.” Robin the Second is not pocket-sized. Once upon a time, almost. Enough. But pocket-sized or not, he’s emaciated and feverish and terrified. “S’just Jim.”

“It’s Robin,” Harvey’s explaining, voice cracking and shocked. “Jesus, Jim, it’s fuckin’ Robin, Joker didn’t--he’s still alive--”

Robin cringes at another explosion, scrunching down and burying his head against her neck with a whimper. Dove risks touching the back of his head, and when he doesn’t panic, runs her fingers through his hair. It’s matted and stiff and there’s a lump at the base of his skull.

“Shh, shh,” she murmurs. “It’s okay, you’re okay...we gotcha, we gotcha…”

“Mm--”

“Shh, Robin--”

“Jason,” he whispers, so quiet that she nearly misses it. “S’Jason--h-he would’a come for Robin an’ he left me with him--”

That is a can of worms she’s not getting into.

“Okay. Okay, Jason.”

He’s quiet after that, breathing slow and careful and clearly trying to calm himself down. And he’s almost there, or at least he’s not crying anymore, when Batman is suddenly there.

“Jim--”

Jason flinches and tries to curl into a ball, whispering, “Nonono I can’t do this again I can’t do this again…”

Batman stills and sinks into a crouch. Jason’s trembling in Dove’s arms and when Batman half-reaches towards him he all but knocks her over trying to get away.

“Shh, baby, shh, s’just Batman--”

“Get away!” He pulls free and crab-crawls backwards before collapsing on the grass. “Get away from me--please--”

She’s seen Batman be still before, but not like this. He’s, well, he’s shocked. Jason’s shuddering with dry sobs, and when Batman does finally move again, he squirms back behind Dove.

“Sweetheart, no one’s gonna hurt you--”

“You left me!” He jabs an accusing finger at the Bat. “You left me with him, you replaced me, you left me to die!” He struggles to his knees, wheezing. “Joke’s on you, Batman, I didn’t! So tell them! Tell them what happened, just...just…” He wobbles and winds up curled on his side, shaking. “Where the hell were you?”

Batman just looks at him like he can’t believe he’s here and breathes, “I thought you were dead.”

To be fair, that was...everyone did. Joker had sent that tape around, laughing all the while, and…

“Not the whole time,” Jason spits. “You replaced me in what, a week? If? Come on, Batman, quit hiding behind your pathetic excuses! World’s greatest detective, my ass, if you were, you would. Have. Looked.”

“Robin--”

“I’m not Robin anymore! Robin’s dead!” He pauses, and a sick smile creeps over his face. “Or. I guess not, huh? You got a nice, shiny new one! Where’d you find this one, the Wal-Mart parking lot? Amazon dot fucking com? Inquiring minds wanna know!”

Batman’s still and silent. Twenty feet away, the Joker’s being loaded onto a gurney. He’s normal-sized again, looks like shit (good), and giggling; until he thrashes his head.

And sees what’s going on.

Joker doesn’t laugh all the time. That’s a common misconception. But he laughs enough that when he stops, when that smile drops, that most people would rather be locked in a room with Scarecrow than be anywhere near him.

And he’s not laughing now.

“How did you…”

Jason freezes, smile vanishing. He manages, somehow, to go even paler before curling into a small ball, arms over his head.

“Get that animal out of here,” Batman snarls, and Dove’s never heard him sound like that. She’s not scared of the Bat...but tonight, she could be.

“How did you get out, you sorry little brat?!” The clown jerks against the restraints and they rattle. They’re not gonna give, surely they’re not gonna give, he’s small again--

Batman’s suddenly right up against him, hand at his throat.

“That’s enough.”

Joker looks from Jason to Batman and back again before plastering that godawful grin back on his face.

“You don’t think he wants you back, do you?” His voice is strangled. “Not after everything you’ve done--oog!”

Mercifully-finally-Batman slams his head back hard enough to either knock him out or shut him up. Dove doesn’t care which. He steps back, turns around, and finds Harvey Bullock in his space.

Harvey...Harvey talks a big game. But he’s a big old softie, really, and he had a fondness for Robin the Second*. And a long-standing distrust of Batman. With everything that happened, that distrust had only grown.

“I think you owe the kid some answers,” he says, voice trembling with barely-suppressed rage. “Where were you, exactly? How did you miss this?”

“Get out of my way, Bullock.”

“How long was he missing before you mentioned it? Or kidnapped the current one, huh? If you’d kept that pointy nose of yours out of our cases for once--”

“Bullock--”

“--you might’ve found him!”

Batman is, surprise, surprise, silent. Dove knows this kind of silence; men get like this before they. Before they hurt people.

“Bullock,” he says at last, voice very, very, low, “step aside before I force you aside.”

He’s bloody, holding one arm funny, and breathing far too evenly. Even Jim’s wary now, one hand inching towards his gun. Harvey huffs.

“Screw you,” he says, but he’s not dumb enough to fight Batman, and he steps aside. Batman’s still pissed, still ready for what Dove knows will be a one-sided fight, but he manages a stiff nod before turning that laser-focus back to Jason.

Jason’s still huddled in a ball. The fight’s gone out of him, the insane smile and that...that shine in his eyes. He’s not looking at Batman though, or at Joker. He’s just curled over his knees, arms wound around his ribs and head ducked down. Defensive, ready for a beating.

“Hey-hey, baby,” she murmurs, “no one’s gonna hurt you. Come on now, you’re okay.”

Jason uncurls a little, eyes wide, and before anyone can react he’s lunged at Jim and gotten the pistol out of his holster and aimed it at Batman.

“M’not doing this again,” he says, carefully flat. “M’not falling for it.”

“Robin--”

“Kid--”

“M’not falling for this again!” His eyes are wide and tears are running down his cheeks, but his hands are steady. Too steady. “I remember! I learned my lesson! M’not gonna let you get close enough to beat the crap outta me again!”

“Robin,” Batman breathes, and he’s not scary anymore. He’s just a man. “Robin, I never--”

“Stay back!”

Everybody knows Batman can disarm people in the blink of an eye. Dove’s not so sure he can get that gun from Jason before he pulls the trigger.

Jesus Christ, what did Joker do to him…

“All right,” Batman says softly. “All right. I’ll stay right here, and you can put the gun down--”

“No!” The word echoes off the buildings, a frantic, NONONONONONONONONO! “You think I’m stupid?” He laughs. It’s a flat, angry laugh that reminds Dove uncomfortably of the Joker. “You always did, huh?”

“I never--”

“Shut up!” Now he’s starting to shake a little and she sees Harvey shift, just a bit. Jason doesn’t appear to notice. “Just shut up, stop talking to me!”

“Hey. Kid.” What the fuck, Harvey? “C’mon, look at me.” Harvey steps closer. “C’mon. He’s not gonna get ya, just look at me.”

Dove doesn’t think he will, but she’s proven wrong. He doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t lower the gun, but he looks at Harvey.

“Good. Good, kid. Now just calm down, okay? No one’s gonna hurt ya, this isn’t…” He takes another step. “This isn’t like that.”

“No, no…”

“Hey. You’re not gonna break my heart an’ tell me I laid a finger on ya, are ya?” Harvey manages, God knows how, to give Jason a real smile. “And you know Dove’s not gonna hurt ya, right? You’re out, kid. You’re okay. So Bats is a bit of a dope--” Batman radiates mild offense. “--but he’s been lookin’ all over the place for you. So come on. Put the gun down.”

People underestimate Harvey sometimes. He’s a disaster, smokes too much and doesn’t clean and yeah, his landlord did try to murder him that one time and Dove could totally see where he was coming from, but...he’s a good guy. Mostly. He’s the kinda cop that she would’ve talked to as a little girl, y’know? He does his best for this hellhole of a city.

Jason’s arms shake and the guns do start lowering. Dove’s just thinking maybe he’ll be okay when he looks back at Batman and whispers, “I can’t.”

“Can’t what, Robin?” Batman’s voice is very, very soft. “Talk to me, son.”

Jason hiccups and spits out, “I killed people! Beat ‘em to death because they looked like you, they looked like you, they were gonna kill me--”

Jesus. Jesus Christ--

Jason’s still blubbering, voice thick and angry and horrified.

“--you’re not gonna want me anymore and I can’t go back to him I can’t I can’t--”

“You’re not going back to him,” Batman insists. “You’re never going back to him, we’re going--”

“No.” Jason swallows and when he speaks again, his voice is steady enough. “No. S’okay, B. There’s no fixin’ me, I know. S’okay.”

He raises the gun again, presses it to his head.

“M’sorry.”

Dove doesn’t see Batman move. One minute he’s over there, and the next minute, Jason’s disappeared under a shadow and the gun’s out of his hand. Jim grabs it and backs away.

Batman stands up, keeping Jason’s arms behind his back. Jason’s slumped forward, breathing hard.

“Listen to me,” he says, the softness of his tone a stark contrast to the firm restraint, “there is nothing you could do that would make me leave you with that monster. I promise.”

“But I--”

“Agent A’s missed you,” he continues. “And Nightwing, and. And Batgirl. I’m sorry, Robin, for failing you. But I never left you, and I certainly never replaced you. We can fix this, at home.” He sighs. “Come home, son.”

Jason bursts into tears, legs buckling under him, and Batman turns him around to hug him.

“Dad--”

“I’ve got you,” Batman murmurs. “I’ve got you. We’re going home right now.”

Dove wonders how-they all saw the destroyed car, Cobblepot had laughed about it-when there’s a noise that can only be described as Hell dropping out of the sky and a…

Oh. Right. Batman not only has a car, he also has a goddamn plane. Because that’s just something that he needs.

The plane lands on the lawn. Batman picks Jason up-looks a little awkward, with the growth spurt the kid’s managed-and turns around.

Nobody tries to stop him. Nobody even says anything until the plane’s in the air, and then Harvey sighs, flicks his toothpick away, and turns to Dove.

“Fuck it,” he says roughly. “You got a cigarette?”

She should say no. He’s been tryin’ to quit, doin’ real good, but…

She needs a smoke too, after that.

“Here.”

THE END

*Canon! (It’s mutual. It’s precious.

[xaphrin]

Raven pitched forward, smirking as she took a sip of her wine. “Color me surprised, I didn’t know Damian Wayne had a sweet tooth.”

He lifted an eyebrow and shoved another bite of the chocolate torte in his mouth, never breaking eye-contact with her. Heat crawled up her neck, but she couldn’t look away from him. Raven tried not to focus on the way his tongue slid along his full lips, making sure he didn’t waste a crumb. It was a tease of power, and he knew it would burn her. Heat coiled in the pit of her stomach, and Raven tore her eyes away from him, giving him that small concession to save her sanity. The last thing she needed was to have inconvenient feelings for Damian Wayne.

“Jealous?” Damian picked up a bite of torte and held his fork out to her. “You can ask for some.” 

Raven reached for the fork, but he pulled it out of her reach and leveled a stare at her. Oh. He… wanted to feed her? That was a step into an area she had never considered before. Raven glanced around the restaurant, realizing that there was more than one cell phone lifted, taking pictures of the two of them. One of the many hazards of being in public with a Wayne. Her stomach twisted and she took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Finally, she leaned forward and opened her mouth. 

Damian grinned and ate the bite himself, never looking away from her.

“Jerk.” She pursed her lips, but couldn’t stop the twitch of a smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth. God, he was infuriating sometimes. With no decorum whatsoever, she reached across the table and grabbed the torte from in front of Damian, taking a bite herself. 

He laughed and leaned back in his chair watching her as if she completely fascinated him. But, more likely, he was trying to find something to tease her about. A soft silence settled between them before he filled it, tapping his fingers on the tablecloth. “So… after dinner, did you want to walk down by the bay?” 

Raven picked up her head, her fork hanging out of her mouth as she blinked. What? The soft, silky torte turned to ash in her mouth and she forced herself to swallow. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Take a walk by the bay together.” Damian shrugged and tried to look unaffected, but she swore she could see the tips of his ears turn pink. “We’re still on a date, and you paid a thousand dollars for this. So… you might as well take advantage of it. Get your money’s worth.” 

“Oh. Ah… I… sure?” If he had asked her this same question yesterday, she would have pulled out a whole ledger filled with reasons why this wasn’t a date and why they shouldn’t do date things. But, right now, Raven couldn’t think of a reason not to walk with him. They were sort of friends, she didn’t have anything else to do tonight. And… she was finding she didn’t mind his company all that much. In fact, she might have actually started to like him a little. It only took four damn years. Her toes curled in Donna’s shoes and she shifted, taking another bite of the torte as she tried to look unaffected. “I guess. Sure. It’s a nice night for it.”  

Damian motioned for the waiter and paid the bill, while Raven kept watching him from under her lowered lashes. Jesus, he was handsome. Although she would rather eat crow than admit that out loud. Candlelight slid over his olive skin, casting curious shadows bathing him in mystery. Her stomach twisted as her eyes traced the stern line of his jaw and his full, decadent lips. Lips she wouldn’t mind giving a test kiss too. Just to see if they were really as soft as they looked. Not because she liked him like that. No. Of course not. This was Damian Wayne, her arch rival for the better part of four years, not some boy she happened to have a crush on.

She left a few bites of the torte for him and pushed the plate back to his side of the table. “I’ll need to text Donna and let her know I’ll be a bit later than eleven.”

“Oh no.” He lifted an eyebrow. “We’re staying out past curfew. How will she manage the scandal?”

Raven offered a sardonic smile. “I just want to make sure that when my body inevitably goes missing, she knows to check the bay first.” 

He just rolled his eyes, but didn’t stop smiling.   

Raven reached for her purse on the back of her chair, but it slipped on the shiny wood and fell to the hardwood floor. With a sharp crash, the snap closure cracked open with the shock of the impact, spilling the contents of her purse. She sat there, in complete, silent horror, as no less than twenty brightly colored condoms scattered across the floor around their table like suggestive confetti. Oh, fuck. This night could not possibly get any worse.

Frozen in shock, she sat there, not exactly knowing what to do. It wasn’t like she could deny ownership of the condoms, they came from her purse. She could try to make a joke, or explain the water balloon contingency plan, but nothing came out. The table next to them snorted into their food, trying not to make eye contact with Raven or Damian, and that somehow made it worse.

Damian looked from the floor to her face and then back again. He cleared his throat and pressed his lips together. “Oh. Wow. You… seem prepared.” 

“Donna. Water balloons. Not… mine?” Raven found herself stumbling through a series of weaker and weaker excuses, until she finally gathered enough of her wits to stoop down and shove the condoms back in her purse. She was going to murder Donna when she got back to their house. Murder her and bury her in the basement of their old house.

“You missed one.” Damian, lips pressed together as he obviously tried to stifle a laugh, reached across the table and handed it to her. “While I like to think my stamina is impressive, twenty times in one night seems a bit much.” 

Raven snatched the condom from him and glared, pulling herself to her feet. “Let’s just go.”  

She stormed out of the restaurant, trying to hide her shame as she stepped onto the street. Of all the things that could possibly go wrong on her not-date with Damian Wayne, an exploding purse full of condoms was somehow not on her list of worst-case scenarios. She stood in the streetlight, taking a deep breath of the air, tinged with moist heat of late-spring, and felt her embarrassment flood her. She buried her face in her hands and tried not to feel so utterly inept at this. How could she be so bad at just going on a date?

“So…” Damian wandered up behind her, his voice surprisingly casual. “I’m learning more and more about Gotham U’s resident hardass.” 

Raven started to walk away from him, but Damian followed, his steps sound and sure as he caught up with her. 

“One - she really likes kittens. Two - she makes me laugh more than I realized.”

Raven’s feet stopped at the subtle compliment and she turned around to look at him. He continued to walk up to her, his hands shoved in his pockets. How in the world did he make this look so easy? Like he knew what he was doing? Her stomach twisted painfully as he stopped in front of her, his eyes searching her face like he was admiring art. A smirk played on his lips, and his eyes turned dark as he pitched forward to look at her.

“Three - she apparently really likes to have sex.” 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Raven turned back around and started to move down the sidewalk, walking away from him as fast as shoe could. “Donna thought it would be funny.”

“Funny?” Damian fell into step next to her, still smirking. “Or, was she looking out for you?”

“Looking out for me?” Raven turned at him, leveling a flat stare. “Oh, please. As if we’d ever have sex.” 

“Why’s that?” His face turned into an unreadable mask, and he lifted an eyebrow, questioning. He seemed genuinely surprised that sex was off limits, and Raven didn’t understand why. It wasn’t like they were actually involved. She wasn’t even sure if they tolerated each other, let alone liked each other. 

“Damian.” She pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers and sighed in defeat. “You hate me. You’ve hated me since freshman year. You’ve done nothing but push me and tease me for the past four years. At what point do you think we are ever going to have sex?”

“I don’t hate you, Raven. I’ve never hated you. I… always thought we were kind of friends.” 

She lifted her eyes and looked at him, blinking. “What?”

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, as if releasing a tension that had been building inside him for years. “All those times I pushed at you during school was because I knew you could do better than what you were giving yourself credit for. I fought you on everything because you were always ready to see things from different points of view - when you were challenged.” He shifted, his hands falling out of his pockets in a small show of vulnerability. “And I teased you because you were always so damn cute when you got angry. Plus, you gave as good as you got. I’ve been roasted by you enough times to know at least that.” 

Raven allowed herself to feel at least a little pride at that. 

“I’ve never hated you. Not once since I’ve met you. You’re smart - brilliant, actually - clever, witty, and…” He glanced away, rubbing the back of his neck as his cheeks flushed. “…beautiful.” 

What. 

Raven found herself unable to breathe. She stood there, staring at him as her mouth opened and closed several times, hunting for anything to say. Her heart was pounding so hard in her chest that he had to have heard it over the sounds of the city. It felt like her head was swimming and her insides were melting, and she couldn’t make heads or tales of anything. Damian Wayne not only complimented her, but he called her beautiful. The man who could date supermodels and royalty, thought she was beautiful. Something inside her twisted with joy and excitement, and she found herself trying to explain her emotions away, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t deny her own feelings anymore. After all this time together, maybe she really did like him. 

Steeling her nerves, she stepped up to him and lifted her face to his. “Don’t think this compliment erases everything you’ve ever said to me, Dami.” 

His lips twitched as he fought back a smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” 

“And I’m still not planning on having sex with you tonight.”

He arched an eyebrow, and she heard his breath catch in his throat. Was he… excited? His tongue wet his lips and he spoke softly, as if unsure about what she was almost offering. “There seems to be a qualifier in that sentence.”

“I’m not planning on having sex with you tonight,” she repeated before turning back around towards the bay. Her heart was pounding, excitement and playfulness coursing through her. She felt nymph-like, leading him on a chase after her. If Damian wanted to consider her beautiful, then she would try to be as beautiful as humanly possibly. She lowered her voice to a sultry, flirtatious hum, knowing he could hear the suggestion in her tone. “But… it doesn’t mean I can’t change my mind in the future.” 

With a teasing smile, she turned toward the marina entrance. 

Missed a step in Donna’s too-big shoes. 

And promptly fell down the stairs.  

[katherinewilliams221b]

For A Greater Good 18/18

not my gif

He Who Must Not Be Named

Summary: Kate Williams, young healer and member of the Order,  joins Durmstrang’s staff at Dumbledore’s request. Her mission? Find a     Death Eater and survive long enough to tell the story. Set in 1996.

Pairing: Charlie Weasley x ofc/mc

Masterlist

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5]

[Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9] [Part 10]

[Part 11] [Part 12] [Part 13] [Part 14]

[Part 15] [Part 16] [Part 17]

A/N: bold lines are from the book Harry Potter and The Order of The Phoenix

Severus Snape emerged from the shadows to stand in front of his ally.

“I was starting to think you wouldn’t come, Severus.” The voice of Albus Dumbledore was, as expected, steady and confident. “Do you have it?”

Snape approached him, eying the room with suspicion. It was the first time he had stepped inside Dumbledore’s hiding place, but despite he trusted the man, a chill ran down his spine. Keeping a stoic expression, he reached inside his robes and handed him a rolled piece of parchment.

“She had it with her. As you said.”

Dumbledore unrolled the document and nodded slowly. Another name wrote itself with the others.

“It is vital that Cornelius sees Voldemort first. After that, I will personally make sure that this information reaches the aurors.” The bearded man walked to the end of the room; the dim light of a candle outlined Fawkes’ silhouette.

“My name appears on that list.” Snape watched Dumbledore’s hand halt in the air. He turned around and with challenging eyes, he stared at him as he unrolled the parchment again. Turning his gaze back to the paper, Dumbledore pursed his lips together as if he was going to whistle and with a light blow, the name ‘Severus Snape’ left the paper in the form of black ashes.

He looked up at the potions teacher from up his glasses. Snape nodded.

“What happened to Yankelevich?”

“She will be brought to Nurmergard” The phoenix moved so his master could slide the parchment under him. “Attempted murder, at least.”

“I don’t understand why you sent Williams. Yankelevich wasn’t an immediate threat and Alastor could have done it faster and more efficiently.”

Dumbledore turned and put his hands behind his back. “You underestimate her. She’s learnt fast, and listened to your instructions, didn’t she? You were busy training Harry to notice, of course, but her occlumency skills have improved enormously, and she’s been practising how to communicate with Mr Weasley.”

“You said she would, yes…”

“Well, she refused using her patronus to communicate, and she needed to be away from him to practise.” He opened his mouth to say something else, but he reconsider it. At Snape’s piercing stare, he kept going, “Astrid knew someone was up to no good and needed a favour, however,” he pointed at Fawkes’ nest “that was my goal.”

He walked to the nearest chair and sat down, grabbing a goblet from the table. Before sipping, he caught how Snape’s jaw tensed. “Besides, Alastor’s never run freely around a castle, breaking rules and finding places he is not supposed to enter. She has.”

“How did she know how to find it?”

“I said her skills had improved, not that they were better than mine. I might have… given her a small guidance.” He raised his hand up to his temple’s level and brushed his index and thumb together. “ I was certain that Karkarov knew about the existence of the room. It was the most logical place to hide it.”

“Where is he now?” demanded Snape.

Dumbledore looked at his partner with amused eyes, but corrected his demeanour quickly. “I have no idea. I mistakenly believed he would be in the forest. I sent a letter to Katherine in hopes she would meet him there. Turns out, he is smarter than I thought.”

“It won’t be long until He finds out Karkarov’s writing that.” Snape pointed at Fawkes’s nest, and the bird chirped unhappily.

“I know.” He tsked and took a sip from his beverage, “But it was his choice.”

“What are you going to do until then?”

“We’ll wait. That spell is not easy to perform. We’ll let him write as much as he can.” They fell silent for a long while, lost in their thoughts, until Dumbledore spoke again.

“When?”

“Tomorrow. He wants the prophecy.”

“Of course. Of course…” he stood up and crossed his hands in front of him and searched in his companion’s black eyes. Snape reached inside his sleeve and took out a small vial with a silver liquid in it. He handed it to Dumbledore, who read the tag ‘K. Williams. Durmstrang’.

“She will not remember the names.”

With one last nod, Albus Dumbledore observed how his confidant dissolved in the air.

--

Katherine Williams awoke for the second time in the same Grimmauld Place’s cold room. She let the sun rays hit her eyelids and savoured the memory of Charlie’s firm body against her own.

When she reached behind her, only cold sheets wished her a good morning.

Promise me something. Promise me you’ll wake me up to say goodbye.

She stared at the pillow next to her and sighed. To be fair, he didn’t make such a promise. He didn’t say anything at all.

Putting her disappointment aside, she prepared herself for one of the most exhausting whirlwinds one could face: the loving care of Molly Weasley.

Sitting up with her back against the headboard, she stretched her neck to the side and had to do a double take at the nightstand.

A pink flower with orange undertones sat beside a piece of paper that was folded in half. Her stomach flipped, and she considered forgiving him for leaving.

A snapdragon for the strongest of flowers.

I hope this wasn’t a one-time thing. Owl me.

“Oh, shut up!” Kate whispered, but a chuckle escaped her mouth, anyway.

Movement on the other side of the door startled her, and she hid the note under the pillow before quickly hiding herself behind the covers.

The doorknob turned, and Mrs Weasley entered the room.

“Oh, thank Godric you are alright!” Molly was by her side in four long strides and cradled Kate’s head in her hands. “How are you feeling? Charles told me you woke up last night. You look pale. Did you rest?”

“Yes, Mrs Weasley, I’m fine. My head is spinning a little, though.”

“Of course, of course, let me see that arm.”

Internally complaining, Kate let her put the cream on her arm and tend the bruises of her neck.  She didn’t have the courage to tell her that wouldn’t make the scar disappear. When she finished, Molly nodded with a satisfied smile and proceeded to pick up the clothes that were scattered on the floor. Kate held her breath during the entire the process.

“This boy... tsk... taught him better than this! At least he could have brought his clothes with him…” Kate wasn’t sure if she was oblivious or if she was giving them a green card because they weren’t at The Burrow. In any case, she felt the need to take Charlie off the hook.

“I’m sorry, that’s my fault, Charlie let me use his clothes after I showered and when I went to sleep... they were bothering me.” That wasn’t exactly a lie. She gestured her neck to point at her bruises and then remembered that maybe there were ones more recent, that she did not want to explain. Charlie had never left a mark on her, but that night he felt a tad possessive and she wasn’t sure he could be trusted.

Although Molly hadn’t commented on them while she was applying the cream, the younger witch rested her hand there, trying to appear casual. Just in case.

“Ah, don’t worry, dear.” Molly waved her free hand nonchalantly and went to pick her cloak from the floor. While putting on the robe that Charlie had left at the end of the bed, Kate remembered that she technically stole the uniform band.

“Oh, this is warm! What a nice coat!” She waved the magically warmed piece of clothing, admiring it, and something the size of a matchbox flew across the room in doing so. “Oh! I’m so sorry, I always check the pockets and now look at this!” She murmured something under her breath and went to pick up the mysterious object, but Kate interrupted her.

“I’ll get it, don’t worry.”

“Very well, then. I made you some breakfast, but it’s already cold, Charlie made me swear I would let you sleep in!” She laughed and when she was crossing the threshold, she added, “Arthur got your trunk, it’s downs… ah!”

Mr Weasley appeared from behind her with a smile on his face and his hands on her waist.

“Oh, not you too, Arthur, I have enough with your sons apparating everywhere…”

His husband ignored her with a laugh and entered the room, her trunk following him in the air.

“Special delivery!” He roared.

“Thank you so much, Mr Weasley.” He approached Kate, and after hugging her shoulders with an arm, he kissed the top of her head. “You scared us the other day, eh?” He squeezed her. “But, let’s thank Godric you are safe and sound! I must go to work now, if you’ll excuse me…”

“I’m fine, really. We healers recover quickly. Tonks filled me in, and I’m feeling alright.”

“Alright, then. I’ll let you change.” Molly placed a hand on her own cheek for a moment and left the room without another word.

The moment Mrs Weasley closed the door behind her, Kate spooned around and crawled down the wooden desk to retrieve the small object.

Placing it on her palm, she murmured ‘engorgio’, making the tiny leather journal grow to its original size.

Letters, maps, notes, names, drawings, and a full research on how to magically cross plant species were contained in that notebook. The past six months were portrayed in those pieces of paper, and their value was incalculable.

Looking up, she faced one of the obscure paintings that belonged to the Black family. Kate stared at a woman standing on a bridge in what appeared to be a forest, and a question formed in her mind. She needed to go to St. Mungo’s.

 Convincing Molly that she could go alone to the hospital was harder than the mission she just came from. After a diluted Invigoration Draught and some help from Lupin, she managed to step out of Grimmauld Place.

She didn’t feel ready to apparate, and she doubted she would ever be, so she enjoyed her walk through the streets of the city. With the muggle money that Lupin gave her, she jumped on the first underground station she saw and followed his directions.

She got comfortable on an empty seat and observed the people on the train car. When she saw a couple getting handsy in a corner, a wave of sadness washed over her, and had to look away.

She missed Charlie terribly. The night before was too desperate and rushed, she didn’t have time to savour the moment. She didn’t even ask him about his mission with the giants, about his dragons, or about how he felt all that time alone at home. Being on a mission kept her head occupied for most of the time, but now, with nothing to do, she anticipated some time of loneliness.

She brought her hand to her chest, and her heart ached even more when she couldn’t find the necklace that Charlie had gifted her many years before. No. Stop it. You’ll get answers and study your notes and then... and then you will have to explain to Dumbledore you lost an important document that could have saved lives. Brilliant.

Soft clapping noises brought her back to reality. A woman in front of her was struggling to hold an excited baby on her lap. Kate observed the child and smiled when his little finger touched her mother’s nose. The baby turned his head and stared at Kate for a while before raising his arm to wave at her. She chuckled and returned the greeting, her trip improving slightly and temporarily.

 Walking through St Mungo’s doors had a mixed effect of nostalgia and excitement. She had spent many hours in that hospital studying, training, and learning, and all of a sudden, she was fresh out of Hogwarts again, with all the emotions that implied. Taking a deep breath, she walked through the corridor and started searching for her first mentor and boss, Madame Louise.

She scanned the faces of the healers that were working, rapidly treating the patients like frantic ants recollecting their food.

“Williams?” Kate turned at the deep voice calling her and recognised the robust middle-aged woman in front of her. “What brings you here? I thought you were working in Romania?”

“Hello, Madame Louise, yes, well I was… working there. But I’m here as a patient today.”

Madame Louise frowned and looked at Kate up and down before giving a curt nod.

“Wait on that bed.” She said before turning and walking away.

Kate sat as directed and stared at the beautiful glass stained windows of the place.

“I request you let me go right now! This is nonsense.” She could recognise that firm voice anywhere. To her right Professor McGonagall was lying on one of the beds and arguing with a boy that Kate figured he was wishing he hadn’t been born.

She walked towards them and put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I’ll take it from here, thank you.”

“Who are you? You are not a healer; Madame Louise will hear about this.”

“Mister, this young woman knows more than you, do us all a favour and go with your mother.” Intervened McGonagall.

“I heard Jared O’Leary was looking for you.” The boy shifted in his place and nodded nervously before leaving them alone.

“Professor, what happened?” Kate’s healer mode activated and started scanning McGonagall for injuries and signals of distress.

“Oh, Williams, a lot is been happening this past year. I can imagine you’ve been informed?”

“Vaguely. I arrived two days ago from…”

“I know.”

Kate grabbed the file at the foot of the bed and read the report on McGonagall’s state.

“Four stunning spells to the chest?” She looked up and asked with her eyes, but her professor wasn’t in a mood for a talk.

“Williams, I must get out of here and go back to Hogwarts. I’m afraid it’s going to be too late by the time they let me go.”

“Professor, you could faint just by… too late for what?”

“Williams!” Madame Louise motioned her to come closer. Kate hesitated, but followed the mediwizard to a quieter space. “What happens to be the problem?”

“I’ve been poisoned two days ago.”

“In that case you should have come earlier, don’t you think?”

“There’s been… complications. I wanted to ask you if it’s possible to poison someone without using a vial or a potion or, I don’t know, food or drinks.”

The woman hummed and crossed her arms in front of her. “That’s rather strange.”

“Is this…” Kate moved the collar of the shirt to the side, revealing the red marks that hadn’t disappeared yet. “… a possible way?”

Louise grabbed the glasses that were hanging by a chain around her neck and placed them on the tip of her nose to inspect the injuries.

“The poison could have been injected with some kind of needle, but the shape of these marks means claws or… nails.”

She took her glasses off and waved them while talking. “I imagine it is possible, but you must have a very twisted mind to carry around poison in your nails. Also, you need to be very careful, a bad placement of the poison can cause yourself to get ill. In what kind of troubles are you getting into, Williams?”

“It’s a story for another day.”

 “Madame Louise, I can’t find Jared O’Leary…” The boy that was treating McGonagall appeared from behind Kate.

“What are you talking about? Go back to work! Naturally, you can’t find him. He doesn’t work here anymore!”

“But she…”

“Is every patient cured, Mr Boyle?” Kate slid away from the conversation to where Professor McGonagall was resting.

“I suddenly feel tired…”

Kate nodded and checked that the potions on her nightstand were filled and in order. A hand grabbed her wrist, and she turned to look at McGonagall.

“Katherine. You must find Potter. Something terrible is about to happen.”

Kate frowned and got closer to her former professor’s face.

“The Ministry. Try the Ministry,” she whispered.

Kate didn’t think twice. She ran all she could to the underground station, receiving some odd glances from the surrounding people.

When she arrived at the Ministry stop, she could sense the commotion even from the muggles that were passing by.

“A gas leak.” She heard while climbing up the mechanic stairs. Some people complained at her rudeness, but she couldn’t stop and apologise at the moment.

“There’s the press. Those vultures. It was probably a problem with plumbing. Look! The water reached the first floor!” A man said.

Kate tried to walk among the curious souls that were conglomerated around the building and recognised the protection bubble that was forming around it. She slid under it with ease.

“But I heard an explosion! I’m telling you!” a woman said to a journalist.

She tried to enter the building, but what seemed to be an auror stopped her.

“Let me in! I’m a healer!”

The man remained stoic and grabbed her arm.

“Identification?”

“I… I don’t have it right now but…”

“You can’t go in, Miss” She tried to get rid of him and she almost succeeded, but when the doors to the Ministry opened, she stopped the struggle. Four aurors walked out the building protecting several figures that walked behind them. She tried to reach them, but the security guard grabbed her again.

“You are the cursed girl! Daily Prophet here! Are you involved in the accident? How do you think your father will react to this? How do you think this is connected to your brother?”

“I’m not…” dumbfounded by the flash of a camera, she tried to escape from the journalists.

“Miss Williams! Miss Williams! What can you tell us about the person who died?”

She couldn’t hear anything, see anything, someone pushed her, and she felt another flash of a camera. Her head was spinning.

Cornelius Fudge stepped out of the building and pointed his wand at his neck. He cleared his throat and all the attention was directed at him.

“It is with great regret that I must confirm that the wizard styling himself Lord… well, you know who I mean… is alive and among us again.”

--

[Epilogue]

--

Tag List:

@eldritchscreech​

@meteora-fc​

@cazreadsstuff

@the-navistar-carol​

@am-i-space​

[miss-choco-chips]

YJ College au: Zatara

Zachary Zatara is both a myth and their housemate.

In which Bart has a cryptic-buddy, Tim is stressed because cute boy insists on being annoying, and everyone else just rolls with it.

Tagging @animemangasoul and @marudny-robot cause I know you guys like this au

--.--.--.--

As usual after pulling an all-week-er (he had left the ‘nighters well behind at this point), Tim was up late that saturday. The window had been left open last night, so a soft streak of sunlight wamed his bed, waking him up slowly and peacefully. Yeah, he would have liked a few more hours, but sunbathing in his sheets for a while wasn’t all that bad either. What would make this half-awake-half-dreaming experience would be some chill music.

Muddled mind made, he rolled in his bed, hand patting the mattress for his phone, squinting his eyes open when he hit something different instead.

He found himself to be almost nose to nose with a dark haired, grey eyed boy.

Tim started that fine morning screaming himself hoarse.

-.-.-.-.-

Sitting at the kitchen’s table, getting everything ready for a late sunday breakfast, Kon raised his head when he heard the strong sound of a scream, followed by… yeah, that was a body hitting the ground. It was unmistakable, in this house. 

“Oh, hey guys”, he called to the attention of the rest of his housemates, all in equals states of zombie-ness, with not as good hearing as his. “Zachary is here.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“The fuck, Zach? My bed? Did you HAVE to crash on my bed? Why are you even here?”

Tim, four coffee cups after his pseudo heart attack half an hour ago, was ready to face the day and their intruder.

“Dude I live here as well, you know. Also your bed is literally the softest thing I ever slept on, you rich bastard. Learn to share.”

“I’ll buy you your own fucking mattress if you swear to never crawl on my bed uninvited again.”

The boy’s eyebrows rose, suggestively. “What was that about an invitation?”

Distressed and not feeling awake enough (he was still two cups away from that) to deal with bi thoughts this early in the morning, he turned his most helpless look to Conner.

Because he was the best friend ever, he threw a pillow to Zachary. And because he was a suck up to anyone who brought him food, Bart intercepted the hit and gratefully accepted the candy bag he got in thanks.

“But actually, Zat, what are you doing here? I thought you were in Berlin?” interjected Cassie, her own tea (the heathen) cup warming her hands as she cuddled with Cissie and Greta on the couch, legs in each other’s laps and generally being the cutest shit ever.

Anita, not very keen on that kind of sweet love, had been wrestling with Slobo for control over the remote for the last fifteen minutes. Miguel was keeping count on their hits for them, though it was mostly assured he would rig the whole thing up to whoever had bribed him better before the fight.

Tim just wanted to go back to sleep in his sun-warmed bed.

“C’mon guys, keep up”, moaned Bart, candy bag half empty already, “he was there two weeks ago. He had an exam yesterday so he came back last monday.”

“...come again?”

“I’ve been room-hopping ever since, though none of you seemed to mind. Until I disturbed sleeping beauty over here, at least.”

Miguel’s eyes left the fight to squint suspiciously at them. “We weren’t aware you were doing that. Where did you sleep? How didn’t we notice?”

“I'ma mystery. I also move around a lot when sleeping so I probably ended up under someone’s bed after crashing from studying. Oh, Anita, if you were wondering, your purple bra is under Cissie’s bed.”

Anita slowly let go of the grip she had on Slobo’s neck. Her eyes shone something dangerous. Cissie, the one who was apparently hosting the boy all along, also stood up and frowned.

“How do you even know that bra is mine!!”

“What the fuck were you doing under my bed, you bastard!”

Tim sipped his coffee, bitterly. “At least he was under it, and not sharing it.”

Kon patted his back.

-.-.-.-.-..- 

“I swear, Jay, he thrives on making me lose my shit. He just… comes and goes whenever, leaving no proof he was ever there, or acting like he was always around. Drives me nuts. I’m not sure he even attends classes, and I only know he actually has a right to enter our house because his rent money always appears on the kitchen table a day before its due. He doesn’t even have a room, why does he even pay? To have an excuse to scare the shit out of the rest of us. Except Bart. The little shit lives for our suffering.”

Jason arches an eyebrow, sipping his beer as he carefully examines his brother. Tim looked less tired than the last time they saw each other, and the modifications done by his psychiatrist had done wonders to the shadows in his eyes. But he seemed somehow… frazzled.

“And he was just there when you woke up?”

“His nose was touching mine.”

“I bet your little bi heart couldn't take that, huh? Is he cute? Maybe you invited him to share your bed the night before and just don’t remember. You know how you get after a week of disregarding your general wellbeing.”

“Oh, shush you. I take care of myself. When was the last time you went to your check in with Patricia?”

Jason scratched the back of his neck, averting his eyes. “I missed one session, because I have exams too you know? But I’m up to date with Silvio, and we are working on slowly easing me off the medication.” He noticed the way Tim looked at his drink, expression screaming bullshit, and he scowled in response. “Fuck off, it’s alcohol-free. Kori and Artemis would have my head if they caught me mixing my dosage with anything stronger than tea, and I can’t deal with Biz and Roy’s disappointed eyes.” 

Tim thought of the last time he refused to see his therapist, and the look in everyone’s  (specially Kon’s) eyes, and had to agree. Having friends sucked when one wanted to wallow in self destructive conducts.

“Whatever, all I’m saying is, he’s not cute enough for me to forgive his weirdness. You know the people I roll with, so this is saying a lot. And I would remember inviting him to my bed, if anything for the mortification of it. I’m also…”

The ring of the doorbell distracted them both of whatever Tim was gonna say next. Waving his brother off, Jason got up to pay for their pizza.

When he returned to his living room, Tim was no longer alone.

“Who the fuck are you?” He exclaimed, eyes going back to the hallway at his back, then again at the black haired, grey eyed kid sitting next to Tim. “And how did you get in? We are on the sixth floor and I was just at the only door I have.”

Tim raised his eyes at him, and he seemed equal parts resigned and frazzled. ‘Told ya’, he seemed to say.

“Yo, the food’s finally here. I’m starving. The name’s Zachary Zatarra, by the way. Tim’s friend and housemate.”

“Allegedly” mumbled the other under his breath, earning himself a smile and pat on the back. “Don’t question it, Jay. He’ll be gone after a while when none of us are paying attention. Just let it be.”

“But while I’m here”, the other boy continued, grinning devilishly as he looked at Tim and then Jason, “instead of questioning how did I get in, what about I tell you all about your lil bro’s crush? It 's adorable.”

Tim raised an eyebrow “I don’t have a crush on anyone.”

“Like I said, adorable. He’s so oblivious, it’s precious.”

Decision made, Jason left the pizzas at the coffee table and went to fetch a soda for their guest. Gossip, especially about his siblings, was the best way to gain his immediate cooperation. And he could always force the answers about Zatara out of Bart; the brat was terrified of him.

-.-.-.-.-.-

“Hey, who has to cook tonight? Because I’m craving chicken nuggets.”

Cassie raised her eyes from her magazine, tapping a finger against her chin.

“Uhm… Zach, I think?”

Miguel nodded. “Okay, thanks, where can I find him to suggest my dinner idea?”

Cissie, legs on Cassie’s lap, dropped her head over the couch’s armrest. “Ask Tim? Wasn’t he crashing with him this week?”

That same moment, said boy entered the room, shaking his head. “No, he was sharing with Anita and Cassie.”

“No, he wasn’t… Slobo?”

“Not with us either”, denied Miguel, sharing a look with his roommate to confirm just in case.

“Conner?”

“Didn’t Bart say yesterday he was driving him to the airport?”

“Wait, he left the country again?”

“More importantly, can Bart drive?”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

When Tim came back home from class, Damian was in his living room. Using a laptop. Sitting side by side with Zatarra.

This couldn't be good.

“Hey, Timbo, welcome back.”

“Drake.”

Not uttering a single word, Tim turned around and walked out of there. Sleeping on a park bench seemed like a preferable choice, compared to finding out exactly why the two banes of his life were sitting together. It was healthier, good for his peace of mind.

Something something self care? His therapist would be so proud.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“Hey dude.”

“Zatara. Your presence here disrupts my room’s feng shui. Please remove yourself from the premises.”

“This disaster zone is the farthest thing from armonious. If anything, I’m improving it.”

Tim raised his eyes from the computer screen. He could always kick the other man out, but that would require leaving the nest he made out of blankets and snacks on his bed. Perhaps a more civilized option would be better. Besides, as boundary-less as the dude was, he didn’t step into the room, just remaining on the doorstep, so whatever he was here for, he most likely needed Tim’s willful compliance.

“If I listen to what you have to say, will you leave?”

Zatara smiled angelically, like butter wouldn’t melt on his mouth, but the look behind his eyes was nothing short of devious. “That’s actually what I came to speak with you about. I have a show…”

“I’m sorry, what?” 

“A magic show. Dude, you do know I’m a magician, right?”

Tim didn’t, in fact, know that, besides baseless suppositions about his disappearing-and-appearing abilities. But he had an all knowing facade to maintain, so he grunted in acknowledgement.

“Right, so, I have a show scheduled for tomorrow, but I took Bart out to dinner yesterday so I’m all dried up, and I need to buy a plane ticket asap.”

“Are you asking me for a loan?” he inquired, incredulous. As a general rule, all their housemates refrained from that. Something about not wanting to take advantage of their billionaire friend…

“No, no. I’m offering you a…. service.”

“Look, Zach, no offense? But you ain’t cute enough for me to stoop that low and pay for the… pleasure of your company. I can just give you the money and you pay me back whenever, dude.”

“No! I didn’t mean it like that! You wish I was offering something  of the sort” he laughed, arms crossed and side leaning against the doorframe, chest and arm muscles perfectly visible. Tim kept his eyes carefully above neck-level. No need to give any weakness away.

“Then?”

“I know you love me, but that doesn’t mean I don’t make you miserable, right?”

“That is correct, yes.”

“Are you familiar with the ‘Buy my silence, $8.000 a month’ meme? Then get ready for a ‘pay for my absence’, my good bitch. I thought maybe you’d like...”

“Sold. I buy it. Take my credit card and go, be free, roam the world. Just get out of my room and fucking text once in a while so I know you’re alive.”

[imagine-that-one-thing]

Her Majesty || 15

His or Her Royal Highness

Anastasia’s POV.

I’ve been tossing and turning in bed, trying to get comfortable enough to fall asleep, but I can’t find peace knowing that something is happening in the palace, and I am unaware of what it is. I’m kept in the dark and have nobody who will give me answers at this hour, not that there is anyone for me to speak to besides whoever is guarding my door, not that they’ll tell me either. I haven’t heard a word from Matthew, Harry or Oliver. The last I heard was that the palace was locked down again.

Surprise Surprise.

I’m not concerned about why the Palace is in lockdown, more so concerned for Harry and how things will play out.

I hear the door of my room open, and I groggily open my eyes to see a black silhouette walking into the room, “Harry?”

“Hey, sweetheart,” Harry whispers, walking closer to me before crawling on the bed and leaning down to kiss my cheek. “You okay?”

“I’m fine, are you?” I ask, nonchalantly sitting up and turning the side lamp on to illuminate the room.

As the light flickers on, Harry nods his head and proceeds to draw at his tie, attempting to take it off while gazing at me with tired eyes. I’m waiting for him to tell me the procedure that’s going to follow.

Are we going to move me to another castle?

Are we going to whisk me off to be in hiding?

I’m not sure.

From the expressions on Harry’s face, I don’t think he even knows what’s happening. “What happened?” I softly question.

Deep down, I already know the answer.

“Just some security stuff.”

“Why can’t you just tell me what’s going on?” I snap, raising my voice imperceptibly, well aware whoever is guarding my door can presumably hear us. “You told me we weren’t going to hide things, and you said we had to be open because you didn’t like when I had you followed, but here you are going back on your words.”

“Wait, what?”

“The conversation we had at your mothers.”

Harry shakes his head. “Anna, I just don’t think this is going to be beneficial to tell you right now. I’m trying to protect you.”

“I want to talk to my husband and not my security detail.”

“Your husband doesn’t think you should have to handle this, and your husband thinks some things are best unsaid.”

“Well, since my husband can’t grow a pair of balls and tell me, let’s try the security detail.” I throw my hands around, irritated with him and life in general.

“Christ, Anna,” Harry huffs, “You are very stubborn.”

“I want to know what’s happening. You may be the King and the security personal, but I am still your wife, and I am entitled to know what the fuck is going on. I swear if you call me, Princess, I will sleep in another room. I demand you to tell me.”

Harry rolls his eyes and chuckles to himself before composing myself, “Alright, if you think you can handle it, Henry is dead.”

I grow withdrawn for a moment and stare at Harry, unsure of what to do or say. I have so many questions that don’t need answering, but I know I should probably ask them. I don’t think I want answers at this point.

Who?

How?

Why?

When?

“To answer the questions running through your head, I do not know the details; I don’t know who— all I know is that at some point after dinner, he was strangled to death in a blind spot of the camera system by the staircase that the staff use.” … “And no, it wasn’t me,” Harry mutters. I instantly get off the bed and touch my finger to his mouth, not wanting him to speak further, as for what he is about to say is not anything the person at the door needs to hear. Harry cocks his head to the side and narrows his eyes down on me. His eyes soften, and I shake my head softly before I gesture towards the door. “I know you assume I’m a horrible murderer now, but just to assure you, I had nothing to do with it. It’s a palace murder. I’m not sure how we will handle it or tell the media. All I know is that I have been up for twenty-four hours, and I need some rest before I have to deal with the rest of the bullshit when I wake back up,” Harry whispers just for the two of us to hear.

“I don’t think you’re a murderer…” I shake my head, “Whoever is doing this is going to wipe us all out, aren’t they?”

Harry shakes his head, launching his tie to the other end of the room and unbuttoning his shirt, “Not if I can help it. There will be even more security, and we are bringing in armed forces to help us. It’s starting to look like an inside job.”

“Inside job?” I question.

Harry nods, “Victoria and Henry were both found on royal grounds, both showing signs of foul play and in areas, nobody can see who it was or what happened.”

“Do you think it could have been one of the staff tonight?”

“No, too obvious. If it were the staff, they wouldn’t leave the body on the staircase primarily used by the staff… perhaps someone who used to work for the palace. Not sure, we will be speaking to all staff when I wake up and figuring things out.” … “You’re safe, okay? No need for you to panic.”

I lift my shoulders into a shrug, “I don’t know, sounds like I’m next.”

“No,” Harry shakes his head, “I like how you’ve gotten feisty, it’s a pain in my ass, but it’s good to see you standing up and not taking shit.”

“How so?”

“Instead of letting me protect you and coddle you, you’re demanding I don’t… it’s a good attribute as a Queen.”

I roll my eyes, “Too bad, my husband stole my crown.”

“It was forced upon me.”

“Enjoy being King when you have executive decisions when you wake up.”

“Excuse me?”

“You have to make decisions upon Henry’s death,” I inform him, “You have the final say with how the death inside the palace is handled and what happens next.”

Harry heavily sighs, “I’ll deal with that when I wake up.”

“Mhm,” I hum, “Pippa will be waiting for you.”

Harry rolls his eyes, “She’s going to be a pain in my ass, isn’t she?”

I nod my head, “Indeed.” Pippa is most definitely going to be a pain in the ass, and she was always a pain to my father. “When does the man at the door leave?” I softly question as Harry relaxes on the edge of the bed and takes off his shoes. Harry flicks his left wrist and glances at his watch, “In about thirty minutes, why?”

“I don’t want anyone but you, Oliver or Matthew guarding my room.”

“Anna, right now, none of us can. We all need our sleep.”

“I said what I said,” I respond firmly with narrowed eyes. Harry raises his eyes and glares over at me, but he keeps his lips tight shut. I have my requests for a specific reason, and it isn’t to be a bother and make things harder. Harry is going to have to trust and respect my wishes.

♚ ♚ ♚

I lay awake, thinking— thinking about everything yet nothing at the same time. My eyes flick over towards the clock, my fingers tapping on my stomach while I anxiously await the security change over. Any moment now.

I sit up and cast my eyes to the crack under the door where the faint light of the hallway manages to peek through. I wait a few moments before another shadow casts over part of the light, indicating that someone is standing beside the security guard. In the silence, I continue to wait, observing, waiting for the dull light to change. After what feels like hours, I watch the shadows move with ease, and the security men shift, one walking off and one holding position.

I glance over at Harry, peacefully asleep, and for a brief second, I almost feel bad for what I’m about to do.

I caress my hand to his bareback, the white sheet only managing to fall above his waist, “Harry,” I call his name, shaking him thoughtfully.

Harry lets out a grunt as his legs move, “No.”

“Harry, please get up.”

“I’m fucking asleep, Anna.”

“Harry, you need to get up,” I urge, resting back as he rolls onto his back with a substantial huff.

“What now?” Harry sighs, exasperated that I have woken him up. In my defence, he’s going to want to have to see what I have to show him.

“I need you to get up and come with me.”

“Anna, I’m exhausted. Please let me sleep.”

“Harry… I wouldn’t wake you if it weren’t important.”

Harry heavily sighs and sits up despite his distaste of being awake, “What do you need, darling?” His voice is soft while his hands begin to rub at his eyes.

I don’t say anything; instead, I get off the bed and wander towards the hidden passage that leads to the tunnels. I touch my finger to my lips, signalling for Harry to quietly follow me. Surprisingly, he listens. He gets out of bed and grabs his shirt, pulling it over his body before walking closer to me. He kisses the top of my head before pressing his hand to the corner and pushing on the secret entrance, opening up to the tunnels. The door shuts behind us, and I wrap my arms around me for a moment.

“You didn’t question me,” I instantly begin, unsure of how Harry didn’t bother to put up a fight or question me for my wild desire to come into the tunnels at this ungodly hour.

“I figured if you wanted to come in here, that was for a reason... what’s wrong?”

“I’m going to need your help.”

“What have you done? I don’t know if I’m prepared for this.” … “Why do I feel like I’m going to wish I had stayed asleep?” Harry sighs.

“Because you will,” I honestly respond, “Nobody can hear us in the tunnels, right?”

“No, sweetheart.”

“And they’re not being monitored?”

“Uh…” Harry trails off, “They are but—“ Harry begins, and I cut him off.

“There are dead spots, and the camera near my room is broken?”

“Yeah, I’m working on fixing that… You did escape through the tunnels without anyone noticing, so I’d say it’s pretty broken.”

“Great… so I think someone from the staff is in on things that have happened with Victoria, Dad, and stuff…”

“Mhm,” Harry hums, “Not me, though.”

“Not you… But I think it could be someone part of security. But that’s not what I need your help with right now.”

“What do you need help with?” Harry asks, yet again.

“This,” I respond, dragging Harry to a corner where I know is a blind spot with the cameras. I move a few of the bricks from the wall, and I pull out the yellow envelope.

“What the hells is in this?” Harry sighs as I hand him the relatively heavy envelope.

“This is a list of all our staff. Go through it.”

“Anna, why do I need this?”

“Nobody knew where the king was but security, somehow he was found. Nobody knew that he didn’t have security around him but the team. Someone is working against you. How did George know the king died?” I question all the things Harry and I have both been thinking about but have not discussed.

Harry shakes his head, “Anastasia, I understand you’re grieving, but—”

I cut Harry off, “Harry, what do we have to lose at this point? Someone in the Palace is relaying information and doing shady shit. It has to be one of the staff. Please look into it. Henry thought the same thing, and suddenly, he is dead. The informant is dead, and I’m next, so figure shit out.”

“How do you know about our conversation?” Harry instantly snaps, his eyes looking towards me as he holds the envelope in his hands.

Harry runs his fingers through his hair. “Fuckin’ hell, this is not okay… without sounding like a prick. I need you back in your room. You have been asleep the entire time and know nothing about this,” Harry shakes the envelope in his hand.

“Are you mad?”

“Anna, this was stupid for you to get involved in. How did you get this without anyone knowing? If it is someone in the Palace doing all this, don’t you think they saw you taking a list of everyone?”

“Harry, I don’t think that he is the threat of all things. They aren’t going to kill me over a list of names.”

“I would appreciate it if you would let me be the judge of that and you get back to Royal duties.”

“Don’t be a condescending prick.”

“Are we going to stand here and argue about this?” Harry sighs, stopping in his tracks.

I turn to look at him, my eyes softening as I come to the same realisation as him. We are arguing over something that isn’t either of our faults. We aren’t united at the moment. “I had good intentions. Someone needs to do something… You’re stagnant with finding out who killed Dad, and now Henry is dead.”

“I know, Anna. This is all a mess, and the more I try to handle it, the twistier it gets.” Harry confesses. I’m sure he regrets getting so involved with me. Our start to marriage has been far from easy or desirable at this point.

“You’re the one who doesn’t want to abolish and end it all.” I point out, doing my best to push for the abolishment. I’m done with the monarchy. The monarch may be apart of me, but I do not want to be apart of it.

“Do you really think abolishing the monarch is going to change anything right now? These people are still going to do what they are doing.”

“We won’t have the royal ties, and the monarch would mean nothing to them once it is abolished.”

“They don’t have ties anyway. What do any of them actually gain from any of this? If you and your mother die, the monarch doesn’t get handed to Pippa or any government officials. It goes to the next in line. Who is next after you?”

“Have I not taught you anything about the damn crown?” I sigh heavily, “The line of succession is well documented so that they would find a legal successor to the sovereign. They would find a cousin or distant relative. We have gone through this before, Harry.”

“But what do they gain from that? That is what I am not understanding?”

“I do not know, that’s your job to figure out, Harry. Maybe they changed some law and hid it in the fine print. Find out.”

“I guess I will use the spare time that I do not have and see what papers have been signed to determine who the fuck gets the damn crown.”

“This isn’t my fault.”

“I am aware, but it is frustrating, Anna.”

“Exactly why we should abolish, end it all, Harry. You have the power. And right now, if anything happens to me, it doesn’t matter. You’re the king.”

Harry heavily sighs and shakes his head, “Let’s go back to bed. I will deal with all this in the morning… How long have you been hiding shit in the walls?” Harry curiously asks, “And what the fuck else have you hid in there?”

“A while,” I chuckle, “I have a bottle of whiskey in there.”

“Who have I married?” Harry laughs, pushing the door back into my room open.

“A mystery.”

“I can see,” Harry nods as the both of us step into my room, and I crawl into my bed, watching Harry run his hand over each painting on the wall before taking one of them off the wall. I cock my head to the side and watch him pull back the image’s backing, slide the envelope in and place the painting back on the wall.

“How long have you been using that as a hiding spot?” I raise a brow, equally as surprised as he was when he saw my hiding spot in the tunnels.

Harry rubs his shoulder and stretches it back before giving me a cunning grin, “Never mind,” Harry shakes his head.

♚ ♚ ♚

The moment Harry sees me, he instantly walks closer to me, “What are you doing down here?” Harry immediately asks, “Oliver, what the fuck?”

I’m not meant to be down here. I’ve never been down here before. I’m not quite sure why Harry keeps me away, but he has always made it clear that this is an area I’m not to travel to.

“She wouldn’t listen. She told me if I didn’t bring her down here, she’d fire me… along with some other mean things.”

“I wouldn’t have said mean things if you’d have just done what I asked,” I mutter, side-eyeing Oliver.

“Oliver, it’s cold down here. Did you not think to at least—“

“Tell her to get a jacket?” Oliver cuts Harry off, “Yeah, but she wasn’t listening.”

Harry sighs and shakes his head, “I’ll talk to you later. Go take your break and then go to the west wing, please.” Harry instructs Oliver while sliding his jacket down his arms before tenderly placing it over my shoulders and pulling it around me like a blanket. “Darling, are you okay?”

Harry already knows the answer, and if I were okay, I wouldn’t have threatened Oliver to bring me to the one place that is forbidden to me.

I’m not okay, and as much as I have done my best to hold myself together and not fall to pieces, I am crumbling on the inside. “Come here,” Harry whispers, opening his arms and wasting no time as he pulls me into them and wraps his arms tightly around me, “Why didn’t you just call?”

“I did,” I breathe into him, finding comfort in his warm embrace. “Oliver called your phone too.”

“Oh,” Harry sighs, “Patchy service, I guess. Why did you threaten Oliver? What’s going on? It’s five in the morning?”

“Parliament officials are in the palace,” I respond softly, looking down at my hands, doing my best to avoid the tears that desperately want to fall. “I have to make an appearance, and I have to give a speech. I don’t want to. I can’t… I just can’t. Will you come to the meeting with me?”

“Anna,” Harry begins with a sigh, “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked,” I shake my head, the realisation that I am clingy and needy. I intend to never rely on him to fix how I feel and my emotions. I can handle things without him. It is the common fact that I don’t want to.

Harry shakes his head, “How about you stay down here with me for a bit, and then we go up to the meeting?”

“It’s fine, and I am sure you have shit to do,” I gesture towards the monitors.

“Matthew has me on the shit shifts of monitor duty,” Harry shrugs, “Come sit with me for a bit. I need to get a few things done before I face Pippa in two hours,” Harry begins to walk back to the monitors; I follow him, my eyes taking in the area that is new to me. There isn’t anything extravagant about the room, it’s big and spacious and has monitors on the back wall, a few desks scattered in a somewhat neat way and there’s a bed in the next room.

“So, you just sit here and watch all the rooms?” I softly ask, unsure of what Harry’s job fully entails when he is down here.

“I also have paperwork to do and a few other things. I’m still training Oliver. Have you eaten?” Harry changes the subject, his hand closing a few files and pushing them to the side, a clear indication there are things he doesn’t want me to know now, and he doesn’t want me to keep asking questions about what he is doing down here.

“It’s five in the morning,” I remind Harry.

“Here,” Harry slides a cup of coffee closer to me, “I only took a sip.”

“I’m not drinking your coffee, and I know you love your coffee.”

Harry chuckles and nods his head, “Indeed, but I’m on my second coffee for the morning; I’m sure I’ll survive.”

“Already? When did you get up?” I question, unsure of when he left the bed at such an ungodly hour. I remember briefly he crawled into bed just after eleven.

“Three, Oliver was on his own, so I had to come and take over while Matthew is…” Harry trails off, “I don’t know where Matthew is. I also don’t know where Louis is; I need to call him. Give me a minute to call Louis.” Harry instructs, entirely changing the subject of what I was asking about.

I nod my head and grow quiet, allowing Harry to go on about his business while I simply just watch. I have no real intentions for being down here besides avoiding what the day will bring.

I know I can’t stall forever and that at some point, I will have to walk upstairs and face the music. I know that I’ll have to face Pippa and the public, and worst of all, I know I’ll have to face that today is the day. Today is the final day of saying goodbye; today’s the day I announce to the public that the King’s legacy will live on… today’s the day we put my father to rest and the day that signifies Harry and I will no longer get any rest. Today is the day I have to make a speech for his legacy.

At least my father is in peace while the rest of us are in a haze of uncertainty and sorrow.

I tap Harry’s shoulder, and he cocks his head to look at me, “Louis might be with Madeleine Noelle,” I softly inform Harry.

“Mhm, I still need to know where he is,” Harry mutters, wasting no time with dialling Louis’ contact on his phone, not caring that Louis may be sleeping at this ungodly hour. Some people have the privilege to be able to sleep, unlike us.

I shrug my shoulders and lean back in the chair, swivelling from side to side while Harry starts his conversation with Louis. I try to listen carefully to understand what’s happening with Louis and Harry, but I see Harry side-eye me and take note of the fact they’re using specific code words.

I roll my eyes and use Harry’s jacket as a blanket, getting comfortable in the chair and silently watching Harry talk on the phone and manoeuvre around, his eyes constantly darting from computer monitors to the paperwork scattered in front of him.

At some point, I doze off, finally finding some peace.

♚ ♚ ♚

The door to my room opens, and I lift my eyes to see Harry stepping into the room, “I have something,” Harry chimes as I sit up in the bed, and his hands reach out the door to grab something I cannot see.

I raise a brow and watch Harry gradually turn back into the room, his hands accompanied by a small two-tier stand surrounded by cupcakes. Harry steps closer to the bed and grants me a smile, “I know this isn’t the cake you had wanted, but this is the best I can do right now, a small tower of cupcakes,” Harry places the cupcakes on the side table, grabbing one in his hand, “Care to share a cupcake?” Harry proposes, perching on the bed and beginning to remove the paper away from the cupcake.

I nod my head, and he holds the cupcake up to my mouth. I take a bite and pull away with contentment, the mouthwatering cupcake tasting delicious. Harry immediately glides his finger over the icing before brushing it against my nose and lips.

I gasp and chuckle, “Harry,” I laugh, attempting to reach closer to grab some icing to smear on his lips, but instead he gently grabs my wrist and pushes me into the pillows, wasting no time with hovering over me and kissing me sweetly.

“I love you,” Harry mumbles against my lips, “Forever and always.”

“I love you, too,” I whisper, kissing him again before he pulls away and kisses the top of my nose to remove the icing before sitting up. “This was sweet, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. It’s the least I could do. It isn’t the best timing, but you deserve this,” Harry insists, moving to lie down on his side of the bed and exhale, seeming relaxed as he stares up at the ceiling.

I smile to myself and observe him. I can tell that one-hundred different things are running through his mind, he is stressed to the max, but he is handling it well. For some reason, Harry doesn’t make it known that he is stressed— he isn’t the type to explode or lose his shit— Harry stays composed. Something that I need to learn how to do.

“Harry, are you okay?”

Harry rolls onto his side and gazes up at me, “Jus’ a bit tired, that’s all,” Harry responds, “Going to nap before my next shift in an hour and my meeting,” Harry informs, closing his eyes and getting comfortable, leaving me to read my book.

♚ ♚ ♚

Harry left me hours ago to finish his last shift and meet with a few officials to discuss the Henry situation and how it would be handled.

I hope Harry abolishes the monarchy, and I hope he brings up the conversation to end it all and move forward.

The anxious wait for him to walk through my door has done nothing but cause me to pace my room anxiously and dismiss all staff from my room.

My door opens, and I turn on my heel to face Harry. Instantly, I can see from the expression on his face that he’s not thrilled.

“Anna, we need to talk.”

“Is it done? Did you abolish the monarchy?” I ask with a smile, eager to know whether or not he managed to start the process of ending it all.

“First of all, it doesn’t happen that quickly, second of all… no.” Harry shakes his head.

Damnit.

I roll my eyes at Harry's comment. I’m well aware of how things work, the whole point of this meeting he attended was for him to start the process. “Why?”

“We can’t— I can’t— I can’t abolish.” Harry's uneasy and stuttering on his words, almost as if he doesn’t quite know how to tell me.

“You’re King, of course, you can. We can do this.”

“Anastasia,” Harry sighs, shaking his head before biting his lip, hiding something behind his back, “We can’t abolish. You know how it works. It would take legislation, an act of Parliament, and signed by the Sovereign to end the monarchy,” Harry informs me of information I’m sure I’ve told him, “You might want to sit down for this,” Harry gestures towards the bed as he brings the item behind his back into view.

A simple piece of paper fills the small space between Harry and me.

“What’s this? I don’t care about the paper. I want to know why we can’t abolish it.”

“Read it.” Harry gestures to the paper.

I roll my eyes and take the paper from his hands.

In the name and on the behalf of His Majesty.

To all to whom these Presents shall come Greeting: Our Will and Pleasure is, and We do hereby declare and ordain that from, and after the date of this Our Warrant, Our Dear Grandson or Granddaughter shall be styled, entitled and called, "His or Her Royal Highness" in addition to and before all other styles, titles, and appellation which to His/ Her now do, or at any time hereafter may belong or appertain, in all Deeds, Records, Instruments or Documents whatsoever, wherein he/she may at any time subsequently be named or described, and we do hereby authorise and empower Our said Dear Grandson or Granddaughter, henceforth at all time to assume and have, and to be called and named by the Style Title and Appellation of "His/ Her Royal Highness" accordingly. By the Grace of God of the United Kingdom of Great Britain, I hereby signify unto you that having thought fit to give and assign unto our most dear grandson or Granddaughter the only royal to have consent to abolish the monarchy.

Oh, no. I’m going to be sick.

My breath hitches in my throat, and I stare at Harry, unsure of how I have reached this point with life.

[twilights-800-cats]

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Prologue

The full moon hung heavy in the black night sky, turning the backs of the ShadowClan patrol to silver. The small group of warriors stuck together, whiskers brushing and eyes darting from side to side, looking for some unseen enemy. 

 It shouldn’t be like this, Rowanclaw thought, unease prickling his paws. Normally the journey to a Gathering was peaceful and easy, even though ShadowClan had to cross beneath a Thunderpath to make it to Fourtrees. There was no feeling as if something were watching from the shadows, ready to spring out from the silence at a moment’s notice.

Rowanclaw glanced at his Clanmates. Orre and Wolftooth stood guard at the patrol’s flanks, while Blackfoot took up a position in the rear, his ears pinned back. Ahead, Nightwing jumped at the hoot of an owl, and Pinewhisker snapped his teeth when she trod on his paw.  

“Enough.��� Russetstar turned her head, green eyes blazing. “Be silent, or do you want to tell everyone where we are?”

This is a patrol heading to the Gathering, Rowanclaw wanted to whine. Not a battle party!

“Ease up,” Pansytail meowed, brushing her plumy tail along the Clan leader’s spine. Her eyes were soft on her mate. “Twolegs don’t work at night, every cat knows that.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure,” Wolftooth growled a pawstep behind Rowanclaw, his tail-tip flicking irritably. “These Twolegs aren’t like the ones we knew, Pansy.”

Rowanclaw swallowed. Wolftooth and Pansytail had once lived in the nearby Twolegplace, part of a group of violent cats called BloodClan. That terrible group had broken apart after being defeated by the forest Clans, and moons later Wolftooth and Pansytail’s small group joined ShadowClan. If any cat knew Twoleg behaviors, it would be them.

“What are you going to tell the other Clans?” wondered Littlecloud, as if to steer the topic away. The small tabby medicine cat looked more anxious than usual. “The Twolegs are invading the Black Fens – we're lucky they haven't reached the tunnel beneath the Thunderpath yet! When they do...”

We might be cut off from the rest of the forest, Rowanclaw finished glumly. His fur prickled at the thought.

Rowanclaw looked at Russetstar expectantly. What would she say? Every Clan was being affected by the Twolegs, from what their patrols had seen from over the Thunderpath – Rowanclaw himself had watched a group of WindClan hunters cower helplessly in a bush while Twolegs plodded along their torn land, scaring away every rabbit. Would she mention that?

Would she mention the hunger? Rowanclaw couldn’t recall the last time his belly had known a full meal. He supposed, grimly, that there would be no need to talk about that – it was fairly obvious in their shrunken frames and poking ribs.

“I will tell the other Clans only what they need to know,” Russetstar answered simply. “I see no reason to involve them in our affairs, especially if they’re facing their own problems as well. ShadowClan can protect itself.”

Can we? Rowanclaw wondered.

“Wherever Stoneheart went, the rest of us should’ve followed,” grunted Pinewhisker. “He got out before it got bad.”

Nightwing bristled beside him. “If he knew, he should’ve told us! What kind of warrior just abandons their Clan like that?”

“Well, he left ThunderClan...”

Rowanclaw stared incredulously at Pinewhisker. “How dare you!” he spat, the fur along his shoulders rising. That’s my mate you’re meowing about! “You don’t know Stoneheart at all, do you?!”

Pinewhisker blinked, as if he hadn’t recalled that Rowanclaw was right there. Nightwing, whiskers trembling, turned her muzzle away to stare at a passing birch as if it were the most interesting piece of landscape in existence.

Rowanclaw dug his claws into the earth. “That’s what I thought,” he growled.

He felt Russetstar’s tail lay across his shoulders. “Blackfoot, go on ahead,” Russetstar meowed. “We will join you shortly.”

Blackfoot twitched his tail in response, pushing through the crowd. Rowanclaw felt frozen to the spot as his Clanmates awkwardly stepped around him. No one said anything to him as they disappeared into the undergrowth, leaving only Rowanclaw and Russetstar behind.

What can they say that they haven’t already said? He wondered as Russetstar took a step away from him. When the Clan had resigned themselves to Stoneheart’s absence, Rowanclaw had endured so much of their sympathy that he felt sick at the thought of yet another cat expressing their sorrow for his loss.

He was painfully aware of Russetstar’s gaze – was she upset with him for bursting out like that? He dared to meet her eye, only to find that her whiskers were twitching with amusement, not annoyance.

“It’s all right, Rowanclaw,” she said. “If some cat were badmouthing Pansytail, I don’t think I would have reacted any differently.”

Rowanclaw breathed a sigh of relief. If this were any other Clan, Rowanclaw expected he’d be reprimanded for his outburst – in ShadowClan, however, there was no such silliness. ShadowClan cats said what needed to be said... sometimes regardless of who it might offend.

“I asked this before, but... do you know anything?” Russetstar wondered. She tipped her head. “Have you seen any sign of Stoneheart since he left?”

Rowanclaw swallowed around a lump forming in his throat. “No,” he answered. “Nothing.”

Russetstar stared at him a moment longer, as if she doubted him – and then, sweeping her tail through the night air, she meowed, “I miss him, too, Rowanclaw – but we’ve a lot more to worry about than one missing cat. I’m sure you understand that.”

Rowanclaw’s tail puffed. “They’ve no right to doubt his loyalties!” he snapped. “Stoneheart is ShadowClan to his core!”

“I know,” Russetstar meowed patiently. Rowanclaw eased off – Stoneheart had been Russetstar’s apprentice for many moons. She knew Stoneheart as well as Rowanclaw did. “I’ve never doubted Stoneheart’s loyalties - but you have to admit that the timing of his departure...”

“It looks bad,” Rowanclaw finished, turning his muzzle away. “Believe me, I know that.”

“... Regardless,” Russetstar swept on, “we’ll be late if we hang about here. The other Clans will start without us.”

Rowanclaw got to his paws and followed Russetstar along the trail to Fourtrees, barely paying attention to where he put his paws. His mind was buzzing and his heart was aching. Soon I might be the only cat left with any faith in Stoneheart!

It didn’t help that he was the only cat that knew of real reason why Stoneheart left: Rowanclaw didn’t know why, but StarClan had chosen his mate for a grand, dangerous journey with cats from every Clan. He had gone off to fight some unknown darkness that was going to threaten the Clans and the forest they lived in.

Rowanclaw longed to tell the others; but without knowing the true nature of Stoneheart’s dreams, what use would the explanation be? What cat would believe that StarClan had chosen simple warriors to do this great task? He hardly believed it, still. But Stoneheart was gone, and so were other warriors from the other Clans – that had to mean the dreams were real.

The doubt gave Rowanclaw pause again. He had to hope that the dreams and signs were real, otherwise... Otherwise, they were just an excuse to get away from me.

He shook his head of the thought. Stoneheart was not that type of cat!

Blackfoot was waiting for them in a bed of ferns. A few steps beyond were Fourtrees, a small clearing in the forest bordered by the four largest oaks in the forest. Rowanclaw craned his neck to peer over the bushes and into the clearing ahead.

“No one else is here,” Littlecloud meowed, his ears twitching. “What’s keeping them?”

Rowanclaw frowned, lowering his chin. What was keeping the other Clans? Normally a Clan wouldn’t hesitate to be the first ones to step into Fourtrees on a Gathering night. Some Clans even loved to brag about it.

A chilly wind cut through Rowanclaw’s pelt. He shivered. There was a strange tension in the air tonight, so thick he felt like he could pierce it with a claw. What did that feeling mean?

Russetstar curled her lip. “I don’t know what’s stepped on the other Clan’s tails, but I for one don’t want to wait here until leaf-bare. Come--”

A loud growl, louder than any predator Rowanclaw had ever heard, erupted from within the trees, interrupting Russetstar’s call. Littlecloud whimpered, covering his ears. Pansytail was bristling from ears to tail.

“A monster!” she cried above the noise. “In the forest?!”

“What in StarClan’s name?” Wolftooth cursed, unsheathing his claws.

Another monster roared to life, this time on the other side of the ShadowClan cats. Rowanclaw’s heart beat in his ears – they were surrounded! He looked to Russetstar and Blackfoot. What should they do?

A third monster sounded from the opposite end of the clearing, and suddenly the clearing of Fourtrees was flooded with bright yellow light. Rowanclaw’s eyes watered from the intensity, and as he ducked his head below the ferns he yowled, “They’re waking up!”

“ShadowClan, fall back!” Russetstar called, her eyes flashing in the light. “Hurry!”

Rowanclaw pulled himself to his paws, pushing Nightwing ahead of him as his patrol retreated back the way they came. The roar of the monsters was grumbling and rattling now, growing louder and louder as Russetstar led them up a nearby slope.

Down below, in the clearing, Rowanclaw could make out the shapes of Twolegs walking through Fourtrees - long, odd shadows in their harsh and unnatural light. They pointed with their strange paws at the oaks, moving out of the way as large, boxy monsters, their shells a bright yellow, crawling forward.

“What are they doing?” Pinewhisker panted, eyes wide.

“Russetstar, we need to leave,” Blackfoot advised, an edge of panic in his voice. “If they see us...”

Russetstar was bristling. “I need to know what they’re doing to Fourtrees!” she snapped, pushing her deputy aside.

The boxy yellow monster raised what looked like its tail – but it was unlike any tail Rowanclaw had ever seen. It had long, sharp talons at the end, and with those talons it gripped one of the old oaks by its trunk. The tree rustled, some leaves falling softly into the night.

Another monster approached, and it pressed its strange front-end tail into the trunk of the oak. A harsh whine split the air, like the sound of some dying beast, and the smell of sap and wood flooded Rowanclaw’s senses.

“StarClan help us!” Littlecloud wailed. He stared at the moon imploringly, his eyes wide to their whites. “Stop them! Please!”

Rowanclaw was transfixed as the tail drove deeper and deeper into the oak. Moments later there was a loud snap, and a groan, and the oak gave way, falling into the embrace of the taloned monster. The taloned monster raised its tail, taking the oak with it, and, slowly, turned and dropped the tree to the side unceremoniously.

Twolegs swarmed over the tree like flies to a corpse. Rowanclaw felt bile rise in his throat as the monsters fired up again, crawling across the ground on their strange paws to the next oak. The third monster, another taloned one, trundled in and, like a badger, used its talons to pull up the Great Rock as if it were searching for beetles beneath.

In that moment, Rowanclaw understood the darkness that his mate had left to fight.

The horrors dragged on through the night, until Rowanclaw was cold and stiff and deafened by the noises of the hungry monsters. The ShadowClan cats watched, speechless, as the Twolegs and their monsters tore apart one of the oldest, most sacred places in the forest.

Stoneheart... Rowanclaw thought, mouth dry, wherever you are...

Please... Please, save us!